Thursday, September 18, 2008

For Courtney


A sign of life the metaphor for very souls
Flitting and giving birth to the thought of flight
Graceful dancer of the garden ballet the
Weakness in your wings it kills me
To watch and not weep for what is lost
What will be lost again and again
What to gain?

The cycle starts anew the lowly inchworm to the leaf
Ever marches
The wind and rain and sun pass ever on
Leaving us behind who cannot fly
Cannot know the lift of your
Delicate gossamer wings
Nor can you carry us with you on your
Journey alone.

Cry to heaven the unfairness and no answer sounds
Laugh to Creation the blessing of the transient nature of it all
That we love it so
And let it go
And carry it home
In faithful hearts.
Ah memory, the one trapped butterfly that will never flee.

Sunday, August 3, 2008


On a recent trip to visit family, my sister-in-law, mother-in-law, daughter, and I went shopping. And how. We have a tradition when we get together of visiting certain antique shops in a town near Mom's house and we never fail to have a ball when we get together. And the treasures we find! Sis and I both are a little crazy about 40's and 50's vintage clothes--she has a glove fetish and I will get in serious trouble over pretty hats. And no, I am not the proud owner of the flamingo glasses in the picture--but aren't they spiffy? My new sunglasses have much more understated pink rhinestone flamingos on the corners...yay!

As I was browsing online and looking at some more wonderful vintage clothes (it's perhaps an addiction) I found myself feeling briefly and for the millionth time that I was born in the wrong era. Then I found some beautiful aprons, almost bought a couple, and realized they were A) too pretty for me to actually wear while cooking and B) not going to get worn otherwise and that I have nowhere to display them. I then realized that I was actually born in exactly the right era. Here I sat, looking at my leisure on my computer through tons of old things that I can truly appreciate, in my less than spotless house. I was recovering from a nifty migraine the day before and I have no-housework days the day after to get the wind back in my sails. Fortunately for me, I don't live in the 40's or 50's when it would have been unacceptable for my husband to come home to a cluttered house and takeout for dinner. I also doubt my tendency to speak my mind (sometimes much less than sweetly) would have been as lovingly tolerated then as now.

Don't get me wrong--I think there is a whole lot about the past that is now bygone that I think is a damn shame to have lost. But I also think that there has been progress in important areas and that through personal choice we can honor and uphold certain ideals that may not necessarily be fashionable any longer while still enjoying more modern freedoms and luxuries as well.

Monday, July 21, 2008

I'm Back. Sort Of.

I haven't been updating regularly--I know it sounds like a poor excuse, but I've been so busy just keeping up with kids, husband, and house that I haven't been wearing my writer hat as much as I would like to lately. I wouldn't trade any of it--well, except for my son getting pneumonia (which was just scary, but he's fine now) because it is just the rhythm of my life and I know that it will change, and someday, I will miss this.

I've printed out a strip of paper that says just that-- You're Gonna Miss This. This piece of paper is posted right above my desk where I can see it (and yes, I did get it from the Trace Adkins song, which I love) and be reminded that the kids won't always be so little and so busy. When I'm dragging my behind, drinking my fourth cup of coffee just to keep my eyes open because one or both of them somehow kept me from sleeping all night, and they are buzzing around the house like free radicals hell-bent on doing some kind of damage, I need reminders--believe me. They are wonderful, healthy, and energetic children who love me beyond what I can comprehend or deserve--how cool is that?

So if I don't post here regularly and the same picture has been languishing at the bottom of this blog for weeks, please don't assume I am just another lazy writer bad at regularly contributing to something (which I may be any and all of the above, just don't make assumptions--you know what they say about that, dahling.) Just know that I am being happily held captive by crayon murals and teddybear tea parties.

Monday, July 7, 2008

Happy Birthday, Baby!

Today also happens to be my little girl's fifth birthday. We have lots of celebrating to do--but I had to officially post it here so she could read it for herself! Love you, sweetheart! Happy, happy, happy, birthday!

The little boy in my eyes

My son, who is two, discovered something yesterday. When the light in the dining room was just right as he was sitting on my lap, he saw his reflection in my eyes. At first, he looked very puzzled. I had to keep myself from laughing as he stared almost comically deep into my eyes, raising and lowering his eyebrows as he watched the little boy in his mommy's eyes mimic him. After about a minute of facial contortions he smiled, grabbed both of my cheeks, and gave me a squishy two-year-old kiss. Then he returned to gazing into my eyes and occasionally resting his forehead on mine.

I found myself praying for two things.

One, that this moment could last as long as possible. He is one of the busiest little boys I've ever met and any peaceful moment is truly a treasure with him.

And second, that someday, when he is having a crisis of faith, especially in himself, I can pull out this memory and tell him about the day he saw himself in my eyes. So that I can then tell him what I saw--a little boy who was so sweet and easygoing as a baby that I felt guilty because it felt "too easy". A little boy who is now so loving that he squeezes mine and his daddy's hearts so regularly that he and his sister alone could keep them beating without any assistance from our bodies. A little boy who thinks he is (or would very much like to be) Inigo Montoya from the Princess Bride...I still can't have floor lamps in my living room because they resemble chandeliers and therefore must be swung from at every opportunity. A little boy who is so fearless that I will be gray by the time he is old enough to read this. A little boy so curious about the world around him that he explores constantly, endlessly, and with a passion and energy I didn't realize existed, even in toddlers.
I can only hope that when the time comes I can help him see through my eyes, not just into them.

Friday, July 4, 2008

Happy Fourth of July!

Just a quick note to wish everyone a happy and SAFE holiday--don't be the person who sets themselves on fire this year, m'kay? Let your idiot neighbor do it so you can point, laugh, and feel all smug and superior.

Seriously though, let's all pause for at least a second or two to remember that there are still some very fantastic things going for this country--things that all started with some strong-minded people who refused to back down from tyranny because they believed in freedom. Enjoy it.

Thursday, June 26, 2008


Determined. Stubborn. Plucky. Spunky. Pig-headed. No, I am not trying out for a human thesaurus contest, I am trying to think of some of the labels given to people who refuse to give up on something, be it an idea, a dream, or a goal. The picture of the kitty clinging to his hoped-for box-lunch really struck a chord with me recently--writing is not an easy career to just pop into. But it is worth it, and that is the message you'll see over and over if you hang around enough writers--there isn't anything else they can imagine doing.

I write with two children in the home under the age of five and a brain that I don't mind admitting gives me fits on a regular basis. I am fortunate to have a very supportive spouse and family, but I know others who write in spite of people who tell them constantly that they're wasting their time. I know of many others who hold down full-time jobs, parent children, volunteer in their communities, (and I swear secretly save the world on their lunch breaks) who still find the time to write and do it well.

Why? It has to be due at least in part to determination--that stuff that makes the difference between, "I think I'll write a book someday" and "Here's my book! I think I'll try to get it published!" It's that stuff that keeps one submitting query after query when you believe in a story in spite of those form-letter rejections that we all know are a necessary evil and hate anyway.

I regularly get some fantastic glimpses of other writers' determination, (chutzpah, moxie, guts, whatever you wish to call it) at the Absolute Write Water Cooler ( It's a neat place to pop in, whether you're a writer or trying to understand the writer in your life, to see what exactly goes on in the trenches of writing. Need encouragement? Stop by the Coffee House of Pain and see if they don't offer you a cyber goodie or froo-froo drink to make it all better. I dare ya.