At age 4, I really had no reason to welcome frightening spectres to my bedside.

"What you think of me is none of my business"

Garm absolutely adored my father and the feeling was mutual.

I could really use that these days and I don't care that I have to turn to a housefly to get it. It stills soothes my aching soul.

And, well, as long as there are cats, there is hope...

Gendered violence is a betrayal of the sacred pact men and women have together.

This blog is a shout out to old fart love.

You literally cannot go wrong when saying thank you.

Not that I want to hurry up and get old(er) but at this age, one starts to dwell on aging and end of life and the meaning of it all.

Cynicism is cheap and easy and caters only to the basest of human nature.

I don't often approach change with delight and an open mind.

I've spent a lifetime rebelling against productivity.

At the age of ten, I'd hit the glass ceiling for female athletes.

Which brings me to this question: Can I write and post a blog about nothing?

The magic of kindness is that it brings us toward one another. It pulls us into each others' orbit...

I'd spent a million years in therapy alone and some with my mother trying to bridge the gaping maw of our relationship dynamic.

Then I hit 50 and all hell broke loose. It's like the OFF switch was activated and all that fast moving metabolism came to an abrupt halt.

Every time I walked past that tangled mess of vampiric vine-age, it took on a deeper and deeper sinister aspect, in my mind.

And there it is. At the root of addiction is the need to escape, to not remember, to feel the freedom from emotional and spiritual pain.

One thing we know for sure is that the living planet will always, always bring itself back to a harmonious balance when faced with chaos