Stirring the Compost

I’ve been deep in thought about many things of late. Not particularly unusual for me, that habit of navel gazing even when fully clothed in the minutia of life. The sun is making its rays felt here a bit more these days and that has me thinking about things flora, of the persistence of life pushing its way up through the dirt and lifting its face to the sun. Spring brings new life and the chance for my compost bin to heat up.

Stirring the Compost

The lid lifts and the smell of dirt greets me. Not dirt like in a farmer’s

South forty or what’s squashed into plastic bags down at the store,

But dirt made by my hands, gardening tools, and family’s menu. Continue reading

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Fog Horns Calling Me

The weather here has been cold and foggy lately, causing the fog horns to bleat their mournful calls into the dark all day long. Being near the river and the port, the fog horns are close by here. After hearing that some folks were weary of the hearing the fog horns all day, I realized that I was, in fact, not weary of hearing them.

Instead, I embrace their calls.

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Kiss And Tell

Kissing and telling — talk about an idiom with a loaded history, and not all of it stellar. After all, it’s probably one of the reasons behind most discontent in this world. Kissing or the lack of it. It’s a euphemism that’s been with us longer than the US constitution (by almost a 100 years actually), and it is still a tacky no-no. And somehow I doubt Justin Bieber’s song by the same name has helped its poor image.

And yet, there’s a whole lotta good to be had in kissing and telling. It’s all about the execution of the plan.

That first moment. Perhaps of the rest of your life.

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With Eyes of Hope

These days I’m busy with the business of becoming an author, a “real” writer. There are agent websites to read, Publisher’s Marketplace postings to analyze, words to polish. And, of course, a new writing project to put real time and effort into. There are new characters to make alive and so these are busy days in deed.

Today is Columbus Day which is a holiday of sorts. Some kids have the day off from school, some don’t. Some businesses are closed, some aren’t. Some think little of this day and some think quite a bit. The historian in me sees this day as a good example of how the winners of wars get to write the history of those wars. The mother in me remembers a very labor-filled day 9 years ago. That year Columbus Day was October 12th. It was a hopeful day for me.

This year Columbus Day is the 8th and is hopeful for different reasons. Those reasons reflect where I am in my life journey. And I’m no less hopeful today. Continue reading

I Only Turned My Back For A Moment

It’s fall now. The sun may feel bright and hot in the afternoon as I sit at the bus stop waiting for the kiddos to burst out of the bus and into my day again, but it is fall. The morning’s crispness reminds me of the fleetingness of the sun. This is a time when my thoughts turn inward a bit more as if even they need an extra layer of protection; a cardigan to ward off the chill, so to speak. Continue reading

My Kitchen of Portent

My kitchen is the soul of my home.

Filled with bodies, dirty dishes, and junk mail,

It is both nourishing and stressful.

The floor sticky, the fridge filled with castoffs from other meals,

The wrinkling grapes past their moment of opportunity,

The milk on the cusp and the oj almost empty.

The eggs organic, the jam all natural sugar.

It is a foundation built on the right and the real.

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Blood: A Life’s Story

Blood

A whole life story is held in a single drop.

Genetic codes and rh factors. Paternity cases and diseases.
Hope and a miracle. A life’s story, indeed all the lives and stories
Depend upon drops of blood.

The scraped knees from first rides without training wheels.
The altercations on play fields and behind bleachers.
The emotions brought by a first period’s arrival.
The cracked lips of a Minnesota winter.
The spreading wetness following the crack of a gunshot.
The slowly filling bag at the donation center.

Blood.
It’s always with us.
And only when we see it in places we shouldn’t
Do we remember to be thankful.
Thankful for the blood that tells of a whole life in a single drop.

On Monday we found out Littlest is sick. Really sick.

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