Archive | February 2014

Last Days of February, First Sign of Spring

spring cherry blossom

There it was in all its splendor surprising me as I rounded the corner, tucked between towering collections of steel and glass. A blossoming cherry tree all pink with new born blooms. The first I’ve seen this year.

The last two months have been a flurry of activity as I have taken up my pen again after a year of hoping I could do without it. Today was the third workshop I’ve attended in hopes of mastering technology and improving my writing. Well, not quite mastering technology, but perhaps harnessing some of its power for my own use.

Today’s event took me away from the suburbs into the traffic and bustle of downtown to a beautiful historic building in the heart of Seattle. Authorship MBA was organized and facilitated by Karen Lynn Maher, Margo Myers, and Maria Dykstra, each expert in their field. We gained a wealth of information about organizing a foundation for producing quality writing, communicating your message clearly to your target audience and using social media, particularly Twitter, to build your presence and business as an author. Each workshop participant was given individualized applications and strategy suggestions customized to their genre and audience. It was fun to hear new angles for each author’s particular area of interest. I found their instruction and insight to be very helpful and would highly recommend this workshop to other authors who want to breath some new life into their writing and/or marketing with some fresh ideas. More information can be found at,,, or

As I made my way out of the city armed with all of these newly learned strategies, my excitement began to give way to feeling a bit overwhelmed. Glimpsing the pink blossomed tree caused me to think beyond the daunting things of today to the rewards in the future. I too and coming out of a season of dormancy desiring to produce something beautiful. I am just me, the tree is just a tree, but what inspiration she gives.


Joy and Longing


Sometimes I long to
wrap myself in the words of a beautiful song,
be engulfed in the swell of majestic music,
climb into the purity of a passage of Scripture,
disappear into the serenity of a nature scene,
Not merely to look, listen, taste, touch or feel
but to become part of it, one with it, indistinguishable from it
What is it?
What power touches a place of deep joy in my soul
and moves me to tears?
What is this intense desire to be made one with such beauty?
Could it be reality awaiting restoration?
A shard of something lost in Eden’s garden-
sheer joy and delight, belonging, in the presence of perfection
Have you felt it? I surely cannot be the only one.

A Mid-Winter Pick Me Up

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heart topiaryOh the weather outside is frightful – and we’re well past December.  Sometimes the sun will shine tricking us and some anxious flower bulbs into thinking that winter is behind us.  But the biting wind and pelting rain prompts us to take another look at the calendar and remember where we are.

Today I took a brisk walk in our little town and decided to pop into a favorite nursery.  The last time I was in there was right after Christmas and the place was packed with many varieties of poinsettias and a dizzying array of holiday delights.  In contrast today was peacefully sparse.  A freshness pervaded the air and lovely displays of houseplants, orchids, brightly colored spring flowers and pots anticipating the coming of spring was a wonderful break from the monotonous gray of northwest winter months.

If you’re feeling a bit of cabin fever, perhaps a visit to your local nursery could be just the thing to add a bit of cheer to a dreary day.

What activity lifts your spirits in the middle of winter?


Time Twister

Her mom was forty-eight,

And she was thirty-one,

Now 31 seems long ago,

And 48 seems young.

I came across these numbers,

And had to do the math,

I found its not unusual,

For it too is my path.

Forty-eight’s just a few years away,

And thirty-one is ten,

Now will seem young as 31,

When I am that age then.


How hold was the author when this poem was written?