{Ten Thousand Tears}

My tears are welcome. I see them splattered, dried on my glasses as I peer out the window into the wintry, cold, gray, foggy morning; tiny specks on the panes of my eyeglasses. I wipe hard at these dried salty witnesses. They are a record of my sodden heart. Ten thousand tears come raining down. The soil of…

What If All Your Life You Believed A Lie? You Are Too Broken.

The morning air is all awash with angels …  – Richard Wilbur You cannot unbreak a broken stick. This morning, I awoke to a sense of life’s forfeiture.  I am broken. I’ve lived half my life, if my mother is to be believed I’m only in my middle years, as if I am a broken stick;…

{We Are All Dying}

The crawl of fear, of losing, is close.  It licks me, as if I am a salty wound.  Everyone dies. Of course. But lately, I am aware of Life all around me healthy or otherwise. Tiny birds are singing a sonnet, high up in the tree. Cancer cells are growing inside a dear old friend. Dementia and…

{Fly Away From Me: On Children}

I woke up this morning, the sun creeping in earlier than I wanted.  Coming out of my dreams, I felt grief wash over my body, sore from running daily; I felt the years wash over me physically.  And fear. I am afraid for all the time—lost.  Gone. My children are almost grownup into people, yet…

{How I Wish I Were Different: After Four Years of Sobriety}

I go to the garden. My reasons are messy and fluid, resembling the task. The 95 degree temperature hits me in the face as I sluggishly climb out of my car. Searching the field, I identify three backs bent. I see them from afar. Why am I here? There is no turning back as the heat…

{A Cautionary Tale of Sobriety}

When I first began this blog in 2008, it was (in many ways) a place to process my alcoholism and recent sobriety.  I felt very alone and thought, why the hell not?  One of the first things I wrote was a poem (of sorts) titled It’s Lonely Here on The Wagon. That poem chronicled the…

I Never Wanted to be Like My Mother

I never wanted to be like my mother. My mother stayed for more than 40 years in a marriage that broke her heart.  She admits now that she was afraid. She married in the late fifties, when women couldn’t even have a bank account in their name.  She was a teacher and worked to put…

Let your Fear Fly Free

So often, if I find myself returning in frustration and anger, again and again, to a subject. When this happens I know that it has become an area of idolatry for me. Or it’s an area that God wants to heal in my life.   Or both! I’m a slow learner but I’m learning this about myself.  About…

Were I to forgive you, Daddy … [A tale of domestic abuse, Part 2]

I just posted a piece on domestic abuse.  This is a tiny bit of my personal story that I wrote several years ago. The stupid neither forgive nor forget; the naive forgive and forget; the wise forgive, but do not forget.  — Thomas  S. Szasz First published in March 2010.  This was not easy to…

I was in Love…with Vodka, Wine and Gin

On the eve of my birth week, I want to take a moment to remember where I have come from, now that I am three plus years sober.    While purging and organizing books this week I came across a little orange index card that I wrote to myself while I was working hard at accepting my…

Being Broken by Addiction

My dog Comet is being groomed for the first time today and as I was dropping him off I glanced over at the magazines. I was drawn like a bee to pollen by the cover of  Brava Magazine.  It had an article about the secret addictions of women in Wisconsin, aptly titled The Silent Treatment….

Sunday Morning [a poem]

Sunday morning was the ticking of the clock, each second in my head. Time stretched beyond eternity, hung over. Awash with a thousand regrets swallowed the night before. I thought I knew in my anxious thoughts what I needed. My thirst was constant. Fully knowing, the need for living water was stronger than the thirst…