Updated picture and Hello~~

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It has been a Lonnnnnnnnngggg time since I posted anything... bizzy bizzy in a tizzy all the time. Work, play, clean, run on the treadmill... work, play, clean, run... you get the picture.




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Cracks

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Some thoughts to begin the day…. Where to begin…. I have so many things I want to get down on paper before they fly out of my head like a flock of wheeling starlings and are gone forever… so I will try: Obedience…. Oh, this word! How I railed and fought against it for so long. Submit? NEVER. Not me. I was strong, proud, independent, intelligent, and unrepentant. I would NOT submit or back down, ever. And yet… perhaps, through a tiny crack in my strong façade, crept doubt that, well, maybe MY way of doing whatever it was… might not be the best way, the easiest way, or the “right” way….  Oh, who cares about being right? I am a seeker, a researcher… I have always looked for answers, for information, for knowledge and deeper understanding… I have not ever been content to rest on what I know now, but rather to explore and search and question… yes, question everything, including myself. And when I do, I discover that I know such an infinitesimal drop of nothing in the huge pool o...
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Polished and dark, the baby grand sat solidly in the corner of the living room. As you entered the front door the stairs rose directly in front of you across a small vestibule. To the right, along the wall, sat a small slant-front desk with cubbyholes and tiny drawers. The desk was forbidden territory, but the piano was not. A black and white vase always perched atop the piano, and a large fern on a stand sat nearby. Sunday afternoon light from the front window slanted across the keys as I practiced. I cannot remember how old I was when I learned how to play, probably five or six. I was given a scale fingering book, and my chubby fingers picked at the notes. Every Good Boy Deserves Favor. It was how I was taught the line notes, and F-A-C-E were the notes inside the lines. I still remember the notes from the lessons in the language of a child. My first piano teacher fades from memory, but by the time I got to the second teacher, I knew the basic notes. Mrs. Dusseldorf was a flat fa...
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Of all the hurts I inflicted the worst was my permission to take myself places where my soul screamed I went willingly, mutely stomach crawling, trembling remembered shame and rage now seen as the truth mistaken for thrill young and yearning I gave parts of me away more and more were taken till all that was showing was the spark of my heart winking feebly dimly glowing, almost ashes Your breath softly fanned it cupped it gently coaxed it to life sheltered from the storms first a tiny flame a small fire grew sputtering, strengthening now crackling forth to sustain me and warm the one who rebirthed the fire in me
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