I think it is odd when one of my senses highjacks my day and becomes the lens for which everything else comes into focus.
Sometimes I miss the significance of a small moment.
I’ve done a lot of cleaning in my days and the interesting thing about this is how focused I remain on the parts that are difficult to scrub.
“A mother’s arms are strong when her child is in danger.” (Dream, Sr. Prejean, Dead Man Walking)
I love ritual.
We are a story people, mere pages in the book of life
#7. I am still developing. Be nice.
I have a daily alarm that sounds at nine in the morning and nine at night to remind me of my mama’s pill schedule.
Sometimes you just go for it, because if you let fear determine your ability to live fully, you’re screwed.
I sit in my backyard, commiserating with my beautiful magnolia tree, deeply rooted in the western corner. This is the space I return to, time after time, to think, to lament, to listen.
I grew up in Campbell, a thriving part of the San Francisco Bay Area, and we have our own particular “claim to fame” known as The Pruneyard Rule.
It is peaceful here, so peaceful I can hear my own thoughts.
“What are your thoughts on heaven and hell?” I get asked this question a lot.
When did life get so confusing?
All week there are these incredible pyrotechnics displays hosted by towns and casinos all around the lake, and we made it to all of them cheering, “Here’s to our lady.”
I read somewhere, that in your home, you should love everything your eyes land on. Thank god I love dust, clutter, books, and my people.