Tuesday, 22 November 2011


I don't judge the moon.
When its full, its full.  A sliver is simply a sliver.
Let the moon be. 
Let it pull the ocean, the seasons, my body.  Waxing. Waning.
Nothing to do but marvel at the craters and character.
Wonder at the vastness.
Find warm green grass to curl up under, or clear crisp winter nights to walk in.
And watch.  Listen.
There is no need to argue with the moon.  It does me no good.
The the moon is exactly what it is.

Why then do I judge love?

Moon layer by Glen Fahrlander

Friday, 18 November 2011

This Moment

This moment I am:

- cuddled up by the fire
- listening to Edith Piaf
- thankful to be safely home with my boys in our cozy little home
- looking forward to two days with absolutely nothing planned
- loving the excitement of a brand new (to me) car
- feeling nostalgic about retiring the old truck
- in love with the people in my life

This moment is good.

Friday, 11 November 2011


Little boys.  Big subjects.
Quiet voices.  Loud questions.

Thursday, 10 November 2011


Today I will take a big breath and remember that life is not explainable in black and white.  And if life is not explainable in black and white, then neither is death. Neither is love, heart ache, heart break. Neither is right.  Neither is wrong.  Neither is war.

There is colour exploding everywhere in life.

Today I will take a big breath, draw my boys close, and try my best to explain the unexplainable.  That it is possible to be horrified by all that war entails, yet be incredibly grateful for those that sacrificed so much.  That it would break my heart if that is the path they choose, yet would respect them if they did.  That there is no such thing as a "bad person", yet there are people who make terrible mistakes.
There is colour exploding everywhere in life.

Today I will take a big breath, cherish those I love, and remember all that is unexplainable.

Sunday, 6 November 2011


A gift from a friend.  Words from a mother long since left this world still lingering on a faded piece of paper.  Her name, in red ink, spelled wrong, not corrected.

I cannot tell you how often I have taken it out of its sweet little carrying case. Opened it up to write a note, tell a tale. 

Every time I am struck.  Struck by this longing to add my name to the page.  Connect myself to this woman who I love simply from the stories I have heard and the ground I know we both have touched.  Type my name, that is all.

State that I am here.  Bare my imperfections as simply as adding an extra "e" to the end of my name. 

Thursday, 3 November 2011

Full Circle

Remember in grade school when you laid down on a big piece of paper, someone drew your outline, and then you got to colour it to look like yourself.  I giggled a little to myself today when I realized I am still participating in this exercise.