Posts Tagged "my writing"

My Life With Bugs

The Smallest Creatures And Their Mess I feel like my whole life has been defined by bugs. I suppose I should feel like it has been defined by God. But I don’t. It’s the bugs. They are always there. Even when you don’t want them to be. But, then, why would I ever want them to be there? I grew up on the coast of Maine, a state where its greatest boast is that in the long, long winters THERE ARE NO BUGS. No bugs when I...

A Saint

Ida It’s funny, choosing my own grandmother to be a saint. She was my nemesis as a child.  The person who stood between me and myself.  Who did her best to block any affirmation and acknowledgement coming my way. It is funny because just the writing of the above sentence caused an image to flash through me.  It was of my grandmother as a child herself. Second to the youngest.  Three older sisters, one older brother.  I know from...

On Sidewalks

Raise Me Up, Lord. I have strong feelings about sidewalks. Having grown up in the country—so country that most of the road I lived on wasn’t paved—in that setting I have no problem with taking a walk with the dogs down the middle of the road.  Or on a leaf-strewn path through the woods. But get me to a place where there are more cars than trees and I get more demanding about what my feet land on when I am outside and getting...

On Sacrifice

Turning Inside Out We have an insides.  And we have an outsides.  And, in the usual manner of things, the outsides are what is valued.   The look.  The sound.  The actions. Yes, we manage to say, from time to time, that someone is beautiful on the inside.  But does that comment ever have any real impact on anyone? But we are in ordinary time and ordinary life when we care about our appearance.  Our behavior.  Our life. When we step...

On Quiet

The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly The Good The Good thing about quiet is the beautiful music that is there.  The swirling tones that enfold you. The Good thing about quiet is how I can hear better what you are thinking and feeling when you aren’t speaking to me.  The quiet has its own voice.  Its own knowledge. Its own approach to life.  It can go inside you to places that you aren’t even aware exist.  The Good thing about...