childhood
Standing before a clump of bushes I pulled my shirt out and let the red berries I was gathering collect in the little well that was made. I took my time. Pinching the berries off the branches with my tiny thumb and forefinger and carefully pulling off all the stems
babble
I remember sugar cookies with great fondness. Whenever we made them as a kid, which I don't recall doing often, I took great joy in the cutting and decorating of them. Frosting, sprinkles, candies. Fun. But the eating of the sugar cookies I never reveled in. I never
kaos
For the most part my resurgence in posting as of late is just me diving back into myself. Allowing me a chance to be me for a while and to work with something I love. Words. My love affair with words started when I was young. Very young. When my
babble
As a child I hated any egg that was not hard boiled. Hate is not an overstatement. It might, in fact be an understatement. I loathed eggs that were not boiled. Easter eggs? Sure. Hard boiled eggs mashed up with butter, salt and pepper? Yes please. Deviled eggs? Yes, and
k
babble
I miss hard words coming out of my mouth. Once upon a time before I was able to spout fairy tales of rainbows and princesses riding unicorns to their coronation as queen of utopia I was the kind of girl that could cuss a blue streak. I'd make
mommified
Rub a dub dub, Three men in a tub, And who do you think they be? The butcher, the baker, The candlestick maker. Turn them out, knaves all three! Do you remember that rhyme? For some reason it sticks in my head more so than any other I learned as
childhood
When last I wrote to you, oh gentle readers, I was in the throes of a what to wear crisis. I had a long day ahead of me and I had to dress myself for two very special, very important, very different events. The one I did mention was the
childhood
Friday night as we were just wrapping up the recording of Strange Love my phone rang. It was upstairs and on silent but I could hear it vibrating on the side board in the dining room. Since we stop recording around midnight I thought it was a little odd that
Portland
When I was little I liked nothing better than to curl up in my bed, in a chair, on my mother's lap and hear a story. It didn't matter if it was read from a book, a story from my parents' childhood or a story
Uncategorized
I remember being barefoot and gliding through the sky in the shade of a tree. My heart was pounding as I took great gulps of air, I was terrified and invincible all at once as I pumped my legs forward and back willing myself to go higher and higher. To
childhood
I lay perfectly still, exactly in the middle, unmoving. My hands and feet were tucked snugly into the blanket, my neck was safely covered by sheets. There was absolutely no way they were going to get me, it was impossible, improbable or at the least quite unlikely. The witch hiding