- Illinois, USA
- January 26
- On this blog: All words (other than identified quotations) © Sharon Nesbit-Davis, All rights reserved.
You can find me on Facebook: Sharon Nesbit-Daivs, or "The Mime Writes" Logo Design by Dianaani
I work as the Education & Community Engagement Director of a Regional Arts Council which means I beg "the deciders" to fund and support the arts for everyone, not just the rich.
I am also a mime. For those that hate mimes, I understand. But you'll never find me annoying people on the street, unless I'm living there. I'm a "concert mime" ...which means you have to buy a ticket. I haven't done much mime lately...I'd rather be writing.
I've been married to my one and only since 1976. Still happy. Still in love. Two kids, eight grandkids. In college I became a Baha'i (a world religion whose main theme is unity). It keeps me relatively sane in a world gone mad.
MY RECENT POSTS
- From the Memoir: Driving
October 05, 2014 11:27PM
- My Perfectly Flawed Father
(tiny revisions with Update)
June 15, 2014 12:55PM
- Writers & Families
June 01, 2014 11:58AM
May 28, 2014 01:03PM
- My Never-Will-Do List
January 04, 2014 06:46AM
MY RECENT COMMENTS
proverb: "Happy is the father
happy with his
October 20, 2014 11:18PM
- “It cannot open soon
enough...will be looking for
October 15, 2014 02:26PM
- “write, write, write, and
then write some more.”
October 07, 2014 12:38AM
- “thanks for the
nightmares...but then you
October 06, 2014 08:34PM
- “I heard about the plot
of this...somewhere... Maybe
(reported by a calm
October 06, 2014 04:06PM
- MY LINKS
- MY LINKS
- MY LINKS
- MY LINKS
Not been around much because I am working on finishing my memoir centered on my inter-racial marriage and family.
Recent events prompted this...
After a semester of Drivers Ed, and months of practice, our son
has his driver’s license.
He wants to go to a movie with… Read full post »
One day in her kitchen, snapping peas and slicing potatoes, I told my story and she whispered hers, and never talked about it again.
It was long before she became my mother-in-law and when she didn't believe that could happen. She shared her secret with a stranger who became… Read full post »
I never met her but we've traveled together in dreams.
It feels that way.
So much that I know if we had ever met, we'd giggle.
When people ask that old-party-game-get-to-know-you question:
"Among all the people who have ever lived, who would you invite to dinner?"
My first guest… Read full post »
I don't have a bucket list. I couldn't decide how long it should be. If it was too short, I might get done too soon and that would be awkward. If it was too long, I'd feel disgruntled that I ran out of time. That's not how I want to die. … Read full post »
Last night I wasn’t tired when I should have been because there was an ice storm and I came home early from work and instead of doing all the things that need to be done, I slept for three hours.
So at midnight I soaked in a lavender bath,… Read full post »
November 22, 1963
We are back from lunch and recess, still sweaty and unsettled. Mr. Terrell, the principal, walks in. Someone is in trouble. He never shows up unless someone did something. I'm pretty sure it wasn't me.
We sit down as he whispers to… Read full post »
My mother and I had a failure to communicate. That was the perfect line in the movie “Cool Hand Luke”. It became the punch line for late night comics, and teachers trying to be hip. It was a sad, funny line and everyone who used it had their own story. For… Read full post »
The mother of the missing girl says there are no words to describe this pain. When there are no words for something, it’s hard to dismiss. It demands acknowledgement. So while working on a book project, I am taking a break to write this.
Signs for the… Read full post »
"Why do flies always buzz around me?"
I thought this might be a new joke.
She pouted, and asked, "Do they think I'm poop?"
This is my granddaughter's question on the fiftieth anniversary of the March on Washington. I was eleven when that happened, and watched it on our… Read full post »
from my old one,
I bring my Chicago guy
born, raised and fled.
so he’ll come with me
he is in every dream
My summer intern is smart. She listens, observes, and finds creative solutions to problems. She makes me appreciate my job and see it with fresh eyes. I work for a small not-for-profit arts organization. Most projects I work on alone, so there is no one to challenge, or encourage me. I… Read full post »
I called him "Daddy" when he taught me to ride a bike, and baited my fishing hook because I heard the worm scream, and whisker-scratched me good night. I still called him Daddy when he talked about his college track days and set up the high jump in the yard. I have my mother'… Read full post »
This is a memoir (draft) piece for the book I'm working on...
I am waiting for my neighbor to come out and play. Linda yells out her window they have company, but there aren’t any cars in front of her house, so she might be lying… Read full post »
Today my husband is singing in a Choir Festival at the Baha'i House of Worship in Chicago. Two hundred people from all over the country came, including my brother and his wife. They practiced for three days and they will amaze everyone, especially those who heard the first practice.
Most… Read full post »
Before I left work, I exchanged my pants for a skirt. There is no dress code for preparing a body for Baha’i burial, but for Esther, we decided to follow the Native American tradition of women wearing dresses in sacred ceremonies.There are instructions for the shroud: Cotton or silk. We chose… Read full post »
I’ve known things died since I stomped on a bee when I was three. I’ve buried dogs, cats, parakeets, rabbits, and bats. I’ve gone to the funerals of grandparents, my parents, my father-in-law, uncles, aunts, a nephew, a niece, and friends of all ages. I know about death.
But… Read full post »
I was on the committee to plan the "Searching for Racial Justice"* art exhibit, and to be honest, an exhibit on lynchings wasn't what any of us had in mind. I imagined paintings of unshackled hands, or colors swirled across a canvas. Or maybe black and white photos of faces,… Read full post »
Today was an unexpected vacation day. A pipe burst at our office yesterday, there was a mini flood, and they shut off the water. We made it through the day while the repair men planned and prepared their attack. Today it will be too loud to hear or think. They promise… Read full post »
I overheard a woman in the health food store tell her friend she hoped someday "joy" would become her "default" emotion. I lingered in the muscle enhancement section, which seemed out of place in a store dedicated to a natural life style. I wanted to hear… Read full post »
“You are beautiful to me. You always have been, you always will be.”
My husband told me this last Thursday. He doesn’t remember telling me forty years ago he was glad that I wasn’t beautiful. I didn’t know how to react when he said it. He didn’t… Read full post »
The "Searching for Racial Justice" Art Exhibit is disturbing. During non-exhibit hours, the paintings by Suellyn Woodall are draped with black cloth. My ten year old grandson chose not to go because the paintings portray lynchings. His younger brother, chided him. “But it’s your history,… Read full post »