Sunday, November 3, 2013


I've been loving my new Feedly app for keeping up with blogs I follow but I'm beginning to suspect there's some sort of glitch not allowing my comments to be seen...hmmm...the downside of techy stuff.

Saturday, November 2, 2013

Six Word Saturday

Paused, standing still, awaiting divine direction.

Friday, November 1, 2013


My husband and I have been having a lot of difficult conversations. 

Turns out he's not really a bad husband. He is just a really shitty fucking friend. 

He recognizes this. 

Wednesday, October 30, 2013

the beginning

For me, the hardest part about writing has aways been getting started.

It seems simple enough. You start at the beginning. 

The problem is determining where that beginning actually starts.

I was born on a Tuesday evening....

Who gives a shit? That hardly seem relevant. 

Do people really care that my Daddy was an alcoholic? Does it matter that I always considered him a fully functioning alcoholic because he never missed work? Is it important that I never considered it a problem for him to drink because he was a hateful son of a bitch when he was sober? 

Probably not. 

Do people really care that my Momma spent most of my childhood sitting on the couch, watching soap operas, trying to tell herself that she didn't' have a problem because she waited until dark to drink her whiskey and smoke her weed? Does it matter that she would go for days, or even weeks at a time without speaking to me? Is it important that I was convinced she hated me for existing?

Probably not.

Do people really care that when I was little I regularly screamed at them both, begging them to let me have my brother, begging them to let me live somewhere else because I knew they didn't love me? Does it matter that they told me I was crazy, that she never admitted she had lied, even years later when he told me about my brother? Is it important that I can clearly remember often lying awake in the dark, a little girl focused on every beat of her heart, desperately urging it to stop?

Probably not. 

But it seems like a lie to not start there. 

Tuesday, October 29, 2013

Two Shoes Tuesday #51

Night or noise? Is there really a difference? 

I consider them to be interchangeable terms. 

The noise is deafening at night. Thousands of memories whispering, tugging at my heart, nudging me to move forward. 

Sunday, October 27, 2013


Epiphanies generally leave me feeling quite stupid. Some shit should be obvious. 

I firmly believe God puts us where He wants us and that the people along our path are placed there for a purpose. 

Today I talked to my husband about how frustrated I was that I still felt so isolated, so alone.


I require a certain amount of solitude. I require much more to write. 

God has made it very clear to me that I am supposed to write, something. 

It struck me today that I am supposed to be solitary, for the moment at least, because I have work to do.

Tuesday, October 22, 2013


It's all about focus. Guided meditation. 

I'm tired of allowing them to take so much space in my head. Perhaps it's time I stopped allowing them to consume me. 

Discard each thought as it passes. No need to entertain them all.

Wednesday, October 16, 2013

fine line

It makes me feel like a low life piece of shit to have to beg God to help me not hate my mother. 

Perhaps the fact that I desperately don't want to hate her will be enough of a saving grace.

Monday, October 7, 2013

ready to take on the world

There's an old Polaroid picture of us, taken the day we moved in together. We were young and eager and fearless.

He told me that we could do this, that we would be just fine.

I was bitterly disappointed to discover we wouldn't be doing it together for long.

But he was right.

We can do this. We can even do this well. 

We can take on the world and win, ultimately. 


I'm a bit slow when it comes to things remotely techy.

A new job (started a year ago) derailed me a bit and forced me to develop a new schedule, new habits and a new workflow. 

All the "new" leaves me hating a computer at the end of the day but I've fallen in love with my iPhone. 

I have just now discovered a reader app that will let me catch up and keep up with all my favorite bloggers!! I look forward to making my rounds again!

Friday, August 30, 2013

what women want

I wish I were married to man who, when watching me walk away thought, "damn I am so lucky to have her, she is beautiful." 

Maybe I am and he just doesn't know those words, though I doubt it. 

Or maybe it's just me and I'm a horrible wife. 

Tuesday, August 27, 2013


The authenticity is what has been missing. 

For so long, everything has been heavily filtered through fear - fear of loss, of tragedy; fear of heartbreak, of abandonment; and, fear of judgment, of failure. 

I've held my breath and hoped no one recognized me. It's lonely when no one knows you. It's maddening when you no longer know yourself. 

Saturday, August 24, 2013

six word Saturday

Finally finding myself among the rubble.

Wednesday, August 21, 2013

question #1

I'm definitely getting a late start but here we go...question # 1 of the 30 Questions You Should Ask Yourself

1. How much have you loved? 

I had initially begun to describe each of the people (and dogs and cats) I have loved but quickly realized how overwhelming that would be as I believe I have, on some level, loved every one I've ever met.

I have loved with every ounce of my being. I have fallen heart first into another's soul and lost sight of my self I was so enamored and filled with wonder. My very being has exploded, leaving behind a thousand stabbing shards. 

I have loved those incapable of loving and loved them all the more for it. I have loved those who haven't loved me and who couldn't even manage to be kind. I have loved the weak and the lonely and the sick.  

I have loved completely and I love forever.

Friday, August 2, 2013

narrow your focus

I have a difficult time writing these days - both because of current time constraints and the fact that I'm forced to multi-task so much I've nearly forgotten how to really focus, really ponder a given subject. 

A past colleague of mine  shared a great post that may help me focus on 30 key questions.  Check it  out here

I'm going to give them a try, but  I'm not promising I'll go in order.  

empty bucket

I'm so incredibly lonely. 

I keep telling myself that I'm just bored. 

I'm weary. So much time wasted not living. Too busy being tired, or broke - spending our lives wishing we could...

I'm tired of wishing. I'm ready to do. 

I just don't want to do alone. 

Tuesday, July 30, 2013


Sometimes it's hard not to feel that way. 

Resentful that someone else is here instead of him. 

I try very hard not to be. Even the attempt seems like a betrayal. I'm never quite sure who I'm betraying most. 

Saturday, June 29, 2013

Six Word Saturday

Wishing I had some damn energy!


Friday, June 28, 2013


I love those days you look in the mirror and know exactly who you are. 

You recognize yourself and realize you're still in one piece. 

You haven't done that bad. 

Everything is going to be ok.

Tuesday, June 25, 2013

she is my Mother

How am I doing? 

Not that great. In fact, I am struggling. 

I am angry. Very angry.

I'm certain my hostility only makes matters worse, but I am too angry to give a damn. 

She didn't give me the videos as punishment. That's speculation of course. She told me once that she didn't think I loved him enough because I left. She believes you don't really love someone if you're willing to leave. 

She's left me repeatedly. 

I plead with God to forgive us both because I'm not certain I can forgive her.

My husband has been dead for thirteen years. I still do not have the one video in existence of him holding our son. The one audio of him in the background talking about what it was like to be in the room when our son was born.

Our son and I just got to see it, and two short others, last week on his 17th birthday.

I tremble with rage. 

...Lord please help me forgive her for I do not have the grace of my own.

Sunday, June 2, 2013

on the other hand

It is very difficult for me to think of the things I like about myself. Josie is right, those thoughts are always hijacked by that inner voice that tells me I'm not doing it right or am not good enough - that voice nags me constantly. 

I like the fact that I have a good relationship with The Boy, that despite my many parental shortcomings, I have never lied to him and he has never doubted my love for him. I promised him those two things before he was even born and those are two promises I've kept. 

I like that I still tear up when I hear of tornadoes ripping their way through cities or puppies being put to sleep because no one wanted them. I like that I haven't lost that tender part of myself yet. 

I like that I can still giggle and that once I start giggling, I find it hard to stop. 

I like that I haven't grown stagnant. I'm still learning and growing. 

I like that I'm never satisfied with myself and constantly trying to do a little more, a little better. 

I like that I can finally identify some things I like about myself. I even almost like the fact that I can't identify any of them without also identifying the downside that goes along with each of them. 

surviving spring

I lie here bemoaning the fact that I did not bring a book.

Without a distraction my mind wanders, picking it's way along the debris.

I wish I had a notebook with me so I could capture this feeling.

I remember I have this gadget and it suddenly becomes very difficult to  find the words.

Even after all that has happened, all that I have loved, even those loves that will last forever, I'd give them all up for our happily ever after.

That makes me horrid.

I need to go let the ocean beat the shit out of me. Cleanse me.

Remind me who I am.

Sunday, April 21, 2013

knee high in the clover

Last weekend as I mowed, I spotted The Boy's dog standing knee high in a large patch of clover growing in our yard. I smiled because she seemed so utterly content in that moment.

I pushed the lawn mower up and down the long strip between the yard and the woods, utterly content in that moment.

Earlier, while nosing around in the front yard to determine what needed to be grass and what needed to be given back to the woods, I discovered an enchanted area in the front corner of my yard. Thick green moss, curly ferns, a few patches of low-growing wildflowers. I could've sworn I saw a faery flit by.

Sometimes I believe I've ended up with everything she ever wanted. I'm certain she resents me for it. She shouldn't. I take no pleasure in it. In fact, I feel guilty, especially in the moments when that very thought is the only thing that allows me to forgive her.

The strain between us is apparent in so many conversations, heavy words left unsaid. Sometimes I think it would be easier if we didn't speak at all, but I want very much to do the right thing so I bite my tongue and dance around the elephants, determined not to ask for apologies she has never felt it necessary to offer.

Meanwhile my home sits knee high in the clover, nestled among enchanted woods while what's left of hers is still precariously perched in a field of prickly weeds. I struggle to not give into the notion that there is no need for me to feel guilty for all that I have that she lacks because perhaps I am simply the better person and more worthy. I do not ever want to place myself above her for our sins may be different, but they all weigh the same.

and we're mulling...

I apologize for my silence.

I've been working - in the office, home, yard, community - and I've been mulling. A lot.

It seems like every major frustration in my life has resulted in my desperate attempt to get other people to do the right thing. Meanwhile, I struggle to do the right thing and am incredibly hard on myself when I fail.

So, I am taking the advice of Josie and of Maria and spending some time focusing on what I LIKE about myself, my successes, my gifts. It's becoming easier to identify those things but is still incredibly difficult to think of them without also thinking, "even if I also," or "but sometimes."

And so I continue to mull, and attempt to pick through all the clutter.

Wednesday, April 3, 2013


I still feel as though I failed him. I failed them all.

I am keenly aware of my unworthiness and struggle to understand why He would place such value upon me.

Who am I to be of that Kingdom?

Saturday, March 30, 2013

six word saturday

Slightly intoxicated. Overwhelmed by others' stupidity.

cruel hearts

The room grows very quiet when we take away everything that we cannot talk about.

You quickly discover there's nothing left to say.

I am struck by the audacity of their meanness.

How fucking cruel can we be to our fellow human beings?

Cruel enough to nail another human being to a cross, even if that human being was never anything but thoughtful and kind.

Saturday, March 23, 2013

six word saturday

Long day. Fragile truces. New traditions.

Friday, March 22, 2013

at home

I know what I'd like to do.

How I'd like to decorate my home, I mean.

I want to share all my favorite things. Including those parts of us I miss the most. Small tokens, hardly representative of the swell of love I feel with each thought of you.

I want to share them, among my favorite things.

But she'll be angry to see them there.

It makes me angry that I care.

Sometimes I still get overwhelmed with emotion when I think of how much I wanted you to be real, how much I longed to know you, how terribly alone I felt without you.

I think it's kinda how The Boy (aka Fine Young Man) feels about his Daddy.

I wonder sometimes if that's how you ever felt about yours, or about me.

I am still angry at them for keeping you away from me, especially given how incredibly adamant I was in both my belief and my desire.

Forgiveness is easy. Acceptance is impossible.

Sunday, March 3, 2013


I have a temper.

It is horribly volatile and, sometimes, violent. It is often ridiculous and, at times, absolutely terrifying.

Anyone who knows me, knows that.

They also know that I struggle mightily to control it. Well, rather, they know that it is incredibly difficult for me to control it. But perhaps they do not realize just how successful I am in not letting it control me.

And for some reason, there are those few in my life who seem hellbent on tempting this temper.

And then marvel at the fact that I get mad, every single time. I am nothing if not consistent.

The Boy is just as consistent.

I'd rather you argue with me or even tell me to fuck off than to lie to me.

There is very little that enrages me more than to be lied to.

Thursday, February 28, 2013


"Better to happen to you, than to me."

Who the fuck says that?

Certainly one might say "better you than me" when speaking to someone who got stuck having to stop for gas in the rain, or who has to deal with some dipshit for just a bit.

But to look at your spouse when they are in physical pain and say, "better to happen to you, than to me," is just a fucked up thing.

Of course I've done plenty of fucked up things so I can hardly judge anyone else.

But I can't help but be hurt.

Monday, February 25, 2013


This is why. For both of them.


It occurs to me that some of you may not know who I am. There are plenty of days I wonder myself.

Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Alice.

I used to be a writer. I used to be a lot of things. I've lived a bit now and find that I'm a whole lot more than I thought I was. Perhaps I've just grown.

I'm selfish. And I am a snob.

It's so easy to lose sight of myself in the hustle of this life.

It's not so much that I can't forgive myself as it is that I believe one must forever keep her faults before her, lest she forget herself.

There have been many good people met along the way. I miss the ones no longer around and am grateful my world collided with theirs.

I am a better person today. I still have so much farther to go.

Sunday, February 10, 2013


It seems as though my life, my home, my world, is in a constant state of flux - a constant rearranging, a steady shifting - a subtle ebb and flow.

I'm too sentimental. I hold on to everything. I've left so much behind.

There's not a lot I can do about the clutter in my mind so instead I tackle the clutter in my life - cleaning out closets, weeding through drawers, purging what I can.

Too much clutter, and even the very act of sorting and purging, invites restlessness - restless energy, restless spirits. You open each box, unpack, examine and repack, discarding a piece or two.

It's nice to lighten the load, but even better when the remaining shit all gets shoved back into the closet.

Saturday, February 9, 2013

six word saturday

Cluttered mind, no time for rest.

Thank you to Kate for sharing.

Sunday, February 3, 2013

ding dong

I'm pretty sure she's dead. 

I'm not quite sure how I feel about that. There is certainly a sense of loss there, but that isn't new. What was lost was lost years and years ago. 

I suppose the most overwhelming emotion is relief. And that makes me feel ashamed.

I'm disappointed that  no one told me  seven years ago,  but really, who was there to tell me?

Now  that she is no longer a  danger,  perhaps it's  safe for The Boy to meet his paternal grandfather  whom I have  never  meet in  person, and the man who filled that role for the first 4 years of his life.


I feel a tremendous amount of pressure - to make a difference, to be there for my family, to fulfill my purpose - the point of my existence. 

I have the opportunity, they were right, I am a leader.

I'm not sure I want the responsibility.

I wish I were twenty-five and not as tired. 

Sunday, January 27, 2013

mommy dearest

Momma doesn't really want to talk to me.

We had become quite close, but that is over now. She doesn't want to be around me.

She doesn't want to be around The Boy either.

How do I know this? Because she chooses, quite pointedly, to not be present.

I'm not sure if it's because she's mad at me or because she's ashamed of herself. I suppose it could be either one, depending on the time of day and her ability to feel remorse, which I question.

I've betrayed her, well, betrayed Daddy. In her mind it's the same thing.

That's what Daddy said anyway. She and I don't talk about it. We never have.

She just screamed in my face and lied to me about it for years.

While preaching to me of honesty and trust.

I suppose it may be hard to face me now, but I've done nothing to make it so. Perhaps she doesn't know I've forgiven her. It's not a concept she seems to grasp and she never bothered to ask.

Sunday, January 20, 2013


Who am I kidding?

One of the biggest reasons I don't write anymore is because I figure I don't really have anything so important to say that anyone needs to hear it.

I have, what I consider to be, important conversations with myself incessantly. With myself, with God, sometimes even with my dead husband or some other spirit passing through - but mostly it's a conversation just among God and I, a running dialogue if you will.

I've often wondered if people would think me crazy if they knew about this never-ending dialogue, this story that seemed to write itself. I've often questioned whether I might be crazy.

And I may be. In fact, I'm pretty sure I am, but aren't we all?

But I don't think it's crazy that I have conversations with God, and with myself. I'm pretty sure we all do.

I imagine it would be very lonely having only yourself to talk to. I wonder of those who do not believe in anything - in any higher power or natural law of order - I wonder how they explain that extra voice deep in their psyche.

That often silent, yet booming voice that alerts you to reconsider your actions, your motives, your words; to remind you that you are not alone; to nudge you down a certain path and to nag you (sometimes gently, sometimes forcefully) into seeing the Truth.

Don't we all have that voice?

Tuesday, January 15, 2013


There is no one person left on this earth that knows everything about me.

I recently found myself spilling my guts with a member of my extended family. She was always privy to the heavily filtered, often straight-up propaganda, version of of what the rest of the family thought of me so she never had a chance to really get to know me. We've been working on that.

I don't know what surprised me more, the fact that I shared so much with her or the fact that, while horrified, she didn't immediately begin placing blame and judgment.

There are pieces of my past that most people know very little about. Most people would rather not know.

The Husband would prefer not to know if I masturbate or not. I suppose it's safe to assume that he doesn't want to know about the various times in my life I've been violated either.

The First One knew all of that and then some. The difference is that we were friends first. We were always friends first.

There are things you won't think twice about telling your best friend, but you may hesitate and perhaps not ever tell your mom, your child, your spouse. Some people simply can't handle receiving certain bits of information. There is some information you simply don't want to share with certain people.

Is it truly necessary?

There's a certain comfort in knowing that there is someone out there who knows everything about you -good, bad and ugly - and still loves you anyway. It validates your sense of self-worth in a way very little else can.

But is there such a thing as too much information? Too much transparency?

After all, ignorance certainly can be bliss.

Monday, January 14, 2013

words, words, words

I used to be a prolific writer. Short stories, essays, poetry - the written word consumed me.

I don't know that any of it was any good. In fact, I always thought most of it sucked.

I was never much worried about whether or not it was any good. For me, it was all about the escape. Words provided that escape. Whether they were written by the masters - Shakespeare, Dickens, Bernie Taupin (and yes, I consider Taupin a master) or by me - words were beautiful. Rather, the often elaborate, sometimes deceptively simple, always unique way in which people strung them together was beautiful.

If I was awake, I was creating my own strings of words or reading someone else's. You never saw me without a book, a notebook and a couple of pens.

Then life got in the way.

At first I still read voraciously and scribbled on napkins in the middle of the night as I served bacon and eggs to the bar hoppers.

It wasn't long before the words no longer seemed important.

There was never enough sleep, never enough money, never enough words to change that.

I was trying to keep it all together, trying to keep him from self-destructing, trying to keep a roof over our heads and food on our table. Words became a luxury.

I could not have found the words, or strung the words together in such a way as to adequately convey my emotions during that time period anyway.

Since then I've worked for a small newspaper, serving as a reporter, photographer and managing editor. I wrote hundreds of stories.

But that was different. Very different.

Oh sure, I'll go through a spurt - usually paired with some sort of emotional crisis, but I have never gotten back to the 5-25 page a day cycles I use to hit so frequently.

But that's back when my life revolved around words and now my words must revolve around my life. It's certainly an adjustment.

Sunday, January 13, 2013

offerings and boundaries

I suppose another problem is wrestling with what I should share.

Is there a thing as too much information? Too much insight into me?


It is in fact, quite probable.

But it is also all I have to offer.


It's hard for me to believe that anyone would care to know.

And I am always afraid that, if you did know, if any of you knew - really knew - you would no longer care.


Meanwhile the music of Mumford and Sons is making me very happy.

Saturday, January 12, 2013


I don't write anymore.

It's not that I've made the conscious choice not to. I just don't.

I don't spend that much time living in my own head. We miss out on an awful lot of living when we live locked away in our own minds.

I should, but I must hide to write. Be alone with that quiet voice murmuring within.


Work is a fabulous distraction.

It requires my focus. Every single minute.

By the time I've processed so much, I'm exhausted. I'm not ready for visitors at that point, especially if the visitor is me. I just want to shut down.

I not sure what I'm trying to prove.


I wonder sometimes if I'm supposed to hide away, in a cabin by the creek.

I know that I am. There is no doubt.

One day, when I've experienced more and know how the ending feels. Meanwhile I scribble sporadically and I wait.

Until Forever.

Wednesday, January 9, 2013


Some loves last forever. Real love always lasts forever.

It doesn't matter how much time has passed or how much distance separates you.

Some things never change. You always seem to find each other.

And if you wait, and trust Him, God always gives you exactly what you need, exactly when you need it. Forever.