Well some are well known by those who know me — I am addicted to McDonald’s. There I said what you aren’t supposed to say. I crave their fries, the double cheeseburger (no onions). Every road trip my favorite part is the stop for sausage egg biscuit with hash browns, plain biscuit and hot coffee. My Guilty Pleasure is Bruce Willis…

Maybe It Is Genetic — A visit to the eye doctor had me laughing! I was there for yet another type of eye test. This is the fourth or fifth visit. I’ve lost track, the doctor just can’t figure out what is wrong with my eye. …

Truth-Writing for pennies pays better than my savings account. — I read the headlines of how people make $100 on an article, a million in a month (okay just one of those). You’ve seen them. The unending stream of “I’ve made a fortune, so can you” posts on Medium. I’ve published 154 pieces in 11.5 months and I have $…

My profile- last update Aug 6, 2023–271 Pieces Published to date! — I’ve had a very eclectic life — Burger flipper, Greenhouse Worker, Retail Clerk, Receiving-dock Worker, Waitress, Actress, Job-coach, Zoo Curator, Story Teller, Poet, Exhibit Designer, Writer, Farmer, Farmers Market Manager, and Educator. I capitalized on purpose, as many of these jobs deserve more respect than they receive. Writing for me…

A poem a long time coming — blizzard blankets hip high to a dad cresting child’s curls silence fills the air ice ferries dancing swirling sparkles peace not pain love not fear howling luge forms from hands grab a box and slide to fire waiting smoke in the air dampens squeals of frost bitten joy floating like fat snowflakes…

A poem is never done So many seasons for so many reasons the time just slipped by Transitions punctuated by sorrow whispers of why linger in dusk Still, for all that I yearn Soaring peaks wrapped in crystal clear air Azure skies, naked apsen, gleaming snow cold winter nights spiced with warm…

A poem struggling to retire —

A surprising family origin story — My parents met at college in Missouri. Mom’s family is traceable way back into Ireland’s misty history. Dad’s family, the Chrysts, were mostly a mystery. We didn’t know much about them. Elders were long gone. Uncles were estranged. Stories were rarely told. …

Prompt: What does poetry whisper to you? —