Sunday, December 30, 2007


Tuesday, December 25, 2007

WinstonChurchill saved my life

This is WinstonChurchill. He is an askal, aka a mutt. I have given Winston 4 baths since we got him 3 days ago. Potty training has not been too successful but we try to make it work.

My first dog, Lucky, was more into finding his alpha (moi). Winston has no alpha. he's more a party dog, gets along with everyone, knows he's loved. He and Lucky are devoted to each other. Lucky even lets him share his food.

Christmas has been painful for us because my mother, who is deeply loved and revered by all her children, is not doing well. It has been a roller coaster ride that can drive one nuts. But I guess you could say, WinstonChurchill saved my life.

Sunday, December 9, 2007

December 3

I wrote this poem on this particular day: I don't yet know how to finish it.


Grief can turn
to many things
to pain, then blame
Guilt, long-held anger
And sometimes shame.

The old grinding axes
Resurface anew
and find new life
Grief does that, too

And philosophies, beliefs
Of how one should go
Intrigues, distrust, control
Hatred, grief can sow

Thursday, November 22, 2007


The truth is, this will be a Christmas transition.
My mother may go toward the Light.
It is a better place for her.
Maybe so many people tend to ebb away
On this holiday because
They get to celebrate the real epiphany
Over there.

Wednesday, November 21, 2007


the rain falls
computer hums
fan drones
keyboards clack
chewing of bread
quite a lot of noise
in one night.

Saturday, November 10, 2007


Neck aches
Hands ache
Fingers ache
Silly poem
If at alllllllll
Another Alaxan night tonight

Saturday, September 22, 2007


even when one works
in a room full of people
and 10 hours of relative silence
the silence of being perfectly alone
is something that can be missed.

Thursday, September 20, 2007

Car Motor

The motor runs
Voices outside
A man, a child
The Clarks.
My neighbor is named Mark Clark.

Wednesday, September 19, 2007

My dog

While the hubby and child sleep
I came out to type.
that sounded like my dog lucky.
He lives outside but seemed to be calling from within.
then again,
and finally,
Lucky, you see, is not a barker.
"Lucky, why are you calling me?"
slowly, somewhat sheepishly he comes into view.

it is midnight, and my dog has illegally entered my home
Change is good now and then.

Sunday, September 16, 2007

small lives

i happen to think the small life is not a bad thing.
it's not a bad thing to be one in a crowd
someone no one would notice.
the one who listens
more than the one who speaks
sometimes the best comfort you can give
is in not saying anything at all.