Let’s try this again! I think this would be super awesome to read your poetry and see your culinary talents…or at least through a family recipe in. We poets are usually creative in more than one area.
Okay my friends…I was inspired by a poem I read yesterday that involved the tastes of a place. And food brings about joyous memories with friends and families and those special people we love. So, here’s my challenge:
Write a poem about the tastes of YOUR place…and then maybe include one of your favorite recipes…it can be from that place your wrote about, or one of your favorite recipes…I think it would be really cool to gather recipes of places from around the world….Then I can wake up and say things like, I’d like to travel to Austrailia today or Georgia, and pull a recipe out and be reminded of you! Besides, my recipe box needs new tastes! ENJOY!
Though I live in Idaho now…my strongest memories of taste are from Texas…
So, here’s my poem:
Random thoughts on the Flavors of Texas
I’ll tell you a
half dozen things about
View original post 228 more words
Oh, my dearest friends…I had the most awesome retreat with great pictures to share with you for Wordless Wednesday, AND the best TEXTURE pictures I’ve ever seen for Texture Tuesdays. But, Alas, I thought I was deleting only one picture from my Galaxy phone, and it turned out to be a folder of pictures. I am devastated. We tried all kinds of recovery…they’re gone. And I’m sad. BOWL OF TEXTURE – There was a bowl of texture…no one noticed but me…but since I look for great stuff for my buddy Narami, I really noticed. Spheres with seeds glued to them and a hardened artichoke and little tiny spiky nature balls…I mean I’ve never seen so much texture in a bowl.
I’m not sure why Samsung allows that to happen so easily. I click a box, and instead of ridding myself of one picture, it’s a folder of pictures…there should be a bigger warning…or it should look like a folder…or a button that says ARE YOU REALLY REALLY SURE? So I have nothing to share with you my most beautiful friends…maybe tomorrow.
However, I must get super busy because my daughter is coming home in the evening and I need to finish my classroom….Go Go Go! Cheer me on. Hugs and a great HUMP day to you. Love, Marie
Where do our handcuffs of fear come from?
And only love can heal…well said in this poem.
Self imposed handcuffs,
our fears imprison us,
rob us of the delight
Are our fears really ours
or wayward inheritances?
April Fool gifts of our culture?
If they are mine
where did they come from?
Do they serve me well,
or cast me in a dungeon
of loss and regrets?
How do I shed these fears
and step into the worlds
of unlimited experiences?
Drink a bottle of courage?
Cling to another frightened soul?
Hide in the rabbit hole?
Cry through the night
at what might have been?
The key that unlocks
handcuffs of fear
lies within the heart,
a secret so apparent
that we miss it.
To receive and use the key
that banishes our fears
requires only our desire
and commitment to act.
For it is love in its purest form
that dissolves fear
releasing us from its prison.
It is my birthright to…
View original post 35 more words
My daddy has been a vaulted man for most of my life. I never understood why. I only knew that as a child and an adult I yearned for him to talk to me…tell me things about him. The child in me longed for the stories and the adventures. But the human in me wanted a deeper relationship, to talk and go do things together. There’s something about a little girl and her daddy, or at least what I interpreted from watching my friends with their dads.
It’s been 3 years since I’ve began my quest to get to know daddy. I can’t tell you what prompted me to begin this journey, but I think it was intuition, or maybe it was that I sat still long enough to listen. I began with curiosity and a book. The book had questions in it. As I perused the book, I realized that I didn’t know a lot of basic things about my dad. Sure there were the obvious things I didn’t know like our family tree and how he met my mom or why she left. But really I didn’t even know simple things like his favorite color or favorite food or even family traditions.
I told dad about the book and showed it to him. He looked at it curiously. “What do you think dad?” I asked hopefully, and he answered, “sure, I could probably do that.” Inside, I was elated, and I wanted to grab him and hug him, but I knew I didn’t want to scare him. He was like a frightened deer talking about anything more than the weather and fishing and/or tractors.
The first year was peppered with just a few questions here and there, about every few days or sometimes just once a week. At first, I could only ask daddy really simple questions like family tree information or things he liked or didn’t like. That was safe enough.
However, if I asked a question that was too deep, he feigned an “I don’t know” or a “I have to go and fix dinner now” or “I’ll get back to that” (which he never did.) I could hear in his voice that I had hit a nerve and the pain was too raw to look at. Those were days he had looked at once and tucked away for good.
But there was something that kept him coming back. Was it that every one of us wants to leave a legacy of some sort? Is it that everyone wants to leave some small part of themselves in this world to know they had not lived their life in vein?
Also, at first, daddy would only answer the questions that were in the book. If I was there in person, he would peek over to make sure the question was in the book. He still didn’t trust me, and that was okay. Fortunately for me, I knew that I shouldn’t go off track, or he might not talk anymore. Actually, most of the time I worried if one day he would just stop answering questions. And I realized that worry didn’t serve me. I was learning more about dad than I ever had. It was these little gold nuggets that I kept digging up. Like gold, you cherish each little bit you find, even the flecks.
Fast forward three years, to last night. I chatted just a short chat with my daddy before he went to bed. I helped him calm his fears because nighttime is evil to him. (He has Sundowners.) And I told him, “I love you daddy and sleep well.” His words back to me were simple, but went straight to the heart.
“Thanks for being nice to me.”
Wow. Six little words that startled me into reality. Isn’t that what we ALL want? …someone to be nice to us, especially in a world that is sometimes cruel. We just want to know someone cares. And sometimes it’s in the simple things…talking on the phone and ask them about themselves. Daddy responded, as I think I would, grateful that someone was nice to me. It’s always been a journey for me to find the gold in every soul I meet, even those I might not care for or understand…it’s there. Now it’s my mission to find it and cherish it all people. There are so many treasures I have yet to meet.
Got a shovel? It’s time to dig!
*Disclaimer: I am not saying this will work for every person. But I do know this, that most of the time when you take the time to listen and ask questions, that people respond. Sometimes you have to sift through the response to see what is there, and look deep for what this person is offering you, no matter how small.
Have a most blessed day my fellow friends,
You brought us sunshine and smiles. I’m sorry we couldn’t bring you light to your darkness. ~Marie
This weekend, I’m on an amazing retreat with New York Times Best Selling Author, Bridget Cook and 3 other authors. It’s been an amazing collaboration of minds. Each person in this group has so many gifts and talents to share. We’re putting together our BOOK PROPOSALS. Wow, is that quite the feat. What is beautiful about this experience is that when we get stuck in an area, there are all these fabulous minds that put together ideas to get you moving along. It’s fabulous! They push my limits. They help me grow. They expand my thinking. They assist me in dreaming far beyond what I ever thought I could do.
I’m excited about how my message of the miraculous power and possibility of healing families will get out.
I’m also excited about the possibilities of showing how writing can heal my own soul. There are so many cool wicked tools.to help others in learning to transform their own lives.
For now, I’m off to get the hard work done…well, it’s not so hard. THIS GROUP IS REALLY FUN! I’ll post more later.
By the way, Bridget Cook is an AWESOME WRITING COACH and the amazing author of The Witness Who Wore Red…They just did a repeat of a Dateline 2 hour special called “Unbreakable.” An extreme story of courage of an FLDS woman. I attached a link. She is a great speaker on a difficult topic.
And if you want a TOP NOTCH, Intuitive, inspirational writing coach, check out her retreats at “Inspired Leagacy.” It is worth every penny.
This weekend I’m a full-time author. :0) Write, write, write!
I have not forgotten you, and I plan to post your comments this evening for our beautiful collaboration of “I Become” sponsored by SJ….but I am traveling to work on my Father’s book with some other great authors and will have my nose to the grindstone. (My last little jaunt before I begin teaching again.) Hopefully I have some great stuff to share with you Monday!
Rest assured, in the evenings, I can check back and update posts so your beautiful messages go out in this world.
~Namaste my dear friends,
Until we meet again. Marie