Blog Archive

Lately when I sit down to write, I feel a compelling desire to ground myself.  I write something that often begins like this:  “It is 10:02 pm on Thursday night in Southern California.  I am sitting at my desk, the house around me quiet…” I wonder why there is such a need within me right now to describe my “right now.”  Perhaps it is because so much of life feels chaotic, slippery, at the moment.  Putting pen to paper, or fingers to keyboard, is a way of pausing, documenting

On a recent family vacation to Disney World, I found myself sitting in a black motorcycle seat, pressed forward against a chest restraint, legs locked into place, about to enter into the motion simulated, virtual reality world of an Avatar ride.  I am generally apprehensive about any ride that makes me feel terrified or motion sick, but I suppose these are the things we do for our children.  To the right of me was my eleven year old daughter, and to the left of me, my husband

There is a 6:15 am sunrise trying to climb above dark green mountains. The pale light starts to wake a sleepy sky, and creates glowing patches across my morning coffee. I want to trust in whatever makes the sun rise today and every day. I want to believe in the moon that knows to hang bright and round as another day closes. The sun and the moon, they make me believe that the path ahead is love, and that my only job is to keep walking.

As I write this, I am sitting on my bed, around 9:30 pm on Monday night, Labor Day.  The house is restless with all sorts of end-of-summer feelings.  Tomorrow is the start of fifth and fourth grade, as well as my daughter’s eleventh birthday. We are woefully unprepared for school.  The backpacks lay in the exact same spot where they were thrown with abandon in mid-June.  Not a paper, highlighter, or glue stick had been removed over the summer months.  Today, we made a last mi