Prodigal Poet: An Ecclectic Offering on God, Shakespeare, and the Beatles

My age says I should no longer hold lengthy conversations about the greatest moments in The Muppets repertoire, consort with Smurfs, or linger over trinkets in a bargain bin  marked with Mr. Men and Little Miss.   My age implies thoughts should angle  toward savings bonds, health insurance,  mortgages, property value. My age insists the time to feel care-free and fresh  is past -- now is time for my childlike soul to run on fumes until it just gives out, pulls over, and waits to hitch another ride,  eventually the first part of the trip  disappearing in the distance of a rear-view mirror. Today I am 30.   And what once made me a tad anxious,  now makes me proud.   Three decades under the belt, a fourth just beginning.  The first three were practice anyway . . .  the fourth offers a chance to take what was good  and polish it up for the next run.   T...

  In less than a month now I will be hitting a bit of a milestone.  I will be turning 30.  I will have officially expanded my journey into four different decades.  I'm not completely sure how I feel about this.  It's a mixed bag -- part sadness, part eagerness, and part reluctance.  When I first started thinking about the upcoming September 30 (it's my golden birthday this year, by the way) I began to feel anxious.  30?!  But what have I done in 30 years?  What have I accomplished?  Aren't I still just a kid?  Shouldn't I have a house, and kids, and a career?  In your 20's it's common and perhaps even expected that you haven't done or do not have those things yet.  20's are all about transforming yourself into your adult skin, finding who you are outside of childhood, school, and parents.  30's are . . . well, aren't they . . . well, aren't you supposed to be who you are meant to be by then -- settled, stable, do...

* This is part 4 of a series of posts that explore my struggles with self-esteem, weight, Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome, and the very difficult task of trying to be my fullest self in a world that constantly demands more than what I am. Because this subject is so vast and most of my life has been spent swimming in its waters in some form or another I thought it best to break it up . . . also so as to not bore you to death! Some of you may not be able to relate, but I hope that you will find it interesting anyway. And perhaps you will be better able to understand someone in your life. Some of you may be able to relate and I hope that you will know that you are not the only one -- that the journey may be long, but progress is progress. Remember that no matter how small it may feel, you still are not the same person that you were yesterday. And that is something to celebrate! For Parts 1, 2, and 3 please scroll below . . . * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * I hated gy...

It's springtime, and like everyone else, I am glad. Although, the reason that I am glad is not because I hate winter, snow, and cold weather. On the contrary, I adore all of those things. In fact, if I had to pick a favorite season, I would probably pick winter . . . call me weird. I love each season as it comes -- each season in its due time. The reason I am happy to welcome back spring is for three things: the smells, leaves once again on the trees, and THUNDERSTORMS!! Yes, that's right, I love storms. I am pretty much infatuated with all bad weather . . . storms, snow, wind, cloudiness, etc. The only thing I do not enjoy, however, is driving in them. Springtime really pulls out the Transcendentalist in me. I like to channel my kindred spirits of Emerson and Thoreau. I suppose most people would say that nature is the thing that most inspires and rejuvinates them. So I won't say that (even though it's true), because I hate being just like everyone else. So ...

* This is part 3 of a series of posts that explore my struggles with self-esteem, weight, Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome, and the very difficult task of trying to be my fullest self in a world that constantly demands more than what I am. Because this subject is so vast and most of my life has been spent swimming in its waters in some form or another I thought it best to break it up . . . also so as to not bore you to death! Some of you may not be able to relate, but I hope that you will find it interesting anyway. And perhaps you will be better able to understand someone in your life. Some of you may be able to relate and I hope that you will know that you are not the only one -- that the journey may be long, but progress is progress. Remember that no matter how small it may feel, you still are not the same person that you were yesterday. And that is something to celebrate! For Parts 1 and 2, please scroll below . . . * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * It's taken me many many...

* This is part 1 of a series of posts that explore my struggles with self-esteem, weight, Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome, and the very difficult task of trying to be my fullest self in a world that constantly demands more than what I am. Because this subject is so vast and most of my life has been spent swimming in its waters in some form or another I thought it best to break it up . . . also so as to not bore you to death! Some of you may not be able to relate, but I hope that you will find it interesting anyway. And perhaps you will be better able to understand someone in your life. Some of you may be able to relate and I hope that you will know that you are not the only one -- that the journey may be long, but progress is progress. Remember that no matter how small it may feel, you still are not the same person that you were yesterday. And that is something to celebrate! * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * It's not easy being a woman. It's not easy to be a man ei...

Lately my mind has wandered into fervent thoughts of our dog that we had to put to sleep in February of this year. A friend recently had to commit the same heart-wrenching act. And just yesterday my mom and dad were telling me that they watched "Marley and Me." I have not seen this movie but I already know what happens. And let me tell you, I'm not sure that I can handle another "Old Yeller" type moment. When my husband and I saw "I Am Legend" in the theater we were a complete and utter mess! If you haven't seen it, I don't want to give anything away, so I'll just leave it at that. Both difficult movies for dog-lovers . . . or anyone with a soul. I've always been a dog person. I am the last child of three (two older brothers) and my family already had a dog when I was born. Her name was Fluffy, a peekapoo (such a stinkin' cute name for a mixed breed), who was about three years old at the time of my birth. So my attachment to dogs be...

Just recently saw a new trailer for the upcoming movie "Where the Wild Things Are." I can't express just how insanely happy I am that this book is being made into a movie, and how much I can't wait for it to be released (just in time for Kevin and my 4th anniversary!). Each time I've watched this or the first trailer I find myself pushing back a very prominent lump in my throat, and have a few tears that come poking their way around my lashes. It must seem so silly, to get this emotional over a movie I haven't even seen. But for some reason this one just hits me. I feel like a kid again . . . and for me, that's both a very easy and a very comfortable state in which for me to reside. I talk about my childhood very frequently. I was fortunate to have a very good childhood, until about 11 or so, when puberty hit and so did a very bad self-esteem. But before then, it was, simply put, delightful. Anything that is from my childhood (movies, books, music...

Well, I suppose my first random act, in relation to this blog, is the mere fact that I started this blog. I honestly did not think I was destined to become any form of a blogger. I've been writing for my own amusement since I was nine years old. This was the magically-delicious year that I discovered my greatest passion in life . . . writing, especially poetry. I sat in Mrs. Landis' third grade class as she announced that it was time for the Young Author's Contest, and we were all obliged to participate. We could choose to write non-fiction, fiction, or poetry, as well as illustrate. Poetry . . . hmm, now that was something I had never really thought of trying. The idea intrigued me so greatly that I could hardly wait to get home and start my new project. My first poem was titled "Mothers" -- a tribute to my mom. With that first poem I felt new emotions surging inside of me, feelings that were exciting, cathartic, and liberating. It was as if a new i...