Tag Archives: Home

Boomer’s Playground

“What can ever equal the memory of being young together?”  ― Michael Stein, In the Age of Love

Perhaps it’s because it’s the day after Halloween and the sight of all those delighted kids in costumes, maybe it’s due to social media and the TBT (Throw Back Thursdays) photos on Facebook. It may also be prompted by friends and family who are amateur historians and family genealogists, or maybe it’s simply because I’m at the age and I’ve become that older person who likes to reminisce about the past. I remember the past as being a simpler time. As a memoir writer I can also edit my stories, edit my past, and remember the glory days. Some days it’s comforting to remember just the good times. Continue reading

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Reunions, Anniversaries, and Farewells

Some essays and remembrances are more to difficult to begin. Before the words can touch the page the thoughts and feelings in response to these life events must first be felt, then understood, and finally allowed to flow from one emotion to another, memories skipping time, moving from past to present and back again to another day, another reminiscence, some joyful, some sad, some full of gratitude, a few regrets, what ifs and why nots, mourning, tears and grief, and celebration, lots of celebration. Continue reading

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Remember: Childhood July 4th Celebrations

Long ago, far away
Life was clear
Close your eyes*

Holidays are like mile markers on a journey. We are able to look back to see how far we’ve traveled and where we’ve been simply my reflecting on where we were a year ago on this day. If we look further back, we can return to holiday celebrations of our childhood which for some of us are pleasant memories of simpler times. The rituals and traditions associated with holidays can evoke body memories sparked by smells, sounds, sights, tastes, and touch. For the Fourth of July, it’s the smell of sulfur from lighting sparklers, the sounds and sight of fireworks exploding in brilliant color in the night sky, the taste of hot dogs, ice cream and soda pop and the drum beats of marching bands echoing and rumbling in one’s body. Continue reading

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Home: Yesterday, Today & Tomorrow

“In life, a person will come and go from many homes. We may leave a house, a town, a room, but that does not mean those places leave us.” — Arik Berk

Yesterday
This Memorial Day weekend I returned to my childhood home. As a family, we celebrated the birthdays of two young men, grandnephews, the next generation coming up. The next day we planted flowers for my mother, their great grandmother, whose knees no longer bend, or are able to stand erect again without pain.

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Journal/Journey

“What matters in life is not what happens to you but what you remember and how you remember it.” ― Gabriel García Márquez

Years before I started writing for others, I wrote poetry and journaled for myself. Sometimes I would share a poem with the person who inspired it yet seldom a journal entry. Journaling by its very nature is a private act, a conversation with oneself, often a daily record of happenings, experiences and observations. Sometimes our loved ones or curious friends or colleagues surreptitiously read our journals. Much is written about the consequences of reading someone’s journal without the author’s permission.

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The Comfort of Sourdough Pancakes

How friends, family and food feed the spirit.

Life has a way of unfolding in waves. Some days the lake is calm, other days, treacherous. What’s required is an ability to navigate confidently and to be even-keeled when called upon. Sometimes we require a crew, shipmates who can prevent us from capsizing. Continue reading

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Winter Blues & Spring Fever

This morning as I write, I’m looking out the window at my desk. It’s an odd-shaped window, two feet wide by four feet high. It’s not quite 6 a.m. on this frigid Sunday morning. I’m on the second floor of the building and one story below the window, perfectly centered, is an exterior light flooding upwards. As the snow falls it’s illuminated, appearing as how you’d imagine snow might look under a black light. The fluorescent flakes fall like diving fireflies, sometimes dancing, circling in the wind. In daylight you’d think someone shook a snow globe. Continue reading

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Snow Days

It is the morning after the longest night of the year, the Winter Solstice. Snow in big fluffy flakes is falling sideways, blowing easterly. Yesterday’s ice glazed trees and roads today are flocked in white. It is a snow day in Wisconsin. Continue reading

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A Gender Journey in Three Vignettes

Preface

This week when beginning to write a piece for my LGBTQ Narratives Activist-Writers group, I was in a fog. The prompt was a broad subject, gender, and in fact I had suggested it. It is a topic that interests me. It’s a dynamic subject, it affects perception, language, challenges assumptions, and forces us to adapt to our changing culture, roles and identities. Continue reading

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There Were Stories

I returned home from the holiday this year thinking about what awaits ahead, by reflecting on what lies behind. I thought of the the line from Shakespeare’s play, The Tempest. “The past is prologue.”  Poetry by T.S. Eliot also comes to mind.

“We shall not cease from exploration
And the end of all our exploring
Will be to arrive where we started
And know the place for the first time.” 
T.S. Eliot, Four Quartets

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