writing “Read me, Seymour!” titles

Imagine this: you’ve reached the end of your time on the Earth.  You’re standing before St. Peter (folks who aren’t on board with the whole Pearly Gates scenario, just roll with me for a minute) and this is what you hear: “Tell me why you deserve to stay in heaven.  You have thirty seconds.  Go.”

You’re faced with arguably the most important pitch of your existence, and the seconds are ticking away.  No pressure, right?

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Blogger Recognition Award

What a delight to learn that I’d been nominated for the Blogger Recognition Award!  Many thanks to Mom Of Two Little Girls for visiting RFTM and sharing the love.  You should check out her work – she’s blogging her way through motherhood, and a lot of us can relate to that.


To pay it forward, here are the rules:

  • Thank the blogger who nominated you and provide a link to their blog.
  • Write a post to show your award.
  • Give a brief story of how your blog started.
  • Give two pieces of advice to new bloggers.
  • Select 15 other bloggers for this award.
  • Comment on each of their blogs, letting them know they’re nominated and linking back to this post.

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breathe in, breathe out

My eyes slide open
   and I pause,
      patiently listening
to the dark,
   waiting to learn
      what pulled me
out of sleep
   and into this hushed bedroom
      at midnight.

These used to be my moments
   of fight or flight,
      adrenaline kick starting
as I strained to catch
   a sound invading
      our home,
   the peace of mind
      in my blanket cocoon.

Even the buzz of
   a streetlight
      could stop my heart.

All these years later
   it is simply an
an hour better left to
   kids out clubbing
      or New Year's Eve.
I quietly breathe
   and focus on the world
      around me.

              - ljh 2/8/17


in matters of the written word

Listen, I know I can be a bit of a nut with the English language.  I’ll admit I have plenty of triggers in this area, both spoken and written, and that it’s entirely possible more than one person has given me the side eye if they overhear my rant.  That’s my baggage.  I own it.

Grammar mistakes – especially on important stuff like, you know, artwork titles – make me crazy, and pretty much any sentence ending with at (“Hey, Jim, where’s that remote at?”) makes me shudder.  I’m not asking for the Queen’s English here, just a reasonable resemblance to proper English.  It doesn’t even have to be fancy English.  I’d be satisfied by casual language with some slang thrown in if we could only avoid those traffic stopping blunders.

Oh, and in case our texting generations were wondering, writing still matters.

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Sunday Snapshot: roaming free


Kauai, Hawaii

The roosters roam free near Spouting Horn,
ignoring tourists who come to gawk
and take endless pictures
of the ocean.
They peck the ground patiently,
intent on lunch,
oblivious to children's feet
thundering past
with cries of "Careful!"
in the air.
Women open their stalls nearby,
setting up wares
while reckless visitors
lean too far over the fence,
craning their necks to catch
a single glimpse
of water flying
fifty feet high.
They come to see spectacular beauty
but rush right past
the gorgeous creatures
at their feet.

- ljh 2/1/17

nature divided

The tree stands
fresh green leaves
gracing the base
while a deep red
throwing autumn hues
onto a powder blue
We have only days
until our tree
surrenders to the fall
and dons a burgundy robe
before standing bare,
exposed to the elements,
biding its time
until spring returns
to warm its branches.

– ljh  10/26/16

in sand and sea

I see you here
in sand and sea...
soft grains, as warm as July's honey,
shifting under my feet
while you sway to the pull
of the earth.
You envelope me
like a newborn's swaddling blanket,
gently holding me together
while I break apart.
I fall into the blue -
    your eyes, the waves, a razor thin horizon -
and am stilled
by the power
of your presence.
It is forever yet it's only an instant
before I'm watching you
walk the shoreline,
steady and strong in the surf.
My tears hide
beneath a smile
as I count the blues
in the water.

- ljh 9/1/16

Sunday Snapshot: summer daze


Endless outdoor days
have kissed your skin
a sweet summer brown,
soft and warm in the sunlight
as you gaze across the water.
I hear my own dad's voice
calling me brown as a berry
after my month long exploits
in our summers before sunscreen,
and I see my childhood
in your golden skin.
Endless hours running free,
swimming, playing, riding bikes...
roaming with friends
from dawn 'til dusk.
You've had another glorious summer,
a child's joy
mixed with flashes of
the young man you're becoming,
but for now
I watch my sweet boy
out on the water.
Brown as a berry,
just like his mama.

- ljh 8/20/16