Wednesday, July 27, 2016


Thistles are considered 'pernicious' weeds and the only way to get rid of them is to dig deep, pull the entire root and fill the hole created with something else.

There's a thistle in my's pernicious, painful and needs to be pulled from the root.  I've let thistles grow in the garden of my heart for much too long and avoided the dirty work of getting on my knees, putting my hands in the dirt and pulling it out by the root.  The garden of my heart is beautiful...I love passionately, I give generously, I'm forgiving, funny, kind, intelligent and curious in astounding ways.  Yet, in this glorious garden of my heart there are thistles strewn throughout.  They poke me, catch me unawares and it's time to get rid of them.

I'm down on my knees, ready to dig in the dirt and pull them from my garden.  As I understand it, thistles, just like heartache, will reoccur over and over until you get to the very root of them and remove them completely, replacing them with 'competing ground cover'.  In this case, competing ground cover might look something like art, a good book, walks on the beach, amazing sex, good food, laughter, sleeping in a tent, cooking fish I caught, yoga...a myriad of things to fill in the holes being created by my digging.

Yes, it's a dirty job.  There are thistles that poke, dirt gets moved around, my shoulders are sore from the tension, my eyes are tired from the tears, but the garden of my Soul is worth the work.

Maybe, at the end of all this, I'll invite someone special into my garden to plant some seeds!

Sunday, July 24, 2016

Anniversary Reflections

Thirty three years ago today I got married.  At ages 18 and 21, we were naive, uninformed and ill prepared to deal with buying a home, paying bills and handling the emotions that type of commitment took.  I, particularly, was ill prepared.

We are no longer married and not even friends.  Friendship with him would be so fun. He's intelligent, talented, hard working, super funny and the father of four of my children.  He'd be somebody I'd pick for a friend now.  I would love to call him and chat about our crazy kids, our super cute grand kids, the stupid shit we've done over 33 years of knowing one another...but we're not friends...we're ex somethings...ex spouses...ex parenting partners...ex friends...ex lovers.  We share four kids and memories of fishing and four-wheeling and fun and work and remodels and learning to be grown ups.  We share hurt and growth and somewhere deep down in the depths of our souls, when we look at our kids who look so much like 'us', we share love. For me, it's impossible to love so deeply the humans we created who look like such a reflection of him and not feel love for him as well.  Something in me believes I know him well enough to know he feels the same.

Thirty three years ago today I changed my name and lost my Self.  My life became about being what others expected of me.  I've done things I didn't really want to do, didn't do things I did want to do, in order to be pleasing or right to someone outside of me.  I've done some interesting things, had astounding accomplishments whilst raising five kids, have failed miserably at relationships, kept trying when the odds were against me and struggled to get back the name, the voice, the path I veered off of 33 years ago.

Today, I take back my name.  The name the original man in my life gave me.  The man who from the day I was born until now has been consistent, constant and never changing.  My father remains the most steadfast, predictable, habitual and committed man I've ever known.  I am emotional, outrageous, out spoken, curious, and loud like my mother.  Yet it is my father's influence that constantly shows me the path to take, the way to live a solid life and the character to be who you are all the time, no matter what.  My father is unwavering in his commitment to be him and live his beliefs.

The day I got married, my dad held my hand, said 'Shorty, you don't have to do this' and I wish I had been courageous enough to say find my say 'I'm scared Daddy and I don't think this is right'...but I didn't.  At that moment, my voice, my Self, was lost and has struggled to re surface for years.  That voice, that Self, appears randomly and then gets silenced by rejection, fear, need for acceptance, self doubt and recrimination.

As I take back my - his - name, I pray that the character he's shown me becomes more prevalent.  I vow to myself - on this day of remembering vows - to be Me.  To recognize the sound of my own voice.  To say no when I mean no. Say yes when I mean yes. To make some amazing art like I did when I was a kid.  To listen to the sound of my soul rather than the voices in my head put there by others who want to judge without knowledge.  To run on the beach. Have fires. Light candles. Read books.  Have amazing sex.  Eat good food.  Laugh with my kids and grand kids.  To be passionately, habitually, committed to Me.