A week ago, the chemo curls were long enough to where I pulled out my hair product and accessories. I felt like a girl again. Less than a week ago, knowing the nightmare of watching my hair fall out and me too vain to have it shaved, I went in for the hip-grandma look of what is essential a female’s butch cut. This halted some of my joy. It halted some of my fantasy that I was a normal person again—like one who doesn’t live her life around cancer every day.
We have a wide-open chance to find our connection with each other as opposed to our differences that mean nothing once the fires of fear have engulfed the middle path to knowledge, peace and interconnection.
Honestly, I do not like wearing a mask. It’s not comfortable, I feel like others don’t know if I’m smiling when I speak or not. I can’t see the mouth expressions of others wearing a mask. And it just plain muffles me.
Busty orange breasts take presence in the courtyard, wiry feet cling to a copper rim precariously balancing the full weight of each […]
This post is directed to those of us who just want to crow and crow loud. Yes, a bit of crowing feels good—but it is exactly way the disruptors have behaved for too many years. Let us not follow that muddy path.
The world changes of 2019 are no better than in 1967. There are leaders without compassion, ethics or foundational morality. Power and greed are the key words affiliated with a growing handful of leaders around the planet. Followers cheer these leaders on, while others cry foul. How does this happen? I suppose the answer lies somewhere within the same reasons for a 1967 power grab and the people who asked for nothing more than a warm home in the winter, a full pantry, and reasons to give gratitude each morning.
It’s a December day when still cloaked in your flannel pajamas you linger over a hot cup of coffee and peruse your old Christmas decorating and recipe idea books.
Yesterday the first real snowfall blanketed my outside view in sparkling white. Everything beneath the water-laden sky transformed into pure crystalline snowflake-covered […]
While I dream of being an artist someday, and I believed that the near-perfect world of California’s Central Coast would transform my dream to reality, here I am, back in New Mexico reveling in the spice, the exotic, the contrasts, the heat, the cold, the dark and the light again. Creative juices bubble within my slightly worn body. What causes the shadow artist within to scream for release in this rarefied air and light?
Life seemed abundant in this rare forest — one of three Monterey pine forests in the world. But it dies a bit more with each blink of the eye. Pines once with green needles are now tinged in burnt-sienna — the first sign of a tree’s fight for life.