Hands Tell Stories

I look at the woman’s (Elizabeth is her name, ironically the same as my mother’s) hands sitting next to me. Suddenly, my eyes are filled with tears. It is heavy, fast — how they fill. I think of my mother’s hands. I see my mother’s hands: her wrinkles, blue veins.

Elizabeth’s sunken patches of skin embrace me, almost strangle me with emotion. It takes me several minutes to collect myself. I’m almost ready to excuse myself from the meeting because of the hot tears.

I calm down as I write, sure not to look at her hands anytime soon.

* I wrote that in my journal two years ago. I was cleaning out a closet, procrastinating studying.  I have been studying and preparing for a huge presentation/training I am doing. I thought that was a poignant journal entry and well-written if I say so myself. OK — back to procrastinating and organizing my closet.

Perfect Day at the Farm

I fed a tan donkey with a white trimmed belly with feed bought from a gumball machine. His cool tongue licked my hand clean. My son shared his two quarters worth of feed.  I kept thinking memories are made on these such days.

 My husband and I invested our date night budget into paying for our family to visit the farm. We invited my in-laws and paid their way. Memories are priceless.

  Ben bounced. I watched until I joined in discarding care like a wool coat in summer. I was happy and buoyant. Children embrace joy with such giggly grace. I am trying to get back to this joy and innocence again. I’ve been struggling with anxiety and grief this fall season. There are two December death anniversaries that have been on my mind (Dad 12/11/2003 and Mom 12/24/2012) and I have been feeling cranky about the upcoming holidays, cursing all things pumpkins, harvests, and straw filled. 

 Joy trumps grief though. Period. And Kids are catalysts.  They in fact, create joy. 

I have been volunteering in my son’s kindergarten class facial ting LEGO play writing workshops. It’s the best part of my day. And wow, do those kiddos create! Jump. Jump into joy, like kids do.

I don’t know why I have been so closed off from my own creativity. Probably because I have been trying too hard to teach it for others. I have been leading workshops in schools and recently presented on it at a conference. Do as I say, not as I do. Right?

 Some days are magic. Today was one.   

I can’t pinpoint when my grip let go and I cast away a heavy curtain that has prevented me from writing for fear of a mistake. I have jailed myself within my own prison of self-doubt. Today, those bars broke. 


Perhaps it was the magic of a perfect day. Holding hands with Grammy and seeing my little boy shine.  

Glowing orange circles delight under a  crisp, clear, Carolina blue sky. Delight. A noun.

 A goat. Some chickens. And some feet.   A cowgirl.  

A perfect day💗  

Making Corn Angels. This was quite cal in actually. Another mother agreed.

Each day there is growth, not always measurable.
We go towards light. Light provides warmth. Today was a warm day weather wise and heart wise.


 Milking a cow (kind of).

 Today was layered — perfect in pose.

  Riding horses. A perfect day.

My crew, my heart. Led by a five year old. He loved this day as much as me.

 My cowboys — my heart.

 A perfect day

  A selfie with my father-in-law

It’s hard to say what makes a perfect day but beauty, Family and fun are the recipe for the music of life to sing.