There’s no cancer Mecca where everyone faces east at a specific time of day to pray. If your words are true, come sit with me and share your prayers. Else, please don’t say you pray as a good way to design an end to a conversation you’d rather not have. If I can handle nearly every night in the hospital since thanksgiving except for this last week, it’s okay not to pray or say you even think about it, but maybe you do. So, my heart says, “leave it alone and don’t look a gift rabbi in the mouth.” But I can’t.Read more
I’ve received so many amazing letters from people who read my blog or found me through another online channel like my Etsy shop, YeuxDeux Vintage, or on Instagram or Twitter or Facebook. They read about my diagnosis and my current life and find common ground, and I’m honored to communicate with people who were touched enough by my life to personally reach out. I appreciate their candor and I am especially humbled by the emotional outpourings of some of the communications I receive. Unnecessarily, their email begins with an apology for a “stranger” so openly sharing their experiences with me. But are we really strangers?Read more
In which our heroine finds herself clutched in the monster’s filthy, razor sharp claws, afraid for her life. Introduction: The scripting process begins and ends This narrative slowly opens and possibly took several years for the writer to realize the finished script. Editing the story of a life continues beyond publication, past the timeline of […]Read more
My daily meditation for finding peace and light, even through darker days of physical and emotional pain.Read more
Traversing my inner space wearing the lens of metastatic disease, my inner eye wanders into dark places at times. The glasses have me reading invisibilities into ideas that have no real importance. Ideas such as what my life’s purpose what could I possibly serve the world when at the moment I was diagnosed with #metastatic breast cancer three years ago, my needs far outweigh my ability to give. Many days my questions return only an inner sigh of response. My contributions and defining myself and my roles becomes so foggy, so unclear to me.Read more
In cloudy skies we can point to everything,
To find similarity and we described it
In high school English to empty the milk cartons of meaning.
Gentlemen reflect in receding ice cubes and
Swinging across Elm into urbanite cock fights.
Floating, melting into her whiskey colored eyes
The missus distributes disambiguated dinners
With a side of dry rye wit