these words, lyrics actually, to one of my favorite ingrid michaelson songs, keep running on the treadmill through my mind. pounce. pounce. pounce. my brain strikes each verb, consonant, metaphor and simile over and over again with a whack of wanting; striving to...
POP! that was the sound of my front, left tire as i “turned” right into a chevron station yesterday. in my version of this story the curb had spiky, protracting thorns which vehemently besieged my exemplary, mother theresa like, clean-air giving prius. the...
we’ve all done it, royally screwed up the lyrics to a song, and ignorantly belt them out nonetheless as if we had penned the words ourselves. apparently my first words weren’t “mamma” or “dadda,” but “i’ll never love...
every summer has a story…. whether it be down by the water…. in the arms and eyes of a new crush, or a rekindling of a lingering, love deep. summer means sunshine, tan lines and the smell of store bought coconut lotion. in the summer, impromptu,...
splendid, friday wishes to you m’loves. i am still so bewildered and sad over the death of the great writer, screenwriter, director, journalist and mother, nora ephron. she was in a talent league of her own, and taken away much too soon. do you have a favorite...
