My Secret Garden
There is something in me that awakens when I am here. I am sitting in my garden. My boys are sleeping or almost. It is after 9pm. I am squinting from […]
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November 1st
November 1, 2012. The day of reckoning. The day I moved on from my sad story and onto my happy one. There is a seismic shift happening for me. I
Missing Piece
For so long Oscar was my inspiration. He was a concept, a future baby that would fill the Axel-shaped gap in my soul. Not perfectly, because that would be impossible.
Mother May I
I’ve been thinking a lot lately about the concept of permission, as it relates to being a woman. In my lifetime there has been a tremendous shift in the paradigm away from McCarthyist homemaker to defining for oneself what your idea of being a woman truly is.
I Got This
I always thought I was tough. I was raised to think I could do anything my older brothers could, be anything I wanted to be. I was decent enough at sports and held my own with the boys just fine. I was also pretty sure of who I was in my early twenties. At least I thought I was.
It’s Been A Long Ass Time
I think your forties are about self-reflection. About taking stock of things. Hopefully about being present in the way I always aspire to, with varying levels of success. Two months or so into them, that is my experience anyway.
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The Wonder Years
Maybe the real sign of getting older is how many ‘days’ you collect; how many occasions there are to remember someone who has passed, milestones of personal tragedy and triumph, moments to take pause and remember.
Feral Mothers
It’s a primal life force, a mother’s love. For so many years after my mom passed I thought mostly of that aching loss, the loss of her undying devotion and love for me. Every word, every action, each argument even…they were all steeped in her immense love for me. I always felt it.
When I’m 74
I have no image of myself as an old woman. I have guesses. My conjecture is based on everything I knew of my mother and little else. I am like one of those forensic artists who artificially ages suspects or victims. I imagine how my mom would be and how I hope to be at any age greater than 53. That’s when everything stopped. When the sun set.
Golden Girls
Mystery breeds intrigue. I believe that. That was sort of my angle when I was a dater. At least I tried to be mysterious. Anyway. It is human nature to be curious about those things unfamiliar to us. I had occasion last night to realize how true this is, and how pivotal a concept that can be, and has been for me for some time now.