Domestic Wildflower

It is true; my greatest sense of joy is discovered outdoors. I grew up camping, hunting, hiking, swimming, rock climbing, boating, and playing softball or pretty much anything that involved getting out in the sunshine. I am definitely not a winter person, although I am a decent snowboarder. Having been accused of being part lizard by an ex-brother-in-law, I tend to be happier in the warmer climates, which I why I absolutely loved my freelance time in Arizona. Continue reading Nature, my joy

Reading and writing is not a new passion. It goes back as far as I can remember. As a matter of fact, one of my favorite stories is my mother’s recollection of being able to find me beneath the shade of an old tree, propped up with a diary in my lap, or a book I cherished. Continue reading I am a story teller (part 2)

Story telling is in my blood. My Scotch-Irish father was known to take any opportunity to spin a tall-tale or deliver a well-loved, well-rehearsed story from his childhood, and his crowds never tired of his delivery. He was completely at ease passing down our family history through oral-tradition, where as I am much more comfortable with the pen. It was the second winter after his death in 2011 that I discovered a talent for telling other peoples’ stories. Continue reading I am a story teller (part 1)

The Keewaydin Park Library Experience

My first experience in a library was one of awe and humility. I stood there – fixed in my footsteps, silently looking around at thousands of books. My eyes wandering over the rigid soldiers in all shapes and sizes, lined up shoulder to shoulder in elegant bindings to guard the many accounts of the past. Both truth and fiction sat patiently, staring back at me. I had discovered a connection to something larger than myself. I was like the sinner on bended knee in gratitude to her creator. At the tender age of eight, I did not fully comprehend what it meant to be caught in such a moment, though I knew I had entered a place of true greatness. Continue reading On Bended Knee

I have always loved words.

I have blanketed myself underneath of them, for protection, for love, for acceptance. I have kept company with the words in my head, on paper, secret words that were all mine to do with as I wish. Words that made sense to me and explained the painful events around me: that changed over time with new experiences and new understandings. Words that never betrayed me even when I would make unrealistic demands of them, rearrange them, manipulate them, convince them to console me; to be mine. And they did. I learned to create perfect relationships where we agreed on most everything. I did this in order to embrace changes in my life. Continue reading Use Your Words