When The Lies Hurt Us More

I used to take a break from my work, whatever it is – writing, parent council, other volunteerism – by sliding out onto the porch and smoking. It was a brief moment, where I could feel the sun on my skin, I could legitimately shoo my children away without guilt. Somewhere along the line, smoking

The Love Is… Project

Let me take you on a bit of journey, a vague one, but a journey nonetheless: The last 6 months of my life has been this chaotic sphere of feelings, emotions, more feelings, (Asking for a friend: Does anyone know how to shut these off?) and a lot of words that haven’t seen the light

On Fire

My soul has been on fire since birth. I was born like this. Hot. Burning. That really means Difficult. Volatile. Hard. Most don’t like the way I glow,  the way passion burns through my veins. They move away,  my embers floating on their back, as they go. And they always go. I’ve tried to burn

On That Whole Prayer Thing

My kids’ school had been reciting The Lord’s Prayer for a long time. Way before our family showed up on the scene. I found out about it when my son was in Kindergarten, by accident. There had been no letter, no information given to us about this practice. And, one can gather, if you know

The Broken Bodum

The french press she gave me, one of those most thoughtful gifts I’ve received to date for my birthday, is broken. I can’t tell where the break is,  the crack is invisible. Every time I use it, water spills out onto the counter, slowly.  Patiently, I wipe it up and drink the near perfect coffee
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