Wednesday, January 14, 2026
2 + 24 Together
Photo by Luis Zambrano
We've twenty-six years
together, we weathered the
storms that came our way
(Originally published 2024/10/22 at 3:39 pm)
55
Photo by Ray Bilcliff
Looking out through the rain drizzled window in March
I see April approaching with my birthday in tow.
55
Over half a century, fifty years since I was in kindergarten,
thankful that I am past the decades of awkwardness and
not being comfortable in my own skin.
Thankful that I am past the years of searching.
I am capable and competent, comfortable in who and what I am,
confident with where I am.
55
I am.
I have arrived.
Every moment is lived in peace and to its fullness with acceptance.
55
No dreams have I, but I greet the the future with curiosity
and excitement. Yes, there are goals.
Practicality requires that I meet goals to tend to my needs
for who will care for me in my years to come?
An ageless spirit necessitates seeking experiences
-moments-
with family, friends, the forests of Oregon,
my cats, myself, my imagination.
55
I welcome it with open arms!
I am old and I am young.
I am the middle child of Longevity.
I am alive. I have conquered
myself.
(Originally published 2024/03/31 at 5:52 pm)
Gratitude
Photo by Kampus Production: https://www.pexels.comom
Joy robbed her of melancholy
and robbed her of words.
The novel stalled,
the blog posts stopped.
In this season of gratitude she had abundance.
Without loss,
the page remained blank.
She did not want to pick at the old wounds.
Love extinguished pain.
“I have all that I need and I have no wants.”
“He’s changed, I’ve changed, we’ve changed together.”
There is peace,
there is love,
there is joy.
There is a future together.
“‘Til death do us part.”
And they remained that way.
Not ‘The end.’
The beginning.
Blessings to all this Thanksgiving.
(Originally published 2022/11/13 at 12:23 pm)
Monday, January 12, 2026
Love
Silver Falls, Oregon – Photo credit: Lisa Barker
Love like dappled light
intermittently blinds then clarifies
as my heart drives the back roads of my mind.
I don’t remember the pain, but
briefly it surprises me with bursts of sunlight that
quickly vanish into shades of clarity.
I follow the road with confidence, knowing well
the curves that wind deeper into dense, lush forests of noble fir.
A new stretch of certainty emerges and
I coast through the present road conditions
with eyes wide open.
When the road unwinds through quiet, tawny pastures,
the sun sets in my rear view mirror and twilight greets me;
the stars guide my way
reflecting the illumination of my intuition and
the draft of wind through the open window
catches my breath.
(Originally published 2022/08/03 at 1:06 am)
Safe Haven
Photo by C. Cagnin from Pexels
Warm floorboards drenched by midday sun,
swept clean,
the tidy broom in the corner
Yellow is the room -
the walls, the glow, the aura
There stands a bare table, aged
and worn smooth
with a sensible chair to keep it company in its elder years
I shall place my typewriter there
I shall click and clack and breathe in ink and electrical warmth
Stories will flow,
characters will fill the room;
heartbreak and heartache will be the tune
as main and minor characters dance to a healing finale
This room, my soul, will protect them and nurture their transformation
Amen
(Originally published 2022/04/12 at 9:18 pm)
I Am
Photo by Felix Mittermeir on Pexels.com
Ten months of clear skies
and steady, warm sun.
Lightning strikes suddenly, unexpectedly.
Thunder recalls previous storms.
A summer storm? A clearing of air?
Or the revelation of a storm that has
never passed?
Duck and cover.
Listen within.
Remember the plan, the proof of who I Am.
The storm may come; I will stand tall.
Lightning may break my boughs; I will grow new limbs.
An oak tall and strong.
Ever green.
Eternal.
Rooted.
Reaching into the sky, stretching beyond.
Sunshine nurtures.
Rain sustains.
Lightning illuminates.
Thunder echoes my soul’s song.
I am, I will.
I Am.
(Originally published 2022/03/25 at 11:42 pm)
The Four Agreements, by Don Miguel Ruiz
In this book Don Miguel writes about four agreements, or commitments we can make with ourselves: 1) Be impeccable with your word; 2) Don't take anything personally; 3) Don't make assumptions; 4) Always do your best. These govern new ways of thinking and behaving that can alter the way you experience life; but they are not new ideas and he echoes the teachings of Christ at times, Buddha as well, and others because this is ancient wisdom. I thought it would be fascinating to reread the words of Jesus in light of these four agreements and look forward to doing so, though this is not a religious book by any means.
The work will be identifying the thinking I have that is causing the hellish path I am on mentally and emotionally. Practicing the four agreements will help do this and, as I encounter the sources of my anxiety and depression, I can forgive and let go. So, it's a bit of cognitive behavioral therapy as well.
It's an easy read, with plenty of cause to pause and take in what is written. I'm not new to meditation, intentional living, living in the present, and the power of words and thought, but Don Miguel Ruiz is clear about the tools he is offering and how to use them.
Sunday, January 11, 2026
Kiku-no-hana (Chrysanthemum)
“Katie would just burst out with glee.”
“No matter what trial came into her life, she was a scrapper. She didn’t let things keep her down.”
“She was kind.”
“She was wise. She learned from her experiences and encouraged others.”
“She never gave up easily. She was dedicated and loyal.”
“She counted her blessings and you really knew it if you were a blessing of hers.”
That was the kind of talk among those gathered at Katie’s memorial service from people whose hearts still held the fingerprints of God that Katie left.
Seven bright chrysanthemums lie upon her earthen grave.
(Originally published 2022/03/06 at 4:33 am)
What does the semicolon tattoo mean?
My website banner above incorporates the semicolon to represent the characters and themes in my book INHERITANCE. The butterfly is for the new life I wish for all who continue their story.
Byrdie.com shares the story of how this all came about. It’s a worthwhile read.
Quietude
Moonlight bathes the sky creating a silhouette of the tree in the front yard. The house sleeps. She types and only the intermittent clicks of the keyboard and the ticking of the wall clock punctuate the stillness.
Deadlines.
Bursting creativity.
She gives in to creativity and hopes for the best in meeting those deadlines, shedding the angst in story writing while she composes her essays for graduate school in the back of her mind, a sort of double-writing.
No longer a mother of little ones, she still wavers between duty and dreams, asking, "Why not?"
She has not slept tonight.
(Originally published 2022/02/27 at 4:52 am)
Visitation
In a rainbow haze she arrives.
She is fussy and spoiled and I am overjoyed.
Random moments, unrelated, gel together making sense.
Her diaper is dirty.
I’ll buy her this dress for Christmas.
Spongebob, cats, carnitas…
At once I remember her favorites.
She laughs: “Hey-yeah!”
and I smile again.
She naps, then wanders from her toddler bed to find me.
I hold her.
Gently, I place her back in her bed.
And I lie down.
At dawn my eyes pierce the brightening day, searching. Yet, she is a fading wisp.
Where has she gone?!
I panic.
I remember.
I ache.
(Originally published 2021/05/31 at 7:06 pm)
Curiosity And The Cat
“You read what I write?” He had said he didn’t care.
“Occasionally.”
“Then you should know that it was filled with hope for quite sometime.” She let the world know how she felt because with him those feelings were all on her. It took courage. “These are seeds for new stories.”
Did he snort or choke? Haha. Serves him right.
The word challenges were private, though published. All exercises in committing to word what the heart cannot bear, what the heart hopes. Life is messy, love prevails. She would hone the art of concisely conveying that paradox.
(Originally published 2021/05/16 at 11:45 am)
The Way of All Things
Photo by Dua Chuot
The explosion of feeling. “You always let him get away with things. Why do you need to parent? He’s an adult.”
Which to respond to?
In calamity she found peace in small reminders: the morning sun greeting flowers. In her world there were no clouds gathering and threatening to storm. No fear of angering him; no fear of the marriage deflating.
“I will tell him that the dishes must be be put away each time there are dishes in the drain.”
“Until the next time.”
No response. No fear.
They continued: two people in two spaces beside one another. Coexisting.
(Originally published 2021/05/16 at 11:32 am)
Again
Photo by Pixabay
She approached him to share a simple everyday thing.
He, annoyed: Are you talking to me?? I can’t even hear you.
She repeated herself. His expression? Whatever.
Brokenhearted. Again. Why did I choose him? He is like my mother. I am an annoyance.
A simple plan. A simple dream. A quiet new home with just her thoughts and her cats. Peace and quiet, blossoming joy. Visitors that are happy to see her.
She’d never spoken to him that way. She entertained the thought of starting. It was not her way. She loved him too much. Why?
To each his own.
(Originally published 2021/03/29 at 10:48 am)
Promise
Photo by Cup of Couple
“I’ve been thinking about what I said about not being able to love you the way you love me. I can’t love anyone like that and I hope that makes you feel better.”
“I don’t care about feelings anymore. But I am glad that you are feeling better.” We are still separating.
He thought they’d stay together; she was not the person he wanted her to be.
Later, he yelled at her. She declined to yell back this time and imagined her own place, smiling. No one would yell at her there. Ever.
Life opened to life. She grasped it.
(Originally published 2021/02/15 at 11:19 am)
Single-minded
Photo by Lukas
"You'll find someone perfect for you!" Katrina clasped Heather's hand and gave it a squeeze as they walked the densely populated beach together.
"But you don't understand the violation that is. I like who I am. I look forward to grad school, to writing, to my own place."
"I didn't mean - I guess I was self-projecting."
"No worries. A new partner is what you'll find when you are healed. Healthy attracts healthy and he will be a good man. As for me, I am single-minded. I really am happy."
They hugged, both facing a new beginning.
"Cheers," they whispered, smiling.
(Originally published 2021/02/15 at 10:50 am)
Still I Stand
Photo by Oleg Magni
I forgave. Everything.
I thought I expected nothing in return.
But acceptance and respect I have never received.
The dismissing, the mocking, the insults remain.
These things you feel I deserve.
I am not a joke.
I am a human being, that forgave as I once had been forgiven.
My decision has been made. You speak as if we will continue on.
What you said to me a year ago, and have never apologized for--as if you could--remains foremost in my mind while I consider. I am more than the list of your grievances and criticisms and insults.
I am.
(Originally published 2021/01/07 at 10:38 am)
Dandelions
Photo by Mike C. S
She picked the dandelions and made a bouquet because they were hearty and beautiful, just as she was.
“Silly woman. Those are weeds.”
“In the eye of the beholder.”
“Everyone knows they are weeds.”
“It does not matter to everyone. Only to some.”
“They make me sneeze.”
“Deal with it.”
The discord, deeper than a shallow grave, sprouted dandelions. She picked them because she chose to embrace them. No corpse would generate “weeds” that she could not harvest and make something beautiful.
“Nonsense as usual,” he said.
“Beautiful nonsense. Authentic, beautiful nonsense that mystifies and makes perfect sense to me.”
(Originally published 2021/01/06 at 10:47 am)
Saturday, January 10, 2026
Untitled
Photo by Damian Apanasowicz
Rows apart,
hearts grow closer.
Friendship sprouts beneath a new dawn.
All a sign of spring.
A harsh winter ended.
Death chilled the earth, the harvest long ago.
Soil tilled, gently unexpected but welcome,
new life has arrived.
What will grow is unknown.
It is new and undiscovered.
Between us the breeze whispers softly.
Can you not see and hear?
Yes, the weeds will come.
Have faith! The Gardener will pluck them!
Let the soil not be packed with expectation!
Loose the need to control what Nature sows.
Rows apart friendship grows from the seed.
This is all we need.
(Originally published 2021/01/04 at 7:03 am)
Picture This
Photo by Andrea Piacquadio
A new, black bed frame; a black wooden headboard; sheets and comforter in light and deep grays; pewter curtains; a silver fluffy rug; a black mini fridge, even a fresh coat of paint. Monochrome-just how she views life. Not black and white, but all the grays in between. Not without color, but crisp images of a life well lived and loved.
Her own room, her own space, her sanctuary. A place to cuddle with cats, to watch comedies and dramas, to write.
Sunshine fills the recesses of the room leaving nothing shrouded in pain.
Clean and new. The Queen’s Room.
(Originally published 2020/09/17 at 3:56 pm)
Farewell To A Haunting
Photo by James Wheeler.
Old furniture and boxes of everyday life filled the small apartment. Elise envisioned fresh paint, polished floors, a cozy nook to read in when the sun shined. Her sanctuary.
She'd lingered far too long waiting for Paul. In the end he chose to move on. Now, two paths diverged.
Her phone rang and she answered.
"The papers have been filed," Paul said.
Sadness. They ended the call, cut the connection, and she paused at the ephemeral fragility and resolute finality.
Then, there was relief.
A beckoning path lay before her, calling her to autonomy.
She chose the road less traveled.
(Originally published 2020/05/20 at 4:44 pm. Re-imagined 2026/01/10 at 9:53 pm.)
Embracing The West
Photo by Pixaby
He jammed a pike into the floating ice. She watched it split jaggedly and separate. For the second time, he sailed toward a better life without her.
There would not be a third.
As his image diminished with distance, she imagined soil beneath her feet. Grass grew.
The sun rose behind her and she turned to face it. This time she would sail away, too.
The ocean gently nudged the ice-raft westward. She lifted her chin. She did not need to rise this time because she had never fallen. Her heart encapsulated the Phoenix. Ice would never imprison her.
(Originally published 2020/03/25 at 3:05 pm)
The Road Through Hell and Back
“I said I would go to hell for you. That's how much I love you. I would go, I would find you, and I would bring you back with me.”
“What if I can't love you like that?”
“Have you ever loved anyone like that? Has anyone else loved you like that? Because I'm here, we're here. That's what's real.”
“What if it's an illusion?”
“Then make it the best damn illusion there ever was.”
“But I don't want to hurt you again.”
“Too late.”
“I can't do this.”
“We can.”
(Originally published 2019/02/13 at 5:29 pm)
The Least Requited
THE MORE LOVING ONE
by W.H. Auden
Looking up at the stars, I know quite well
That, for all they care, I can go to hell,
But on earth indifference is the least
We have to dread from man or beast.
How should we like it were stars to burn
With a passion for us we could not return?
If equal affection cannot be,
Let the more loving one be me.
Admirer as I think I am
Of stars that do not give a damn,
I cannot, now I see them, say
I missed one terribly all day.
Were all stars to disappear or die,
I should learn to look at an empty sky
And feel its total dark sublime,
Though this might take me a little time.
“The More Loving One” appears among Auden’s poems about history, but it deals with nature and the disorienting necessity of learning to love a universe insentient to our hopes and fears, unconcerned with our individual fates — perhaps the least requited love there is, as well as the largest. It is an elegy, in the classic dual sense of lamentation and celebration, for our ambivalent relationship with this elemental truth and an homage to the supreme triumph of the human heart — the willingness to love that which does not and cannot love us back. - Brain Pickings https://www.brainpickings.org
(This blog entry was originally published 2019/02/10 at 2:55 pm)
My Love For You
Photo by Ian Turnell
“A passion, like the torrent in the violence of its course, might perhaps too, like the torrent, leave ruin and desolation behind… My love for you… is deep and calm, more like the quiet river, which refreshes and beautifies where it flows.”
- Jane Welsh Carlyle, I, Too, Am Here: Sections from the letters of Jane Welsh Carlyle
18 Years
Photo by Pixabay
You,
arrived to a new country,
new culture,
without family,
without friends,
only me to greet you,
welcome you,
create a home.
Me,
struggling with depression
and mania.
Passion,
the glue that bound us.
Never doubt.
Don't Dream It's Over.
We,
raising two exceptional daughters,
a manic-depressive son,
a daughter that died,
a son that would struggle.
Her death.
My clinical depression.
Your isolation and loneliness.
The pressure broke us.
She saved you.
You came back.
Years of painful healing,
incrementally building,
growing,
learning to accept
and love
each other as we are.
The 18th anniversary.
I still love you.
(Originally published 2018/09/23 at 10:54 am)
Changes II
Photo by Eberhard Grossgasteiger
Dear husband,
This is how I've changed.
"But the change was more than that. She looked older, and some of the laughter had gone out of her face. Now, as she sat reading her book, Hallorann saw a grave sort of beauty there that had been missing on the day he had first met her, some nine months ago. Then she had still been mostly girl. Now she was a woman, a human being who had been dragged around to the dark side of the moon and had come back able to put the pieces back together. But those pieces, Hallorann thought, they never fit just the same way again. Never in this world. ...
"Hallorann nodded. "You and him, you're coming back. Different, maybe, but okay. You ain't what you were, you two, but that isn't necessarily bad."
--The Shining, by Stephen King
Your Loving Wife
(Originally published 2018/09/08 at 9:37 pm)
He Said Nothing
Photo by Juan
“The family is breaking. Again,” said wife.
“That's not my problem,” said husband.
“You've lost our daughter, your family back home, and now you risk losing our son. What is the common denominator in this?”
He said nothing.
He would not allow her to share what their son felt, that he wanted to make amends and move on.
“You're not going to be the facilitator.”
“But he doesn't want to lose his family. He doesn't want to lose you!” she said, anyway.
“Again, you always side with the kids.” He shut down now. He was isolated within a fortress of self-imposed loneliness. She didn't understand him and never would.
She sighed and sat beside him on the bed. “I love you. I hear that you want him to be responsible for his own actions. But I can see both sides. You're not completely right. He's not completely wrong.”
He said nothing. He seethed, a recoiled snake of emotion. “I really don't care if I ever see or hear from him again.”
“HE HUNG UP ON YOU!!” She erupted, and truth like lava flowed and burned patience, destroying it.
“Yeah? Your point?”
“That's not worth throwing a part of your family away.”
“That's his decision.”
“I can't believe it.”
He said nothing. She retreated inwardly into pain. Living with him, standing by him, was a bitter poison to swallow. But she had been sipping it for years, developing immunity, at least enough so she didn't leave him.
There was little left of the family now.
(Originally published 2018/09/02 at 3:52 pm)
Changes
Photo by Le Vy
Four in the morning,
three at night;
just take the pills
to make it all right.
No voices, no intense jealousy and hostility. No paranoia, no taste buds covering all things, or chicken gizzards and hay growing out of my face. No plunging despair and immobilizing depression.
“You've changed,” he says, disappointed. He never says how.
“I have changed.” I am funny and happy and love life and my family and have work with purpose. I like to write and take pictures of my cats. I am no longer disabled by my disability.
Yes, I have changed. For the better.
(Originally published 2018/08/24 at 9:00 pm)
Confidentially Speaking
My confidant is in a rut called, “Why should I care?”
Nothing needs to be solved. I just want him to listen and acknowledge me.
“Offer me a cold drink,” I said. “Say something nice.”
I told him it's what best friends do.
I want to invite him into my world, share myself with him, the trivial and the stellar.
Marriage in our forties has been rough. But I can envision us soaring from this point on. He doesn't want me to. We circle the runway because we might crash.
He's afraid of it all coming to an end again.
(Originally published 2018/07/31 at 10:32 pm)
It Lurks
Photo by Pixabay
I miss you. I'm hurting and I can hardly breathe. You hurt, you're broken, I accept you with all my heart. But you act as if you don't love me, don't want me, can't stand me. You hold our son above my head. I cannot leave him to face these things without me. Alone.
You can't make a commitment to me … in case It happens again. But It is! Windows between us are closing. You are going to find yourself lonely until another love comes to lift you up and save you.
And, in time, It will happen again.
(Originally published 2018/06/21 at 5:05 pm)
She Loves Me, He Loves Me Not
Photo by Pixabay
It was a fight for the ages, a fight to be all they once were.
“There's nothing about you that I'm attracted to,” he said.
She cried. “What am I supposed to do with that? You shut me out at every turn and shut this relationship down.”
“You've changed.”
“You never say how.”
Then, he said, “It's not you it's me.”
She exploded. “You're hiding and when you're not, you're lashing out. You've been angry for seven years!”
Arms folded he refused to look at her. “You don't know me.”
“I only know what you share with me.”
(Originally published 2018/06/04 at 5:05 pm)
She Rises
Photo by Pixabay
Broken. That's how you left me.
Breaking. That's what you're doing to me now since you've come back, driving me to brokenness once more.
Broken. Chains that bound me to “worthless,” “useless,” “stupid,” “aggravating," and "not good enough.”
Breaking. Trust, peace of mind...our bond.
Broken.
But not shattered.
I will always rise again.
(Originally published 2018/05/30 at 4:47 pm)
Wednesday, January 7, 2026
Deafening Silence
Photo by Pixabay
A yellow rose falls to the ground and delicate petals scatter.
I know you can hear me. I know you can see me. I know with each passing day that you are walling yourself in a distant house on a hill, and you are drawing the heavy drapes closed.
I wait at the iron gate. It's crowded thick with overgrown rose bushes that have been ignored far too long.
A thorn catches my t-shirt and blood is drawn. I cannot cry; the silence and indifference will become crushing.
We used to live together. But now you have shut. me. out.
(Originally published 2018/05/26 at 9:43 pm)
How Much Longer?
Photo by Snapwire
She wanted to disappear, to just evaporate on the spot. His words reduced her to nothing and cut her down when she came to him with everything.
But she knows herself, possesses that knowledge, and knows that the love she gives is not a desperate request for more, but rather a deposit made to him from her wealth.
The rejection hurts as much as it did the first time. She knew the risk when he came back.
But she believed then, as much as she believes now, in a man capable of love.
This unwavering belief will not disappear.
.
.
Yet.
(Originally published 2018/05/22 at 9:04 pm)
Reflection
Photo by Egor Kamelev
She wept.
He kept to himself and only engaged in the niceties of life, but nothing more than that. He locked her out of his interior life. She'd been softly knocking at the door for years.
Yet again, he threw back the door and cut her down with indifferent criticism. He's right, she thought. I don't know who he is.
Out on the deck she took her medication. She drank a glass of wine and reflected on the surf, the setting sun, her fifth glass of wine. Narcissism. It was her fault.
It was all shutting down now.
She slept.
(Originally published 2018/05/20 at 3:32 pm)
Simply Yours
Photo by Kristina Paukshtite from Pexels
James took his last breath while holding Emily’s hand. She never left his side, not even to notify family. That last precious intimacy belonged to them alone.
There was just one complication. Pain cinched tightly around her chest. She collapsed on his arm, still gripping his hand.
At their celebration of life, family shared anecdotes and read aged love letters their parents had written.
While on the other side of the lake, there was also laughter disguised by rustling leaves. The sun created a brilliant mirage: James and Emily on a blanket, sharing a picnic. There were no complications now.
(Originally published 2018/05/19 at 8:02 pm)
What Matters
He’d forgotten Allison’s birthday again.
She joined him on the deck and handed him a fluted glass of champagne. They toasted.
“How could I forget?”
She laughed. “You always do. You’re just so busy paying attention to everything else that matters. There are no strikes against you, Rick.”
He kissed her. “I’m so glad you’re not the type that would pitch a fit.”
“I used to. Remember? We’ve both changed. We’re not who we were when we met.”
Once, that had pained him. He thought they had lost everything between them.
But love always remained.
(Originally published 2018/05/19 at 4:15 pm)
The Dwelling
Photo by Pixabay
(Excerpt)
“What do you want in this marriage?”
The question came from an unassuming therapist with a kind smile. It was always difficult in the beginning, especially when you had to consciously make an effort to be vulnerable. Her husband would not do that. But, she was willing to step off the ledge into the abyss and be transformed in her self and in her life.
“I want to talk with him. I want to ask how he rates this marriage, what he feels and thinks about it. I want to know what he sees as weaknesses and strengths. I want to work out resolutions with him. I want him to put his arm around me again, to be in our marriage with me in a together sense.
“But I don't want to hear how we don't work, don't fit, don't match, don't share all the same interests and that there are no ways to resolve our differences.
“We came together as soul mates. We're soul mates still, but not in the same way. The stakes are higher. It's more than dating and sharing interests. We've been through the hottest part of hell and we might be hanging from a twig on a cliff in that hell pit, but we're moving forward. We share a history. We're family. We weren't that when we first started out. All we had was shared interests and attraction. That doesn't last when the going gets tough. Our going got real tough and we are here together despite it. Our connection is stronger, if we don't throw it away.”
(Originally published 2018/05/19 at 12:25 pm)
Sunday, January 4, 2026
Cancer of The Heart
Photo by Alex Andrews from Pexels
Every time he snapped at her, or mimicked her as if she were an imbecile, or spoke to her with malicious contempt, she quickly slit his throat...in her mind.
Once, while driving, she indulged in a glance at his exposed throat while he slept. I couldn't! She could never live with herself; could never be separated from her children; could not throw away the possibility of welcoming grandchildren into the world.
The feelings dulled in time, but remained her defense against a lover living in a hell that had metastasized and nearly consumed him completely. It would not consume her.
(Originally published 2018/05/18 at 6:42 pm)
Meadow of Hope
Photo by Mina-Marie Michell from Pexels
She often sat in her room in a rocking chair that she'd cuddled each baby in. The window revealed an expanse of meadow that contained a rainbow of flowers. Neighboring horses reached for the tender grass over the fence that enclosed their pasture.
“Mom, come have dinner,” her daughter said from the door.
“Will you save it for me?” She often felt hungrier after the sun set, after a day of having eaten nothing since breakfast. She'd lost sixty pounds.
“I'm worried about you.”
She didn't hear. Beyond the meadow was a road. She awaited his return.
(Originally published 2018/05/18 at 5:21 pm)
The Shores of Loss
Photo by Nicole De Kohrs
At sunset, pink cotton clouds stick to the fading blue sky and float toward an orange sun that gradually melts them into memories: her smile, her infectious laugh, those dancing blue eyes.
Rose takes her husband's hand and they glance at the clock. Eleven past seven. He squeezes her hand.
Yesterday, in the pages of years gone by where their youngest daughter lives, there is the moment she died, when the sea slammed the shore and tore husband and wife apart.
Splintered wreckage floated uselessly, unable to rescue their broken hearts.
Now? They float on a raft they made together.
(Originally published 2018/05/13 at 4:46 pm)
Cloud Burst
Photo by Nicole De Kohrs
Rain. Dark night presses on windowpanes. There is the soft glow of moon through dispersing clouds.
“Are you coming to bed?”
“Soon,” she tells him. “My thoughts are restless and I am enjoying the beauty outside.”
“Don't be long. The cats won't settle down if you don't come to bed.”
Five slow, deep breaths and there is peace again. Leftover rain drops dot the window. Beyond, the wind begins to lull the neighborhood to sleep.
Beauty without. Beauty within. Come what may, she will not yield to ugliness and pain. She likes the person that she is.
(Originally published 2018/05/09 at 5:00 pm)
Saturday, January 3, 2026
The Perfect Present
Photo by Samantha Hurley
“I don't like giving presents. I never know what to get anyone.”
“I'm happy with whatever you get me.”
He stared daggers at the computer.
“You gave me dish towels one year. I loved them!” She could feel the relief in his demeanor. She didn't want big and fancy love.
Later, he said, “I know something you don't know,” with a smirk on his face.
“Hey! I thought I wasn't allowed to say that about gifts.”
Very seriously, he said, “You're not.” Then, he smiled and resumed interest in his online game.
The moment was priceless.
(Originally published 2018/05/01 at 2:00 pm)
This is True Love
Photo by Matthew Henry
“Does this look okay on me?”
He glanced at her. “It depends on what you mean by “okay”?
“Does it make me look like I'm trying to look nice but everyone knows I'm stupid and pathetic?”
“You need to get your mother out of your head.”
But I want you to tell me you love me no matter what.
Wordlessly, she changed her clothes.
At the computer, he said, “Look. This is for your car so you can hear music from your phone.” She'd wanted this for months.
She kissed his temple. “Thank you.”
From my heart.
(Originally published 2018/05/01 at 10:00 am)
Broken Hearts
Photo by Nichol De Kohrs from Burst
"I just sat there. I just held Shelby's hand. There was no noise, no tremble, just peace. Oh god. I realize as a woman how lucky I am. I was there when that wonderful creature drifted into my life and I was there when she drifted out. It was the most precious moment of my life." - M'Lynn, Steele Magnolias (1989)
He turned to her. Need sprang up through heavy sorrow. Has enough time passed? His touch. Her kiss. They burst the bubble of grief, free to cling to each other and be a couple again, not just a mother and a father. - Lisa Barker
(Originally published 2018/04/30 at 2:00 pm)
Knight in Shining Armor
Credit: Quotes Worth Repeating
On Golden Pond (1981)
Quotes ~
Norman: You are a pretty old dame aren't you? What are you doing with a dotty old son of a bitch like me?
Ethel: Well, I haven't the vaguest idea.
* * *
Ethel Thayer: "Sometimes you have to look hard at a person, and realize he's doing the best he can."
* * *
Ethel: You know, Norman, you really are the sweetest man in the world, but I'm the only one who knows it.
(Originally published 2018/04/29 at 10:17 am)
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