Top of the world

Up the road from my parents house they were beginning to build a development of houses. The boys and I would spend hours walking through the newly cleared lots and the small paved roads. The area was vacant yet somehow the energy of what was to come was clear. Mason was 5 and Dylan was 3 and we had recently moved away from their father. We were all struggling to figure out what our new life meant and what we wanted to become. We would spend hours up there. Exploring the woods, finding the best sticks. Mason was always the leader. As the bigger brother he would tell Dylan where to look or caution him if it seems like the terrain was unsafe. He was determined and focused on the task at hand.

Fast forward 13 years and we spent the day yesterday helping him get settled into his college dorm. I could tell he was nervous when he didn't want to eat breakfast. What do you say to your grown child in these moments? As he unpacked and set up his desk, I rubbed his back for a brief moment. I didn't want him to feel that I was invading his space, but I wanted him to know that I was there and that I understood.

Several times throughout the day as we were walking around campus and completing some of the tasks I looked at him and smiled. He is still that determined and focused child. I told him I was proud of him and that I believed in him.

Its bitter sweet really. These last few years he and I have had a complicated relationship. Three years ago he moved in with his father and our time together has been sparse. Sports, jobs, school and girls were his priority so I never pressured him to spend time with me, but sent weekly reminders that I loved him and I was there.  I felt so honored that he wanted me to be there on this day.

I know he will do well. I know that his intelligence, determination and charm will help him succeed. I can't help but still see him as that 5 year old who was ready to conquer the world. I know he will.

Watching them become

It's a Friday night and I'm sitting in the grass watching my youngest play on the play ground. There's several families here and a few single parents and I enjoy just watching them  interact.

As a mother of four I've come to accept that I've been a different mother to each of my children. Partly because each of them is so different but mostly because I am. Sometimes I'm sad that my youngest doesn't often get my undivided attention, or that I don't play imaginary pirates with her. My first born got so much of my creativity, homemade baby food and hand sewn Halloween costumes. My second son and I often painted and played in giant card board boxes or had dance parties while doing chores.  My third is disabled and that has brought out a while other side of me as as mom than I could have never imagined. 

I think of each of them everyday, and struggle like all mothers with teaching them to be independent humans and keeping them safe. 

Recently, when my youngest was having a melt down from not eating and being over stimulated I told my sister.... I'm tired. She looked at me perplexed.... I realized in that moment I've been parenting for 18 yrsrs....18 years of being "in charge" and "being an example" and making decisions. 

I speak to parents who have older children and am told it's never anything you stop doing. This both terrifies me and fills my heart.


I am often amazed at the young men my older two are becoming. I know that being a parent means letting them go, but each time they leave my house, my hug or my phone call, I feel like time is slipping away. I feel like the moments of them needed me or looking at me for guidance are now fleeting. So yes, I may be tired, but not tired of them, or of being a parent. Not tired of hearing them say mom, and certainly not tired of watching the miracle of them becoming.

Fairwell until we meet again.....

I first met my sister in law on the very first date her brother and I took. He took me out on a motorcycle ride throughout Sullivan county to some of the most beautiful spots I had ever seen. At the end of the day we went to a party where his entire family (he is one of 8) and their friends were celebrating his brother's last night bartending at a local bar. Risa greeted me with a smile and then promptly picked me up and swung me around. To say I may have been a little intimidated is a given. She then put us in a back room alone so we could eat and brought out a candle. In the conversation of where we went riding, she turned to me and said "good thing he isn't a serial killer!"

For the last 11 years she has ebbed and flowed throughout our lives. We had wild nights where she filled up my Father's bar with black rubber smoke as she burned the tires of her F250 Ford Truck. We danced and laughed so many times and I cannot count. As our lives changed and we had our children, she became a support for us. Countless trips to Westchester for therapies for Walker, she was there to watch and entertain Sawyer.

Sure she was a Harley riding, wood splitting country girl and no one wanted to be on her bad side. (she taught me what a swirly was) But there was also a side of Risa that was sweet, vulnerable and giving. She made everyone feel like they were her best friend.

She fought hard to keep her dignity and character while finding her true self. She was the glue that kept many of her siblings and family together.

She fought long and hard against cancer. She kept her smile and her humor all the way to the end.

After her passing this week, I spoke to her. There were so many people who came out to honor her, so many people who loved her. I am not sure she knew that before, I am not sure if her tough skin allowed her to recognize  that she was an amazing and beautiful woman. I am not sure if she knew how important she was to so many. I am not sure she knew that she was my idol and that I lived vicariously through her stories, friends and many, many, rides.

I am not sure she knows that I see so much of her in Sawyer, in her tenacity and beauty. I am so thankful that she was in our lives, and so thankful that Sawyer and my other children knew her and know another version of being a woman. That strong, wild and free can be combined with softness, love and laughter.

What you dont expect....

Grief is a cycle, one that has many stages and can surprisingly switch between them at any given point for no obvious reason. Parents of children with special needs go through a grieving process. They grieve the life that they had envisioned for their child, or the relationship they wanted for the siblings. Sometimes its about grieving their retirement and the new realization that they won't get to be jet setters.

For me, I've come to believe that I am in the stage of grief with Walker of acceptance. I have accepted his abilities, the life that is before him and the responsibilities that places on me and his father. I have felt that this acceptance has become a stability for us all.

But am I doing Walker a favor by "accepting" his condition? Has this made me complacent in reaching and searching for new goals for him? Has this created a space of energy in which miracles cannot happen?

Yesterday I was reminded of the power of the divine. The power of prayer and the power of creating a future within myself that can become true.

I am continuing my spiritual path and this weekend had the true honor of working with a group of women who nourish my soul. I am in the process of becoming a minister. I set out on this quest in order to protect myself legally from the energy and spiritual work that I do, but what I found was something much more powerful.

I found hope.

I was reminded that what we put out into this world can manifest into blessings. The power of thought/prayer and visualization can be amazing. The universe provides us with the answers, they just may not come in the form we expected.

I know I will be reporting great things in the months to come.

What 36 days in the hospital teaches you

36 days doesn't seem all that long. Except of course when you're stuck in a small hospital room, negotiating care for your sick child.

I learned tons of information about seizures and how they manifest. I learned tons about narcotics and which can be administered via IV and which can only go through oral consumption.

Oh! and Valium can stay in your system for up to 100 hours after it is given. 

I've learned that there is very little common sense and in the medical industry. And the greasy wheel does get fixed. "I'm not here to make friends people". 

I learned to trust my instincts and to use all the tools that I have in my toolbox. this consisted of diffusing oils, coloring and meditation. (Breath in..... breath out.....don't punch anyone in the face)

I learned that the relationships and jobs that I have in my life now are a culmination of the universe being kind. Previous relationships would not of been able to withstand the emotional intensity and previous employers would not of been as understanding.

Most importantly I've learned that there is a greater plan at work and my beautiful boy is a catalyst to so many lessons I need to learn.

Stuck in limbo

After one night home to sleep I'm heading back down to Westchester. It feels like Groundhog Day, where every day feels like the day before. 

Time in the hospital moves at a different speed. It's a completely different plain of reality. When you don't go outside for days and are awaken hourly by beeping machines: you're whole biological clock is skewed.

We've been extremely fortunate that in Mr's 7 years, this is our 2nd hospital stay. I don't have anything else to compare it to but I do know that there has to be a better way. 

What it feels like it's too many cooks in the kitchen. Teams of doctors, made up of medical students and specialists are all involved in the care of Mr. It's a great concept in theory however the application is way to jumbled leaving us with no faith and frustrated. 

Most of the time it feels like no one has common sense. I ask questions and get different answers. When I prove a point, they come up with something else. 

In the end they have the power and I've been reduced to "just get it done". I think this is what they are counting on. 

There has to be something else, a patient  centered approach where doctors actually listen and realize that the expert of the child is in fact

the parent. 

I understand that the medical field has to use data from the "in most cases" scenario but for a child like Mr. He isn't "most cases". 

But we are left at their mercy. For three weeks we have been here and still have no idea when we can go home. Our choices are limited. Do we leave and go someplace else and start the whole process all over? Do i cause such a fit that we are penalized and put at the bottom of the list? 

My resources are taxed and my emotional compass is broken. I've never felt so powerless, so small. 

Thrown a curve ball

7 days, 7 nights we've been here. I feel like I am slowly losing my mind. No sleep, my child in pain, and a medical system that seems to lack common sense. To say I'm at my wits end is an under statement. Actually I am really afraid to put it out there to the universe, because it will most likely prove me wrong. "So you think a week is bad, huh? How about another" - says the universe to remind me that I have no control over anything.... ever.

Being a parent is a constant learning curve. Being a parent of a child with special needs is a whole other university.

For the most part, Mr. has been a very healthy child. Apart from his developmental delay, he has been happy and healthy up until this past year. The onset of seizures has really thrown him and us for a loop! So on came the medication, and out went his eating habits. He slowly dwindled to primarily living off of liquid nutritional supplements. He lost a few pounds.

Last week the seizures began increasing, and he then stopped eating and taking his medication completely. This of course, brought on more seizures. It was awful. His poor little body convulsing in clusters of seizures 30-45 seconds long, one right after the other for 10 to 15 minutes.

Down to the children's hospital we went to see if they could help us.

7 days, 7 nights we are still here.

Kids like Mr, aren't easy. You can't reason with them and say "listen, start eating and taking your meds and we are out of here". No one can tell us for sure about anything and since Mr. isn't talking we have to guess.

The previous medications are not doing the trick, what they are getting into him now is through IV, but we can't take the IV home with us, and quite frankly I don't want to live here. So they offer us solutions. The main solution is a g-tube. A small tube that they insert into his stomach in which we can pass medication and food directly to him. Sounds simple enough... but not really.

I know plenty of families and children that have a g-tube in place, and it has been helpful, even life saving. Its a hump though, a big deal that we have to get past. Its the concept that its one more thing that Mr. has to go through. Its the concept that his nutritional consumption will be through the g-tube. It will mean a whole new routine for the family. It will mean feeding times, and medical appointments and tubes, and syringes and fluids. It brings the care of Mr. to a different level.

Of course the idea of surgery and cutting a hole into your child is never one that parents want to come upon willingly. Doctors offer other solutions, one that involves putting a tube down his nose, the back of his throat and into his stomach. I'm not sure Mr. could handle it. I'm not sure I could handle it.

So here we are, at a cross roads if you will. I hate seeing him in pain. I hate seeing him suffer. I hate being here, and the possibility of just going home without a long term solution scares the shit out of me.

They don't teach you these things in college, there is no "G-tube for dummies" book. And there isn't a definite answer to anything when it comes to Mr. There never has been. So I guess why would this be different?  We are making the best decisions with the most amount of information and input as we can. We are just trusting and learning lessons along the way.

People see what they want to see

After an exhausting conversation yesterday, one in which I heard all about my faults, all my weaknesses and naturally all the demons in my life,  I was spent. Although I knew that what was being said was not true, it still hit a nerve and dug up all my own insecurities and doubts about my life and the choices I have made.

That is what people we care about can do to us.
That is how people who know us are hurtful.

This morning however, on a good nights sleep, a hot shower and a delicious cup of coffee I was thinking about this conversation and going over it and over it in my head. Wondering why it hurt so much? I was doubting my self awareness and decisions. Finally, I had this thought that people in my life see me in all varying ways.

There are those that see me as a grounded, spiritual person.
There are those that see me as a professional, determined and organized person.
There are those that see me as a dedicated mother, and advocate for her children.
There are those that see me as a free spirit, a creative uplifting energy.
There are those that see me as a strong independent woman.
Then there are those that only see negative attributes in me.

I was reminded that people see what they want to see. They look to others for purpose to fill in their own lives. Sometimes that is for support, or empowerment, other times its to make themselves feel better about their own choices.

I also reminded myself that I am all of those things, good and bad and that that's okay. I am a work in progress, a story unfinished... and most of all an example to those that I love.

Sadness in Greenville regarding Ferguson

For many that know me, my on line silence regarding Ferguson must be a surprise. I have to admit, with the chaos that has been going on in my life lately, I haven't had the time to really follow what it going on, but a mere log onto any of my social media sites has smacked it right in my face.

My only response? Sadness. I don't know all the facts, I am not sure of all the players but what I do know is that on the night before Thanksgiving our Nation still has no idea had to empathize and forgive. My social justice friends are posting articles in support of the rioting and violence, my other friends and family are posting articles and commentary on the exact opposite. All I ask is where is the love and compassion and empathy?

I can't begin to imagine the pain and mourning of a community that is so distraught it resorts to looting and vandalism. Regardless of the court case, this is a community that needs to find a voice.  I can't imagine the pain.

Where is our empathy? Where is our desire to find the good in all people and to say, "what can we do to ease your pain?" Obviously, whether or not  you feel that the verdict was justice, there is still a group of people in pain and to empathize with that group does not have to mean that you agree.

Pain is not black and white, nor right or wrong.

Why are we so set up to have to pick a side? I don't trust the media, I don't trust the internet.... I just feel sadness.

• Sadness that a community is living in fear, regardless of their ethnicity, regardless of their socio-economic class.
• Sadness at the loss of a child, someone's son.
• Sadness of the police office and his family, for enduring this trial.
• Sadness for the police forces sent in early "just in case"
• Sadness for communities of color who feel that they have no voice.
• Sadness for communities of white people who feel that they must pick a side.

"There is no higher court than courts of justice and that is the court of conscience. It supersedes all other courts." - Mahatma Gandhi

Hard day reminders

I'm usually boosting, what a great job I have. When I tell people what I do there are a few responses: "wow! good for you" or "oh, i'm sorry" or "I could never do that". My answer usually is that I have an awesome job, no two days are ever the same. I can be counseling with clients, or staff in the morning and unclogging a toilet in the afternoon. I can be on a conference call regarding effective legislation or making rice crispy treats with the children. I've been known to post some fun pictures on instagram with the hashtag #shelterlife, because as some of the staff say "you can't make this shit up".

There are days though that are hard. There is an emotional currency that is spent here and we work very hard at self care. Vicarious trauma is real. It affects advocates every day and is the number one cause for burn out.

We work very hard at empowering and creating an inclusive environment in which all choices are accepted. Although we hope to educate and support victims survivors of domestic violence, we work hard every day to ensure that they are able to make their own decisions . We pride ourselves on giving them all the information  needed to make informed choices.

We have very few rules. Those that are established have been made to ensure a safe environment for all of our clients. Apart from that, its their home, not ours.... they are free to live how they chose.

Often this is the first place that victims are able to make their own choices...things that most of us take for granted.... what to eat for dinner, when to go to bed.... how to dress or wear their hair.

• Seeing victims survivors feel that freedom are the good moments.
• Seeing victims survivors struggle with those freedoms is the beauty that I witness of their personal journey. 
• Seeing decisions being made that I am afraid will affect them in the long run is really, really hard.

Today is a hard day. I take some solace in that this is only a snap in time of their life.

I'm reminding myself that the universe is providing the opportunity for lessons to be learned, and for strength to be built. Often for victims survivors to grow they are taking two steps backwards to move three steps ahead....

I'm hoping they learn to cha-cha.

Sunday reflection

There's something about the quietness of water, of floating gently and smoothly on the surface of the water. A cool breeze and the warm sun. 

Frogs singing and birds in the trees above. 

The silence and stillness is relaxing. 

Self reflection and quieting of my mind is not always an easy task but out there in that moment, it was perfect. 

That smile

Today I was invited by a friend to go to a Memorial Day BBQ. I'm typically good with this sort of thing. I can mix and mingle, make conversation with just about anyone. It was a mixture of a crowd and I enjoyed it immensely. When the 40 plus crowd dwindled to about 15 I found myself in the back yard enjoying some cocktails and conversation. As the topic of conversation to the right of me turned to what was obviously a re-enactment of some comedian's rendition of a "retarded" person I stood quietly. 

Those that know me, know this is a huge feat! With  most  issues that I feel strongly about its hard for me to contain myself, especially if alcohol is involved, but this time I stood quietly. I took a few deep breaths and when the topic died down I took out my phone and showed those involved in the conversation this: 

And said, " this is my son Walker".

That's all I really needed to say. The men started apologizing and I shook my head and said, "no need, just remember that smile" and walked away.

I wasn't angry, I wasn't sad. It's life. It's what people are afraid of or have no experience with that they make light of. 

I hope that with my gentle nature and understanding that they learned something today. When your language and actions are based in hurtfulness, it is always someone's child you are talking about. 

Whether it be race, religion, class, sexuality, gender identity or able ness, it's someone's child. He/she/they are loved, cared for and worried about. 

Remember that smile! 

Simply simple

It's been a year of transition. What I sometimes forget is to get out of my own head and remember that it's been a Year of transition for my children too.

Two different houses and my oldest moving out has left our sanctuary feeling a little off. 

I've been putting serious thought into it. Meditating on it and wondering what the universe wanted me to learn. There has to be some lesson here. 

And there it was. 

Something simple. 

Something perfect. 

9 months later

Last August I finished my last graduate class at SUNY New Paltz. The class was a perfect ending to my educational program, it was Expressive Art. It was an amazing mix of theory and social justice practices combined with a safe classroom atmosphere In which art could be ceated. For me, art is a vulnerability, an insecurity of mine that was only fostered in higher learning. So to end my graduate work in this way felt fitting to the degree I was getting. 

It was bitter sweet. I was happy to be done but sad that I was not given the opportunity to wear a cap and gown and walk onto stage to shake hands and get recognition for my degree. My university only does commencement ceremonies once a year. The next opportunity to partake would be 9 months later. It just felt anti-climatic. 

To my surprise I received this picture today 

I have to admit, I felt a ping of accomplishment and pride! Although I didn't walk on stage it did make me take a moment and acknowledge to myself that I did it! I worked hard and completed my goal. No party, no cards, no cap or gown is needed to prove to myself that I did it! All in my iown! 

I am from

I am from log cabin walls and cathedral ceilings,

I am from worn out slippers and baskets hanging from railroad ties,

I am from 33 records spinning the story of Fiddler on the roof and Paul Simon lyrics.

I am from horse shoe pits and firewood.

I am from oils stains and gravel driveways shoveled in the snow.

I am from corn fields and Holsteins and black dirt tornadoes.

I am from unpaves roads and the turn around tree.

I am from Dottie and Clara Bell

Chocolate chip cookies and meatloaf

I am from family portraits hanging on a stair case.

I am from cedar trunks and shoe boxes filled with photos and memories.

I am from "foof it" and "dunk the baby"

Dancing in the rain and catching fireflies.

I am from riding motorcycles and collecting river rocks.

I am from the black cherry tree bending in the wind and the spring peepers singing ther song.

I am from everything that was, that is and that could be.

My short skirt

My short skirt is not an invitation

A provocation

An indication

That I want it

Or give it

Or that I hook.

My short skirt is not begging for it

It doesn't want you to rip it off me

Or pull it down.

My short skirt is not a reason to rape me

Even though it has been a reason before

It will not hold up in court.

My short skirt, believe it or not

Has nothing to do with you!

My short skirt is about the power

Of my lower calves

A cool autumn breeze blowing between my thighs,

It's about everything I see, or feel or live to be inside.

My short skirt is my defiance

I will not let you make me afraid!

This is who I am

Before you made me cover it up

Or tone it down. 

Get used to it.

My short skirt is happiness

I can feel myself on the ground

I am here

I am hot.

My short skirt is a liberation flag

In the women's army

I declare these streets

Any streets

My vaginas country.

My short skirt does not mean that I'm stupid

Or undecided

Or a malleable little girl.

My short skirt is a turquoise blue ocean

With swimming colored fish

A music festival 

A stary night

A bird calling

A train arriving in a foreign town

My short skirt is a full spin

A full breath

A tango dip

But mainly, my short skirt

And everything underneath it is mine

Mine

Mine

Learning to let go

It took me three days to finally go in and look. I didn't want to see the emptiness, the reality that my oldest child chose to leave and go live with his dad. My heart is breaking. 

I've known since his was a toddler that this day would come. I thought i was prepared. But there's really no way to prepare when your child breaks your heart. 

I know I need to let go and as a parent this is just my first lesson in that. I know that it's not about me, that it's about him finding who his his, learning his path in this life and becoming a man. 

I can only be here to support him, love him and today..... Miss him. 

Mr. Mr update

In the first few years of his life, I spent a lot of time blogging about Mr. Mr. I was a stay at home mom and trying to manage the complexities of life with a child with special needs. Being on line, saved me in some many ways. When people question the integrity of relationships built on line, I can only use the examples of so many of my closest friends whom I met via on line during this time. Blogging and chatting virtually saved me from going into a deep dark depression.


Life has moved on, and we have settled into a routine with Mr. Mr, and I returned back to work.


Days are still challenging... as a family we struggle to include him but also give attention to his siblings who are often set aside due to his constant care. Our own needs are set aside. Simple tasks like going grocery shopping are exhausting and there is no putting him in the child care at the Y while mommy runs on the treadmill.


Recently we have been on a roller coaster of sorts.... although Mr. Mr. is a very involved child, (non-ambulatory, non-verbal and a pureed diet)  for the most part he is healthy. He has never needed medication and is usually in a happy mood as long as his belly is full and pants are clean. But the last two weeks we have been experiencing him having seizures. At first I didn't believe that was what was happening, but as the week progressed the activity became more and more obvious. He was having these "episodes" 6 - 10 times a day. The validation for me was when his school also confirmed that they were seeing the same thing.




Today we went for an EEG...he hated it. He hates his head touched, he hates laying on his back and most importantly he hates me in his face holding down his arms. The technician said to sleep deprive him.... yeah right! This kid is the king of cat naps and never sleeps longer than 4 hours at a clip to begin with.  We managed to make it through with minimal melt downs for both of us!


the neurologist snuck us in after and confirmed that what we were seeing were in fact seizures. He acted like this was just another thing, prescribed some meds and sent us on our way. I realize that for him this is common... children with special needs often develop a seizure disorder. What was most upsetting for me are the side affects of the med which can cause anger. I can't have my little man pissed off all the time!  What I find solace in is that even though his life is limited in his reality life is great, silly noises are hilarious and bright lights are pretty cool to check out. If he becomes grumpy, angry or just irate that will be a hard pill to swallow!


so we will wait... wait to see if the seizures stop or slow down... wait to see if he has any behavior changes and wait.......


if my children are my lessons in life this kid is teaching me plenty!! 

What's in a name?

If you got to choose your name what would you pick?




I've been thinking a lot about my name lately. Not just my first name but all of it. Its no secret I've been married twice and hence I feel that I have never really felt ownership of my last name either. There hasn't been any real connection to the names I've had.


My maiden name was only mine for a short 23 years. Throughout school I hated it because it put me at the end of the alphabet. As well as having to spell it out loud and explain that there was no "F" in it anywhere.


When getting married for the first time, I only knew that a women was expected to take on her new husbands name. There was no conversation 'if" I would take it. It was just assumed. It was a nice name, had a nice ring but honestly there wasn't much else about it except being at the front of the alphabet and thinking my children would appreciate that.


There was a short time between my official divorce and my second marriage. At that point, I knew I didn't want to keep my first husband's name and it seemed silly to revert to my maiden name. So the natural course was to take on his name as well.


Shortly after however, I begun my college studies and found my way to the Gender Studies department. There I had intense conversations about all names, and what they meant and who gave them to us and for what purpose. I met women and men alike, who strongly identified with their name and who were passionate about explaining why. For me, I had no real story to tell for any of it. No real conviction either way.


And here I am, contemplating keeping my name or changing it. But what would I change it to? Its been just as long that I haven't had my maiden name as when I had it. What could I come up with as an entirely new name that wouldn't sound pretentious or in fact made up? I think about some strong connection that I have with my family names. My offspring have all been given their father's names so there isn't concern about passing something down. So whatever I pick can be just for me. Just for my happiness and connection.


I think of a good friend who has been slowly changing her name to something she feels more connected to. Its been part of her story, part of her legacy. I want something to explain to my children and mostly my daughter, that makes sense, that can become my story. Its my story of evolving into the woman that I am today because of these experiences, because of these names.

Lessons for 2014

As the new year began, I took on the task of posting a picture of myself for all 365 days of 2014 in an effort to show off my fully human, not always perfect feminist self. They are all hash tagged #365feministselfie.









Its actually quite difficult, I've discovered a few things:

• my arms are not nearly long enough
• paying attention to what is in the back ground is important
• my children are pretty stinking cute, and take the pressure off of me.
• I have anonymous followers that I didn't know about (not sure if I like that or not) LOL
• I'm my toughest critic.

Its been really trying for me. At first I took pictures throughout the day of myself then would look through them at the end of the day and select the one I thought I looked best in.... then I digressed to taking several pictures at one time and finding the best shot.... to now at day 35 just taking a picture and posting it.   I wonder if on day 360 I'll even care if I've showered! 


I'm still not comfortable with the image that is staring back at me often, and it makes me think why. Where and who taught me not to love my own image? Why am I so critical... I look at my laugh lines and see age and not laughter, or my double chin and see obesity and not bountifulness of life. I look at my grey hairs and see stress and not maturity and value......


I believe that you get back from the universe what you put out there. I want depth, and love and light... and it must start from within.


I thought I would end my little experiement at the end of the month, but I'm not giving in to that critic and figure I have a lot to teach myself.