2017 was a great year for me. There were some dark spots in the path, but most of it was filled with light and hope. I made this list for an application, and I thought it would be good to share it. Five years of clearing the path to make my dream come true has led me to....more work to clear the path. But I've learned a lot about paths and built the muscles for clearing. So I'll forge on until I get there. Yesterday I tried to convince myself that my voice just wasn't important. Then a memory from 5 years ago popped up on Facebook, it reminded me of a friend who encouraged me to take this fork in the road. But more than that, the one "like" it had was from my dear cousin who passed away a few weeks ago. It was heart wrenching, but inspiring, to remember the faith she had in my words. Over the last year my writing has been called cliche by one and comforting by another. My voice isn't for everyone, but it's for someone. I hope you all find the voice that comforts you. If it's not me, peace be yours until you find the right one. If it is, welcome. Pull up a chair, I'll get some coffee. Enjoy the poetry, let me know what touches you.
As 2018 gets a rolling start, I wish you hope. It is a single match, but it pierces the darkness to guide you to light.

2018 is starting off great! If you're in the Ballard area, I hope you'll come hear me read.
https://www.thestranger.com/events/25680436/its-about-time-writers-series

Publication History

Poetry:

“Unseen Moment”; Whidbey General Hospital, Nurses News; 2015 https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bQaMjUNhRy0&t=17s

“Iridescence” (Third Place) and “Tell Your Love Story”; Timeless Pearl Poetry Contest 2016 https://www.timelesspearl.com/wp-content/uploads/2017/08/poems_about_pearls_2016.pdf

“Needlepoint”; Westward Quarterly; Fall 2016 http://www.wwquarterly.com/wwq_archive/wwq_2016-4-fall.pdf

“Cleansing Tears”; Peeking Cat Poetry Journal; Spring 2017 (Issue 26) https://peekingcatpoetry.co.uk/issues

“Automatic Bill Pay”, “Great Lakes”, “Investment Lessons”; Writing In A Women’s Voice Blog; 2017  http://writinginawomansvoice.blogspot.com/

 “Spit and Grit” (First Place); Timeless Pearl Poetry Contest 2017 https://www.timelesspearl.com/wp-content/uploads/2017/09/2017-timeless-pearl-poems-about-pearls.pdf

“Quiet Sighs Whisper on the Wind”; Whidbey Weekly; August 2017 https://issuu.com/whidbeylocal/docs/9.31_august_3__2017-web

“Karma of Encouragement”; 3^rd Act Magazine (Oshi Publishing, LLC); Fall 2017; Pushcart Prize Nominee https://issuu.com/3rdactmagazine/docs/magazine

“Abnegate”; Right Hand Pointing/One Sentence Poems; Winter 2017 http://www.onesentencepoems.com/osp/?s=Laura+Tarasoff

Pending Publication:

“Incessant”, “Fear of Losing Inner Self”, “It Was A Day”; Wraith Infirmity Muses

Guest Blogs:

Hedgebrook Newsletter, “A Love Story of True Voice”; December 2013 http://www.hedgebrook.org/?s=Laura+Tarasoff

Writer-ly; Conference blog 2015 (This content is no longer on-line. Copies are available)

Trish Hopkinson, A Selfish Poet Blog: 2017 https://trishhopkinson.com/2017/08/27/someone-needs-your-voice-guest-blog-post-by-laura-tarasoff/

Personal site:
Poetrybytheshot.wordpress.com with the amazing Woodzick.

Writer's Digest Poetry Month:
http://gowrite.me/pad.pl?writer=Laura+T++%2832%29&day=&q=Full-text+search


I hope you find something that touches your heart. I hope there is a light of hope in your darkness.

I knew it had been a while, I didn't realize how long it's been since I visited my old friend.
So much has happened, is happening; grab some coffee, sit a spell.

It has taken time to find my way out of the darkness. There's more light days than dark now. I'm glad I held on to hope when it was the other way around.

I'm often asked how I did it, how I got through the hard times. I wish there was a check list of things to help others get through their darkness, but there's not. Sometimes you have to shuffle your feet to keep your balance. Sometimes you have to take bold steps to get over a crevasse. Sometimes you just have to stand still and let the raging water pass in front of you. There's not a right answer, or even one answer. Just keep moving forward to find your light.

Recently, I was given $5. There was a tie in a raffle and I picked a hand to choose a winner. The winner was so pleased, he gave me $5 of the winnings. My first reaction was that I couldn't take it. He was a young student, certainly he needed it more than I did. Then I realized that I would be stealing his joy if I didn't accept it.  So I thanked him and got to enjoy his beaming smile. I remember being in a spot of not being able to bless the people who blessed me. Now I was in the place of giving, but not knowing how to receive without it being in humiliation. So I am learning to be honored by the gifts I receive. Honored that someone thinks enough of me to give me a gift of time, craft, or even money.

Darkness may not always be evident, but it doesn't mean it's not there. But there is, also, still hope to shed light on those places.

I am very happy to tell you I had another poem published. This one is in the June 2017 issue of Peeking Cat Poetry Magazine. http://peekingcatpoetrymagazine.blogspot.com/ I hope you'll go download it and enjoy the words.

It was recently discovered that I have an extremely low B12 store. It seems that if there is a kind of anemia, I'm going to experience it. The weariness and depression associated with this ailment sent me into a dark place that it took happenstance to get me out of. Sometimes you have to stand still and hope for a lifeline. Mine came in the form of checking for one ailment and finding another. With the B12 shot on board, I'm good to go spread light to the world.

Which brought me back to this old friend. I promise I won't wait another year to come around. I hope you'll share this light and you'll leave a comment. I love hearing from you.

Hold on to where you are, hope is there, even when you can't see it.

Peace, Love, and Peanut Butter cookies for everyone.

Laura

Mountain Peak

Climbing to a peak takes training and hard work before the actual climb. There are a scrapes and slides along the way to success. When the time comes for the actual climb, each day is it's own success. It's been a long time coming up to this moment, this first camp on the bigger climb.
    It is with great excitement I announce that for the first time I have had a poem accepted for publication in a national magazine.
    My poem, "Needlepoint" will be in the Fall 2016 issue of Westward Quarterly Magazine.
   
   It is available at www.wwquarterly.com .

   I hope you enjoy the poem. I hope you find your own hope for whatever mountain you're climbing. Thanks for sticking with me this far, on to the next summit.


   

If you can't be nice, go to your room until you can

I grew up being told everyone puts their pants on one leg at a time. Treat everyone the same. Respect everyone. Don't be mean to anyone. You never know what someone is going through until you've walked in their shoes. And to do unto others what you wanted done unto you, not that would be done unto you.

I try to practice this philosophy towards all people. This can make me a bit of an odd duck. I work in a hospital. I treat the environmental services people the same as the surgeons. Everyone gets a smile, a kind word, a pat on the back, or a kick in the pants; whatever they need that moment.

If I could be called insensitive to anything, it would be that I believe if we would all work harder to simply treat everyone with kindness the media wouldn't be able to manipulate situations. I'm kinda naïve in thinking we all really can get a long.

Recently a new employee came into my work space and I was nice. Shocking, I know. We exchanged what I have always known as niceties. What's your name, where you from, etc. In the coming weeks, I did what I always do; got to know more about the person. One day someone else was in front of that employee and I did what I do, "How's your summer going? Kids ready for school yet?" Simple niceties. The new person stepped up, I asked a question and he stopped, looked at me for a moment, and smiled and answered.

You see, I'm a 50 year old, white woman standing behind a lunch counter and he's a younger, black man earning an advanced degree. He was a hard shell to crack, but it finally happened. He realized that I wasn't afraid of him. I wasn't patronizing him. I wasn't trying to have a token black friend. Our worlds grew a little better.

I have lived places where black lives didn't matter. I have lived places where poor lives didn't matter. I have lived places where military lives didn't matter. 

Those places will never live in me.

Dr. King said he wanted his children to be judged by the content of their character. That is the standard I live by. He did not say he did not want his children to be judged. An important reminder that there must be a standard of excellence.

Muhammad Ali said, "I pity the poor fool", so do I.
Okay, out of context, but it works so well!
Respect the quality of character, pity the fool.

1 Corinthians 10: 23-33 Tells us that all things are lawful, but not all things are helpful. It reminds us that sometimes it is better to put ourselves aside.


There are a lot of "I's" in this blog. My hope is that my experience will remind people that you just don't have to work so hard. Be nice to people. All people.


When a child is bored, read them a book about far away places. Plant a dream of a peace filled world.

Peace, Love and peanut butter cookies for everyone!

Thankfully exhausted

You don't have to hate your job
to wish you didn't have to go to work.
To want to go home,
Having someone to go home to
A home to go to
To love your life
More than your paycheck
To be responsible is right
Wanting to bound out the door
Doesn't mean you hate what you do
Enjoy your life, without guilt
You don't have to hate your job
To wish you didn't have to work.

 

Trying

   Trying is, well, trying.
    It's easy to say things like "don't change for anyone" and "you're true voice is important" to someone else. When I have to convince myself, it's another matter all together.
    I have a goal that I have come to realize can't be achieved from my current position. So I have to change myself to achieve my goal. But then I risk losing my true voice. Which could be a better voice or not. So do I keep putting myself, as I am, who I am, out there? Do I continue to risk rejection? Or do I change to fit in to get in? Or do I buck the whole system, and do the whole thing independently?
    Is anyone else confused?
    Am I bitter? Bitterness is a petty emotion, based on things being decided by others that cause a less than positive outcome for one. Hmmm, nope, not bitter. Not angry.
   Maybe disappointed, I could work with that one. Confused, okay, not so much. I knew I was going up against an established practice that is not accustom to being, well, ordinary.
   Pissed off, yup. At who? Oh, well, hmmm. Myself, I guess. Why? For being so naïve to think that I could be enough. But that's what hope is, right? Fine, my own theme bites me in the backside.
 
    So ends my pity party. Besides, the popcorn's almost gone.

  There are so many disappointments to face. Some are huge, some are small, some are what they are.
Some are deep wounds that change the course of your life. They become the scar that everyone sees, no matter how much you try to hide it. Some are so small, there's no understanding why we give them any time at all, but we keep giving them center stage. Some are disappointing. We accept them for what they are and hope good comes out it. Once the ice cream hits the pavement, all we can do is hope the ants enjoy the treat.

    I don't know what I'm going to do next. But there are a few things I am sure about.
1) I am good enough for this moment. I can improve, as a mater of fact, I hope I never stop growing and improving.
2) There are options, so this is not a dead end street. And if it were, I'd just have to back track to a cross road.
3) The expiration date on microwave popcorn is a real thing to be paid attention to.

   What I'm trying to say. What I'm trying to show. What I'm trying to tell you is, well,

Trying is trying, so keep trying
   
Peace, Love and Peanut butter cookies for everyone (because stale popcorn is not good)

Don't wait to be your truest you

Sometimes I think about burning my old journals

So that when I die no one has to deal with them

And so no one will read my truest thoughts

Perhaps thinking less of me

When they thought I was so strong and good

Then I realized that those words are, in fact,

My truest feelings and actions

At the best and the worst moments of my living

They show that I was struggling

When people thought I was fine

They show that I was humbled

When people thought I was proud

They show that I was broken hearted

When they thought I was healed

And I wondered

Why hide those words from them

When I die

Perhaps those words will inspire them

To get through the next struggle

They will see that I laughed

When there was much to cry about

They will see that I was proud

When there was still much to be humbled by

They will see that will see my healing

When there was so much breaking my heart

Then I wondered,

Why am I waiting to die

For people to know my truest self

What's the word for the caretaker at the end of life?

 When a person is put in the position of taking a young human, be it by birth; adoption; or life circumstances, to raise to self sustainability it's called parenting. What is it called when a person is put in the position of taking an old human to care for until they come to the end of their days? I can't find one word that sums that up to say what this process is the way "I am a parent" does for the opposite process. There ought to be a word for that.
   
 I have found myself in a position that I didn't think I would ever be in, caring for an elderly parent. My parents have both passed away.
     When my mother was ill, I lived several states away and was raising children. When I would talk about going to her and helping to take care of her, she and family members would say they had it under control and would let me know if they needed me. Mom would tell me to take care of my family.
     When my dad was ill, I was on the other side of the country. My family would say that they would let me know when they needed me to come. To wait until I was really needed. Then he was gone.
     I have described myself as "the bad child" for not taking care of my parents. I don't, honestly, believe that my parents would say that about me. It does show the guilt I feel for not being there for them when they needed care.
     My three, wonderful, sisters did a magnificent job of caring for our parents. The sacrifices they made will never be lost to me.
    
    Then, a couple of weeks ago, the tables turned. My partner's mother had a heart attack. Suddenly we were in the chaos of ER's; cardiologists; hospitalists; stents; pharmacies; and cardio rehab.
     We are thankful that she recognized the symptoms and called for help quickly. We are also thankful that we had just moved into our new home together and we have a place for her to stay until she stabilized.
     I never thought I would be pacing the ER floor over a parent. It is a strange place for me. While it certainly isn't what it would have been for my own parents; it has given me a stronger appreciation for my sisters support system. Husband, boyfriend, friends that rallied behind them and propped them up when they couldn't stand any more.
    As many people as we have helping us move into this next phase is phenomenal. We are learning the language of this new world and figuring out what works for our circumstances. There is an understanding of what this turn means. There have been discussions of last wishes and what to do when she's gone. It's a phase of life that I thought I was done with, I'm glad to be here in a support position. Still, there ought to be one word.

Then this:


I turned my head
For just a moment
A blink of the eye, really
An instant

I don't know how it happened
Seems that it was quick
Life being full of
Work, bills, days, holidays

I am not entirely sure,
Just that it took me by surprise
To turn around to find
You had gotten old

Not in numbers of years
That I understood,
In the person before me
That is you

Marking the occasions
Of first times once again.
Fear in your eyes, where
determination once lived

I knew it would happen
Someday had shown up
Caught us both unready
My heart begins to ache

You have turned down
The last road of life
I can only help you
Stay safe as you travel

Taking the car keys
Holding the bicycle seat
Grasping your hand
Supporting your head

The backward steps of dependence,
Of the end resembling the beginning,
Pretending you aren't dependent
Until we can't pretend any more

To say the child
Becomes the parent
Is not entirely true,
Parents get to keep their work






    

"Writing From the Four Diretions" starts with making sure your compass is true.

     It is odd for me to not immediately write a review about a writing workshop that I have attended. I understand the value of feed back, good or bad. So for it to take me five months to write a review is an astounding amount of time. This review jumps back and forth from Trebor Healey and Saratoga Springs Retreat Center. The venue made the workshop complete. I'm sure it would work other places, but this is the way home feels to me. We'd be family anywhere, but this is our place.

     Writing From The Four Directions, lead by Trebor Healey (http://www.treborhealey.com/) was an event I had looked forward to for over a year. There were a lot of detours to getting there; so when I was finally at Saratoga Springs Retreat Center (http://www.saratogasprings.com/)it was surreal.

     There were three big things that made this especially poignant for me. First, I allowed myself to step away from home after losing my Dad. I feared that the grief I carried with me would distract from the experience. Second, spending money on my craft is something "professionals" do. Taking this trip was, to my thinking, taking a big step in my own view of my work. Third, being the first to do something; even when it is welcomed; is scary. More about that in a minute.

     So, I went. Checking off firsts along the way. The first time I left my state (or county for that matter) to go to a writing workshop. The first time I ever rented a car in my name and was the sole driver. Weird, I know. The first time, this is the biggie, a woman has ever attended "Writing From the Four Directions".
     Trebor and the staff at Saratoga Springs were as excited for me to be there as I was, but would the others be so happy. As we gathered, introducing ourselves individually, then formally in a circle, I remembered the old adage, "open with a joke". "I'm Laura, and I'm not a gay male." As the room erupted in laughter, we all became family.
     Those next few days together were times of trepidation in sharing work, bold honesty, lots of laughter, thought provoking poetry and prose, and tears. 
     Trails that wrap around the retreat center brought times of nurturing friendships and connecting with the earth that is so carefully preserved by the retreat center. Listening to the brook babble it's tales and the wind whistle it's song through the trees took me to a time when wagons and walking brought people to this spot. In the middle of the lawn there is a small plaque, commemorating the post that was there that started this town. I wonder what the trees would say about the people who may have planted them there. And the trees that were there before the people.
    The workshop was structured enough to keep us on track to explore writing exercises, yet loose enough to let the moment be the inspiration. Trebor did a wonderful job of orchestrating the movement of the group.
     As I got into my rental car to return to my life, there was peace that hadn't been with me for a while and joy in the connections I had made.
     So, why then has it taken so long to write this review? If it was all peaches and roses, why not write it right away?
     Time is a great truth teller.
     Trebor and I sat for a little while and looked at some of my poetry. He had taken them the night before and made notes. As we sat there he proceeded to do what Trebor does, he was honest. I listened and tried to ask good questions. But the truth is, my feminine ire rose up. I had not been told how great I am, funny right? No happy voices of assurance. He spoke to me the same way he would any of the guys. I will always be grateful for that.
     Returning home I ran a gambit of emotional responses. "I'm not good. Others have lied to me." Then, "What does he know? Others tell me it's good." Then, my all time favorite, "Who cares about any of this anyway?"
     I love Trebor. I didn't write this review immediately because I knew time would sift out the emotion until the fine powder of truth made the cake rich and fluffy.
     The truth is Trebor is a gay guy. I know, pretty revolutionary stuff right there. Before this two kinds of people had reviewed my poetry, women or straight guys. These two people groups tend to filter their comments through kindness or fear. They are honest, but don't want to hurt feelings; and they don't want a woman to go off on them for being told they need to work on it.
     Trebor wants me to be a better writer. Crazy, I know.
     Having sifted the truth I know a few things. Some of my writing is more feminine than I can explain to Trebor. Women get it without having to explain it. That's okay. Some of my writing is bad. That's okay. Some of my writing ends at a place I'm comfortable with, but he isn't. Neither is bad, it's just different. That's okay.
     What I've learned is to know my audience and write for them, without apologies. To listen to the voices around me, both audible human voices and the whispers and whirls around me. And kick down the box! Take my art to the least likely audience and respectfully listen to their feed back. People who like it, or are like me, will tell me what I want to hear. That's nice, but not helpful. Go where the honesty hurts, pain brings growth.
     I hope that more women will attend Trebor Healey's workshops. His talent for making blunt descriptors poetic and his eloquence in dealing with difficult subject matters, as in "A Horse Named Sorrow", make him a valuable teacher.
     Saratoga Springs Retreat Center is a wonderful setting. Enough creature comforts to be comfortable, but not so much that it detracts from the setting. The staff were all helpful, engaging, and fun. Arnna took very good care of all of us.
     What ever your art is I hope you will go to a place that is very different and learn from the time there. Nurture your mind and spirit to flourish in astounding ways. Find the hope of your art in the differences that surround you.

Look up and find your peace

I got up early on my day off, in hopes of seeing the sunrise. As the day broke it became obvious that there would be no glorious sunrise, instead a blanket of fog hung just at the tree top line.

With a sigh of acceptance, mixed with a smirk of disappointment, I considered going back to bed. Nothing inspiring happening outside, and coffee brewing, I decided to open my computer. As I scrolled around, something caught my eye outside. I looked up in time to watch an eagle gliding over the choppy water, likely looking for breakfast. Then I saw it, the inspiration I had thought would come in the form of a glorious sunrise.

The choppy water.

Early this week I was talking to someone about the fact that knowing that someone else has it worse than you does not diminish the importance of the problems you have. Every one has choppy water, some are minor swells, others are major storms; but everybody has them.

The thing about churning water is that eventually the tide will turn and there will be treasure on the shore. Some of what the churning brings will be trash. As we walk with our heads down, contemplating the churning of life, we need to keep a sharp eye for the good that's come of the storm. If we take time to walk slowly through it there will be beautiful shells and bright sea glass that add beauty and color to our lives.

Today's beauty and inspiration is not in the glorious, breathtaking color of a sunrise. Today it's the quiet gray mist, floating just above the trees and the light breeze churning up the gray/blue waters.

In it I find peace and inspiration, because I looked up. Look up and find your peace.  

A Meditation From My Walk Through the Valley

The path to where you want to be is usually through the last place you want to go. But when you get to where you hoped to go, you know that you can go anywhere. That's when the value of the journey far out shines the reward of the destination.

See the Beauty Through the Regret

     Yesterday it rained most of the day. Then, right about 5 o'clock, it stopped and the clouds moved out just in time for sunset to begin. As the sun shone on the water, I searched the sky for a rainbow. I never saw one. What I did see was a magnificent sunset that turned gray clouds to pink. The earth glimmered as the rain drops became mirrors to reflect the light. And the water turned shades of deep blue, growing softer as it rolled to shore. It was exquisite.
 
     I was glad that I didn't stop watching just because there wasn't a rainbow.

     How often in life do I give up because I don't get a rainbow? What beauty do I miss?

     I live with regret that I didn't go home in time to see my Dad before he died. Now I see that that's not my rainbow. My sisters get that rainbow.

      What I have is memories of long phone conversations we had all most every Sunday for the last few years. Those were magnificent.

     What magnificent beauty are we missing out on because we don't see the rainbow? Or because we live with this foolish notion that we should have no regrets. Regrets remind us to do better next time. We shouldn't be ruled by them, instead we should learn from them.

     I will always wish I had, but now the tears that covered my life are reflecting the light of a magnificent beauty around me. The gray clouds are turning pink with the light of family and friends shining around me. And the water is turning softer, as it gently rolls in to remind me that time moves on.

     What regret are you hiding in a closet because someone told you it doesn't help you in any way? Or because you rather like having a dark cloud to throw around? Take it out and say it out loud, "I wish I had/hadn't...." Then look at all you learned from that choice and how your life is better for it. You can't change what happened, you can change the influence it has on your mindset. Choose to find the beauty that you have because of, or in spite of, the regretful moment.

    Rainbows are a gift, they aren't meant to be chased. The beauty of life is all around us. If we use our tears as mirrors of light, instead of refraction of regret.

   

    

Heart songs

As my mother lay dying, I knelt by her bed and said, "I love you Mom." I heard a whisper back, "I love you." I was shocked at the power of my imagination. My mother was full of morphine, there was no way she heard me, much less responded.

A little while later my sister was in with Mom and I realized they were talking. It wasn't just want or will or imagination. My mother had responded to me. What a blessing.

Now, fourteen years later, I think about that moment and how easy it was to think Mom hadn't really said anything. And I realize how I do that in life.

How easy it is for me to accept the negative words that are hurled at me, while dismissing the positive words are impossible.

That day my heart was listening better than my mind, perhaps it's time to not take the negative words to heart, but to listen to the words that make my heart sing.

I love you Mom. Thanks for the message, I hear you.

On Writing and Feelings

I wasn't prepared for the impact that losing my Dad would have on me. I knew I would be incredibly sad and that I would miss our Sunday evening chats. Never did I expect that I would not have an inkling to write. I write about everything, all the time. Why would that change?

It's been as if the heart has gone out of me and took the words along. Sudden inspiration and characters waking me in the night all stopped. The very thing that connected me to my paternal family, writing, became void of voice, form and will.

At first I missed it, like an injured athlete being told they can't play anymore, I was heart broken. I accepted it as lost and waited to see what would take it's place, preparing to move on to something different. Then, a few days ago, a line strolled across my thoughts and refused to stop. It felt a little strange, like meeting an old lover on a crowded subway. There we were, face to face. Being jostled about, holding our ground until,by the crowd and the force of movement, we are pushed together. Awkward and uncomfortably we started a conversation, occasionally stopping to stare, then turning away. Slowly, between interruptions of load speakers and stops, we are reconnecting.

I'm a little excited and a little nervous. This old friend and I are working through some things, like who I write for and why my voice matters. You know, little things. I'm letting go of the feelings of anger and resentment for what wasn't finished. As I work on myself, all my relationships get better. And today I work on the line...

"She was surprised by the tears that filled her eyes. Never had she felt so amazingly wanted and cared for as she did in that bed, that night. After a lifetime of being told to never need anyone, to be independent, she felt completed by another. Love turned out to be real, and it was in her arms."

Fear of losing inner self

No matter how many wonderful people I have around me
When the voices in my head go quiet
It is incredibly lonely

Cold as a room full of strangers
My mind finds nothing familiar
Nothing to go to for comfort

When nothing I see or hear inspires words
It's as if I have lost my hearing.
No inner sound creates a void

Feeling like a child lost in my own world
Wide eyed, seeking something familiar
Seeing only blurs of color flash by

In these times all I can do is function
Hope the inner voice returns
And wonder who I'll be if it doesn't this time.

Plant your path with careful choices

Life is not a lot thrown for you or a hand dealt to you. Life is a path forged by you.
     If you choose to let the weeds grow, then your life will be full of creeping vines that make progress difficult and tear away at the fiber of your life. Ivy growing up old, brick buildings looks beautiful, but in reality the roots are boring into the brick. One day the brick dissolves to a crumbled mess.
     If you choose to see only weeds, your life is full of desolation that leaves only stems and stumps that entangle you and make you fall. Your life becomes so full of hurt that there's no way to move.
    If you choose to look at each step, using only the tools needed, your life path will clear away. Sometimes you need a machete, other times you only need to gently push the vine away. Wisdom and knowledge of where you want your path to take you will train you to be the master gardener of your path.
    Only when you choose to see your path as more than eradicating weeds and choose to plant the seeds that will grow the things that will bring nourishment and beauty to your life will your path be a peaceful place you seek.

Peace, Love and Peanut Butter cookies for everyone!


I trudged through life's path
Machete in hand
Cutting down everything
That seemed to stand
In the way of my garden path

I was left with bloody stumps
And invasive weeds took root
Tearing me apart
Until I crumbled to pieces
My strength destroyed by the weeds

I began again
Herbicide in hand
Destroying the root of everything
That seemed to stand
In the way of my garden path

I was left with desolate ground
And vast empty land
Leaving me parched
Until I became disoriented
A dehydrated mass of soulless bones

I began again
Pruning shears in hand
Carefully cutting back anything
That seemed to stand
In the way of my garden path

I was left with neatly manicured weeds
Growing bitterness
Leaving me lonely and sad
Until I became harsh
Seeing only trouble for my toil

I began again
Spade and seeds in hand
Removing the things that blocked the sun
Planting the things the added life
Creating my garden path

I sit, surrounded by the goodness of it
Strong from a good work
Nourished by the fruit of labor
Softened by the fragrance of flora
A place for my body and soul to rejuvenate

My path is not without obstacles
Rather it is easier cleared
With the knowledge that comes
From choosing, each day
To begin again

Reality Strikes

Reality Strikes

Reaching over the pillow
I put my ice cream dish
on the table by the sofa
without looking
when I picked it up there was a fly
dead
squished by the orb that fell from
the sky
Sometimes I feel like that fly
sitting and drinking up the ring
of condensation left on a table
happy to be just getting through the day
when BAM
I am crushed by the weighty reality
of someone's empty ice cream dish
Someone else was enjoying the sweet
creamy goodness and left me with the
headache
No matter that the fly had eyes all over
it's body
And could swiftly fly away from harm
It was no match for
Reality
I hope it died happy with it's last drink of
cool water
I will go on enjoying the goodness around me
while knowing some one bigger than me
may be enjoying
Ice Cream

Navigating the fog of life

    A friend was telling me about the fog around her home the last few days. A couple of days ago all around her house was socked in, but she went just a few feet up the road and it was clear. The next day, she watched the fog approach, then suddenly retreat.
     How like fog life can be. Some days you wake up expecting sunshine, and you're surprised by being socked in. Other days you see the fog approaching, and are relieved it stops before it reaches you. Then there are the days you wake up to the fog, push to get moving and ride out of it to discover a sunny day. And there are days the fog stays put all day, leaving everything gray and wet from dew.
     Fact is, fog is going to happen. Like the weather, there's often nothing we can do to control it. What we can control is how we handle those days. Some days throwing the blankets over our head and pretending it's a sunny day is a great option. Most days we have to forge on, in spite of the fog. Turn the headlights on, drive slower, and hope we drive out of it.
     And those times when the fog stays, we can find solace in time to enjoy a book, the company of friends and loved ones, or a good nap. While knowing the dew that comes from it is watering the earth and adding to the beauty of life around us.
     If you can't find your way to being content with the fog, do those around you a favor, blow a fog horn to warn others of the danger they're approaching. We're all just making our way through the fogs of life, no need causing another to crash into the rocks.
    And when you hear the warnings of others, remember to heed them. It's not your job to move the rocks, just to keep your wreck from cluttering the beaches. Steering clear is not a bad thing.
   We all have to work with the conditions of life we're given. Sometimes they will control what we do, where we go, or how fast it gets done. But through it we can know that it's only for a time, sunny days will come; that is where there's hope in the darkness.

Peace, Love, and Sourdough Bread for Everyone (Ha, got ya. I've been baking this week.)

It's Just Not The Same

Have you ever watched a movie that was based on a book and been disappointed that it was not the same? The book was good. The movie was good. Just the movie was too different from the original story, so you were disappointed.

That's how I'm feeling about life today. This is not the way I wrote it. It's not bad, some parts are really good. It's just not what I thought it would be like right now. I am finding it difficult to think about the future in concrete ways, because I know the reality is nothing like concrete. More like asphalt on a hot day.

This.

It is a strange sensation
Walking on asphalt
In sweltering heat
Watching your shoe sink
Into solid
Or what is supposed to be
Solid ground

It's funny to see
Then you wonder
What happens if my shoe sticks

Panic sets in
You quickly search for
A place to escape
Continuing on is
A terrible risk
Knowing that leaving a shoe
Means horrible pain

Finding a place to land
Leap to safety
Look back at the print
Left by your shoes
Laugh

It's easy to laugh
When you feel safe again
But the prints remind you
Of the trouble you walked into
And the need to be wiser
On the journey ahead

The grass may not be green
On this path
But it's won't burn you

Step

When Life Hands You An Unplanned Sabbatical

     I didn't plan on taking a sabbatical from active writing. I planned on writing my way through Dad's death as therapy and example. For nearly 40 days, I haven't felt inspired to write much of anything. Even now it feels a bit forced.
     It occurred to me recently that I don't know how the Red Sox are doing. I'm not a big baseball fan, but Dad would keep me apprised of their play off possibilities. There's no garden report or damn crows being complained about. No contemplation of taking the pole down to the lake to put his line in, which never seemed to happen but got talked about a lot. No end of the league bowling statues' or parties to report. No 6 pm Sunday phone call to make.
    Such a small thing, really. Call between six and seven, west coast time, talk until the news came on, east coast time. I miss his voice, "Hey Laura, how ya doin'?"
    Now there's funeral expenses and VA claims and a house to get rid of and on and on. These are not the memories I would have chosen for this time. They have been thrust upon us and we are dealing with them.
    
     Think about the legacy you want to leave. Start with a will. Even a simple one is better than nothing at all.

     So, my finances were just coming together and they got kicked on the butt, again. The whole situation put me in a place of darkness that made hope hard to see. For a while there I was groping around, searching for some source of light or even a landmark to start from. It came at work, when a co-worker said something about how I was going to be alright. When I returned with a negative comment she sounded alarmed; "You're usually the one that can find a bright spot in anything. If you can't be positive, we're all doomed."
    She made me look at how I was approaching the situation. Anger is a stage of a loss situation, I am angry. It's hard to admit you're angry with someone that you love so much and have lost. But I am. I had expectations that were not met. Expectations of care. I'm unreasonable, it's not an expectation that he would never die. Instead, that he had taken care to have his estate in order so this time would be as uncomplicated as possible.
    It sucks to be angry with someone who's dead. You can't yell at them or get an explanation or have them fix their mistake or unfriend on Facebook. I found myself displacing my anger on other people. This, of course, served no good at all.

 I came to the realization that my anger is with my Dad. That's okay.

 It doesn't take away how much I love him or miss him or mourn him. He didn't mean for it to be like this. He never wanted life to be harder. He just didn't see the forest for the trees.

    Stop today. Stop looking for a lotto win and check your mortgage insurance. Stop looking for a rare find at a garage sale and take out at least enough insurance to pay for your funeral. Stop talking about how you could make lots of money and figure out how to live on what you have.

    Play the lotto, if you enjoy it. Garage sale, if you enjoy it. Keep working on the next big money maker, if you enjoy it.
   None of these things are bad. Just every now and a again, put both feet firmly on the floor and your head in the game, and take care of the realities of life and death.

   There's hope here too. Hope that this will keep someone else from going through a hard time. Hope that we will leave our messes smaller for our families. Hope that, as time goes on, we can have peaceful resolution and the memories can be weeded out to just the good produce.
    I'm off now to set up my craft table to get things ready to sell to help clean this all up. I'll keep paper near by, perhaps by being creative with my handiwork I'll be inspired to words.

One can hope.
Peace, Love, and Peanut Butter Cookies for everyone