There is a certain amount of forgiving that goes into a garden.
Gardening isn’t just sticking things into the ground and then, weeks later, something comes out of it. You put certain amounts of qualities of yourself into that garden — into that small plot of earth that develops into what you hope will be a fruitful bounty edible enough for your kitchen table.
There is a certain amount of forgiving that goes into a garden. The day after a good rain or if you’ve just watered the soil, it is the best time to pull weeds. Forgive them. Forgive…
There are many things that make a difference in our lives, whether it be a huge life event or a small daily struggle. If a big boulder or a small pebble is dropped into the waters of our lives, it has a ripple effect that reaches into many areas that affect our daily living. Even if it is a whole shovel full or one small pebble, those pebbles ripple out to areas we don’t expect.
I find that what I concentrate on becomes the undercurrent of my day. My attitude can become my pebble, and I can make that pebble…
As I walked the fields, I would see you
in every cloud I passed over,
every blue sky that stretched overhead,
every sunbeam that arched toward me.
As I walked the fields, you were in
each bend of leaf,
each new plantlet breaking forth,
each field bursting full of life
and green and promise.
Now that I labor behind a desk
and my brain and my body tire
it is becoming more of a challenge
to find you.
I walk along the blacktop road
at lunch in the sun,
but only gravel greets me.
I water my slow…
I am standing on a chair at my kitchen sink, all five foot four inches of me, reaching up to the top of the cabinet to the left of it. I can barely reach the plant that sits at the top, even when standing on the tips of my toes, and of course I can’t wait until my six foot six inch tall son is available to help me because my errand is urgent. I have already waited much too long to do this; my beloved purple striped zebrina plant needs to be repotted. …
— for my twin sister —
Do you remember when
we thought you were allergic
to the crab apple trees
at the top of the hill
at our grade school?
I was so mad at those trees
for being so beautiful.
Those delicate petals
falling so dramatically yet
so serenely to the grass below,
the flowers hugging their
branches tightly in hues
of magenta, burgundy, and lilac
between creased pointed oval leaves
and smelling so sweetly.
I did not want the desire to
walk up that hill and
take each future fruit into my hands,
to talk to it gently,
I have manic depression. There are times when I start seeing those red flags that show me I’m starting down the road to depression and I know I’ve got to do something. Maybe I sleep in both days on the weekend. Maybe not enough things on my to do list are getting crossed off. Maybe the alarm has to wake me up too many days in a row and each time I have that feeling of “oh no, Lord, not today”. …
When it comes to understanding truths about myself, I’m a slow learner. It took until I was 30 before I was properly diagnosed with my mental illness and 40 before I knew how to deal with it. I didn’t get sober until I was 37. So now that I’m 44, I finally know how to label my gender. It has taken a painfully long time to learn each of my personal lessons.
Growing up, I didn’t quite fit in anywhere, and I haven’t been able to put my finger on why that was until just recently.
I did write a…
The CD is placed in the player
volume adjusted up or down
the arrow button pushed
and whether I am laying
in a darkened bedroom
to escape the throes of a migraine
or in front of a bright light
for therapy instructed by my doctor
or writing a poem or a blog
to share later with others
the piano music soars floats
surrounds elevates me
beyond my pain
beyond the storm
beyond the dark
beyond the light
I am the rain dripping
on leaves in a vine covered forest
I am a feather floating
through an azure sky
This is a letter I wrote to my district judge after my ex-husband, who I have a protection order, was stalking me. He would drive around the neighborhood where I lived, and stop me while I was walking.
In April of this year, you signed a protection order for me and my two children guarding against my ex-husband. You upheld this protection order in court at a hearing in which he tried to have the protection order dropped. …
My difficulty with labels — in permanent ink, at least
I have a problem.
Okay, yes, I have many problems, and have had quite a few therapists who didn’t know what to do with me, but that may have been because I didn’t know what to do with myself and where to start in explaining myself to them. I digress.
It was brought to my attention in a gentle manner that perhaps I am averse to being labeled in any way. I don’t like being placed in a mental illness bucket. I don’t know what you’d call my sexuality type…
From Nebraska, two degrees in Agronomy/Soil Science, poet and artist, gender fluid queer, mother, twin, manic depressive, sensory sensitivity, PTSD, resilient.