there are places

I wrote a blog entry when both my children were in high school, about how parenting is a series of good-byes. And in reality, the truer statement might be that life is a series of good-byes. People and places we love and care for. Which eventually, often times more than once, we have to tearfully … More there are places

all I’ve got

I’ve had the conversation with my daughter numerous times. I tell her I believe the work I do is important. Imperative. And it’s fine that it’s not on the front lines. That I’m not loud or in someones face. That I feel my work is to be there in the day-to-day. In the neighborhoods. With … More all I’ve got

never look back

A while ago, maybe a year, maybe more, a friend of mine typed these words in a text message: Don’t look back. You can never look back. He was giving me advice in the form of song lyrics. Whether he remembers telling me this, I doubt. But I’m pretty sure he’d say the same thing … More never look back

sometimes I forget

Sometimes I forget about rain. And then it rains. Like right now. It’s currently raining. A soft rain. Not associated with a storm. It rarely rained in my hometown. So all those years, growing up, I never became familiar with rain. It was always a luxury. A special treat. No one owned an umbrella. When … More sometimes I forget

trip talk

I have contemplated this entry for a while. I have not written anything yet for a few reasons. The main one being it took time to process my thoughts. Another is that I’m still processing my thoughts. Yet, I think it’s important to go ahead and put something out there. And…I’m reminded one doesn’t have … More trip talk

brown eyed girl

I am a song lyric person. I believe I’ve mentioned it before in my blog. When I hear a song, I often think of a person. I relate the song, based on the lyrics, to a person I know or have known. Not always, but sometimes. Often, actually. Brown Eyed Girl. A classic. And I … More brown eyed girl

not often

It’s not often I do this. But every once in a while, I become obsessed with some photo from the past or some card someone once gave me or some other item that, if it still exists, is buried deep within a box in my closet. And I begin searching. Rummaging. Trying with all my … More not often