Computer Generated

 I am equal parts wildflower meadow and internet chaos. I split my life between Austin and Harlem like some kind of feral fairy with Wi-Fi, collecting strange stories, thrift store treasures, and enough plants to make my yard look like Mother Nature filed a hostile takeover. I have three ponds, mosquito fish, bees that treat me like staff, and the kind of relationship with dragonflies that sounds made up until you see it.

I’m a little awkward, a lot dorky, and fully committed to being the person who will absolutely stop mid-conversation to point out a cool bird, a weird bug, or a plant I’m emotionally attached to. I love social justice, old hacker lore, board games, soft things, sharp words, and the very specific chaos of trying to turn half an acre of Texas clay into a native meadow while arguing with strangers on the internet who peaked in 1987.

I was raised somewhere between off-grid woods, free-range chickens, and the kind of life lessons that make you either very resilient or very weird. I chose both. I’ve danced on stages in New York clubs, spoken in rooms full of hackers and chaos agents, and somehow still ended up being the person who gets genuinely excited about milkweed seedlings and whether the screech owl is back tonight.

I am soft, but never weak. Romantic, but with excellent aim. I believe in kindness, but I also believe some people deserve to be verbally escorted to the nearest exit. I trust animals faster than humans, think ghosts probably have good reasons, and I fully intend to become local folklore one day—the woman with the wild yard, too many opinions, and a suspicious number of foxes who seem to know her by name.

Wishes on what we will become

 This is a post I keep writing in my diary. I wrote it during the covid shutdown. 

- There’s been a lot. Too many. So many. But, I like to believe the people we lose don’t really leave. They turn into wishing stars and soft pieces of stardust, scattered around just above us.

They become the quiet wishes people make without even realizing it. The little prayers whispered into the dark. The hope held in someone’s chest when they look up at the night sky.

I like to think they’re still there, just higher now. Watching. Listening. Loving us from a different place.

Sometimes I stand outside when the world is still and the air feels soft and gentle, and I look up and talk to them. I tell them everything. I tell them I miss them. I tell them I’m trying.

And somehow, I know I’ll see them again. It feels inevitable, like tides, like seasons, like love finding its way back.

Someday, I think, I’ll be up there too. Just another wishing star, still loving the people I left behind.

Not a cardinal 4/23/26

 Every night, same branch outside my window, same little concert in my yard.

I thought it was a cardinal - but not quite like a cardinal. 

It’s definitely not a cardinal. 

Turns out it’s a Northern Mockingbird.

Now I can’t un-here it switches, little mashups of other birds.

Kind of amazing once you realize what you’re listening to.

If you’re hearing a “cardinal… but off” at night… it’s probably one of these guys.

Happy and Always

 I wake up in the morning, only to be sad I awake again. I don't wish to be here, I live in constant, chronic agony. I have lost years to pain. Now this,  my memories haunt me.

 I can only hope that my time on this earth isn't so long, that you don't have to be my caregiver. That you might someday find someone who truly makes you feel full and happy, someone who makes you smile. Someone who teaches you to take deep breaths and explore the world  

Then perhaps, you and I should meet again. Our fortunes intertwined. 

You being my forever and always, and I - Your happy together. 

Shrinking until shrunk

This is the end of a story that I will never start writing. I used grammerky for my spelling and grammarly mistakes. But, the rest is me. 

Child King

. . .  “ Three more years,”

said the failed child king.

And the world laughed, until the laughter fell into tears.

“Never again,” they whispered, then said aloud.

“Never, ever again.”

The failed child king scurried off, blundering and bothered, wailing and crying out to anyone who might listen.

“But I am the forever king,” he pleaded.

The people gathered together and poured out the cherry-red potion upon the ground. They closed their windows and locked their doors. They remembered they were human. They remembered their hearts and their hope. They remembered what was important.

And - It wasn’t hate.

It wasn’t lies.

It wasn’t anything cruel.

The people knew there was still good left in the world. They came together and stood against the hate. United, they grew stronger.

The people stood against the failed child king.

“No,” they cried.

“We will drink no more of your magic.”

As feeling returned, the syrup crept beneath the doors — thin and sticky, but weaker than before. And as minds cleared, the people raised their voices and called out together:

“You are hate!”

“You are the failed king.”

And then the failed child king began to shrink. He grew smaller and smaller, until he was scarcely there at all — nothing more than a faint bit of smudge left on the floor.

And that was the end of the failed child king.

Dear reader, there is no place in this world for hate.

Love is the tale worth telling.. 

Love always wins. 💙

Finding it

I found love years ago, last month

last week, and over the weekend. 

I found love today and I’ll find it tomorrow

together, forever, and always. 

May you always find your love. 

Happy Ups and happy Downs—

Happy Belated Anniversary. 

Hi Mom

 May 10, 2020

Hi mom, 

I’ve been working on this for a while now, it’s something you’ve inspired me to do. That was to keep writing. Unfortunately, I am left with an insurmountable amount of editing on this current project. 

  What is “this project?” you ask? I am writing a book. A collection of memories. This one in particular is yours. 

What you’re about to read is raw, it probably could be edited two or three pieces, and it needs finishing. But I want you to read it before it gets to that point. I want you to read it as-is. 

so... 

Happy Mother’s Day to my best friend, my secret keeper and forever chocolate sharer

I hope we can visit sooner - rather then later. I can’t wait!!! 

Love you always, 

- me 

Summer Winds

When I was in my early teens, my parents saved enough money to buy a swimming pool. This was no easy task.  You have to understand, Us getting that pool was a big deal. We had a great big change jar in the kitchen, every day we’d empty our pockets of the days  change and toss them into that big old jar. On weekends we’d return soda cans for 5 cents a can. Everyone chipped in and everything went into it. 

Our town looked down on us so much that this pool became a source of family pride.

For years, my dad meticulously cared for it, Debating Chemicals. Testing chlorine. Shock or super shock?

The pool itself was beautiful. An oval shape, surrounded by a series of wooden planks & stained patios. Dark wood and Leveled decks.

Lush gardens outlined the pool, Brown Eyed Susan’s & DayLilies grew wild. The air was full of fat bumblebees. Mixed in with the wildflowers was another source of pride - My moms most special and ever favorite - Blue Phlox, A  blue flower brought over from Germany. The seeds were planted & handed down, generations of them, passed from relative to relative. Each season growing a bigger and bolder blue, each year the garden grew. The the annuals, perennials, vegetables, berries and fruit.

 My parents would start planning in February, just in time to get the spring pea’s in. March roared with bright yellow forsythia, spring flowers meant small hand tied bouquets of  flowers - Lilly of the valley and daffodils, the summer winds blew in leafy green hosta, tart gooseberries and snap beans. October & fall meant only two things, falling leaves & pumpkins. Autumn was intoxicating, the heavy smell of mulched leaves and apple spice. it was curry and apricots. 

Chocolate and everything was laced with some kind of earthy goodness. Winter storms brought with it a deafening sound of silence. Pine needles and newly fallen snow.  It was clean and fresh, warm blankets and my dads laborious going’s-on with the families only source of heat - the wood stove. 

My parents still live and breathe that garden, something like that doesn’t change. My parents heart was in the garden, my parents heart is that garden. So it doesn’t matter the time of year, you need to only open up a window to know what season it was or ask them, they’ll happily tell you what to grow and when to grow it.