R and I walk on the beach in the midst of the madness, when everything seams chaotic, a little shaky, a little uncertain. The wind whips up more questions and the future seems hazy. R’s hand slips into mine and
I have a confession to make; I don’t really like coffee. But I love tea. Any kind of tea really. And have had times in my life where I’ve been totally addicted to Starbucks venti chai lattes, non-fat milk,
I’m relieved now that my brain has calmed down a little and I’m no longer wandering the house at night. My cats are staring at me with gold owl eyes. They’ve had two months of peaceful nights and suddenly there’s
I walked back to my painting the other day and thought, “We need some colour around here.” I was using brilliant carmines and buttery yellows and cerulean and blue but I managed to subdue the colours with black…like the weather outside…like
One of my most favourite old books is falling apart. It is a small, leather bound, 1907 book-of-the- heart written by Elbert Hubbard called White Hyacinths. Before it eventually disintegrates I mean to frame the first page; it read: If
I confess that I’m really reluctant to put up the seven foot inflatable Santa – complete with motorcycle, sidecar and shades . It’s not that I don’t like him, I do, we all do, makes us laugh, but as anyone