New horizon…


Well folks… here is a picture of the sunset taken from my new bedroom window and if a picture is ordinarily worth 1,000 words.. anyone who knows me and the journey which has brought me here, knows this particular picture… this window and this view is worth more words than could possibly be written in one short blog post.

I could and perhaps will, someday, write an entire book about my journey to the west, the stunning view I had when we first moved and how we lost it and in the process almost lost everything, including my actual and literal life. I could write an entire book about the importance of gratitude and how, even when times are the darkest, there is always something worth gratitude because no matter how bad things seem at any given moment, there is always someone else that has it 100 times worse.

However, what I really want to write about right now.. during this super short moving break.. laying on my soon-to-be bedroom floor…. hidden within this sunset is the hope I feel gazing to the new horizon. These next few days, possibly even weeks are going to be very hard.. a single mom and two teenage girls… moving all by ourselves… but, hey.. we’ve done this before and last time, I was fighting a blood infection with a PICC line in my arm, fighting with my family because they were forced to help us financially due to the extreme conditions under which we were moving and I didn’t die then… so, I’m almost certain it won’t kill me this time either.

Actually, let me take that back… a part of me will die during this move… the part that must pass along, never to return is the piece of me that’s broken and stuck… I will no longer be stuck… I am currently in motion…. I am literally moving… little by little.. more and more each day and as the broken piece dies… my true self is being reborn, coming back to life and I can almost see her there.. on the other side of that horizon…

I will say goodnight now because it’s time to go get the little one from work and from there… well, I’m sure you can guess.. little attention is afforded anything but her once she gets home from a ‘hard day at work’ flipping pizzas, especially in the excitement of our adventurous days of moving.

So, I will say goodnight and tomorrow.. when I come back… I wil be more of me and less broken… as my physical self becomes tired, achy and sore.. my spiritual self is awaking once again… and it’s so nice to see her for I truly feared she was gone for good.

So… wish me a good nights sleep, the sweetest of dreams and to awaken even more energetic and productive tomorrow.

As I fall asleep tonight, I will be singing the lyrics of a song which my grandmother had the entire family memorize and sing one whacky Christmas Eve…

“Yes we can…

we can do anything…

we can do anything we believe”

Goodnight!! +)



In just 3 short hours, I have tackled donating a truck full of clothes, books and DVDs to a local second-hand shop. I cleaned out my truck and broke the seats down to fit more small furniture, dropped the little one off at work & began the BIG CLEAN.

The BIG CLEAN is that therapeutic method of cleaning which involves throwing away all which is unnecessary whilst packing. I say this method of cleaning is therapeutic because, for me, nothing feels better than letting go. Aside from moving into a bigger house, nicer neighborhood with a huge yard, the number one thing I’m excited about this move is this very process of letting go, moving forward and never looking back.

As I stated earlier today, this house has had us stuck for the last 3 years. When we moved in here, we were under the impression that it would be temporary and we would only be here for a few months max. So, we never settled here. We never took the family photos out of the boxes and hung on the walls. We never even unpacked our good dishes & have used paper and plastic. We have been stuck in this perpetual pause on our life. We’ve been waiting to move, with no where to go.

Now, we have been given this amazing opportunity to move into a house that will feel like a real home, surrounded by people that care about us. Considering the year we have had with our family and their absence, the timing couldn’t be better for this unexpected break in luck and adoption into a new “family’.

Grateful is a word I over-use and probably over-feel as well because I do try to remain constantly grateful for many things big and small. So, grateful is certainly not a big enough word to express how fortunate I feel that for the first time in 3 plus years that once again, my family is back in forward motion.

Elated, ecstatic and eternally appreciative slightly touch upon my current emotions… but, barely.

I hope my joy continues and spreads from my heart to my words, directly from me to you via reading upon our journey. By the way, I’m still writing from the old house. I am curious to see the difference and promise that even if it is mid-trip, I will write a post from there later… even if it’s a short one.

Well… back to. The BIG CLEAN… wish me luck…. again

TtySooooon -)

Just keeping MOVING!!


“Just keep moving” is a life motto that has fueled most of my life & for the first 35 years of it, I did just that. When things were good, I would shake my ass and dance along with the music which composed my life. When things were bad, I would march along and forge a new path. If I became sad or anxious, I would run away my troubles.

However, 3 years ago I moved into a home, which we later discovered someone had recently died in and we became stuck. Stuck is not strong enough a word for what has happened to us in this home. This home, which I am sitting in whilst writing, hopefully my last meaningful post composed here, is a beacon of un-hope. The energy of this place is toxic. Thoughts become so stifled here, I may have to finish and edit this very post later from our new home, buy I wanted.. no, needed to start it here. Perhaps as a test and proof of the difference between thoughts processed here and words formed there.

So, let us see… today is the first official day of moving all the small stuff. Both of my kids are working today and I am determined to prove to them and the rest of my family just how much I am capable of and how determined I am to do this thing. So, wish me luck… here I go. I can’t wait to come back later and report my success =)

Peace and namaste +)

Decided to only share the “true” chapters as I work on turning the fictional version into a memoir ;)

Chapter 10

Flabbergasted 1994

I was in shock. My mother didn’t spank us; She would proudly say to her new-age hippy friends. No, she didn’t ‘spank’ us, but when she lost her mind, which was too often, she would beat the shit out of us.

One time, I missed my softball game because I was swimming in a river with my friends. We went on a long adventure walk and discovered a river that no one knew about. It was the most exciting thing and a true treasure in our otherwise citified neighborhood. We were all pretty poor. So, aside from the few times we snuck into the local hotel pool, we didn’t get many opportunities to swim. So, when we discovered this random river after a long, hot walk, we had to take advantage of it and swim.

We were having so much fun, swinging from the rope tied to the tree jumping into the river and having the kind of adventure that defined childhoods, we simply lost track of time. When my mom drove by the field to pick me up after my softball game, she realized I wasn’t there and became worried. This was pre-cell phone era. So, she had no way of figuring out where I had been all day. All she could do was drive around and look for me, which she did for hours. In her defense, I’m sure she was worried when she couldn’t find me in the usual places I’d be on a long summer day. I’m sure she thought the worst had happened.

However, what happened when I finally strolled home sunburnt with a huge smile on my face was unexplainable, inexcusable and unforgivable. She didn’t spank me. She took me down into the basement and smacked me across the face so hard, I fell to the ground. Then, she crawled on top of me and grabbed me by the neck and pounded my head on the ground repeatedly screaming, “You scared the shit out of me… don’t you… ever… ever… ever… do that again!” Each time she said the word ‘ever’ my head would be bounced on the concrete floor.

I got the message loud and clear. Don’t ever go back to the river. Oh, yeah and my mom was a complete lunatic. In the face of possibly losing her child, she decided to regain control by attempting to kill me herself.

I spent the rest of that summer in a deep depression, wishing she had succeeded.

Forgive and Forget

You know how the saying goes, “I forgive, but I don’t forget.”

Makes sense.. you let things go from your heart, but you remember the people that hurt you and keep your guard up in the future. Smart.

However, my mom lives by the opposite sayings in many of life situations.

For example, when I was 14 years old and had just started my first serious relationship, my friends were missing me.

Me-“Mom, Jennifer says we haven’t hung out since I started dating Greg, but Greg wants to come over tonight. Should I tell him no and have a sleepover with my friends?”

Mom-“Honey, Friends come and go, but boys last forever”

I lost a lot of friends that summer and over the years of adolescence ditching them for my boyfriends.

It wasn’t until years later that I realized that all other moms in the ENTIRE world, told their daughters the exact opposite… it really goes, “Boys come and go, but FRIENDS last forever!”

So… back to forgiving and forgetting… not that she consciously does this.. but, I’m almost certain that my mom Never forgives, but Always forgets!!

This unconscious life motto leaves her heart hardened and confused. She’s always mad at someone, but never remembers who or why… which, then lead to explosive family gatherings after she’s had too much to drink. She lashes out on the wrong person about the wrong things and wakes up the next day as if it never happened.

How do you deal with someone that never forgives… but, constantly forgets??

Any advice here would be greatly appreciated!! =)

For now… I’ll take it, like I do many of my troubles and laugh at the irony.

Forgetting and never forgiving seems much more difficult for her than me.

So, maybe I shouldn’t complain?

To Fiction or Not to Fiction??

What is love if you get it secondhand?

Is it a fact or merely a detail?

I am more comfortable in fiction than in nonfiction. In fiction, you get to decide what is real and not real, what is true and not true, which details are facts and which are mere detail. In fiction, I am the discerning eye, the single source of truth. But when I tried to write about my mother, all my stories were flat. I couldn’t move her into fictional language, it seemed. Indeed, my journals about the days of adolescence are full of details about the weather and the feeling that a chasm had opened up in me. I was trying in those early days to pin something down, to assemble a body of details that might give me some hint or clue of how to go on. I also felt that I had no right to feel that way, so sad about her behavior towards me. after all the hateful things I’d thought about her or been subjected to by her hands.

The thing that kept me from writing well about her, about abuse, in fiction was that I lack genuine, human feeling for my mother. Or, no, that’s not true exactly. What I lacked was empathy for her. I was so interested in my own feelings about her that I couldn’t leave room for her feelings or for what she wanted out of life. I couldn’t leave a space for her to be a person. I think, ultimately, other people aren’t real to us until they’re suffering or gone. That’s when the imagination begins to work, trying to sort things out, trying to get them right, to understand them. I can’t write fiction because I haven’t yet mastered my own feelings. I can’t write fiction because I have not yet come to understand her or what her life had meant to her. I am solipsistic and righteous in my anger, my fear, my sadness. However, I missed all of the eerie symmetries between us—her trauma, my trauma, her rape, my rape, her anger, my anger. It’s not that I am ready to forgive her really. But I am trying to extend to her the same grace that my children extended to me. That’s one of the beautiful things about writing, the way we learn about others and what that tells us about ourselves.

Brandon Taylor …. thank you for helping me understand this dilemma of fiction vs memoir and come to terms with the fact that I will not be able to write any fiction until these issues with my past are carefully and fully dissected, discerned & organized!

Get Over It

For the first time in YEARS… I heard a song, playing in my head.. and it wouldn’t stop until I wrote it down… so, here ya go… enjoy… now… I just have to get Madi Love to sing it for me and we’ll be set!! Stay tuned… b/c I will def post here, first if she does!! =)

Get over it… that’s what my Momma said
Get over it… It’s all in your head

Get over it… that’s what She said
Get over it.. it’s just in your head

Then she said the best thing she’s ever said to me
She said write a book and it will set you free

And that is what I did…
to get out of my head
That is what I did…
to sleep while I’m in bed

But, how do I get over it…
when it is all I dream
Can you tell me, please…
what do you mean?

Sometimes the dreams are good…
and then they make me sad
But, most of the time…
the dreams are fucking bad

Get over it… that’s what my Momma said
Get over it… it’s all in your head

Get over it… that’s what She said
Get over it… it’s all in your fucking head

I wish it was as easy as you think
I wish I didn’t live right on the brink

I wish you knew…
just how hard I try
I wish that you knew…
just how much I cry

Don’t you think I want to let it all go
ohhh how I wish you could really know

My life may seem easy to you
but you have no idea what I go through

Get over it… that’s what my Momma said
Get over it… it’s all in your head

Get over it… that’s what she fucking said
Get over it…. it’s all just in your head!!