What motivates you?

Someone asked me recently why I wrote. Or rather, what *motivated* me to write.

This was my answer:

When I Think of War Brides

I know, I know. It sucks. Totally. Having your boyfriend live across the country bites. It’s lame. It’s all the shitty adjectives you can think of. Sad, lonely, taxing, exhausting.

            But. There are some not so shitty things, too. Things that he and I’ve acknowledged are maybe not blessings, but are certainly part of our relationship because we live so far apart.

What's an In-Debt, Paycheck to Paycheck Mama To Do?

I've already exceeded my grocery budget and it's only the fifth of the month. Seriously, I don't think my grocery budget should count if it's a Costco month.

Global Gatherings

Back when I home-schooled my children, I had to think up ways to facilitate the natural curiosity that children have – the kind that often gets swallowed up by video games and Nickelodeon. At least it did in my house. One way I did this was with Global Gatherings.

My House is Me

Let me talk about my house.

The kitchen feels like my mom. I want to sit at this table – that my grandfather made – and drink the coffee that my mom got up so early in the morning to drink. Before the rest of the house awoke.

Later

So much to update that I can't imagine putting all down in one post.
But I'll try.
Later.

maybe it's not mine after all

despair. a good day turned black fog.
Julia Stone's This Love
brings panic, a scrambling and nostalgia for a time
barely dead.

rising above the smog to the pristine crispness of your face and the firmness of your jaw
I reach for your soul
my own salvation
and turn off the lights to my hope.
maybe it's not mine after all.
maybe I'm hurting us anew.

from dark to light to dark again
my spirit fluctuates
dims and brightens with the sound of your voice
over the miles.

exhaustion is the plain unromantic truth
and sustainability is a mirage.

tsunami and drought
butterflies and grubs
mt. everest and the grand canyon
water and clay.

crushing vascillations,
doubt reproducing like
cell division.

rising above the smog to the pristine crispness of your face and the firmness of your jaw

I reach for your soul

my own salvation

and turn off the lights to my hope.

maybe it's not mine after all.

maybe I'm hurting us anew.