Posted in Photography


The Daily Post Weekly Photo Challenge: Lines

1-93 heading out of Boston. 4/27/2018

Old North Church. Boston. 4/28/2018

Random building. Random Street. North End Boston. 4/28/2018

Found out the name of one of the widest cable-stayed bridges in the world: Leonard P. Zakim Bunker Hill Memorial Bridge. There will be plenty of photos of this bridge to come. It is stunning!! (No rain today 4/28/2018.)

Posted in Poetry



Gull Rock, Monhegan Island. Picture courtesy of Monhegan Trucking.

I want to surface –touch
these moments

navigate the oblique
a rustle of leaves?


blink and

my harbor master vanishes
washed ashore two nights ago

oblivious to the storm –inside
lost desire to taste the salt.

Posted in Memoir, Musings, Photography, Soul Journal

just a few words…

For such a quiet person, I write a lot.

This simple sentence is me in a nutshell. Although i don a cracked exterior, which has let in too much world. Now i exist as warped. A walking, wounded soldier, who has witnessed too much pain. In turn, i turned crass. I am working on that aspect of me, but in reality, reality has sunken in from the first funeral i attended as a child, unable to look at the lifeless figure of a person i adored, until the moment i snuck a letter into my brother’s cold hand.

He clenched that letter as if his life depended on it. I believe he did one last loving thing for me. There was no removing those words i sent him off with. They now reside in each breath i take. Forever dust in the wind. And each snowflake, a kaleidoscope of memories shared.

I don’t recall what i wrote in my anguish. That letter held a lifetime of our experiences in less than 50 words. Writing it set me free from my heart. At least for the moment.

Today, reading a blurb on infp personality, i realized how little my brother and i talked, yet we understood each other so well. Often our eyes would connect and both of us would burst with laughter. Mostly at my dad’s expense which he never took to, too kindly. I recall one such incident in a restaurant in Madison WI, on our way to visit his parents. We both considered ourselves safe, being in public, amongst watching eyes, but boy were we wrong. He kicked us both under the table.

Silence can be a relationship killer. So is violence. My dad treated us both with that kind of discipline, which was learned from his father. Which was learned somewhere else, along the generational lines. Then a few days later it would be a trip to the soda station where they bottled his favorite drink, since he gave up beer from his Army days. It was always confusing to consider my father. What exactly was he expecting of us?

It killed my dad to know my brother committed suicide. It never dawned on him to consider why. It broke him but never encouraged him to change. He died set in his ways. I never left my dad a letter. Nor did I cry. I had nothing to give him. And only one tear was shed for my mother.

It is just the way life was growing up and it never changed for as long as our family was together. We were together but never aware of each other. It certainly made it easy to say goodbye.

Posted in Musings

Shock and Awe


Yes! And in awe of all you lovely people!!! Now to catch up with all of your blogs… I am grateful and oh so happy to have time today to be part of your blogging world.

And to think my days lack confidence, motivation and all that jazz. This is certainly a tremendous personal journey in growth and so delighted you all pay me any attention.

I once was the invisible girl and now i stand, most days, and to all of you i bow!! You are the best!! ๐Ÿ‘๐Ÿป๐Ÿ‘๐Ÿป

I mean this from the depths of my heart. ๐ŸŽญ๐ŸŽจโค๏ธ๐Ÿงก๐Ÿ’›๐Ÿ’š๐Ÿ’™๐Ÿ’œ

Posted in Musings

To Where?


Have I disappointed my parents who took me to church on Sundays? Is it possible for spiritual devastation, if they reside in heaven, hear my questions and read my thoughts, God’s mighty hand striking my soul dead? Will I ever see them again?

My parents were not truly believers in the sense of commitment other than finding aย  pew to sit and listen. My dad’s eyes tilted downward, us kids squirming in our Sunday best, mom’s face, well I bet you can guess. Sitting there, trying to behave, I swear my tights had ants crawling around inside, looking for their home. Had I stepped on their nest, they hitching a ride to some where?

Reading the Bible, a verse clearly stands out regarding the mighty ant, much like an Aesop fable, informing the reader clearly to be diligent and proud as an ant.ย  Be busy as the ants, we are called, marching orders from a voice, unclear from which direction. Perhaps it is my own voice pushing me on. To where I wonder. To where?


Viktor Frankl introduced a psychological spirit, a dimension beyond the physical body and mind. This innovative idea superseded Freud’s and Adler’s concept of physical desires and individual barriers. Frankl implemented Logotherapy as therapeutic, to bring meaning in life’s suffering and hopelessness. We can all agree suffering is a daily occurrence.ย  Some one, some where is looking for answers. Frankl wanted to provide hope, in a super transcendence, mindful way. Super Meaning for all regardless of religious belief.

Viktor Frankl never publically acknowledged his (dis)belief in God to keep his theories free from chastising agnostics and atheists. I believe that was a good choice. How can you heal and not harm by dismissing a fellow human in need, especially if they do not believe in a higher power? Regardless, Frankl believed all people had a spirit, whether unconsciously or consciously aware of that presence. Souls are unseen, after all.

Right before my parents passed away they confessed a belief God existed. Was this a proclamation of just in case! A what if? You and I may never agree on a where but I believe humanity is capable of the why,ย  of understanding our brothers and sisters. Why not?