About Writing

Writing has always been one of my passions. I notice writing, and I love to read the thought recordings of other writers. In FB, there are many articulate, meaningful writers and I immensely enjoy each one of them.

My signature writing style is clearly identified as narration. Or maybe clearly identified as unclear. My quest for the perfectly descriptive adjective sometimes amounts to an obsession. Unfortunately, I typically use too many subordinating conjunctions, run-on sentences, and dangling modifiers that reduce clarity. I seek an explicit writing style.

From an early age, I have used writing as a substitute for speech. I envied my young contemporaries who demonstrated their thoughts with the use of voice. It seemed a natural, logical, and convenient way to communicate. However, my thoughts took a detour via my hand, attached to a pen, and the process usually involved a delayed time factor. As a result, I was thought to be uncommunicative, unresponsive, and “withdrawn.” It seemed so unfair to dismiss the wealth of words held captive in my mind as shyness. Oh, how I yearned to marshal the jumble of words that rattled in my head and allow them to exit in single file through my mouth to express myself!

The need to connect to other human beings necessitated communication, but I practiced safely within my own intimate circle of younger sisters by reciting family lore and creating memories. This collection of memories, sewn together with imagination and love, became a comforting quilt that kept out the cold of reality in our dysfunctional family.

When I told my younger siblings about the gown Mother designed especially for me for my first prom, they could feel the swish of silk against knobby knees; see the transformation of a plain little girl to a princess. They could taste the red, juicy flavor of the sun-ripened tomatoes we sampled from the field across the dirt road from our house. They could experience the thrill of fear of near discovery as we stole not-quite-ripe apples from the neighbor’s tree by the alley and the puckering tartness they left on our tongues. They rubbed their cheeks and laughed in remembrance at Gramma Viola’s famous big sticky kisses that left wet red imprints on tiny smooth faces. They groaned in collective agreement, as they visualized all of us placed in stair-stepped formation in the pew at Sunday Mass, when Mother stilled kicking legs with her disapproving glares and silent pinches. The quilt of narrative memories has served well as entertainment and a kind of protection.

I am writing a book; it is not yet finished. I only started it in 1975.

Written by a 4th-Grader

We just finished the last day of school for this year. I was blessed to have an amazing group of children, who, I am sure taught me at least as much as I taught them! They are prayer warriors and a loving family. They spent part of the last day of school honoring each other, declaring friendships, and proclaiming family.

Some students reveal their God-given gifts early in life. This young lady is a budding author. She is a writer, and with her heart for expression, someday I expect to see her name on the cover of a book!

Read what this young, sensitive, wise-beyond-her-years child wrote to me as a farewell gift:

They say friends are forever. They are sometimes, but I think teachers will last forever. Their legacy will go on. Lots of jobs make a difference: The president does, movie stars do, a missionary does, too, but teachers make the biggest difference.

Without teachers, presidents would not know how to be presidents. Movie stars wouldn't know how to act. Missionaries would not know how to preach. I think teachers are the best.

Thank you, Emily. And because of students like you, teachers love what they do. And I love you. Writers write, keep writing!

Sky Lights

Rocking my almost-three-year-old son on the porch on an early summer night, we had a very interesting conversation.
We were talking about his big sister who recently flew away home to be with Jesus in Heaven. I was trying to explain to this small curious child what death meant. My baby boy was always full of questions, and I think it was only God that could have supplied most of the answers. I described what I thought Heaven might look like. Geographically speaking, all I could do was point to the sky, indicating a vast distance from earth to heaven.
It was a serene and calm evening, a slight wind nudging the clouds to the other side of the mountain. The cloud cover slowly glided by to reveal the twinkling stars of the summer night time sky.
All of a sudden, my little boy got very excited and he yelled, "Look, look, Mommy!" as he pointed his pudgy little hand heavenward.
"What, Zach, what are you pointing at?"
"The lights, Mommy! See, Tricia turned on the lights!" He made the connection to the stars and to his dearly loved big sister. How brilliant was this little boy! He showed so much insight for one so young.
Indeed, the stars shined especially bright that night! I think it is her job now to "turn on the lights." :-)) I can always look up to the sky and connect with my darling girl. If Tricia is my starlight, Zach is my Sunshine! I don't know if he knows why that is "our" song. I have always sang that song to him: You Are My Sunshine. He still is!

Good-bye, Whitney

Whitney Houston dies.
It is a sad thing when anyone dies, I think.
I am saddened that we will not hear Whitney's voice and incredible talent, except in memories and recordings.

People are profoundly affected by death. I am

Fame or the lack of it does not determine death's theft.
Those who dance on the world's stage will be more visible
than the young man from your neighborhood who defended our country.

Death does not discriminate, it takes anyone.

It took two young innocent boys at the hand of their father.
Death has claimed countless victims of murder, abuse.
Death haunts the hospitals of those who suffer cancer and other diseases.
Death stands at the battlefront, choosing at random who will fall to his call.

Sometimes people wave the white flag of surrender to death's sweet promise of peace.
And then unborn babies are swept up in red hazard bags.
Some may long for drugs which masquerade as a good time or an escape, only to find that it is really death's portal.

Traffic accidents, freak accidents, unimaginable events often frame death's work, but the result is still the same. There is no age requirement for death. He takes anyone. Death still accomplishes his task.

It is sad to tread on the grief of others.
Remember the battle.
Remember the victory.
Remember the life.
We all have a story.

Gone... or gone

divorce, death....

both deal with separation, sure
both are full of all kinds of pain, yes
both leave an irreplaceable void
both darken the future, emotionally and physically

divorce -- it is possible, at some point, to lay eyes again upon the one gone; choice, yours or his; there's a chance

death -- she yearns for just one more word with the one gone, one more glimpse; no choice, no chance; at least not hers

psychologically speaking, both are losses.
but they are not the same
they do not come close to each other
everything one knows does not come out of a book or a set of statistics or the results of a study

Shut up

Don't express your opinions -- people will accuse you of judging. Oh, no!

Don't like it?
The answer from the defensive ones apparently is: don't watch it, don't listen, don't shop there, don't, don't, don't ....

Let's see... how else can we impose punitive measures on those who dare criticize our choices....

So... be blind and deaf to sin,
or close the ears, like, literally! Maybe wear blindfolds.....
or turn off all electronic media -- TV, radio, computers....
find alternative places to shop, even if it is out of the way and prices may be steeper.....


Those defensive ones who say "Don't judge me!" feel entitled to limit your rights.
So they may practice theirs.

Don't judge, lest ye be judged. Jesus said that. This is often quoted by those defensive ones as well. Most usually, that is the only part of the Bible they read. Well, maybe they just heard about that part, not actually read it!

But.... should your opinion match with any of those, then it is not judging but agreement.
People are not interested in anyone else's opinion unless they happen to share it.

Amazing!

He died not for men, but for each man. If each man had been the only man made, He would have done no less.

C. S. Lewis