I suppose I should start this blog with an explanation.

Then again, explaining myself suggests that I’m defensive and I lose any mystery I might otherwise conjure.

Oh well.

Here’s the thing:

These are ideas…

ideas, for me, are a mutating, morphing thing.

These are opinions…

opinions, informed by experience and knowledge…

experience is ongoing…

knowledge is ever growing

so

opinions can change.

These are observations…

filtered through the lens of my life.

I have two kids still in diapers (one on the way God willing and the creek don’t rise). I have a job. I have two silly dogs and an excellent husband. IE - I’m busy.

I’m also not one of those super organized, highly efficient, never-need-sleep, super moms - that can do every lovin’ craft, while working full time, while volunteering at school (or homeschooling for chrissakes), while writing 4 novels a year, while hiking the John Muir trail, while keeping a full and organic vegetable garden.

I am not that woman.

This is where I will attempt to reconnect with words. I love words. I love them almost as much as I love breathing. I love that they can be confused, misinterpreted, misspelled and generally abused. And, though I have stories to tell, I think, while my spare time in between:

cleaning

working

cooking

engaging

loving

bathing

exercising

guilting

I plan on slowly resurrecting my connection to words. Perhaps no novel right now, but I can have ideas, opinions and observations.

So, while my husband is at work, my toddler is at school, the baby (and the dogs) are napping and I have so much bentonite clay on my face that I can’t open my mouth to talk on the phone, I will write.

With honesty,

integrity,

and the reserved option to change my mind at any moment.

Man, my face is pulsing. I bet I look at least one hour younger when this comes off.