– THE BLOG –
Enjoy the images and writings and recordings as they emerge – not filtered for only the best writing or only the ‘worthy’ photography. I give you what’s honest, the messy truth, a tiny slice of extraordinary beauty in my ordinary life.
No archive. Just now.
Let me read it to you... I was still a smoker in 2005, the year I got married and was full of hope for the idea that there might be babies and new grandmas on the horizon. My mother had been begging me for years to quit, my husband somewhat passive aggressive about...read more
Let me read it to you... (inspired by Prayer In My Boot by Naomi Shihab Nye) For the wind no one expected, the one that shook the autumn leaves free and for the man I saw raking leaves on that windy day, not at all looking frantic, looking quite zen as he pulled the...read more
Life buzzes with busy-ness. The mind whirls with wonder and worry. And Autumn comes and goes too quickly it seems (or Spring for all of you in the Southern hemisphere!). Mindfulness. We all need some. And silent meditation is not the only way to pause, focus and...read more
Let me read it to you... **adult language sassy gingham apron red tender love poem red rosacea on my cheeks and décolletage red dried chili pepper in a beaded glass jar red vintage smoking jacket in the back of my closet red faded cowgirl boots I just had to have...read more
It's September and I have that September feeling - memories of the flutter of returning to school and the dangers of being seen, being myself without all the disguises. Write-along with me using a line from a Cecilia Woloch poem and let's make this month a time of...read more
Let me read it to you... a glimmer of words fireflies flickering flying above reach against a night sky competing with stars and a passing satellite aimless dance of words they are here no, there to hold them in a jar is to keep them captive frightened, running...read more
Let me read it to you... My uncle said, “Play to win.” We were playing a card game and he was my partner. The room was filled with Marlboro and Tareyton, interrupted by occasional shouting, anger or elation. I was just seven but had to learn to play because they...read more
Let me read it to you... the truth is the backyard ash shivers in the dark and every night hungers for morning sun the truth is babies are born craving lullabies the baritone drum of a father’s voice and mama’s cool hand across the forehead the truth is gypsy...read more
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