“Time will tell.”
“There is a crack in everything, that’s how the light gets in.”
“There’s always light at the end of the tunnel.”
“Time you enjoy wasting is not wasted time.”
“Your time is up.”
What, exactly, will time tell? Will it tell me that my days are numbered? Personally, I’d like to think that my days are worded. My days are stories, one-by-one as a child, then a dozen, then hundreds as the years roll on.
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I view the strange world
a vantage point of distance
Seated at my desk.
Clouds and sunshine peek
Like flirts on a summer’s day
Through the window blind.
Birds sweep with a laugh
Through the orange red branches
I spread my wings too.
So many times in my youth I felt awkward, in so many ways. But I’ll start with the first indication that for my entire life I’d be …. awkward. Continue reading
I seize the opportunity to use my new earbuds, a gift to myself last December that I still hadn’t figured out how to use. Not sure why I had felt such a need to buy them except for the fact that I watched my two grandchildren – 11 and 12 – walk around their house smiling as they listened to a book (or music?) with small white objects stuck in their ears. Continue reading
In Section II, Fun Family Drama
No, you may not believe that I – a writer, an author, a consummate reader – rarely (as in hardly ever) read the reviews of my books. How gauche. How extremely weird. Or, you may say, how cowardly.
But when I wrote Flashes of Life (my latest, now a little over a year old) it was nearest and dearest to my writing heart because it’s …. memoir. Fortunately for my readers, it’s flash memoir, which means you can sit outside on the front porch in your rocking chair, and within five sips of your iced tea (or Diet Coke, or lemonade, or beer if it’s almost sunset) you’ll have finished one of my stories in this flash(y) compilation of my life’s anecdotes. 
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