Spoons and wounds and the words i couldn’t say…..

We played a game when I was young where a handfull of spoons was fetched from the kitchen and placed loose in a pile on the table, always one fewer than the players gathered ’round. Like in musical chairs,  we would dive to grab a one with a certain turn of hand, and the one…

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Of hiding and hunger and a low sound humming …

I was born into the anxious airbrush of a disapproving religion and I was born into love and welcome arms and really glad you’re here. Always the two danced together,  as they often do in an uncertain world where life is fragile and being is messy and only rules seem safe when nothing else does.…

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let me count the ways….

Celebrating 29 years of togethering and oh how grateful I am for my mister ~  his beautiful hands and kind, firm touch, ~ his quiet way ~ how when he laughs,  really laughs,  it’s music, like my grandpa’s, ~ his loving fierceness for protecting our children ~  the compassion that rises up and takes him…

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