Our Own Rainbow

I remember there was this one morning when my mom randomly woke me up abnormally early when I was a little girl, not older than six. I didn’t have school that day, so I was confused as to why we were getting up. It was so cold and rainy outside, just enough for you to…

Ivy

I don’t have much of a green thumb, though my family history and childhood would have you assuming the opposite. My mother is the one who is great with plants, and she, along with my dad, created a beautiful home for both me and their greener babies over the last couple of decades. I remember…

PIVOT

PIVOT.  For some, this word comes with the thought of sports. Others think of its purpose in mechanics as a central point around which another dohickey oscillates or turns. Then there are those like myself, who can only see it as a reference to a wonderful moment involving a couch, a staircase, and an overpriced…

Don’t fret, kid.

Hi you,  I know it’s been a while since we’ve actually talked ( if we’ve even ever actually talked), but I’ve been thinking about you a lot lately. My darling Inner Child, how’ve you been? I’m sure you have so many questions about this new world we exist in now. Different isn’t it? From that…

The Crippled-Pen Crew

They say to just write. As a writer, why does that feel like it should come more naturally than it does? Is this my old pal writer’s block? Or a new friend, The Imposter Syndrome? Or is it the gang of the ever-present, but never acknowledged: Laziness? Fear? Doubt? But if I were to truly…

Altar

A 3-wick candle, scent: Tiki Beach. A small glass makeshift flower vase made from a recycled medicine jar. A couple of white carnation flowers sneakily whisked away from an actual flower vase that my mother keeps fresh florals in beside a picture of my beautiful late grandmother.  A bottle of rosè standing beside a second…

But it’s Thanksgiving

Let me paint you a word picture. You can let me know later whether it’s a comedy or a tragedy. I won’t be offended. I’ve considered both and can deny neither. It’s Thanksgiving. A friend of mine is sitting at her living room dining table half-dressed for a family dinner in a classy beige knit…

A Thank You to Street Musicians

There’s introducing yourself, there’s being introduced. Then there’s looking over your shoulder to realize that you’re swaying to the same song in the same direction in the same time. A brief bond, a few-second friendship. No words exchanged, but a flow matched. A different kind of introduction. JMP

November 11

It’s a usual November evening, or I suppose I should say the dead of night knowing it’s a little before 11pm, and I seem to be the only sign of consciousness in our home. I’ve just finished watching 10 Things I Hate About You for the hundredth time on television, so I’m obviously in a…

A Beautiful Conversation

Growing up, I never really had much of an interest in books. The earliest memories I have of books, like many others, were of my mother and my grandmother reading to me back when I couldn’t do so myself (honestly, I asked them to even when I could). For some reason, the desire to read…