I call it time to embrace your phenomenal self, as a woman, in the 21st century. I call it time to tell the story - the real story - of who you are. You can leave out some parts because some parts are too personal or too precious to share. But, for the most part, you need to cry a little, laugh a lot, get angry, then be joyous, because the telling of your story is just the beginning of your journey and the journey you will take your readers on. Read more →

Time is our enemy Any individual over say 50 will tell you that time goes by faster and faster as you age. I am not sure why we perceive time in such a different way, as we age. But we do. We notice things more. We notice the way the sun gleams through our office windows, even as it has to slip through last year's smudges and dirty trails of rain, still clinging to the window, like  yesterday's blurry reminder that our eyes don't work as well as they used to. We notice the way traffic sounds different at certain hours of the day; a hurry-hurry of the tires of so many cars passing down the hill on their way to work; or the slow hum they make on their way home. We notice the way the morning seems to slip by unnoticed, because we get busy cleaning, or working in the garden, or writing a blog post, and suddenly it's afternoon, and the day is almost over.We notice these things because we lament over all the necessary things we have to do, want to do, will never get to do - now. Now that we're officially, according to statistics, old. Read more →

I just finished reading the second in a series of novels by P.C. Cast. The first novel, Moon Chosen, was consumed months ago, well ahead of the second book. I waited eagerly, month after month, for Sun Warrior to come out. When it did, I ran... well, ok, I drove,... Read more →

The life I am living now is a muted mural painted on a large wall, somewhere in the Universe. I have lived a thousand lives and will live a thousand more, no doubt. It isn't that I believe in reincarnation, although that option makes more sense to me than many... Read more →

Margaret May Westover My Mom My mother passed to what most people call heaven, several weeks ago. I have truly lost track of the time and I will admit openly here that I am still in shock. I live in Colorado, my mom was in an assisted living home in... Read more →

In my other life Once upon a time, I lived another life. I threw the sheets off in the morning, slipped my legs over the side of the bed, and watch a rose-gold sun rise above the horizon, out my window. The day beckoned. I felt the warm air as... Read more →

Hands fascinate me. I can remember TV commercials when I was 40 talking about hands. About dish washing soap that kept your hands looking young, even if you were 35 or older. The concept of 35 being old astonished me. But, we're a youth society, aren't we? And, as we... Read more →

My Mom ... circa 1953? Somehow, this weekend, I was half-asleep, listening in the dark for the dog (when I hear her collar jingle I wait to see if she's coming to the bedroom door to give it a scratch, indicating she wants out), when a vivid memory hit my... Read more →

"Just dance," she said. Her voice was full of laughter. Happy laughter. She wasn't judging. She was advising. I watched her slip onto the dance floor and throw her long blonde hair back, and thrust her body into the movement, keeping time with the band, waving her arms about, full... Read more →

The hand that rocks the cradle, so it's been told, rules the world. How true is this? Can women demand and command the kind of attention men get as a matter of fact? We can and we do. We can and we have. We can and we will. History shows... Read more →