The Agony of Self-Censorship


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My fingers itch to type the words I want to say. My brain writes volumes, usually in the wee hours of the morning when I’d much prefer to sleep. Perfect prose (and perhaps a little poetry) comes pouring out of … Continue reading

An Open Letter to Andra’s Feet


Dear Tired Tootsies, Surely by now your only thought is “what the bleep is going on?” We’ve been excited to follow Andra’s adventures but little did we consider the carnage hidden beneath Andra’s socks. You are the unsung victims of … Continue reading

Enough with the Advice Already


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When I was pregnant oh so many years ago, I did what many newly expectant moms do and read What to Expect When You are Expecting. I even attempted to follow the diet they recommended in the book until I realized that … Continue reading

Ode to Insomnia


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You creep into my bed, a sensual spirit of the night But rather than giving love, you tend to give me fright. You fill my mind with thoughts and words and words  and words. . .  and words As worries … Continue reading

Redefining Words in Today’s World


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I have come to the conclusion that my understanding of words seems to be completely different from many other people’s understanding. Now, of course that’s not true, but it seems that way based on the adventures in misunderstanding and mis-communication … Continue reading

The Moon Made Me Do It

I was browsing through some random writing from the past few months in search of inspiration and found this so I thought I’d share. Enjoy! ;)

I couldn’t help myself. The moon shone silver and spectacular, opulent in its pregnant fullness. It called out my name in a voice I hear with my body, not my ears. It said, “come out and play.”

So I did.

I walked out the door in my nightshirt and bare feet. I suppose it was chilly out, but I didn’t feel it. I didn’t think about checking on the kids or locking the door. They’re old enough to be left alone for a while anyway. They are both teenagers and both drive. They don’t need me anymore.

But the moon did.

I followed a path laid out for me by the glowing light. I began to feel a tingle in my feet as if I wasn’t walking on dirt and rocks, but on the silver moon beam. It energized me.

I followed the path into a field. An empty lot filled with grass and wildflowers. Nobody ever spent time there, except for high school students who would sneak out for their parties and secret rendezvous, until they inevitably made too much noise and someone called the cops on them. I’m sure my own kids have been there as well, although they always leave before the trouble starts. They are good kids.

On this night the lot was empty except for the moon light that filled it with its light and its song.

“Dance with me!” it called in the voice that echoed in my bones.

So I danced.And So I Danced

But first I removed my night-shirt, because the moon told me to.


And I danced.


How was I to know that some of my children’s friends were making their way to the lot at that moment for a late night party, carrying their camera phones with them, of course.


Face it: LIFE is confusing!

Seven-ring classical labyrinth of unknown age ...

Image via Wikipedia

Yesterday’s Post A Day suggestion asks

What part of life confuses you the most?

My answer is simple. Life confuses me.

To try to explain this, I will resort to a confusing mass of metaphors–a bubbling stew of life’s issues that contains ingredients that only clarify for a moment before melting into a more confusing whole.

Seriously, nothing every really makes sense. Even when my faith was strongest (rather than conflicted) the answers were never clear. One day you may feel like you understand everything that is happening around you, and 5 seconds later something else is thrown into the mix–a grenade that blows understanding to oblivion. (I warned you that I was going to mix metaphors)

Life is a series of questions that only you can answer for yourself. Your answers may be right for you, but wrong for someone else. Questions that add to the confusion:

  • Why are we here? Is there a purpose to life?
  • Do we have destinies? Are we fated to follow certain paths?
  • As we make our way through the labyrinth of life, do our choices always lead only one place? I mean, yes we all are heading to death, but do all paths take us in the same direction even if we think we have chosen something new?
  • Why does my to do list never get done, or regenerate itself when I think it is finished?
  • Why do “good” people get smashed and “bad” people win over and over again?
  • Why do the rich get richer and the poor get poorer, when the laws of kindness and common sense should treat us all equally?
  • How do pets and children take up so much space in bed?
  • What do I want to be when I grow up?
  • Why does it take hours to clean up a mess, and only minutes to make one?

This list could go on forever. I’d love for people to add to it in comments below.

Of course, for me, one of the confusions of the moment is: Why does the food I love have to be so bad for me? Why can’t I just live on chocolate and cinnamon buns and all sorts of decadent gooey-ness? Why? Why? Why?

Now I am off to find a healthy (although less yummy) breakfast.

Animal Mysteries

Meet Lizzy and Jasper, four-legged princess and court jester in our chaotic castle.

The mystery is not why they are languidly lying in our bed, Lizzy content on my side, Jasper curled up on Nathan’s. That mystery was solved long ago when the weak-willed king and queen of the castle succumbed to the sweet wiles of princess Lizzy.

Well, actually Lizzy mastered the manipulation of Lisa’s guilt. One day, we took her for a ride in a soft-topped Kia convertible on an adventure to meet friends. Unfortunately, a thunderstorm chose to fill the sky. I have the tendency to cringe–who am I kidding–crumble up into a shaking ball of terror when loud thunder hits. Blame that on the kids who threw cherry bombs at me when I was a little girl. Anyway, try as I might, I was unable to hide my fear from the nose of a dog, who immediately adopted that fear and called it her own.

Then lightning struck. Literally. It hit a the top of a tree in front of us, causing it to burst into flame.

One lesson in being terrified of thunderstorms taught.

The connection between the thunderstorm and the bed should be obvious. Until that point Nathan and I were determined to keep her out of the bed. But, when the next thunderstorm hit during the night,  it would take a mountain to ignore the trembling body and liquid begging eyes searching for protection in the cozy comfort of the bed.

She never left.

When Jasper came into the household, the most we were able to do was keep him out of the bed at night. After all it was Lizzy’s bed.

That is not the mystery.

The mystery lies in the fact that they are not small dogs. No, their combined weight of about 120 pounds is definitely beyond my capacity to control.

I admit that, more often than not, the bed they choose to lie in is unmade. I go through bed-making stages that range from perfectly neat including hospital corners to pulling up the covers and pushing down the lumps in the hopes it looks somewhat presentable to a complete “I can’t be bothered” mess.

The mess leads us to the mystery. If the bed is too messy then I need to make it before I can get in it. (I know, I know, that would be solved if I just made it in the morning). However, if one or both of the dogs has decided to go to bed already, I must force them out of the bed if I want to make it. I simply cannot pull the covers out from under a 60 lb. dog. Nathan can, to some extent, but I always picture the bedspread or sheets tearing under the strain.

Hence, the mystery. If neither of us is able, in a waking state when we have some control over our muscle power, to move covers under the weight of a dog, then HOW DO ALL THE COVERS END UP ON MY HUSBAND’S SIDE OF THE BED WITH THE DOG SLEEPING ON TOP OF THEM ALL NIGHT?!

Seriously . . .


Knitting Warm Words

Wrap, wrap, wrap.

Hook, hook, hook.


My new obsession is this knitting loom which allows me to make cute hats in a short amount of time. Most of them have turned out pretty well, except for the one I made for my husband where I got a little carried away and added a few too many inches. He likes it though.

I call it an obsession because, as often happens when I get inspired by a new project, I have focused on this and ignored other things I have been doing. Like writing. I’ve been writing in this or my other blog  ( daily, sometime several times a day. I’m not saying that everything I have written is brilliant. Some of it is total garbage. But, just the practice of daily writing has helped me focus on other aspects of my life.

But then, I discovered the calmness of wrapping warm yarn around a loom. Wrap, wrap, wrap. Hook, hook, hook. No thought. Romantic comedies that I have watched a million times playing in the background. Or maybe a schmaltzy Christmas movie. I enter  a zone of calm peaceful achievement that I have not felt in a while.

Yesterday, I thought, I should really work on developing my classes for next semester, especially the new ones. But, no. The soft yarn slides through my fingers, beckoning me sweetly to create another hat. Wrap, wrap, wrap. Swish, swish, swish. Hook, hook, hook. Classes do not start until January 11th, I have time.

Or, I should be planning for the musical which I start directing as well. A show that is already filling my nightmares with images of my own insecurities. But instead I relish the warm colors, browns, greens, reds, blending together to create something new.

This morning, as I knit,  I realized I haven’t written since I vented my anger at the evil hackers who added more stress to my days. I know I tend to write more when I have something to vent, rather than focusing on positivity and joy.  The swish and tickle of the yarn spoke to me, write words of warmth, write words of peace, write of kindness.

So here I am, the knitting at a pause and all I can write about is knitting.

I feel like that’s a good thing. Now, however, it is time to go back to

Wrap wrap wrap

hook hook hook.

See you in the warm comfort of words, if I don’t get buried in hats.

Hacking for Fun and Profit

Victorian Christmas Town

Image by Rennett Stowe via Flickr

Yesterday, I was informed that my husband and his family went on a lovely holiday to England.

Wait, why didn’t I get to go?

Unfortunately, the vacation was cut short when they were mugged, and everything was taken but their passports.

Luckily nobody was hurt except for the mysterious Donna, who was injured on “his” shoulder. I can only assume that my polygamist husband’s family includes a transvestite who goes by the name of Donna.

Of course, the American embassy will do nothing to help my poor husband and woe-begotten family, and now they need $19,000 to pay hotel fees and get home.

$19,000. That must be a luxury hotel. The last holiday  he took me on, I think we stayed at a Day’s Inn in Albuquerque. It was so long ago, I can’t quite remember.

Needless to say, Nathan received the phone call where he learned of this horrible tragedy while sitting next to a Christmas Tree at a tree trimming party. An old friend got his phone number from his parents and called to make sure he knew.

Nathan did not have much fun at the party after that. He spent the time trying to figure out how to change passwords on his e-mail and Facebook, and deal with the repercussions of a stranger having access to his on-line life.

Now here’s my question, WHY BOTHER? Not Nathan fixing things, that make sense of course, but why bother hacking an account and asking for money when anyone who is a true friend will recognize the fallacy of the story? Why bother asking for money, when you don’t even provide an address to send it to?

I understand that once someone has access to e-mail everything done on-line can become a risk, and that is truly problematic. It means hours of work to make sure you’ve protected yourself and every business transaction you’ve made. It basically means making someone worry, and destroying a few days (or weeks) of their lives. But again, WHY BOTHER announcing the hacking success with an asinine, poorly worded missive to masses begging for money you never will see? The announcement only leads to immediate remediation of the problem.

I simply do not understand the purpose or joy that is found in hacking someone’s account. Could someone please explain?

Alternatively, if anyone feels the urge to follow through and send money, please make sure to send it to our home address. I mean, seriously, I’ll make good use of it, and if my husband is really off in England gallivanting around with his second family, he can wash dishes to earn his way home.