Nov 29
“That’s my mama,” says Kolby, pointing to me as I drive while talking to her sister. My toddler’s burgeoning vocabulary makes me chuckle and I glance at them in the rearview mirror. Faith smiles at Kolby. “Yes, that is Kolby’s mama,” she agrees. “But its Faith’s mama too.” Kolby narrows her gaze into a territorial …
May 05
So I should be happy that I got my shot, right? But then the editor says to me, after he delivers the wonderful news that he is indeed interested… “But, it might be a long shot.”
Long shot! I am no long shot! How dare he? I am Scrappy Sam the underdog. How can he not see this spunk and fire in my belly? Doesn’t it radiate from my very being?
And so now, I feel this pressure to perform…
Feb 23
And there sat my baby boy in the midst of these horny teenagers. My sweet and innocent little angel corrupted by tarts and P Diddies. (Ok, possibly an overreaction, but I am relatively confidant my son is still pure) And I got scared and a little sad. Because, the truth is I can’t protect him from a culture that is hyper sexualizing everything down to tennis shoes.
Feb 03
So, is this the future of the CIA? We dumb it down so that it’s politically correct and turn it into a late-night joke? Call me naive, but true equality seems pretty simple, it’s when the best man or woman for the job gets the job, without racial or gender stereotypes. End of story
Jan 03
Our praises seem to dry up when circumstances go down the drain, and when there are no words left, we disappear, because suffering interferes with our busy agendas. Mourning, compassion, empathy…the sheer ability to be present in the Valley of the Shadow of Death with anyone, even sometimes those closest to us, seems desperately lacking in our society.
Dec 04
This is high–tech warfare masquerading as sneezes, a strategic malaise allowing the perpetrator to gain a tactical advantage over their adversary. Biological warfare has hit, and men are down, forced to watch old movies and hack up a lung on the sofa.
Oct 11
In all honesty, much of my writing attempts are like hurling darts into Jello. I aim, I throw, and then comes the distinctive sound of jello– blu..blu…blump. Maybe no one cares or takes interest in something I thought was riveting.
Oct 02
Stunned and staggering backward, I could only whisper, “no, no, no,” as the little girl, with terror in her eyes, started crying. Her friend started scolding her in Spanish, and she only cried more. I asked what she was saying through my own tears, and the girl in blue translated, “She wants to know if she killed the baby.”
