What this blog is about

story telling
This blog is dedicated to stories.

Writing stories.

Reading stories.

Stories about life.

Life stories.

Telling stories.

In other words, all stories all the time.

The stories may be about me, freelancing, fiction, something interesting that I saw, heard or know about, stories of inspiration, everyday foibles, funny stories, sad stories, silly stories. Well…I guess you get the idea.

My goal is to entertain you, give you something to think about and help you in any way I can. After all, a person is only as valuable as they serve others.

Feel free to look around, read something and let me know what you think.

May all your days be filled with wonderful stories.

ready til the wee hours

Writer Chick

Miracles Do Happen!

Some of you may know that this past May, a very close friend of mine was in a really bad car accident. So bad in fact, that I wasn’t sure she was going to live. To say this turned my world upside down puts it mildly, the last time I was this grief stricken was the day my father died, if that puts it in perspective. Kelly is one of those really special people who lights up a room whenever she enters. She is kind, caring, funny and will do anything for anybody.

Not long after the accident, I flew to Seattle to help in whatever way I could and to join the literally hundreds of other people who knew and loved Kelly in a massive prayer chain to bring her through this catastrophe and give her back to us. It was a very rough week for me and I was in no way prepared to see what had happened to her and to realize how very little I could do for her. Much of the time I spent just trying not to cry and to keep her gorgeous girls occupied. Really, it was in God’s hands and all we could do was pray and send her our love and hope for the best. There wasn’t much sleeping or laughing going on but there was a lot of love and a sort of instant kindredness among all us. Lots of hugs and tears and smiles and hand squeezes. We all wanted the same thing – for our Kelly to get well and weather the storm.

The day I returned to L.A. from Seattle I discovered Kelly said her first words. And fittingly they were to her mother, Charlene. She said, ‘thank you’ when she saw Charlene straightening up her hospital room. Somewhat startled Charlene went to Kelly’s bedside and and looked closely at her daughter and said, “Do you know who I am?”

Kelly said, “yes.”

Charlene asked. “Who am I?”

Kelly said, “Mom.”

And that was the beginning of the miracle. Not only had she lived through a 60 mph impact into her standing still car, she spoke and she remembered her mother. Over the ensuing weeks, I read her brother’s email updates on her progress and it was amazing, lesser men would have died. But Kelly with the spirit of a team of Clydesdales pushed through to each next level with flying colors. Still, I have to admit, I was worried and wondered how much of her memory she had lost. If she had sustained any serious or long term brain damage. If she would be Kelly again. I knew while I was there she didn’t know me. In fact, I’m not sure she has any memory of that week at all. I worried (selfishly) that maybe she would never remember me and we would have to find our way to friendship in a new chapter.

I worried too about her young daughters, her brothers, her parents, her husband – if they too would get their Kelly back.

Today, my prayers were answered. I called her mother to get an update and to see where I could send cards and such to Kelly (since she’s been constantly been transferring to new facilities) and Charlene told me that Kelly now has a cell phone that she is talking to friends on. Charlene gave me the number and of course I called it immediately. Unfortunately, I got the voice mail and left a message.

For hours afterwards, every time the phone rang, I jumped and grabbed it, hoping to hear her voice. When I finally gave up the hope that I’d hear from her, she called. When she said my name I started to cry from pure joy. It was my Kelly. It was really her. The relief and gratitude I felt I simply can’t describe. We talked on the phone for nearly an hour and it was just as though nothing had happened. I have my friend back. I didn’t lose her after all. And I’m so glad because I just couldn’t have imagined life without her.

So thank you, a million times to all of you who prayed for her, hoped for her and her family. Who sent out your love to a stranger, only because I asked you to. Your prayers have worked and have helped to create this wonderful miracle.

Small it Down

Small it down. Don’t take it all in. Shut out the things that scream and flap, they aren’t yours. You don’t have to have it all just because you feel it all. It ain’t all yours, no matter what you think. Most of it isn’t, actually. Most of it is just what is. What you can do nothing about. What climbs into your dreams because you leave the windows open and a never ending supply of catfood on the back porch.

Larger than life is good, but you can choke on it. Better to take the small bites and digest slowly, see if it agrees with you. Other people’s plates always look better, smell better, seem fuller and more appetising. But it’s not yours and you have to give it back sooner than later, so why poise your fork in the first place?

Small it down, thin the herd, find the tags addressed to you. Those are the things that belong in your mailbox, the correspondence you need to answer. Learn to listen better, not bigger. Think quieter, not louder. Speak thougthfully, not endlessly.

Prospect the mine on your own property, find the gold that pulses in those veins – they open for you freely and without much cost. Sell the goods from the stores of your imagination and put the faery wings on the clearance table. Inventory is only good if it’s good, not ample.

Small it down. Make it whisper, so it speaks only to you. Make it flutter slowly and catch every frame. Know it as it knows you. Is you. Small it down.

Dear God…

Dear God….
I’m tired and my soul aches down to its toes
Staring eyes see the blue between the words where I try to find your message.
Trembling hands grasp for meaning in my daily bread but the crumbs scatter toward the crows
That perch outside my window
I hear them mumble prayers of unrepentance and sing hyms of opportunity
My feet don’t stand on their own and prop me up like flapping sheets on windy clotheslines
Arms wrap around to protect what hides beneath – stacatto breath chasms deep inside my lungs and
Forces down the screams that seek pity and surrender
And then your sunset slides down the wall of sky and creeps across the lawn
To comfort me.

copyright 2008