Friday, October 30, 2009

Thank God for Twitter...yeah, you heard that right.

backyard blogging

Yes I am on twitter {jess999} for anyone who cares.

I am not on it often, I barely ever post actually. I do, however, enjoy following an array of interesting people on twitter.

One person I follow is John Piper – one of my favorite pastors and Christian authors.
He has an interesting take on the whole twitter phenomenon from the viewpoint of a Christian.
He wrote an article entitled, {Why and How Am I Tweeting?}

In it, he clearly explains himself. His argument for Twitter and other such “distractions” is powerful. I believe it can also be carried over into other parts of our lives.

On John Piper’s twitter account today {JohnPiper} for anyone who’s wondering, he wrote

God does not go / From here to there by shortest routes; / He makes a place for faith and doubts

I am not sure if he wrote it or if he quoted from someone else, but it made me pause.

And think.

And then pause again.

And today I can honestly say, thank God for Twitter.

Thursday, October 29, 2009

thursday morning coffee date

cafe latte 2

My cheeks are flushed.

I woke up before my earlier-than-usually-set alarm

got ready slowly

had ten minutes left to sit for a quiet moment in the kitchen

eating a small bowl of special k with those dried strawberries hidden like treasures

let them soak in the milk for a while – they aren't so bad.

I ate slowly at the butcher block island, perched on a kitchen stool like a castaway

surrounded by my purse and lunch and laptop bag and bible

ready for Thursday

a day that started an hour earlier than normal

for an early morning coffee date

a dear friend and me

I drove in silence to our sunrise spot

sounds romantic, but she's a she and our spot is only Phoenix on Lee

(sounds poetic when you put it like that)

I turned the handle on the meter

a free half an hour.

slid a quarter in,

an hour should do just fine,

then thought better of it and

slid in another quarter just to be safe.

The smell of coffee at 7am reminded me how tired I was as I ordered an iced coffee

Stirred in some milk and sunk into the couch to wait

and while I sipped my coffee she came and we talked and I woke up

whether it was the caffeine or not, I am not so sure, but hours later, my cheeks are still flushed with life and love and thoughts on hope and friendship and grace.

blood beats through our veins and we are living

and it is a good day to be alive. and all is not right, but all is well, and just as it should be.

Wednesday, October 28, 2009

from the weekend

fall back

this is what surrounded us this weekend.
weekends like that make me love where we live...

a lucky lot


A rare thought emerges as I sit.

I am at peace.

I sit quietly, not wishing for anything that don't have, and in the moment I am content.

I let this rare feeling rush over me like a mighty wave, so powerful but yet so silent in all of its greatness.

An uncommon sentiment, a fact of which I am painfully aware.

We are a lucky lot, I think to myself.

We are a lucky lot for sure.



I read this {bugheart} post earlier and it has stuck with me ever since…
Autumn always stirs up nostalgia within me.

I’m not sure if it’s the biting chill that nibbles on my slippered toes or the leaves falling to their colorful deaths…but for some reason, autumn always gets to me.

It could be the memories of past trips taken in the fall with dear friends
to Boston and Virginia and D.C.
Or the soundtracks that accompanied each
Bands like The Juliana Theory and Stavesacre and so many others.

Whatever it is, today I am missing my friends.

Friends in Dayton and New York and Boston
Friends as far as Africa and as close as fifteen minutes away.

I told you autumn makes me nostalgic.

asking for it anyway


I sit and stare at the screen in front of me,
eyes blurry from not blinking,
and I think to myself,
That thing I want
I am utterly and completely unready.

And although the sudden lack of confidence frightens me in the moment,
I am certain that I join the multitude of women that have come before me,
wanting that thing that’s just out of reach,
and yet,
knowing they may not be ready for the very thing their asking, ask for it anyway.

But really, who’s ever ready?

Tuesday, October 27, 2009

on writing + knitting

grey hat

For some reason, I just seem stuck.
Call it a writing rut, or extreme laziness –
every time I go to write I freeze.
Words fail and frustration overshadows the hope of ever having anything to say.

I keep thinking – maybe it is not the time.
Maybe my words are not ready yet…
I keep having that thought – and the more I try to brush it off, the more it circles back.

My fear was to stop writing altogether.
To get out of the habit, making it almost impossible to return.
Because, unlike some, I don’t equate writing with riding a bike.
I equate it to knitting.

Sure you may be able to pick it back up again, after long stretches of not keeping your hands moving with needles and yarn,
but you will not pick up where you left off,
you will have to relearn some things,
you will have to force your hands to remember the motions that once came so easily,
motions that at one point became second nature.
Because just like knitting, writing must be practiced, nurtured, the muscles must be used or they attrophy, disappear.

And the art of both, although frustrating, must be nurtured to reap the rewards.

But also, like knitting, I find that there is a time for it.
A time and a season.
See, I do not like to knit in the summer.
It is too hot to place a ball of wool on my lap. It is disheartening to make scarves and sweaters when the sun is shining and there is no snow on the ground,
no chill in the air.

So, maybe now is my time to knit and to ponder and store up treasures for future writing.

Because, after all, I have not stopped writing.
Just the opposite really, I’m finding that this blog has become my writing outlet for this season.
And although I’m not sure how long this season will last,
I am content in the fact that the thread has not worn thin,
And the desire has not diminished.

the picture of productivity


Whew. This past weekend was a busy one.

On Sunday afternoon I changed my Facebook status to say, “picture of productivity” as I sat in the kitchen watching a corned beef slow cook in the crock pot.

Humble, perhaps not, but I was proud of my accomplishments for the weekend, especially given the most glorious autumn weather one could hope for.

Saturday morning started out early {7am} with a large cup of coffee that brought with it energy enough to conquer the world {or our house to be more specific}. Before the caffeine wore off {and before I had eaten breakfast} we decided to clean the entire house top to bottom. I started on the floors, Curtis started with the feather duster {oh so sexy to see a man with a feather duster – and oh so masculine!} He then followed behind me, mopping after my sweeping, which led us around the house in a type of follow-the-leader game. I swept, he mopped. Then he started on his guestroom/office/closet as I started on the bathroom, and then the kitchen {if you’ve ever seen his spare bedroom, you’d understand the holdup}

Eventually I found myself back to meet him in the "red bedroom" where he was still cleaning and organizing and putting away clothing. The caffeine was still going full force, so I began on his desk. I threw away trash – gum wrappers, lint roller papers, old receipts. I put loose change in a jar, gathered all the pens into a little container and made a stack of random papers an inch thick.

Then I sat on the ground with the stack on my lap and read them to him one-by-one as he folded clothes. {I have learned that this is the only way to eliminate piles of loose papers}. So I sat and read, and eventually we had only a few left for further review. And soon after that, we had a house that smelled of windex and swiffer sweeper solution. It was glorious.

Sunday morning left us running late for church due to a clogged tub. So, as Curtis worked to fix the dilemma, {which ended in skipping church altogether}, I decided to pull up all of my summer flowers that were slowly dying in the front garden beds.

Four hours and a thousand twitching muscles later, I had pulled up all the flowers, weeded the beds for the winter and raked the front yard of all its leaves. It was only until three fourths of the way through that Curtis pulled in the driveway {from a necessary trip to Home Depot} to let me know that he had {much to my surprise} a leaf blower.

So I laid down my rake and finished the front yard and driveway with the leaf blower. Traded my sore legs {from squatting the garden} and sore back {from raking} for twitching arm muscles from the constant vibrations of the leaf blower.

By the time I was done the shower was unclogged {God bless him for pulling out wads of my hair from the drain} and I could rinse off the dirt of my morning while soaking every muscle in the hot shower.

Curtis then started on some schoolwork and I took my first trip to Aldi {if you’ve never been – Go! It was fabulous, if you don’t mind buying generic, which I do not} I got probably $200 in groceries for a whopping $110!

After unpacking my loot, I decided to slow cook my first corned beef {that was extremely cheap at Aldi). Took a while, and ended up not eating it for dinner, but it’s in the fridge, with some potatoes and cooked carrots for dinner later this week.

By the time I sat down Sunday night I was exhausted {still am today, two days later, actually – and my muscles hurt more today than they did yesterday} but it was a good weekend…and I am not ashamed to say that I really was the picture of productivity this weekend.

I wish every weekend could be so productive.

Friday, October 23, 2009

more words from the wise


I am continually reminded of the great wisdom that surrounds me in the form of my friends.

Yesterday, I was again given some great advice from {a friend}.

We were having a discussion about Christmas and how to maintain a balance between simplicity and gift giving, and brainstorming meaningful gifts to give that wouldn’t simply add to the amount of “stuff” we already accumulate.

I am the kind of person that loves to buy gifts for people. I enjoy pouring over ideas and searching far and wide until I find just the right gift for someone. I enjoy making gifts for people, because to me, the gift of time is more meaningful than any item. I enjoying the creativity that is involved with gift-giving at its finest – down to the way a gift is wrapped. I think I enjoy the spirit of generosity, more than the gifts themselves.

Which is good, to a point. The point being, forgetting the real reasons we give gifts during Christmas in the first place. To remember the great gift of Jesus, and to show our love for one another.

That second reason is where my humanity fails…

All too often I forget that second fact, and yesterday I was graciously reminded.

This is what she wrote to me:

…and remember, you give them gifts because you love them not just because you have to…

I read it and I had to pause. Only a friend can kindly put you in your place.

Proverbs 27:6 says,
Faithful are the wounds of a friend; but the kisses of an enemy are deceitful.

How true it is, and although not entirely appropriate for this instance, it somehow seemed to fit.

How blessed I am to have friends like her.

Wednesday, October 21, 2009

a defense of motherhood, of sorts


A couple days ago I was having a discussion on motherhood with a few girls from work.

Now, in their defense, and maybe mine as well, all three of us are in our 20’s.
Two of us are married. One is single. We are all childless {wow, that sounded negative.} We are all without children at this stage of our lives.

Anyways, the conversation was brought up when a mutual friend of ours, now a stay-at-home mom was making an excuse for not keeping in touch.

“We’re just so busy around here,” she said to me.

I took it as a slap in the face.

“So am I.” I thought.

The first mistake I probably made, was to repeat our conversation to my friends. Our friends.

That was a crappy thing to do. I knew what she meant; I should’ve given her the benefit of the doubt.

But my feelings were hurt and instead I repeated it, thus bringing about the conversation of three childless girls about motherhood.

“You know, I think there are two kinds of mothers in the world,” friend #1 (married & happily childless) responded.

“There are the mothers who once their first child is born, their whole identity becomes all about the baby. They lose themselves. I hate being around those people.”

I nodded in agreement, mentally reflecting on my own friends with children.

“Then there’s the other extreme, where a woman has a baby, and nothing changes. I mean, not "nothing changes" but they keep their interests, and don’t lose themselves. The baby just becomes an addition to their live instead of taking it over.”

Again, I nodded in agreement. I have many thoughts on this subject, some of which I have written about recently in this space. I could’ve said so much, but I the moment, it was interesting just listening. To add my experiences but not my opinion. Maybe that was my second mistake.

We exchanged superbly different stories of our mothers, of friends that we categorized in one extreme or the other, of women that have found that happy medium.

“I don’t think I could ever be a stay-at-home mom,” friend #2 {sadly single} said.

"I just don’t think I could handle the boredom, the isolation. I need stimulation, people around, my own identity."

Then I chose to speak.

“I think it’s all about how you choose to mother. The balance everyone has to find,” I tried to explain, feeling vulnerable at the fact that I cannot wait to be a stay-at-home mother, in a room full of corporate-minded career women.

And I went on to elaborate, examples of certain friends I know who do an exemplary job of balancing motherhood and womanhood. Changing diapers and holding discussions on every topic under the sun. Who can hold their own in a debate over schooling decisions and in the next breath, politics.

“I can’t wait to be a full-time mom,” I said. “It’s all in what you make it.” And at that, like a bookend, the conversation ended, and we all turned around to our respective desks and continued to work.

he's probably right, you know, he often is


“We have been watching too much t.v.” He said to me while brushing his teeth last night.

“oh common,” I replied, defensively.

But he’s probably right, you know, as he often is.

Last night we watched an episode of House and then an episode of Mad Men. Two hours of back-to-back drama. Good back-to-back drama.

Yeah, he’s probably right. We have been watching a lot of t.v.

I think it started when I got sick a couple of weeks ago. All I could do was lay on the couch many nights and cough and flip through the channels, turning the volume up loud enough to hear it over my hacking.

Then I got better and he got sick.

Now I sit with him, as he lays listless in sweats under a blanket, the dog curled up in the bend of his knees.

But the thing is, we’ve finally found a few shows that we both enjoy. Usually it’s him uninterested as I watch So You Think You Can Dance, or me surfing the web as he watches something on the history channel or worse, some kind of science channel.

But now we’ve found a couple shows that please us both, and we bond in the watching of them together.

I’ll admit, there’s nothing better than crawling in bed early on a Sunday night and watching Mad Men together on his laptop, under quilts and covers, with heads propped up on pillows.

I guess we could be reading, separate books with separate book lights, but as the weather turns cooler, this seems to be our first choice. Something we can do together as our busy days come to a close and we are attempting to unwind. Together.

Maybe we are watching too much t.v.

Tuesday, October 20, 2009

advice worth repeating


I received some very good advice today from a dear friend.

I was explaining about the business of my week to her.

How my nights so easily get booked up and before I know it, I am looking ahead to a week where I am not at home on any night of the week.

They are all good things – these commitments on my calendar, but they take their toll and before they even happen, I am overwhelmed and exhausted.

I do not do well with weeks like this.

Laundry begins to pile up. So do bills, and dishes and everything else that gets pushed back and back, until the weekend arrives.

I do not enjoy weekends spent doing laundry and dishes.

I would much rather run errands and clean the house after work than do it all on the weekends. Some people are just the opposite, but for me, if we only get two days together a week, I want to make them count.

So that is where my dilemma lies this week. So I told her some of this and this is what the end of her email said:

Take one moment at a time...they are all good… just not all at once.

It was the advice I needed to hear this afternoon. And you know what – due to some uncontrollable circumstances, our plans for tonight got cancelled. And although they were plans that I was looking forward to, I cannot help but breathe a sigh of relief at the fact that tonight can be a low-key night. A night to put on sweats the moment I walk through the door. To reheat the turkey chili I made last night and revel in a night of no cooking, to throw a load of laundry in the washing machine in my slippers and to blog on the couch in front of our new fireplace.

Tonight I am taking her advice, I am taking one moment at a time. They are all good, just not all at once.

Monday, October 19, 2009

{thoughts on holidays and gifts}

sky in trees

In the car last night we talked about how easily greed creeps into the holiday season each year. How we hate it and what it does to us and our desire to remember the true heart of the holiday. How the need for nothing, turns into a frenzied search for items we didn’t even know we wanted, and before we know it, we are making greedy Christmas lists that often end in selfish frustration when we don’t receive the things we didn’t even know we wanted in the first place.

Although I wish we could go on a gift fast this year, others object, so we find other ways to protect ourselves from the season’s detrimental pulls and prods. But this year, I am hopeful, that things will be different. It may take some creativity, and a conscientious determination to reject the hype and lore that too easily distracts, but I am willing to try…

I know it’s a little early – but here’s to a holiday season where we’re thankful for what we already have and enjoy the coming months for all the reasons that are widely unpopular.

Thursday, October 15, 2009

a seamless marriage


Today I read {this essay} by one of my favorite bloggers. christina sbarro, author of the blog {mytopography}

Although we do not yet share the bond of child rearing, this essay - on the balance between motherhood and writing is something I think about often - too often perhaps.

In the essay, she put words to my fears and a light in the deep place I knew existed - of hope.

For the belief that these two things can coexist.

That they can actually create a beautiful marriage.

A seamless mingling.

It was also a needed reminder that days, and more often nights, can be squandered,

unwittingly filling my hours with shows and sites and distractions because “there will always be tomorrow.”

But in my patient wait for offspring, these are the things I lock away and store like treasures in the secret places for my future.

I will appreciate the little things today.


The crunch of the cucumber at lunch

The way my handwriting changes when I write in all uppercase. Or cursive, or in pencil, with my mood, or when I pick a different pen from the mug on my desk

The smooth brown buckeye I place in my palm as I think throughout my day. The finish reminds me of the earthy shine of a dining room table

The way silence is often better than sound. I forgo music today with this in mind. I work to the sound of my breath, my worries, my wishes for the weekend

The small things are all we have. Yet all too often we pass them by for the large superfluous distractions that fill our days when all we really have to do is listen to the leaves crumble underfoot.

morning poem


Morning poem

in nouns


























































{a blur}


the past week has been a bit of a blur –

between work + the home responsibilities that so easily pile up

and some sort of cold/virus that my body has been battling {and losing}

my attention to my blog has wavered.

but last night thanks to the dehumidifier and three pillows under my head to keep me propped up,

I slept as soundly as I can {which is not very, but better than I have been} and actually felt rested today

{hence the blog post}.

ideas have been swirling in this congested head of mine

and I spent the day trying to focus my attention on work,

as I furiously scribbled notes to myself to consider later.

so tonight, I sit and think, in the best way I know how –

with pen and paper

and hope nothing was forgotten during the lost hours of my day

{between 8 and 5}.

Friday, October 9, 2009

the boy cooks

i know, i know...can you believe it...I guess when he wants something bad enough, he's willing to get down and dirty to get it.

We were watching man vs. food earlier tonight and the host was attempting to eat four pounds of pancakes, sending Curtis into a tizzy of pancake cravings. So, when he didn't find any bisquick pancake batter in the house, he turned to recipes to make some from scratch.

He called me from the kitchen, "you wanna come take pictures of me cooking for your blog?"

So I did. And he was sure cute doing it.

300th post and a cold {not for the faint of heart}

I wish i had something better to write about for my 300th post.

But I've been fighting a killer cold the last few days, and today found me home from work with boxes of kleenex and sudafed surrounding me.

The hub had already planned a vacation day to do some projects around the house, so as he took a hot shower, I sat on the toilet to try to steam the phlegm from my body. It didn't work, and left me wheezing and coughing and opening doors and windows in an effort to force some cold air into my lungs.

Then he thought it would be a good idea to use the netti pot to clear out my sinuses. He stood watching me in the kitchen as I mixed the salt water and leaned over the sink. The first nostril was a little clogged, but as the lukewarm water made its way up and through the nasal cavity, it unclogged and drained out the other side.

So, I flipped sides, put the spout in the other nostril and started to tip the pot. The water immediately started draining through to the other side. A good sign. A good sign, that is, until I saw a thin stream of red. I put the netti pot down and grabbed a kleenex to stop the blood flow. Curtis got a glimpse and had to sit down. The sight of blood makes him lightheaded. I stood over the sink, swapping clean kleenex for the saturated nose plugs and eventually had to run up to the bathroom for a roll of toilet paper.

It lasted about 15 minutes and left me feeling dizzy and a bit queezy. And unfortunately my head still feels like it's full of helium. But i must admit, being home sick with the Mr. is a quite enjoyable way to spend a sickday.

Plus, I do love to watch him as he strips and repaints our new front door, because he didn't listen to me when I told him he should prime it first. He's slowly learning that I actually do know what I'm talking about.

Now, for those of you who have never used a netti pot, here are some photos of Curtis using it...too funny to pass up!

Sunday, October 4, 2009

looking back on a sunday evening

peep 3

it's the way tiredness too often wins out over laughter on a friday night,
or how the weekend starts off with a kiss on the forehead an hour too early.
it was the purchase of the non-essential golden mums or the pumpkin
or the gourds i forget to buy every other year while they,
even tonight, sit on the windowsill, in a bowl, one will make its way to work in the morning.

it's the way the clouds made way for moonlight last night at an autumn party where i was the stranger. the way the host accidentally drank from my beer and how his wife handed me a napkin to wipe off the lip. it was the way i slipped the bottle from my fingers and let it roll into the trash when no one was looking.

it's the simple things, like leaves blown right before the fish is done,
or the smell that banana and chocolate make when mixed into muffins.
it's the sound of two keypads, while two sets of fingers madly click and stop.
deleting back and forth in a kind of conversation.

it's the way the dog licks the couch and curls up with a bone near my leg, her movements a kind of mellowing comfort. the way my leg lays atop the other, bare feet when the whether promised a chill.

the weekend began with yawns and that quiet sense that time must be slowed, lest we forget and move too fast for feet and hands. i am ending it in the same way. yawning in the early evening, the sky is already black and we are quiet in our house together. we sit and read and type and stew. thinking back on history and looking toward next friday night, when we return to our home, to the uninterrupted days together where night and day mingle in lights and longing for more.

a balance must be found, between the muffin eaten with fingers on the way to work, to the ice water sipped before bed. those hours in between, the balance between dawn and dusk. that is the struggle.

Saturday, October 3, 2009



In college I had a professor Adrienne Gosselin. For some reason she seemed drawn to me and I to her.

Despite the fact that it was a creative writing workshop specifically focused on writing dialogue, the short story I wrote for that class had nearly no dialogue within its pages.

It was the story of a young girl, whose fire fighter father had been severely burnt and paralyzed while fighting a fire in the Cleveland school system back in the early 1900’s.

The story really wasn’t that great, or maybe my opinions of my work were still being clouded by self-doubt and insecurity, I’m still not sure. i should find it and reread that would be interesting.

But something in it struck a chord with her i guess, and instead of failing me for my lack of dialogue, she submitted it to a fiction contest behind my back.

A few months into the next semester, she emailed me telling me that I had won the Melissa Martin/Grace Martin essay contest.

I was stunned and thankful. confused really...

I don’t know why I am remembering this today. Remembering her unkempt dreadlocked hair and happily frazzled persona, or the fact that she would cancel class the moment it started raining or snowing, which made for a short winter semester, where we met less often that our night class was cancelled. Or the writer friends I made that semester, as we shared our stories, critiqued and built up trust as fellow inspiring writers.

I’m not sure why I’m remembering this class so vividly today? Why the pull to be back in school is strong on me as I wrap up another hectic week at work.

I think it might be because this is the first year since i've been out of college that as children go back to school and as my husband starts his night classes up again, i am sad that i am not a part of it. Not a part of the learning and note-taking and studying. i miss that feeling of pride at a hard-earned grade. the late nights spent pushing your brain beyond it's limits and the feeling of release as you exhale and walk out of the classroom from taking the test or handing in that final paper. I miss it, so i busy myself with school-like goals and projects and assignments for myself. I am a student. not in a school, but a student nonetheless.

Maybe one day i will return to college and pursue a masters. But until then, i will remember what i learned in that class. That rules can be broken and it's okay, because sometimes it's not about the rules, it's about just writing. Getting something down on paper before days turn into weeks, and months go by before you wonder where the time has gone. Why you let them get away.

I'm not sure why i remembered professor Gosselin this morning. But it may have something to do with the fact that i need to remember to make the time, to buckle down and just write.

*photo courtesy of my mom, me writing as a tiny tot. {the original of this photo is tacked on the wall near my desk at work, reminding me of my love for words, when i am neck-deep in words that i often don't want to write)

the HTML saga


so...last night i started messing with the HTML on my blog. i know i should really leave this to the professionals, but at this point, i'm more fluent in the language of source code than my husband, i do work at an interactive marketing company gosh darn it...but from past experiences, this process of blog-tinkering usually ends with sweat and frustration.

after doing some googling and even more reading i began to do some adjustments
and thought i got it. problem was, i was on my work laptop that has a
significantly larger screen than my little mac.
needless to say, when i opened up my blog on my mac, it was a bit too large,
making me have to scroll over to read the entire post.

so, here's my question to you - how are you reading my blog?
if you're using google reader the formatting should be fine,
but for those of you that happen to come to my actual blog,
is it being cut off or is your screen big enough for my new layout and picture sizes???

your feedback is much appreciated.

*editor's note: Thanks to some helpful comments, i have reconfigured some code and although i won't be able to post gigantic pictures, i have spared everyone from the dreaded scroll-over're welcome!

Friday, October 2, 2009

morning poems


This morning I read this:

Morning Poem # 1
October 1st, 2009

Seismic waves traveled
from the place where things were tilted and tossed;
where a warren of market stalls collapsed under concrete;
where yesterday mangoes and coffee, lemon grass,
coconuts, bushel baskets of gnarled ginger and sugar
were haggled for and exchanged, hands touching other hands
each belonging to someone with loved ones, or now without,to here.
The waves spread out in circles, and every pebble,
every small speck of sand moved
silently, in a minuscule way to these vibrations.
Silently, and unseen, the waves traveled through the bedrock underneath
my long dirt road and all the while I was just here
caught up in doing things that matter
only a little: spreading butter on the fat crumbs of toast
brushing cat hair from my sleeves
kissing someone in the warm cocoon of bed before the day
started at it again, with inclement weather and dirty socks and dishes in the sink,
and gratitude is hardly enough.

Christina at {mytopography} wrote this:

And I’m thinking of doing morning poems again, as a way to slip back into writing for real. I have done morning poems in the past, and have loved it when you have joined me. I’ve gotten so much this exchange. These small scraps of joy and arc and moment that we capture, first thing, before the blur of the day takes over; before the laundry piles up.

Are you in?

The rules are really simple. Show up at the page every morning and write a poem. It doesn’t have to be good. It doesn’t have to be much of anything. All it needs to be is a small handful of words tossed up to the gods; an offering, a gift, a start to the day.


I love that, don’t you?
And although I’m not bold enough to promise that I will do this on a daily basis, as I get back into writing for the love of writing, this is a quest that I may consider. And if and when I do – you will be the first to know…

::things i'm thinking about on this blustery autumn evening::


::how I wish I still had a lovely 10 minute commute to and from work

::how I do love dark & cloudy autumn days

::how I wish I could stay holed up at home for a week straight instead of just for a few hours each night

::how I wish that I didn’t have to compartmentalize my life into work-life and home-life…the melding of the two would be so sweetly satisfying

::how I have so much to be thankful for in this season of my life…this could be a whole other post in itself

::how this is a good night for poetry and journal writing...but it will have to wait for tomorrow, since we have plans tonight

::how work weeks would be much more delightful if they were only four days...or better yet, three days

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