I got 19,000 steps in today. About 8.8 miles. I revel in getting outside and exercising. I’m boxing, too, which blows off much pent up frustration. I’m lifting weights, just for the arms. Finally, I stretch at the end of the workout, which is sheer bliss.

I fell off whatever wagon I had been on, and just habituated in a sort of personal waste land.

Now I’m back, with a vengeance.

My next goal is to return to writing.

I really missed this community!

symbiotic relationship


Everything really askew


Unlike abject normalcy


Never maneuvered into the easy


Always discombobulated at the difficult


Maybe someone would find my life easy


But I contend that that someone will never be me!




I think about a bridge


And the gaps between the boards making it


I think about the give of the bridge


This old-fashioned crickety image I have


Harbors in me a resilience




Because I know that I need the old, forgiving, and yes, even


Dangerous bridge to make my journey right


It fits me well—the spaces.


I know I could fall


Sometimes I don’t look, though;


I know this bridge well.




I accept its existence as it leans into mine.






But not wanting to go

Too deep.


I want to stand on the fishes.



As per usual.

Am I just not as good?



Tears threaten my surface



Which is why standing on fishes is a very good way to go.


Surface composure is only that.

Angling for more will scare the fishes

Away from me.


And then I’ll be left.



Honestly I think drowning

Is more involved with

Being without self-confidence.


If I can believe in myself,

Maybe those fishes will stay with me.

artistic journey



I was my mother’s “practice” fifth grade student at our local art museum, the Figge.  She is studying to be a docent, and will soon have to deal with many groups of fifth grade students who will be gathered around very expensive and delicate art, all listening to her perspective of the art at the moment.  I admire her!

I loved going to the museum, especially for the Fourth Floor exhibit.  I took two pictures of the collection, which was the best of any artist who lives within 150 miles of Davenport, Iowa, where the Figge stands.

I loved the book, which anyone can actually turn.  It reminded me of how magical books can be, as the acrylic and textured book which is wholly abstract, bedazzled me.

The other picture, also seemed magical as wires strung from the hugely tall ceiling carried little leaves whose shadow reflected below.

Of course after the difficult work of imbibing art, we imbibed an excellent lunch at the Figge cafe.

If you’re ever in the Quad Cities, I would highly recommend the Figge as a stop.  It overlooks the mighty Mississippi, which runs through our five towns–Rock Island, where I grew up, Moline, East Moline, Davenport, and Bettendorf.

Steve’s message


I’ve been having some difficult times. My husband texted this message to me yesterday. I have so much support, I will not fail.

I love and adore you!
I cherish and desire you!
I want and need you.
I can’t live without you!

Engrave those words on your heart and in your mind!
Then I’ll seal both with a kiss!

Love, Steve