There are millions of stories swirling around us — tales of whoo-hoo! Tales of OMG-you-have-got-to-be-kidding…
All happening. At the same time. In this crazy world. Like feeling dumb-struck grateful for having two opposable thumbs. Or waking up at three o’clock in the morning with another blast of existential angst. The utter joy when a Gen Z cashier with tattoos, piercings and a beautific smile, bags my groceries at Trader Joe’s. That quick jolt of numbing cold when I get another notification on my phone from… well… the bad news bears.
Stories about remembering — that good health is temporary. So is every one. Every thing. Every moment. Tales about holding on…for dear life. Letting go… for dear life. With a sorta-open heart and kinda-unclenched hands. Thank you for sharing your personal bandwidth and precious time with me and may you find yourself in these stories too.
Please leave your comments because this story-telling business goes both ways. I can’t wait to hear from you!
I am still responding to all the heartfelt emails I have received after my last blog, Watch Your Step—the one about my sweetie Craig taking a nose-dive in front of our local post office and our visit to the emergency room at U.C.L.A. Yes I have left you hanging. That is…
We call it a “working vacation” which I think, in retrospect, are two words that don’t belong in the same sentence. Hubby Craig and I embark on a whirly-windy ukulele tour that takes us from Modesto and Sacramento to San Jose where I re-discover, not for the first time, that…
Oh dear. I know my semi-regular blogs have been, well, not… What can I say? It’s busy-busy here in Culver City. But then something happens that I just have to write about. I go to Costco for gas. And my whole psychological spooky house loses a couple walls… It’s early, before…
Way back when, I remember mastering three chords on the ukulele–in the blessed key of C–so I could sing and play a few songs for the injured veterans at my local VA Hospital. I am in nursing school and my fellow students and I are doing our first semester clinical…
My first apartment! It’s tiny—one room—eight blocks from the beach in Santa Monica. My own four walls. Literally. I climb the freshly painted white steps to the door that opens because I have the key. Oh-Oh! There is space enough for my piano, a sofa-bed, a desk, dresser and not much else. But…
All the “kids” in my ukulele group, The CC Strummers, are living courageous and Technicolor lives, whether they (or we) know it. The truth is I could write a blog about every one of them. I could write a blog about YOU and I bet I’d be plenty inspired. Well…
