LATEST POSTS, procrastination

Pebble in my Shoe

People hide their truths. Like a pebble stuck in their shoe they limp or avoid walking altogether.

In the book Bird by Bird, by Ann Lamont, she refers to writing in this way:

…But after a few days at the desk, telling the truth in an interesting way turns out to be about as easy and pleasurable as bathing a cat.

The truth generally is mucky. Our veneer appearance and eloquent words are far more palatable.   The problem is that approach tends to be boring. After all, no one wants to hear about our shortcomings, or underbelly.   

Or do they?

Often, the very thing we want is stuffed behind a tangle of lies and truths we tell ourselves.

I want to is write a novel. Often, the welling builds and I must spill words, stamp them onto paper. Lately, that means a short blog such as this.  That preverbal pebble remains in my shoe. Thus, no book.

Meaningful writing is truthful. It’s communicating something worth reading.

Exit veneer and eloquence.

Below are the truths about writing (a book) that have kept me away for too long.

Exit pebble.

I’ve spent too much time writing without much success. That formula feels like failure.

After losing a husband and a dicey 2020 I’m not sure I can take disappointments.

The journey reminds me of a rollercoaster. The idea of getting back on scares me.

Flooding pages with honest words feels like walking around naked.

A good writer’s group is hard if not impossible to find.

My point is sharing this is twofold:

To expose my truth, slough it off and move forward

To encourage others to exam their truths.

What might be stopping you from doing what’s deep in your bones?

Cheers to truth.

Often it isn’t the mountains ahead that wear you out. It’s the little pebble in your shoe. Muhammad Ali


A Thankful Heart

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She wears her heart on her sleeve.

The meaning is obvious.  But why her sleeve? Why not her chest , where her heart beats? Or her eyes, the window to her soul?

I can’t hide my emotions. My eyes widen in excitement. Crinkles form at their edges when conflict looms. And they leak or at least threaten to when I am troubled.

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Troubled  (v) disturbance in mental calm and contentment

October is a hard month.  The air is thin. The memories vivid.  Being okay is subjective, given the circumstances.  Losing a spouse and wading through 12 months of hills and valleys is hard enough. Reliving the end when so much is gained in the journey, brings pause to potential back sliding into the pit waiting at the end of the month.

Wallowing there is an option. A lapse of world expectations disappear. It’s just you and your buddy, despair.  Some would say the pit is a safe place, a cocoon. Add food and alcohol to deaden memories. I fear the pit is deep. The sides are slippery, and the climb upward is steep.

I won’t go there.

I will remember.

I will cry.

I will be thankful for what was.



Life can change in 10 seconds, 10 minutes.  And for certain, 10 months.

Between the past October, 2019 and today, a newborn’s personality will have shown in a twinkle of their eye, a smile, or a giggle. 3 seasons have passed. 300 days, give or take.  A blue whale gestated a calf, who now swims the seas.

For me, many of these past months felt heavy, endless.

Recently, the fog has lifted. Life is bright and meaningful again.

                                                      fog lifting

I am blessed to have someone. Like me, 10 months have held weight for him and stretched our beings in good and at times, melancholy ways.

Yes, we will remember.

Even when seasons, days, and holidays pass.

No one has our journey.

And we will celebrate. Because life can change in 10 seconds, 10 minutes, and certainly, in 10 months


Dear Author,

I miss fudge brownies with vanilla ice cream and warm chocolate sauce.


I suppose if I’d never had that decadent dessert I wouldn’t know what I’d missed. I had a damn good version of that slice of heaven.

Say I read another’s book. Oh how I learn, laugh, experience journeys I’ve only dreamed of. How better to grow than listen. To experience that sometimes awkward dance of dating and uncover commonality. Exploration begins. New chapters form.

Soon two stories intertwine.


I want to share my life with someone. Not because I’m weak or unable to do life on my own.

I’m full. Bursting in fact.

There are chapters left to write. Imagining possibilities is a gift and I want to share that journey, pen words unique to us.

I am grateful God has tossed you in my path.

Let’s write an epic story!

Or, if you prefer your metaphoric language…….



Blessed Trees

If I showed you my garden could you find the spot where a smiling tree had once shaded the land?

Now, not even a stub remains. Only soil and a hole where life once grew old and wise. Still, I remember the tree.

A new tree grows nearby. A lean tree. The leaves are different, curled like a wave. When I sit in its shade I smell the ocean. And I feel peace.

I am thankful for the trees. For the blessings before, ever present now, and the blessings to come.

I’m watering the new tree. When I look up a canopy of branches spread far and wide. Leaves shimmer in the sunlight. In the breeze the curly leaves sing.  Some fall to the soil, filling the hole.

And that makes me happy.


Seeds of Possibility

seedlingMost days I walk.

I’ve noticed more birds, lizards, butterflies, and thriving plants. Maybe they’ve always been there.

Or maybe our new world has widened my view with less thoughts to sift through. Or just the opposite: too much time to contemplate this or that.

Enter a seedling. That’s me. Growing…..experiencing….learning. 

Waiting is hard, especially for the new parts yet to come. I know my roots are strong. The soil has been turned. Remnants of the old me remain. You could say I’m variegated. A unique blend of then and now.

The future is before me.

Most of us want to see what lies ahead. The contemplative me desires that. But I like surprises, anticipation. My mind reels with possibilities. I am a seedling, a dreamer, in love with happy endings, underdogs winning. Pouty babies and goofy dogs. A good book, chocolate anything and wine. Cozy couches and candles.

I believe in tomorrow.


Every morning has a unique story. There are always some seeds of possibilities waiting to sprout.”                                                                                               – Amit Ray

The Awakening


Today I’m a daffodil.

A flower of new beginnings.

A flower of hope.

Once forgotten under ancient Roman rule, the English later plucked the stems amongst the weeds and gave them a home in the garden.

Today I’m in the garden. No longer surrounded by weeds. Contentment has taken root. I’m alive again, planted in firm soil. The world seems bright and I bend towards the source of the warmth.

I’m touching the sky, or so it seems.  All is quiet. Peaceful.  I claim the moment as mine.

I’ll remember this day.  I’ll remember all that’s good.

I am a daffodil.


Fragile Spirit

black and white butterfly on yellow flower

In the midst of our strength, a counterbalance exists. At least in me. Today my fragile spirit is present. Awareness of all that’s good and bad is heightened. Two days ago a friend succumbed to fatal injuries in a car crash. I learned of a suicide. And then today a dear friend’s daughter may have the virus.

I admit, I’m not superwoman. And the distance between my strength and weakness is shrinking. Today, I’m stuck in the middle, seeing both sides, fearful of veering right or left.

I’m off kilter.

My goal is always to find gray. Stay clear of black or white where absolutes exit. No closed in spaces today. Though I am claustrophobic, this is more metaphoric. Today, no thinking. Period.

Out my window, I see blue skies and puffy clouds. If only I could soar amongst them, slough off mleft human hand photoy fragile spirit and find strength somewhere in the sunshine.

If not, I’ll simply glide out over the ocean.

I always find peace there.


IMPRINT (verb) synonyms: impress , embed, marc

imprintMarc remains inside me. I like to think of him as an imprint, never to be erased. The sum of us rests in a comfy spot on my heart. Sometimes I feel warmth. Sometimes I see pictures. At any time I can tap into our love. And I do.

Time will never change what nestles there. Nor will a person, or anything I do. I like to share him with others. Find what rests in their heart. I am better for it.

My hope is you’ve felt the warmth he brought and tucked it away in your heart. Our hearts are big. Expectant. Waiting to be filled with the warmth of others. Marc Draper, your warmth fills me today.

Five months ago today, Marc left this earth. Life has changed. He did not experience this pandemic, or the day to day blips that, at times, seem inconsequential. Still, I see him in the clouds, the sway of the palms outside. Most days, when I look up, I can now smile.