You have walked into my Diary. Welcome! Hopefully, my musings will touch you. Check out my novel "The One That Got Away" on amazon http://tinyurl.com/ljcj8xh

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Dear Diary,

I have been working on multiple writing projects and today I am sharing my favorite parts of my revamped children’s picture book “My Favorite Things”. It is a whimsical look at everyday objects through the perspective of children. I am currently shopping literary agents and publishers for this one.

 

An acorn wears a little hat

for when it’s cold, you know.

And if I plant its head right here,

a forest I will grow.

 

Bubbles always make me laugh

as they float around.

At times they give a slobbery kiss

and burst without a sound.

 

Dandelions are sunshine spots

nestled in the ground.

I will gather all I see

then give you what I’ve found.

 

Eggshells hide a slimy prize.

But what delights me more,

is that moment of surprise

when they end up on the floor.

 

Grass is a poky, comfy carpet.

Perfect for lots of things-

rolling, digging, crawling

and chasing stuff with wings.

 

Mud is very nice to apply-

all oozy, cold and smeary.

I would offer you some in a pie,

but your face looks rather leery.

 

A rainbow sprouts from rain and sun.

I see it floating there.

If you help me find the gold

I promise I will share.

 

A swing throws me into the air

when I stretch my toes up to the sky.

And imagine where I’d love to go

if I could really fly.

 

Mr. Turtle, why do you hide your head?

I’m knocking on your shell.

If you come out and play instead

I promise to treat you well.

 

The vacuum eats dirt and little things

scattered on the floor.

Could it be hungry for my toe?

I worry it wants more.

 

Wind kisses my face and pulls my hair.

I love to feel it blow.

I like to think if it is strong,

up in the air I’ll go.

 

 

Inevitable Chasm

The chasm is

beyond the bounds of normalcy.

It drops off sudden and steep.

It is murky and dark

to the cautiously searching eye.

Those who have gone before are mute to tell

what lies on the other side

of the noise and ceaseless maneuverings

that compiles living.

The abrupt end of known existence

is unfathomable.

Its presence hovers

peripheral to life being lived,

best ignored

until that corner is turned

to find the feet placed

at the cliff

gazing fully at the unrevealed expanse,

unable to return.

Flight

flight

Dear Diary,

 

You already told me

that I can fly.

The breathless beach day sky beckons

but the wings are not ready.

Impatience chafes

as the wings are dressed and redressed again,

fitted and groomed for distance flight,

not for short sprints.

Wings of strength and force

must be honed

to arc and soar instead of to flit and flutter.

 

You already showed me

that I can fall.

Stranded on the earth

until muscle and feather are reconstructed,

better equipped for future flights.

 

You will not enlighten me

where I will go or what it will take to get there.

But you have prepared me to fall and to fly,

to embrace the cycle

with fully extended wings.

To leap further than before

without reservation,

into the extraordinary blue.

The One That Got Away

book cover

Dear Diary,

Have you read my book THE ONE THAT GOT AWAY yet? Here is chapter one for you. On amazon the e-version is available for $9.99, paperback for $10.76 and hardcover for $22.95.  Please enjoy.

Chapter One

Did I ever tell you that I thought you were dead when you were born? I really don’t think that we ever got into that sort of conversation. Your birth was rather surreal to me. Of course, I had nothing to compare it to and they did give me something to calm me down because I was in a full blown panic when the contractions got intense. I think you would agree that this reaction seems quite out of character for me. I really don’t ever remember being in any sort of panic about anything before this incident. You know I’ve had to deal with crisis situations, but I’ve always been able to approach them with a certain detachment. I have thought this very clever and superior of me to be able to do that. So, I was quite surprised at myself when I experienced this burbling, spine tingling, overpowering surge of panic rising from some deep place within me. The initial rush choked me and my ears buzzed violently. A single thought kept searing my mind over and over: “My baby is dead.” I believed that I was merely thinking this gloomy thought, but apparently, I was screaming it. At this point it seemed that every nurse and doctor and any other available person had their hands on me trying to get me to lie down. Some voices were firm, others were kind but I couldn’t distinguish much of the murmurings because of the incessant buzzing. I do remember someone asking about your father. I believe you know that he was out of town on business. You took us all unawares as you were three and a half weeks early. I also remember my doctor asking for some sort of medication for me. And whispers that my baby was fine. I could not believe them. I struggled and wailed frantically and begged them to save my baby. When the sedative began slipping into my bloodstream the vision began. At first, the edges of my sight were studded with fuzzy, gray spots. I tried to blink them out of the way, but this merely changed their location. Then the people in the room began to blur and ooze some sort of colorful mist. Not all of the colors were the same. I was no longer panicking. I was frozen with fascination. I did not dare blink. I felt warm. And then hot. And then terribly hot. The acrid smell of blood and birth filled my nostrils. And dirt and sweat. I was slick with sweat. I couldn’t see anyone anymore. It was so dark. I could sense movement, that I was not alone. I couldn’t see…. Then I realized that there was dim candlelight. Candlelight?

“Ralf,” I heard myself whisper. My mouth was so dry. My spit stuck to my tongue like wallpaper paste.

“Ralf…”

“No, dear, not yet,” a vague female voice answered. “Soon.”

I felt reassured from her kind voice. She knew what she was doing. I would see Ralf soon and I would tell him how things would be different. How I wanted this baby. His baby. That I was determined to be a good mother. That I would not be selfish. That I loved him so desperately, like he loved me and the baby too and….

A hard, agonizing contraction grappled my body. I knew to push. I pushed hard. To see my baby. To love the baby like I loved Ralf, like Ralf loved me….

I heard the woman cry out. I heard her whisper something to someone else in the room. Her voice caught. Dear God. Something was wrong. My baby. Something…… She was holding the baby. Bloody. Still. Why didn’t she clean him? Why didn’t she wrap him? My nose burned with the smell. I felt vomit rise into my throat. My baby. I looked at the woman’s face. Her face was pinched. Her eyes sparkled with tears that were about to fall. She was holding my baby. Still. No breath. I started screaming. It was my fault. Ralf jerked the door open.

My shrieks abruptly halted. My eyes caressed his disheveled sandy hair in the candlelight. His wolfish gray eyes were dark with concern and fear. His slender jaw was tight with worry.

“Roese,” he choked.

I drank his presence with great thirst. It was so hard to speak.

“Ralf, please forgive me.” I barely breathed the words.

Sudden, stark brightness. I was numb everywhere. And very detached. I watched as the doctor cut your umbilical cord. You looked blue to me. Your eyes were closed. You were still. You were dead. But then you slowly arched your back and wriggled slightly. I gasped and began to cry with jagged gulps. You were not dead. You were alive! The relief was overpowering. The doctor gave you to me. A nurse was trying to hand me the phone to speak to your father. Other hospital staff bustled about importantly. I shook off the lingering dread that hung on me like a damp cloak and concentrated on holding you close. But Roese still hovered in the fringes of my mind.

Shiny Spot

friend

Dear Diary,

Today is the birthday of a longtime friend….

The first smile we took from each other
so long ago
grew into a radiance
that steeped and settled into a permanent warmth.
The melody of the laughter we have shared
echoes into the march of countless years.
The thoughts and words we have created together
have sculpted a treasure securely embedded.
Our friendship began in our springtime
and has laced its way into our autumn.
Across the miles and large gaps of time
You remain a bright presence.

Light On Dark

 

roses

Dear Diary,

 

Behind the crafted mask you wear

I know what’s really hiding there.

 

Within the silken threaded lair

Lies a not so clever snare.

 

I step inside from light to gray

Knowing I will likely pay.

 

Fragile flowers I will lay

On the dark and dense decay.

 

The flowers rest upon the stain

Wilting as they soak the pain.

 

Their dimmed brightness is not in vain

Dark is lighter where they are lain.

My Goodnight

IMG_2499

 

Dear Diary,

I am definitely well into the second half of my life at this time. Being in this place causes occasional musings about mortality, evaluation of past accomplishments and wonderings about what still needs to be done before the hourglass drops its last grain of sand so to speak. I am not going to reveal my age, but it is sufficient to say that I look much younger than I am. This is not due to any skin care product or particularly healthy living. On the contrary, I don’t put much of anything on my face at all and my dietary habits have actually been criticized. My age defying appearance could be chalked up to genes and luck, but I like to think it is due to the grace of God and my youthful outlook.

 

I have had a full life. I have several children, been to many places, participated in a large variety of activities, spent time with many lovely people and have had a plethora of interesting experiences. If I died tomorrow I would be satisfied with the canvas of what my life has been. I have lived with the mentality of putting my whole self into my endeavors, purposes and those around me. I have stayed true to the spirit of who I am regardless of setbacks.

 

During a low point in my life a few years ago I began to think that perhaps my turn was over, that I was getting older and needed to step onto the sidelines and let the rest of my time here ebb quietly outside of the mainstream. But at that juncture, something within me rose up and insisted that I was not done yet; that I would never be done while I still had breath. I now believe that life is a continuing journey that needs to be walked actively and passionately with the same spirit and goals until the very end. I must fill it with as much impact as I am able until then.

 

I recently installed one of those digital photo frames. It is a random slide show of two thousand moments in my life that are captured on film. It makes me happy to walk through the room that holds the frame to glimpse a piece of the life I have lived thus far. Sometimes one of those pictures will cause me to reflect on the background surrounding that moment. Some of these memories are joyful, others remind me that I was smiling through unseen tears. But the sadness that I endured shows me that I have persevered through difficulties to give me the edge I need to preserve my joyful spark. Perhaps the intense need for keeping that spark and the sense of continuing purpose is what keeps my attitude and countenance youthful. I insist on being positive and carrying on with verve.

 

I will close with an excerpt from Dylan Thomas’ poem “Do Not Gentle Into The Goodnight” which speaks to living fully to the end.

 

“Do not gentle into that goodnight

Old age should burn and rave at the close of day

Rage rage against the dying light.”

 

 

 

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