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  • With Age…

    With age, with time, you realize that simple gestures are the ones that give life meaning.

  • Letters from My Father…

    I just finished watching a TED talk about something called the “365 Day Project,” where you wake up everyday and say a meaningful “thank you” to someone in your life. It was a wonderfully inspiring talk, with one part in particular that stood out for me. The speaker was telling the story of how hard it was to say thank you to his own father. I instantly found myself thinking of my own dad.
    May father died on Memorial Day last year (2017). I had his ashes buried at Quantico National Cemetery here in Virginia, close to me. I sadly never took the time to say thank you to my father when he was alive – like the speaker of the TED talk did. And, in the last couple of years, of the few times I had a chance to visit with him in Texas, we did most of our talking with our eyes, as the Alzheimers and Dementia took most of my dad’s ability to speak and convey thoughts. 
    I remember the day he asked me to pull a photo album from his nursing room drawer. We looked at pictures, and he would point and smile at the faces of the people that defined his life. But, it wasn’t until after the third or fourth picture that I realized what he was conveying was that he wanted to know who they were. It broke my heart into a million pieces. The only two pictures he recognized were photos of his parents, my mother, and me as a child. When he saw the picture of me, at age 2 or 3, he looked at me with tears in his eyes, and reached out for my hand. I remember how soft his hand felt in mine, and I was shattered to know my daddy had come to this state of mind, this state of being. 
    I never thanked him for all the things he taught me. I spent most of my life fixated on the things he had done wrong, and hardly ever let myself remember that he was a good dad. But now that I don’t have him, the memories are coming back.
    I never thanked him for teaching me that shirt pocket protectors filled with pens and rulers were cool. I never thanked him for insisting on checking my math homework on his clipboard every single night, even though he had a long day at work. I never thanked him for planting the seeds of female independence by showing me that I had to learn to push the lawnmower and shovel snow, just like my brother. He would tell me that school was the only option, and to never settle for just passing grades, but “aim for that ‘A’, because you’re not going to get it for free.” 
    I remember how he played a role in inspiring me to public service, by introducing me to political debates as a child, and explaining why things were good or bad, in his opinion anyway. I remember him coming home with Ronald Reagan posters, and the excitement he felt when his daughter was excited to be a young Republican stumping for Reagan’s election. He taught me that you can’t sit and wait for national change, you have to be a part of the system to make sure your ideas are heard.  
    I remember when I joined the Army, that he was proud of me (even though I wasn’t going to be a US Marine.) He was the one who wrote me the most during the war. I felt like Hawkeye from MASH, with all the letters from dad. There were so many, that I confess I still have some unopened ones. But, I kept them all. Today, the letters are in a box under my bed. I put them there when he passed away, to keep him close to me. I have been afraid to open them… until I saw this project online.

    While I can’t say “thank you” to him in person, I realize that I can send that energy out to him in the universe, where I know his spirit is thriving again. I have decided to open a letter each day, and revisit the words my father gave me, as he intended. It will be my way of reconnecting with the man I remember and not the frail patient he had become. When I am done reading every single letter, I will make a special trip to his gravesite, and I will thank him for the man he was, and I will acknowledge that I am who I am today, because of his positive attributes, and his faults. I hope to feel his strength around me, the way I did when he would carry me as a little girl, when he would hug me and call me “princess.” 

  • Just a Song…

    I recently heard a verse from a song from one of my favorite contemporary artists, and it inspired this. I haven’t written in awhile. I hope he doesn’t mind that I am building on his lyrics, with a story about finding strength.

    Just a Song…

    Grazie per avermi fatto male…
    -I wished you could hear my heartbeat
    Non lo dimenticherò…
    -I am more than what you made me into
    Grazie, io riparto…
    -after all I’ve been through, I won’t come back
    Solo controvento, ricomincerò…
    -with age, you will know I am not the fool you see today
    Non lo dimenticherò…
    -neither will you 
    Solo una canzone
    -your smile was my song

  • What I Won’t Forget…

    That none of it mattered.

    That all of it mattered.

  • This Woman Defined

    Brown Hair
    Warm Eyes
    Skin that burns easily in the sun

    Nails painted red
    Lipstick to define a smile when delighted
    Perfume, Chanel No.5

    Proud veteran
    Expert shot
    Life doesn’t pass her by

    Mother of a daughter
    Part of the American workforce
    Educated by choice

    Traveller by passion
    Energized by the landscape, by the sunshine
    Creatively empowered by the moon

    Dives into art
    Moves to the music of the world
    Cooks with passion

    Empathetic
    Compassionate
    Smartly forgiving

    10 scars…seen
    Countless unseen
    Thankful for all the experiences

    Strong
    Purveyor of comfort
    Collector of minimal luxuries

    Opportunity is the only promise she ever believed in
    She never stops chasing possibilities
    Grateful that she lives the American dream

  • All About This Song…

    https://youtu.be/nW9Cu6GYqxo

  • Wise words…

    Wise words…

    “It’s during the storm when you learn who truly loves you.”

    …I love you two times 

  • Expected…

    Expected…

    “Ok nice movie…”

    https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=9jKCoP4M8fc

  • Awake…

    I am awake
    From the longest dream I’ve had in years
    Feeling again the wind on my face
    Believing in the life around me
    In a world full of hate and uncaring 
    I see as though I was never blinded by love
    I kiss the air with words from deep within
    Ready. Set. Go. I am running again
    No goodbye, no hello
    No promises to forget, or to remember
    Just what was always in my heart
    Love. LOVE. Spirit and forgiveness.
    Yes, my eyes are open
    I won’t let them close
    I want to witness life, love, happiness
    My positive energy is ample, I am willing
    No regrets, no mistakes
    Memories will stay
    I will smile with empathy 
    I will live out loud

  • Ohio, or Canada 😐 …

    He. Was. There. Sometimes she thinks of all the things that didn’t have to be. About how he told her a story, and how she wanted it to be her’s too. None of the lies hurt anyone, none, except the final one. He. Was. There. That fact shattered her. Then she realized, all those pieces he left behind were just new colors to add to the mosaic that is her life, her art, her design. In the end, those small pieces, will only be a tiny hint of color in her portrait. Only she will determine what is left behind for the world to remember her by. As for the story? Well, it was a story she had heard before. He was never going to change the ending, at least not for her…