• Made Things

    Ten Things About my Mother (for my birthday)

    One of my favorite things about teaching Elementary School was being able to read aloud to children. I miss it a great deal. There’s a chapter in a wonderful book by Kate DiCamillo called ‘Because of Winn-Dixie’ about a “big, ugly, suffering dog with a sterling sense of humor” whom the main character, Opal, dubs Winn-Dixie, because she found him outside a grocery store. Opal and her father are on their own because her absent mother died ‘because of the drink,’ he tells her. Then he recounts 10 things about her mother, one for each year Opal had been alive.  This inspired me to make my own list about my…

  • My Poems

    How to Measure Time {a #poem}

    I swerved around a swallowtail today, its goldblackblue mosaic translated across the glass and gone. Street’s curbed outline caught the corner of my eye as the colorburst startled me to noticing, awakened me to a sight just past the neighbors. A sudden glimpse of canines at their master’s feet—heads anon, ears aperk—then they rose and trotted on. ***** What if darting visions, experience, growth were not an arrow whizzing by in time but instead layers that land over our lives like a blanket? What might we make of it, the mundane atop daysweeksmonths of richness? Years folding slowly, one event or view at a time—like the memory of a butterfly’s…

  • My Poems

    Cocoon-{a #poem}

    I slip on this chosen shelter, hide within silken walls and wonder— How long will these layers hold? Fragile pearlescence surrounds me- who’s to say? My shattered self is still, waiting. Gauzy quiet and singular, barren days envelop me by the hour. I take pains with my words, listen more, defy the urgency of unnecessary things. Spinning a private insulation preserves me heart and mind, a soundless cushion while my soul heals. —– No one can chart a butterfly’s birth. Not really. Skin is shed, the surprise of color shocks as wings unfurl, breathing life into deep- down cells. Chrysalis—gold. All that remains when death is past and days have…

  • Made Things

    Finding Life in Fissures of Glory

    “These have come so that the proven genuineness of your faith—of greater worth than gold, which perishes even though refined by fire—may result in praise, glory and honor when Jesus Christ is revealed.”                                                 1 Peter 1:7 NIV I’ve begun this post at least three times in the last three days. It’s been awhile since I’ve written anything in this space and my thoughts don’t coalesce as well. It seems a great number of things slip through the cracks, what with the energy it takes simply to manage…

  • The Church Year

    Rahab, Holy Week & Hamilton, A Scarlet Thread

    The Scarlet Cord There was no faithline or family promises passed on through prayer. Only a bloodline from Creation’s start, A scarlet thread bound and wound together, a cord the color of life made by a Weaver who dyed it red with blood. Woven with the loom of love, a lifeline coming my way~ over the wall and bright enough for me to see, alone and far away like Rahab’s spies. Salvation’s sign let down from Heaven, life ring through the air, a grasp of new grace as I welcomed my Omnipresent Pursuer. No earthly reason to be ushered in save for God sending a sign to this wanderer in…

  • My Poems,  Poetry

    Gilt Gift {a #poem}

    Sometimes I guilt myself right out of joy. Like the surprise of an iridescent butterfly from an unsightly cocoon, who would expect this shimmering show in morning sunlight? Eyes are trained on Northwest firs framed in blue, frosted feeders, feathered presents hidden among the trees. I’ve held my breath, wondering. Did my mother ever ponder stilling herself, take a moment with the birds in her California garden? Gaze restful at morning fog carried in on marine air? Was she ever at ease in her troubled life, as she parented us alone? I will never know. I cannot ring her up to ask, there is no email to send, no letter…

  • Hearts on Pilgrimage,  My Poems

    My Favorite Poem From my New Book

    What My Grandkids Will Say About Me on Oprah When my grandkids talk to Oprah     about their Nana, the famous writer, they will say words were my oxygen–     to read, to write, to share, and that I spent way too much money     at Thrift Stores on books by dead authors– Emily Dickinson, George Herbert, LM Montgomery     and Keats. They will also tell her I loved to sing–     another form of breathing– and how I embarrassed them in public     by belting out the “Tomorrow” song from Annie or grabbing their elbows in the mall     while shouting “We’re off…

  • Hearts on Pilgrimage

    Hearts on Pilgrimage-Poems & Prayers is HERE!

    Available now on Amazon, Barnes & Noble or from your independent bookseller. Hey Dear Readers–rejoice with me? Almost nine months to the day since I began paying attention to the nudge from God to publish my poetry, Hearts on Pilgrimage-Poems & Prayers has been officially birthed into the world. As a self-published author, one never knows what surprises await and – ta da! – here’s my book ahead of time. (I originally chose Jan. 26th as Book Day, but what do you know? It’s an 11th Day of Christmas gift. I do hope you’ll consider buying a copy for yourself, especially if you’ve thought, “I don’t like poetry,” or “I…