Girl Gone Walkabout

My precious daughter, it’s been over a year since you decided to go walkabout. I don’t know what made you slip off the grid in the end.  Sometimes, I think maybe your desperate need to be “you” finally won out over your desperate need to be “perfect.” My sweet girl, I understand you had to be exhausted. What a battle!

I never expected you to be perfect, because God knows I’m not. You were always much harder on yourself than I could have ever been. It’s part of the human condition to make mistakes – over and over and it’s not easy to forgive yourself and keep moving forward. I didn’t anticipate the possibility that you would come to a full stop and disappear.

I can only hope that your need to be you eventually leads you right back to me. You know where I am; my arms wide open and a heart full of love.

I miss you. So much.




Good For Goodness’ Sake

My beautiful daughter, what has happened to goodness for the sake of goodness? When you watch the evening news, doesn’t it appear that most of the world has forgotten this concept? Sometimes it looks like there is no goodness left in the world, or it seems like people expect a reward when they do get around to doing good. Something is wrong in life these days. Bad is good and good is bad.

Many thanks to the people who take a moment to give their own shoes to the homeless, rescue a drowning dog from a river, give breathing support to a kitten pulled out of a smoking building, provide food and shelter for starving children, give medical help at risk of their own health or offer a message of hope, life and peace to the downtrodden – with no expectation of a reward – except knowing in your own heart you’ve done something good.

This world could use more goodness for goodness’ sake, right my girl?


Eulogy for Horn the Beautiful

This is a Eulogy for your beautiful Egyptian Mau, my girl. I mentioned him in a previous post entitled: Maus in the House. His name was Horn. Weird name for a cat, but I remember the conversation between you and your cousin that led to his name. It was a joke, because who would really name a cat “Horn?”

He was the most photogenic cat I’ve ever personally known. I don’t know how you managed to catch him in all those poses!

I know, my precious daughter, that he died on Monday. And I know your heart must be broken because he’s been your companion since he jumped out that box into your arms so many years ago.

This is my way of being there with you in your grief. I will miss him, too.



My Love Affair with Scissors

Kid cutting hair to himself with scissors, funny look

It all started at about age 5 when my Mom bought a Bride doll as the centerpiece for my new bedspread. She was a beautiful doll in a white wedding dress with long blonde hair. There she sat, centered perfectly, just in front of the pillows on my bed.

   Hold up.

Something’s NOT right with that hair! Thus began my love affair with scissors and hundreds of bald headed dolls.

At the tender age of 12 I refused to EVER go to the “beauty parlor” again after coming out of a perm looking like the Bride of Frankenstein. “I can do better than this myself and I’m only 12!!” I wailed to my Mom.

So, my bathrooms have always been set up so I have mirrors on opposing walls to view all sides of my hair, depending on the angle of the mirrors.  I LOVE scissors.

I thought you inherited my love of scissors, my girl, when I caught you (hmmm, at about age 5) behind the sofa with a pair of my scissors to your head.  One side of your hair all the way up to your ear. I yanked you up and hauled you to my bathroom. You looked like that beautiful little Bride doll sitting there facing the mirror with your feet in my sink. But, something’s NOT right with that hair!

I don’t think you’ve touched a pair of scissors to your hair since that day. Is it too late to tell you I’m sorry you started Kindergarten looking like a beautiful boy?




HOW DO I LOVE THEE, my precious daughter? LET ME COUNT THE WAYS:

1.  I LOVE your smile. I’ve watched it light up a room, but I loved most how it lit up my life.

2.  I LOVE your courage. You’ve never been afraid to jump in at the deep end – no fear.

3.  I LOVE your freckles. The sun kisses your face in the most beautiful places.

4.  I LOVE your laugh. It’s magical, like fairies dancing on wind chimes.

5.  I LOVE that you never run out of words and playfully make some up, when needed.

6.  I LOVE your confidence. It shows in the way you dress, think, speak and live.

7.  I LOVE your kooky curiosity. You look at every side of a matter; then go look again.

8.  I LOVE how YOU love to make your own music and play nearly every instrument.

9.  I LOVE that you’re a crazy cat lady. They know it, too, and they stick to you like lint.

10. I LOVE that you love me. Even when you can’t tell me. I know it and I love you MORE.



Who could excite our imaginations better than the ancient Greeks? Every nation knows the tale of the Greek’s mythological Phoenix. Rising up out of the ashes to soar.  You can’t deny that there’s something about this particular Greek myth that speaks to all humans. We just love stories about life-transforming success in the face of tragic ruin.

If I could wish anything for you, my darling daughter, this would be your story. I’m on your side. I’m your foremost cheerleader. You don’t see me or hear me, but I’m here everyday – begging you to get back on your feet, rise from the ashes and soar. Go, my girl!

I miss you. So much.




An Introvert’s Manifesto


I swear it’s not because I don’t like you, world. You’re a fun place, really, but you’re too big and too loud. More than a couple hours at a time, tops, is just too much. Be patient with me, I’m still working on these things.

By the way, before you settle down to make a call to me, will you check carefully to see if you can just text instead? I’m screening the calls, you know, and you’ll just go to voicemail. Sorry; well, not really.

Nope, I don’t hang out with other introverts, either. There’s not an Introverts Anonymous. None of us would show up for that, anyway.

Did I tell you that I don’t like parties? That’s why, if I even make it at all, I’m always late and I leave early. I don’t like to make small talk. It feels fake to smile and nod and try to keep up my end of the conversation. I leave with a social hangover every time. Then I need to spend the next 24 hours alone – recharging.

There’s no need to feel sorry for me. If I do make it to the party, I’m quite happy sitting in the corner watching how other people can flutter around the room like a butterfly, laughing and talking and touching every single person at least once. Amazing. Just try not to touch me, please.

So, I just needed to get this off my chest. It’s not a big deal if you don’t read my manifesto. It was enough for me just to write it down.


(featured photo credit: