- Austin**•.¸♥¸.•**not-Texas, Texas, USA
- May 28
- ♪♫ ♥ Diva ♥ ♪♫♥
- Mom, partner, listener, healer of wounds large and small, dog-petter, writer, pie baker, star shooter, wine appreciator, hungry muse, part-time pirate and pole dancer.
MY RECENT POSTS
- Keeping it Weird, Austin Style
February 14, 2014 10:05AM
- A Call to D-O-G
October 08, 2013 11:33AM
- Sparkie, the Wonder Dog
August 14, 2013 06:10PM
- The Remembering
January 16, 2013 11:42AM
- Barely Breathing
August 01, 2012 05:50PM
MY RECENT COMMENTS
- “Always a joy to read
about a treasured writer such
And your questions
January 21, 2015 10:24PM
- “Absolutely beautiful.
Emma's poem captures it in a
way, but words so
October 31, 2014 09:45PM
- “Chilling and
October 28, 2014 11:27AM
- “An enjoyable interview,
thanks to the both of
October 26, 2014 10:29AM
- “I relate to this. Not
having cancer but, in the wake
son's brain injury,
October 04, 2014 01:46PM
- MY LINKS
- MY LINKS
- MY LINKS
I stand in the door way of your room. It smells like teen spirit which really means it smells like teen boy. It’s been almost two years since I laid in your bed, sobbing as I took in the scent left behind on your pillow. Now, I ache in your… Read full post »
Sometimes I read a posting on OS just because of the poster’s name. Some names suggest aspects of a person such as their profession: psychomama, lunch lady 2, teendoc. Others I come to find out that there is an attachment to someone or a beloved pet: cartouche, asperger mom, and sca… Read full post »
Most of my life has been spent in a quiet truce with the world around me. Early on, I learned to adapt, to duck and to dodge. I learned the importance of not drawing too much attention to me, sometimes doing this by getting lots of positive attention. I was… Read full post »
Today I heard stories about being beaten up and humiliated by others. My sadness at hearing these stories crept into my consciousness and I felt a sort of stillness that I associate with depression. In the meantime, a text message came in from a friend stating, "It's okay to take care… Read full post »
"Love after Love"
by Derek Walcott
… Read full post »
The time will come
when, with elation,
you will greet yourself arriving
at your own door, in your own mirror,
and each will smile at the other's welcome,
and say, sit here. Eat.
You will love again the stranger who was your self.
“Look!” He walks into the room carrying a dirty, heavily smudged mirror.
The piece is large, almost 4 x 6, the edges bevelled in an art deco approximation. He cheerfully scrubs the mirror and its beauty reappears. In our small, scarcely furnished apa… Read full post »
Every day that I see you
I see change
Every night that I see you
I fear change
Your strengths create false promises
While your limitations
Crowd my imagination
Your limitations are too heavy for you… Read full post »
It's Friday. It's been a long week of hyperbole and shouting, of hope and fear, of not knowing what end truly is up. It's been a week wherein my head whips in surprise at unexpected words and my heart skips at a beat at the sound of my beloved's voice. I… Read full post »
My hope is more fragile than I wish to admit.
I talk a good talk but when the winds pick up, when there is a crack in the floor, a thud against the wall, I seem to become Chicken Little. I don’t cry, the sky is falling! but I do/… Read full post »
I'm relatively new to OS. I have learned that there are some wonderful writers and readers and commentators on this multi-faceted thing we call life. I've also been surprised by my own realization that one can actually SCREECH on this arena.
If you are going to post a blog, and want… Read full post »
The picture called out to me. I am not sure why--it was slightly grainy, black and white, blurry. It was of a man but seemingly not of a single man. In this partial shot the misery and fear of many faces seemed to be present. The one man seemed to be… Read full post »
The feel in my hand is highly pleasurable. Sensual. I allow myself to linger over what might be called a chore, but it is not because this action rewards me. It rewards me with the earthy smell, with the fiery feel of oils, with small crunchy bits of seed.
Why is it I can never be alone? No matter what I do, go outside to rake up leaves, make something in the kitchen, curl up in a distant corner with a book, go to the bathroom--no matter what I do, I have a voice or a body or both nestling… Read full post »
This is an excerpt from my in-progress work on becoming the parent of a disabled child: My 15 year old son was hit by a car while he was riding a bicycle. No helmet protected his head and he suffered a traumatic brain injury. He was placed into a medically-induced coma… Read full post »