These wildflowers cover the berm on Dylan and Anika's land in Idaho; they call them 'Grampa Flowers'. They are from seed packets I shared on the day we, his family, buried the ashes of my dad in the deep, dark, cold earth of a New England winter in 2021.

This month we would have celebrated Dad's 95th Birthday. I imagine his birthday might have started with a donut and ended with sharing a cup of hot tea with Mom. He would be in his recliner; content, happy to have received visits and calls from loved ones.

Dad had dark eyes, brownish-black with thin eyelashes. The hair on his head was thick and wavy, touching his collar. He carried half a comb in his wallet. In this wallet, which was kept closed by an elastic band, there was a toothpick and photographs of us. There were a couple of credit cards. Not much cash. Though Dad was sometimes thought to be frugal with paper money, he was generous with his care, concern, and love for us.
Beauty remains a powerful way to hold grief.

xo

 

July 2026

July: The month I was born.

​

A month of long days.

The month of hometown parades.

And corn on the cob.

Shooting stars. Sparklers. Swimming holes. 

Sunshine. Sipping. Days slipping past.

Hold LOVE to it all. xo

June 2026

 

Behind the gauze curtain

twenty-four dark-skinned beauties

stepped to the right and forward,

red dots centered above the eyes

of the women who looked at me and smiled:

My insides turned to the wind,

to the hopes of being recognized

for who we each are:

Crooked teeth or wobbly knees:

Each of us sharing a time and place.

I bowed and turned towards the light. 

xo

May 2026

 With all that's going on in the US of A and the world, 

it's been a time of holding on for dear life. 

                                        It's what we can do. This...and remembering to connect 

                                                            with community and loved ones. 

It's difficult to hold so much loss and confusion 

while balancing against even a blue sky,

yet the vastness offers itself, and in these peaceful moments, 

it's good to know that love is King.

And Queen. And all the kings' horses and birds and more. 

Love is THE way! xo

April 2026

Song makers settled on the blackberry canes

between thorns and sunshine, precious was

the word that came to mind and heart and

as they opened their shiny beaks, I felt the 

song between my bruised ribs, all week 'the

cough' hung to my chest wall, crushed my 

breath and still I sang along with the birds, 

and survived to witness the simple beauty

and joy of it all. And who am I for this?  xo

 

March 2026

 

Don't say it. Not again. The in like a lion, like a race horse, like a broken shelled creature, like there's no tomorrow. Or yesterday. Like you aren't sleeping, aren't well.  Don't remind me of the friends who finally cut loose, or the sisters who no longer call or care. Don't say time heals. Take off your black cloak, it's magic or mystical, don't tell me about the unknowns you carry in your pockets, place on the bedside table. Don't say the sky is falling, or looks like a famous painting. Don't ask me to look away. xo

February 2026

Yesterday, during a three-hour online Mystical Memoir workshop, the invitation given was to write in response to several prompts. One being: Before I Die. And another: Since You've Been Gone. Loved ones lived in the ink I pressed to the pages. Later, in the morning, I accidentally spilled half a glass of water onto my desk, and my words spread and blurred. I cried some more. Tenderness was the word I latched onto as I wiped up the mess and placed the soggy papers on the floor to dry in the sunlight. This morning, as I turn the calendar page on my desk, I notice this, too, had been touched by the blur, and so I took it as a sign to soften. I turned down the light, took the offered cup of tea in my hands, and blew across the surface while making a wish. It's the same wish I often make, but it's a new day...xo