Bring On Lemons

Raining on the Inside If you're anything like me, you don't really enjoy crying in front of people. That means happy tears as well as those of pain and sadness. Such an outflow of emotion is something I feel comfortable doing in the shower, and on rare occasion, in front of my husband. This said, if you've seen me cry, I was likely incredible uncomfortable at that moment. If you've seen my cry more than once, you're probably a dear friend or family member (or a stalker with a stool who can see into my bathroom window). I have plenty of emotions, but I prefer to share the happy ones and leave the tears for private. This morning I logged into my social media accounts (since I own a business where I help businesses with social media, I get to call this "work") - so I started 'working' and my news feed was flooded. 1) The mayor's grandfather died 2) A dear friend described herself as "broken" after the death of yet another family...

If you were a boat, the following could be said: When the waves are tossing you about and the turbulence is more than you can bear you return to port. Returning to the safety of the harbor where you find refuge and safety among others of your kind. Life isn’t entirely different than sailing. When a woman feels as if her very being is shattering – during childbirth – she calls out for her mother. Our natural instinct is to return home. Sometimes home is a town, a building, the loving arms of friends and family, and sometimes it is merely a smell or a memory. I place we long to be but can never find in the physical sense. I feel that way myself from time to time. I seek the camaraderie of a particular melody or the words of a poem. Today it was the lovely words written nearly one hundred years ago by poet Amy Lowell. I have a delightful text book from 1923 that describes Amy in the following way: No one has fought, in theory and in practice, the battles for the experimental a...

Do you feel like things are out of control? Too many irons in the fire? Too many things on the 'to do' list? Not enough hours in the day? Feel like someone else is driving the bus and you aren't liking the direction it's heading? YOU have choices... breathe Stop whatever you are doing right now. Close your eyes. Breathe in, Breathe out. Put down your smart phone. Grab something to drink (ie: water, coffee, etc...) and take a seat. I want the next 7 minutes of your life...starting now... Here's a gift I want to give you: I met a man who was a college football star. He went surfing and had a terrible accident. He woke up paralyzed from the neck down. That's right...he can't move his arms, he can't urinate without help, he can't dress himself, feed himself, make love to his wife, hold his children, etc...(I know...you're wondering what kind of gift this is...). I don't want you to feel more fortunate because someone is in a worse situati...

A fictional story to get us thinking about the silent mourners...thank you to several great friend for this fabulous idea! Please feel free to comment on this post with your own thoughts and ideas. They learned only ten years into their marriage that Anna would have only a few good years and nothing beyond that would be a guarantee. The disease would eventually rob her of her ability to walk and would make every day tasks impossibly painful. It was a lot for Steven to take, but he knew the importance of family. He was virtually on his own at the age of fifteen and he would never turn his back on his wife or their children. His story was sad to say the least with a drunkard father and a flirtatious mother - hard to say which had been more irresponsible, but the judge had given him the choice. At age fifteen he decided that being on his own was better than babysitting for the adults who had so obviously let him down. That was all history now, and Steven was in this with Anna through th...

Finding Clarity - a fictional lesson in communication. The scotch burnt his throat in a good way. He balanced the sail plan with the tiller lashed so the sailboat would rest quietly for the night. Her name was Clarity, written in lovely script across the bow. She was only 12 feet. Some might call her a dingy, but Jeremiah was in lust with her. Others questioned his sanity because he couldn’t swim a stroke. She was just what he needed when he dragged himself out of the office on rare occasions. Tonight was his night to sleep on the boat, several miles off shore. He was alone. He was lonely. As the last drop of the malt whiskey trickled down his throat, Jeremiah was reminded of the small red droplets on the living room carpet so long ago. He closed his eyes to block out their past; after all, exactly a decade had passed. He poured another glass. He had promised his sponsor that he wouldn’t let this anniversary shake his sobriety, and then he promised himself that just one glass...

We are tied to the ocean. And when we go back to the sea, whether it is to sail or to watch - we are going back from whence we came" ~ John F. Kennedy I'm not sure if it's all the wedding talk or just the fact that Spring was my favorite season as a child, but I've been feeling a little melancholy the last few days. Lots of little things have been making me cry. Many would say "it's about time" since I pride myself in not crying...neither here nor there, I needed a little pick me up. Andre and I went to the beach where my father took me so many times as a child. Then, I was the child and he led me under the shade tree and reminded me the importance of listening and taught me to respect the water and the waves because they are both beautiful and dangerous. The tree is larger now, but it has stood the test of time. This morning, I was the parent and reminded my son of the very same things that were told to me at his age. And then we played...wit...