Your voice....(a thank you, really)

Anybody who knows me, knows I have one of those personalities that won't allow me to do anything half way. If I'm in,  I'm in........   and soo it is with slicing.  Every March, I eat, sleep and breathe the challenge in a way that makes others question my sanity, and me, my abilities.

While normal people do normal things, I frequently interrupt with my famous line " Hey,  give me a sec. I just wanna check on my blog."

" What's there to check?" they ask.....

What is there to check?...I ponder.....
Is anybody reading it? 
Do they like what I'm saying? 
Is anybody commenting? 

Mid-March vulnerabilities are crashing in and, if I'm honest, the numbers are none too impressive.....

So today's slice is a thank you, really.....

A thank you to the friends, the colleagues, the lifelines who share, unabashedly, each and every step of  this sometimes tumultuous journey. You understand my doubts without judging, you provide encouragement when I need it, and you never, ever abandon.

As with everything, vulnerabilities will come and go. But when they're here,  it's your voice that keeps me going, and for that  I'm eternally  grateful.

Red Red Wine

Some days it's hard to get out of bed. Today was one of those days.  Oh, how I longed to laze away the morning, to drift luxuriously in and out of dreams; to ignore the obligations of the coming day.

You deserve a lazy day, my brain prompted me from it's dreamy state.....you owe it to yourself.....

Rationalizations, drift idly through my brain like wispy white clouds on a bright blue morning, delicately tempting me to concede.

But laziness, I know, is a slippery slope, the end, never justifying the means.

So with a stretch and a groan, I pry my pouting body from comfort of my bed with promises of fresh coffee and sunshine....

"and tonight", I say aloud, "if you finish your projects, you'll get a nice tall glass of red, red wine."

because I belong....

While unremarkable, I couldn't help but notice her. The neatly coiffed, fashionably dressed lady strolling down our halls. I didn't know her, and it bugged me. So, for a moment I watched as she readjusted the strap of her oversized bag. Her confident pace and familiar demeanor told me she felt at home....but how?

Scrolling through my mental rolodex, I came up empty.....

Who was she? Why was she here? Why did I care?

Purposefully, I picked up my stride to catch up; scanning her for recognition as I passed by.

Nope, not a clue, I concluded, exchanging a quick glance, but her visitor's pass put me strangely at ease.

"Good morning.", I offered pleasantly.

"Good morning.", she responded in kind.

I smiled to myself  as the realization slowly sunk in....

Our Students, Our Staff, Our School,

All a part of who I am....

I care........... because I belong.

The mask of ambivalence

  Ambivalence

She's always quick to state her case

she dons a silver tongue

Her confidence intimidates

Well, nearly everyone

She's not afraid to take a side

she never rides the fence

 in an argument she'll usually  win

'cause she simply makes good sense

I'd like to think I know her well

but if I'm honest, I must ask

Does anybody really know 
the girl behind the mask?

"Twas the morning....

'Twas the morning before school, and all through the house,
Not a creature was stirring, not even "my" mouse;
I've got to get going, I thought, as I flopped,
in the comfy old chair with my open laptop;

The words only trickled and were random at best,
But challenging myself, I was up for the test;
I tapped at the keys with a confident pace,
Just to backspace and edit, correct, and erase;

Yes, slicing was daunting first thing in the day,
but things could be worse, is what I always say;
As I sit here this morning, I happy to write,
for I know it's much easier than writing at night.

Her Horror.....

She woke suddenly, heart pounding; frozen with fear.  Paralyzed by the extent of her own anxiety, she closed her eyes and attempted to pray.

She had eluded it for awhile.....but now, abandoned by sleep,  the comforting rhythm of the old wooden clock seemed to mock her with every tick and chime.  Anxiously, she  counted the hours 'til daybreak....

Like a thief in the night it had crept stealthily, into her sleep, stealing away her one chance for solace. Dreams transformed into nightmares...

Her horror was only beginning.....

Finding the key

 I knew it was a dream,

I kept thinking about words I wanted to remember, to share, a story that needed to be told. As my dream faded I fought to hang on to each and every memory, I clung to words that faded one by one... nothingness, never to be revealed ..... disheveled......intensely beautiful eyes that need no color, loneliness.....one by one....meaningless words, nameless pictures, beautiful apparitions.

Locked within our dreams is a magic to behold. Tales of pain and glory; words of wisdom. The task is to find the key and never let it go.   I'm sure of this. If only we can learn to capture them...