She runs to the oceanlike she is meeting an old friend,troubles spilling from her like teaas she dashes to the waterline, digging bare toes into wet sand and laughing as gentle wavelets and pillows of seafoamlick at her ankles in welcome. She runs to the ocean, arms wide and lips parted in a jubilation so profound drops of joy streak from her eyes as she’s captured in the wild embraceof salt and sand, sea and sky. Grounded, yet euphoric,she waltzes with the waves—alive.…
Last night before bed, she asked me to listen to her heart, and I didn’t think twice about it. But as I put my ear to her chest, and heard a gentle whooshing that I’ve never heard before, it hit me stronger than ever that barring a miracle, heart surgery is imminent. It won’t be tomorrow, but it is coming…and the fact that her doctors can’t give us a timeframe (months, a year, or years) makes it all the more…
Getting back in the habit of daily writing has been a rather daunting challenge for me. In truth, I’ve been agonizing and overanalyzing my plan of attack around it for months. But with a blog conference in California looming on the horizon, and a promise to myself to be willing to explore and experiment more in my personal writing this year, I’ve finally managed to get a handle on my self-doubt, wrestling it quite forcefully into what I hope will…