Broken Goals, Glorious Plans – the “starving time” of summer

I remember a time when I decided to write daily…to read news articles, blogs, and novels. I created a huge summer reading list for myself – both fiction and non-fiction. I was excited and confident about the goals I’d set for the months ahead. It was a perfect summer project, and I needed one. Then I found out I was pregnant. Every time I tried to read a single sentence, my eyes closed, and I awoke some time later to a closed book, my place lost, and an incredulous 10-year-old. “Mom, you were out,” he said. “I came in here
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Nostalgia, Memory & Senses – Summer Writing

Lately, I’ve been fascinated with the power of our senses. We rush through life, head-down, one foot in front of the other, without a break or a moment’s hesitation. We have time for nothing but our to-do list, working, or cooking, cleaning, folding, cooking, cleaning, folding, etc. We focus on what we prize most in life, and we miss out on the world around us. Yet, in a single moment, one scent, a single memory frozen in time, can break through all boundaries and flood us with a sense of nostalgia. This power overrides all of the things we feel
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Hopes for 2015

Earlier tonight, while getting Martin to bed, I was contemplating the year. Not just 2014 or 2015, but the idea of the year. I’m about to head into my last year of my 20’s, which seems young to some but quite old to others. I was thinking how when I was in elementary school, anything over 18 seemed old. Once I was 18, anything over 55 seemed old, and here I am, almost 30, and 55 doesn’t seem quite as ancient as it used to. In fact, my parents are over 55, and they don’t seem old to me most of
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Fear Builds Walls

I’ll be honest, sometimes I avoid the computer. I won’t sit down in front of it for days because I know if I do, I’ll write. I pretend I don’t want to write, that I have nothing to write. I’m quite good at convincing myself there are other things that must be done, other good things I might add. But when I sit down in front of the keys, they type for themselves. One or two ideas become a paragraph or two. Before I know it, I’ve written more than I should post. Every good writer must edit. It’s easy
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Cabbage Leaves and Closed Doors

I’m going out on a limb here and sharing a poem I recently wrote. Until this poem, I hadn’t written anything in years. Writing poetry used to be ingrained in me, almost a habit I couldn’t break. And then I did. Somewhere along the way, I stopped writing, and I hate that it happened. It’s a practice, like anything else, but something I want to do. I need to do. To write. Slowly, surely, it will come back again. For now, this is what I have to offer. Cabbage Leaves and Closed Doors, for Martin, my sugar lump his back,
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Southern Hospitality & Brazil

A few weeks back, during the World Cup, my husband sent me a link to a narrative article titled, “Brazil’s Secret History of Southern Hospitality.” Assuming it had something to do with the World Cup, as he was pretty engrossed in the games, I benched it for a day or two. I enjoy soccer as much as any American (I hope you get the irony here), but I’m not a huge team sports kind of girl. Also, the narrative is long, and I just don’t have that kind of time lately. A few days later, I found myself with ample
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Let’s Be Honest – Adventure Shoes

Adventure Shoes Imagine me, 10-years-old, sitting on the bed at my grandmother’s house, surrounded by all of her old gadgets, books, and nostalgia from many trips abroad. I’m writing, speculating, pretending I’m on an adventure. Of course, in my imagination I’m twenty or twenty-three, independent but not old. I imagine the storyline of some book or two I’ve been reading. I am free to travel whenever, wherever I want. I am intelligent and can solve mysteries and quarries between people. My adventure begins in the woods, in a setting much like the woods in this music video. I spend most of
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