the view from my window

morning sky – December 31, 2011

One of my favorite things about my little cottage is the view from my kitchen window. It’s a double window that faces east-southeast, so, on the days when I rise early enough, I’m treated to some glorious sunrises. Since I live in the city, in an older neighborhood with lots of sixty- and seventy-foot trees, this sort of view is not necessarily a given, because the tree canopy often blocks it. Continue reading

the power of words

Earlier this week, a friend from my theatre days posted a link to a blog post on a website called www.whitehottruth.com. The site is the creation of a Canadian woman named Danielle LaPorte, who is a writer, speaker, and a “strategic and intuitive business advisor.” Danielle writes and speaks from the heart, and the name of her blog is well chosen. She doesn’t mince words, and she has a powerful way of stringing words together so that they burn a searing path into your heart and mind.

She also uses some four-letter words here and there, and Continue reading

quote du jour ~Bach

What are you doing here…? What would you rather be doing, and why aren’t you doing it now?
~Richard Bach

Until the last ten years or so, I couldn’t really relate to these questions.

I’m one of the lucky ones. For most of my life, I’ve made my living doing what I love.  Continue reading

writer’s block

So I have three unfinished drafts for this blog sitting in my posts queue—and that’s only because I trashed a couple of others. I’ve recently been staying fairly busy just trying to keep money coming in, and have also been pretty stressed about one thing or another, so finding the time and the focus to actually sit and write has been a challenge.

This is when that quote comes in—the one that says when we say we don’t have time for something, it actually means we don’t make the time. Guilty as charged, I suppose Continue reading

my father, my self

My father, in college days

I was visited by the spirit of my father this afternoon as I raked my yard.  Turning the rake over and dragging it along the ground to release the leaves that had been skewered by the tines, I was pulled back in time to the day my dad showed me this little trick of unclogging my rake.

A simple thing, of course, but, at the time, to the child that I was, it was amazing. It was one of those “how cool is that!” moments. I’ve never lost the feeling of childlike wonder and delight at learning what seemed at the time to be a mysterious grownup secret that my dad was letting me in on. I still think it’s a pretty neat trick, and his presence is with me every time I do it.

I have these sorts of moments from time to time. I recall my father showing me how to sweep dust out of a corner; every time I jab a broom into a tight spot—just so—he is there. I remember ballroom dancing with him to Lawrence Welk’s music on television, telling me as he led me around our tiny living room that the proper way to dance was on the balls of my feet—my very first dancing lesson, by the first of what would eventually be many dance teachers.

Continue reading