Reconnecting and Celebrating…


The sky line is still, not a single light shines in this grey morning. The city is still at rest.

My soul sisters sleep among the feather bedding that engulfs their bodies.  No one lingers below in the streets.  When does this city rise? When will my tribe wake? When will the comfortable laughter start this morning. French press coffee waiting, rain running down the picture windows, and I wait for them. Typing, listening, and counting their breaths and just a few tiny lady snores.

Its been nearly a year since we found ourselves in the same place at the same time. Last night, it happened.  All pre-orchestrated by myself, the birthday girl’s husband, and Utah—we all love her so.  Let’s plan something special we had all decided.

She brought with her – a belly warm and round as a new little one will arrive in May.

This childhood friend we are here to celebrate wakes first. She is beautiful, warm, soft loose hair tousled in a bun, rubbing her belly, as if to say, good morning little one. I will be honored to meet this new little girl. She will bring the joy and love, her mother brings to all those around her.  Darcy Jane wears thin rimmed glasses from behind them, she shares intellect and knowledge by the sunrise in the city. She is calm and is honest. We talked like the months and years hadn’t passes at all.

The day before, we shared a quiet moment at the Dragon Tree, whispering as the scent of rosemary and mint–circled around us. Tiny copper cups, we sipped chilled water…and whispered.  Her eyes rolled and those familiar words “oh geez” tickled my inner ear—those words only sound that way to me. Familiar, funny, and for years they have been rolling off her tongue with a playful roll of her eyes. There is a calm to her, a strength I find; in her strength.  Her ability to calm me no matter what my worry is.

Our home for the weekend–four walls of windows, 12 black window shades, I hide behind 7 am. I listened to them sleep deeply in the bed around the corner. She reminds me who I used to be and who I still am…she challenges me as her dreams sore far above the skyline of  the city.

Later, in great form and physique, a prize fighter some may say arrives. The other one in our tribe.  When I say “our tribe”, I believe that with all my heart.  We are a special group of three…nothing short of a mind opening reconnection that lightens our steps. This connection reminds me that we lead three separate lives by miles of asphalt and mountains, and acres of farm ground.  We reacquaint ourselves and not a single moment has ever passed.  The chatting always becomes real quickly—we laugh, I trip on the sidewalk but our minds and hearts go in deep for the “real” stuff.  My favorite circle chatting begins by fluttering around any place we

are together-that night the Aces Hotel and the street cars. For two days celebrating a birthday, a new baby, and each other.

For Utah, the late arrival. She enters the large glass doors, wet and tattered. A huge bag and a hat…ah, those trucker hats that sit in perfect form on top of her head as if the wind could blow it away and she would take off running down the street after it at full speed ahead.  She radiates sun, beauty, positivity, and awareness-she is tough.  She listens and advises…without judgment.  Her spirit is one like no other…she also is in my tribe. Her spirit is infectious and her strength shows you her inner spirit and joy… she conquers the world with her mind and body.

I woke from my night’s slumber from the honking or a car and the revving of engines below…not the sounds around my home in the mornings.  Quiet, still, my twins giggling in the other room, the whistle in the orchard when the wind blows and the engine I hear is much louder than a car…our orange Kobota tractor rumbling outside my window but that can’t even make me rise some days.  The honking horns and constant movement and chatter woke me quickly this am from the fourth floor.

In the evening, this place is beautiful. Street lights paint the roads with orange as the grey in the sky gets lighter—day light approaches. My friends begin to wake…slowly one and then the other.

What will today hold for us…a new adventure, fresh from any other we have experienced before, laughter just so familiar, like the same in our 20’s, our teen years, and even before.

Many blessings but I cannot wait a minute longer to start the weekend with these soul sisters of mine.  May you all find the time to reconnect with someone that needs you as much as you need them. Take the time to reach other.

Making Your Pieces Fit…


Do you have missing pieces that just don’t fit anywhere except inside of you? In a secret place that only you know about. Perhaps there is no secret too big or too small to explain why you buried them in the first place. However, they still exist just the same, in the corners of your mind, in a familiar smell, lyrics in a song, a quick glance from someone and your eyes meet, a single touch, laughter, and the memory of what another was like year’s ago…sometimes, just a feeling one gets, when one senses another human being…unexplainable except to those who feel it.

We, as beings have “this” sixth sense and I have learned that I need to listen and let myself feel that sense.

It can be as simply put as mind over matter or allowing yourself to push past the pain and let your muscle take you further, to give in when you don’t need to pick “that” battle at “that” specific moment, to trust that sense when you feel like giving up and you know it isn’t the end…for some of us, it’s to suck it up and face the fear, to guide your children in the way you believe to be right, to know when to speak up and when to back off  but remember your words can hurt, so say sorry over and over in this life–because whatever comes next, you will only wish that you had said it, when it could have made a difference.

I want be of one voice with my spouse, to not hide behind others judgements to stand up and disagree or walk away, to know when enough is “your” enough, and to take back your power and simply speak up…speak out…and always remember to stay out of someone else’s battle, fight, or business and only then, is it okay to give advice, when you are asked.

These pieces and your “sixth” sense are connected. Listen to them.  Be strong in the face of adversity (remember not to give up), this is difficult as we often know that anger comes with these challenges. Be gracious, forgiving, and somehow, in some way, WE all need to let go to move forward. Does anyone really want to be standing in a stagnant pool in a swarm of mosquitoes but we can’t move because we are surrounded by alligators, I don’t think anyone would want that.

We, as beings want to make things better, fix what is broken. If one needs help ask for it, talk to someone about that piece of you that doesn’t quite fit-someone probably very close to you has been there.  They will hold on to you, care for you, and love you in just the way you need. We all strive to move on, to love, to live, to experience, to learn and to enjoy every day with the beautiful sun and the storms that will come. Whether it be, in the sun or the storm, we will learn to let go of some of those pieces.



There are moments in life where it flickers.  It flickers like the electricity right before it goes out on a stormy night.  Like every night, I am fast asleep unaware of anything and everything, my body at complete rest.  Out of nowhere, I am awakened and I can’t get to a pen and paper fast enough to get my words out.  I toss and turn trying to fall back asleep, my mind became more aware of my words, stories, exact phrases that I know could be something someday and mean something to someone.  For years, I have been overwhelmed by my own words and thoughts. Life happens and my love affair with writing; what has always been my dream was put on the back burner by no other guilty party than myself. I let me go…I made it less important than everyone and everything else in my life.  So, there it has sat for years.

Fast forward…

I know this gal…this beautiful gal.  I have known of her for years, not well but just really thought she was nice and always pleasant to chat with whenever our paths crossed. This one particular day after telling her for hundredth time that I would come to her gym to her class she taught…I was called-out and when I say called-out, I mean Facebook shamed in the most polite and gentle way with the bi-cep curl emoji con.  See, I had said I needed to workout, to get this booty o’ mine off the couch and get it kicked into shape for years and had mentioned it her and she always had invited me to her classes.  I said I’d come but didn’t…how many of you have done this in one way or another, in some situation; be honest friends. Have you??

Thursday morning, I got up and put on three different pair of yoga pants before I found one that fit and got my tired unshapely bum in the car.  It was as if she was daring me on Facebook, poking the bear in me, and it worked.  I drove to her gym and walked in knowing that I would hate her the next day for how sore I would be! (Ha!) Her class was filled with familiar faces which felt comfortable and right away her strength, beauty, humor, and grace appeared to me.

I had been always enjoying her insightful Facebook posts and they always hit me on the right day that seemed to fit with whatever I was struggling with that moment.  She is inspiring and although I am sore every day and the day after for whatever we did in class that day…I keep coming back to class.  She is strong, willful, supportive and funny. In fact, is one of the most authentic people I have met in along while.  A breath of fresh…

Since, being inspired by this gal to get my booty up and start working out, to go after what I want and to be the best version of myself that I can for everyone around me. Something ignited…ideas and words swirling around me like fireflies in the night.  The way I remember them to dance around me at dusk back east at my Grandpa and Grandma’s house…I remember being in my pj’s with a glass jar, running around the yard with the greenest grass I had even run barefoot on.  I caught each word and idea that zipped around me dancing in light and caught them in my jar.  Just now after all these years, I am opening my jar of written words and they fly out of someplace bottomless.

To this motivating friend, thank you!


She was an awkward girl who never really knew where she fit…untrained with a pen and signed up for a writing class that she knew nothing about. She set her two required pens, blue spiral notebook, and every desk around her had the same white sheet of paper, blank.

There were a few she knew sitting in the circle all of them facing each other what a strange way to set up a classroom, she thought. She looked around the room at the boy with uncombed hair, the girl next to her that smelled as if she came from a dairy farm, and across from her was the girl she dreaded facing…a bully…that liked the boy she did.

The teacher came from around her desk she spoke with a soft deliberate voice…exuding confidence in every step in those supple leather shoes. The girl caught a smile from the teacher, she felt singled out by that smile-the teacher kept speaking. Sharing the details of the class and a syllabus. The girl had never seen this list of writing she was going to do have to do by the end of the quarter. The “syllabus” was on Xerox paper with words and half sentences scattered about the page, and finally a strange graphic in the corner of the page. The girl didn’t even know what it was.

She wondered, sitting there; why pens…no one ever uses pens in any class….as her curiosity whirls around in her head, these words fell from the teacher’s tongue, “there is no erasing in this class.” What a peculiar statement and it made her nervous…her hands began to sweat and tremble. It was finally time to turn that piece of paper over, torn on both ends. She was just as excited as she was nervous. There it was the word “postcard”, stared back at her in blue ink in the most amazing handwriting, handwriting she knew she would love;that day changed everything for her. The way she looked at life, the grey curly hair that carved around the teacher’s face, the calm in her voice, her black and blue ink on my pages, altoid mints that came around the circle, or the smallest piece of chocolate. To just get the taste….to tempt her…a metaphor for the temptation of daring her to put her pen to her page…the pressure to just put the paper and pen together and “just see” what could happened.

Free Writing – Private Writing – Journaling – Prompts…all words on the syllabus.

Words she would come to know well but at the beginning were all unknown. And so, she began writing. She let her pen go, let the words come with the tears. She tried to wipe them away fast enough for no one to notice and without a glance with an airy swoosh of her grey skirt three delicate tissues floated to the top of the wooden desk with a gentle graze across her writing hand…freckled and smooth the teacher’s hand touched hers. In blink of an eye, touched only for a split second- kindness rushed warm into her and to her wrist, to her forearm slowly disapating. She took a deep breath in and watched as the her teacher sat in one fluid movement…like trickling water!

At the buzz of the bell, their eyes met. The girl stepped into the hall she once saw as black and white…with every step the hall began to fill with color.

My teacher, friend, confidant!
My teacher, friend, confidant!