Have you ever had one of those days where the challenges were lined up like dominoes, and yet you couldn’t knock over a single one? A day where you just kept turning around to find another domino, boxing you in? Ugh.


Yesterday was boxing me in, I tell ya. And no matter how I tried to stay positive, to move on to something else, I just kept hitting those dominoes. And nothing would give. Nothing.


It worries me that this is going to be one of those weeks. And y’all – I may not be woman enough to handle it. Yes – I can get things done, but I really don’t want to do it through tears and snot and looking like a glazed doughnut has smeared on my danged face. A little decorum would be nice.


But maybe this isn’t the week for decorum. Maybe I’m just going to have to face the struggles and keep pushing against that first domino, hoping it will wobble. That really is how it feels, you know. Like I can make it, if only I can handle one task, one challenge. If I can just get through that, maybe the rest will truly fall into place. Maybe.


And so I push…

Sunshine and Roses



Because I am a glass-overflowing kind of gal… Because I endeavor to look at the positive in life… Because I just don’t want to be a downer… I tend to write mostly about sunshine and roses in these missives. Not always, granted, but often. This isn’t news to me.


Well, friends, let me assure you – my life is far from sunshine and roses all the danged time. I struggle, the same as you, with all kinds of stuff. Sometimes I may struggle more, sometimes less. And on some days…


The other day I was trying to rewire a water heater timer and I thought I’d nailed it. Only I had not. Didn’t blow up the house or anything, but I knew I was gonna have to go back in and re-work the wiring to try and get the mutha to function properly. And then my computer was throwing some sort of hissy fit, and I had to re-start it 3 times just to complete a single task. And then there were home admin details to tend. And then…


At some point, for most mere mortals, we hit our limits. Maybe my little list of bummers wouldn’t be enough to trigger so much as a raised eyebrow for you, but on that particular day, I had had enough. And I knew it. And that knowledge, that knowing when to take a step back and put down the wire cutters before someone gets hurt, is a blessing. It’s good to recognize one’s limits. I encourage it. Mightily.


So on my challenging day, I decided to kick back with a cold one and watch something funny on the idiot box. And you know what? It worked just great for this idiot.


I’m not gonna lie – I will continue to post sunshine and roses on this site. It’s my way, and it serves to keep me balanced and happy. Hopefully, those posts will be sincere and authentic. But some days… Those days that challenge me beyond belief… Son of a beech!


PS That wiring job never did work out. I also recommend knowing when to say when. When.

I Fell Out of Love


“But I always come back. I am drawn to this place,

as I’m drawn to you, as I’m drawn to you, as I’m drawn to light.

A moth to the light, to the light, to the light.”

You Chase the Light by The Innocence Mission

written by Karen Peris



I fell out of love. It happens. We’ve all been there. We don’t talk about it much, though we could. Any maybe should. It just seems to be one of those things that brings up feelings we’re not prepared to own. Maybe it’s embarrassment. Maybe guilt. I’m not sure. I only know that when we fall out of love, we push it all down, hoping to hide it away until it’s completely forgotten. Praying no one notices, or heaven forbid, mentions anything relating to that past love. I mean, if others don’t forget, how can we?


In my case, a lot of life wedged itself between me and my love. It kept me from feeling it fully. From expressing the multitude of beautiful emotions. My love was, quite literally, placed on a shelf. And by the time I dusted it off and held it in my hands, damage was done. I had so successfully dug a hole in my soul, and buried all my love/hopes/expectations/dreams, that I felt nothing but detachment. And loss.


I’m not talking about Mister. I’m talking about Music. There’s been a lot of pain associated with music, and it’s been a struggle to understand and live with the void. I’ve not known how to define myself in the face of the loss. I’ve not known how to look forward, how to dream. My heart has felt incomplete for quite a while now. And as I’m a mere beginner in the great realm of life, I’ve not had a damn clue how to deal with these terribly uncomfortable unknowns.


Therapy helps, but it doesn’t fully repair. Filling the gap with other creative endeavors helps, too. And though those are worthy pursuits, their square pegs don’t fully fit my heart-shaped holes. So I get up. I force myself to do something – anything – hoping I’ll run into myself around some corner and that I’ll embrace me and suddenly feel whole. Hasn’t happened, but I still hope.


Through all this disconnect, I’ve not so much as picked up a guitar or contemplated writing a song. I haven’t sung, either. Not in the car, not in the shower. Not anywhere. Worse, I’ve not even enjoyed listening to music. For a long time, I didn’t listen at all. It was painful. It was foreign. If the part of me that loved music was lost, where was I supposed to put sound?


But, like all broken hearts, time creeps into the cracks and tills the soul. For me, it began with turning on the car radio. Only once in a while, mind you, but it was a start. And after a few months, I tried singing along. My voice sounded solid, but I felt wobbly. It wasn’t easy, but I forced myself to sing anyway. The next exercise was singing at home. That should have been simple, but it wasn’t. I had to ease into it. Alone. And let me be clear about something here: it hurt. I struggled to do something simple – singing aloud – that I love. Something I’ve done since I was able to speak. I wish I could explain, but I don’t understand it myself. I only know I was working hard to re-claim a vital part of myself.


By the time Rock Camp came around, I was worried, but also eager to be pushed into using my voice. Teaching the girls to use their voices forced me to step up and own mine. Jamming with other volunteers was frightening, so I made myself do it. And I think this is the truth, what I’m about to share – I held my own and did well.


Cut to yesterday morning, and I found myself needing to hear an old song by The Innocence Mission: “You Chase the Light.” As all our CDs and LPs are still packed away, I was worried the craving would go un-sated. And then I thought to check the mP3 player. God bless Mister, y’all, because that Innocence Mission record isn’t even his favorite, but he had loaded it anyway. For me. I pressed play, turned the volume up, sat between the speakers and just listened. And then I started singing along. And then I was performing, with so much feeling that I started to cry. I was living that song, just like a good performer is supposed to. The melody was lifting my soul and the words were steering my emotions. For the first time in a very long while, I was connected to music. And I knew it.


So I think there’s new life in my heart. I think healing has finally begun. I think I may be falling in love again. In the end, it is the only cure for a broken heart. Something has to fill the gaps and patch the cracks. I don’t mind scars, not at all. So long as they’re wrapped in love’s new growth and tender tendrils. And I can’t make any promises here, but I may very well be on the edge of pulling out a guitar and writing a new song.


For right now, though, I just want to enjoy listening to one of my favorite songs. It’s been such a long time…