When I was a kid I was afraid of lava. I felt it was an imminent danger. At any minute I might encounter lava. Lava has recently come into my four year old son’s life, probably the same way it must have come into mine: school. Somehow he found out about lava and now when we cross the street he decides that he must jump over the lava. It gets pretty exciting when he’s pausing to jump from non-crack to non-crack and I’m trying to walk at a normal even pace holding his hand across a busy intersection in DuPont Circle. Continue reading The Living
I have an idea for a chapter in my NaNoWriMo WIP but I need your THOUGHTS. Yes, literally your thoughts. They will be the materials I sew together into a chapter in Kals of Qi. If I get sufficient responses, I will publish the draft chapter on 1874 First Impressionist Exhibition after the poll closes on November 20, 2014.
I do not remember the day you filled my mind with certainty. The day your dazzling clarity became irrefutable to my feeble mind. The card-board stand-up people bartered dead objects in strange and barren places. I could see to the end of heaven.
I protect my desire for organization. I never want to get too honest about it. But, life has a way. A couple of years ago, I saw something on Facebook to the effect of “a clean house is a sign of a wasted life.” “It just couldn’t be,” I thought. And, at the same time, I thought, “Yes, that’s exactly right.”
I started this blog to practice writing. But, what keeps me coming back is reading other people’s writing. I want everyone I know now to blog about the project or activity or topic closest to their hearts. They don’t really want to. Fortunately, I have all the WordPressers who are already here! Including, Martha Hannah of Is That a Hair In My Biscuit (A Fine Southern Blog), who presented me with the Liebster!
I am a working mom of two awesome kiddos – Gus (4) and Teddy (5 months). My husband and I chose to exclusively breastfeed. That sounds weird to say. The truth is more like, I wanted to breastfeed and my husband was very supportive.
I have trouble imagining a vast and infinite world. Mark Aldrich asks in I, Toward a Metrics of Me:
Am I my numbers? Am I my metrics of me? Everything in the world can be counted, and that number can be known and disclosed, but more often than not this one fact does not make it information.