Pieces of life …

I’ve begun to pack away bits of life

Crystal pretties – ducks and bunnies

Voodoo dolls

Shells with memories

Artwork saturated with sweetness

A pink memory book that holds one finished page

but is littered with notes, receipts and sparkly pieces,

that still wait to be fastened.

Wanting to belong.

Yet somehow knowing they never will.

A dried flower falls softly to the ground – undone from its hidden place..

Books with earmarked pages

all gently wrapped  and placed in green bubbles and brown cardboard.

One soul defined –


heart remembered –



not forgotten.

My father …

I miss my father.

I’ve been thinking of him lately.

It’s odd really.

I have wondered recently what it would be like to talk to him about relationships and guys.

Strangely, we never did when I was growing up.

And now that he’s gone, it’s something I find I would really like to discuss.

Well that and the fascination that people have with football.

You see, my father loved the sport.  So much so that when I was growing up, my mother made him promise to spend one day a weekend with the family.  You may not think this would be much of a hardship, however to my father it was like being asked to donate an organ on a weekly basis.

I imagine that today would have made him very happy.  Even though his beloved 49er’s weren’t in the game.

It’s at times like this that I wish I could see his handsome face light up with child like excitement once more.

Michael (my father) loved life, holidays, Summer time, BBQ’s and so many other special things.

I realize that I am just 6 years younger than he was at his death.

He was much too young.

Alas …

Is It Real Or Is It Memorex?


They make up our being.

Bits and pieces of the past lingering within our brain cells and soul.

First kisses forever  felt

The scent of a gentle Spring rain

Sticky watermelon fingers on a hot Summer day

Rich red velvet cake tickling a taste bud

The scent of  a lovers skin

Moments indelibly burned into our psyches always within our reach should we need them.

They have the ability to comfort and bring warmth on a cold day.  Elicit a smile when you’re feeling blue or produce tears of regret.

When the world seems dreary or simply to hard to take, all that’s needed is a memory to whisk you away to a sunny island of perfection.

Without them we would be a blank slate.

Walking talking beings with only the moment to share. Lacking depth and insightful perception.

Lessons learned, forgotten.

Lovers,  never  remembered.

Laughter, never relived.

Our memories shape our reality and sometimes our dreams.

And, I am so grateful for the gift that they give.

Dreaming ….

There was darkness. 

I was on the verge of traveling, yet to where I do not know. 

He was there, my first love. 

Even in the dark cold of the icy region I felt protected. 

There was a sense of knowledge and of warm understanding.

He left the safety of the truck to follow me into a home.  Inside were shards of my life.  

There were no lights.  Just a glowing and soundless fireplace.  The flames cast shadows that turned into the faces of those I’d known.  I would reach out to touch them, but before my fingertips could graze the dark masks, they were gone. 

Suddenly, I was outside.  Icy winds whipped furiously, threatening to frost delicate skin.  Yet there was no feeling.  Simply a sense of urgency and the realization that I was in the midst of a funeral.


I wanted to know why.

Looking down I saw a coffin. It was being lowered into a swirling, see green of wetness.  Bits of bone mixed with seaweed assaulted my eyes. 

Turning I reached into the darkness, hoping to connect with the warmth of my lovers body.  But all I felt was my purse. 

Reaching inside I found a pot of pink lipstick. 

Quickly I applied the pink potion to my trembling mouth and knew that it (the lipstick) would hide the fear.

I dreamt of the Arctic. 

An old truck. 

A funeral.  

My first lover and pink lipstick…