According to the dictionary, TRADITION is – the handing down of statements, beliefs, legends, customs, information, etc.

It also says that TRADITIONAL is – existing in, or as part of a tradition, long-established.

Is it safe to say then that not all traditions are good? When you think of traditions being passed down from generation to generation. From family member to family member. For the most part, it is something good. It is something that builds a legacy. It is the way you were raised that you take with you and continue on. For example, the way we celebrate the holidays. How many of you out there celebrate the way you do because that is the way your parents taught you? How many of you out there say, “I do this because it is the way I was raised!” It becomes the “traditional” thing in your family and so you continue on, but like I said before not all traditions are good are they?

Like the way we see, the world, the way we speak to one another, the way we treat other people. It is all based on some sort of traditional value that you were raised with. It is up to you to break that cycle and change tradition. It is up to you to make new traditions, and it is a hard road, an uphill battle that you sometimes don’t think you can win, but it is worth it in the end.

We are always told from an early age that our parents want more for us than what they had. At least I was and yet, the bar was set pretty low. It was never about things for me. Hell, I could have lived in a shack with dirt floors for all I care. All I ever wanted was to be seen, as a person, not an obligation. A sense of self- loathing and never being loved. That is the traditional values I grew up with and carried with me into adulthood!

That is also the traditional values I have been trying to rectify ever since. You see I didn’ t grow up in a house full of warm and cozy traditions. However, I learned through all the pains of the traditions I did grow up with that it is not a tradition I wanted my kids to carry with them. What traditional values do you want to leave behind to be passed down from generation to generation?

<a href=””>Traditional</a&gt;




Life after death or the near death experience. There are many theories of what happens when we die, it is enough to make my head spin. Some people see a white light others see a loved one that has already passed waiting in the murky shadows of death to guide them to the other side. My question is what other side? What could they have possibly seen on “the other side” that made them want to stay and yet make them come back all at the same time? What makes them weep for that moment again once they are back and alive?

There are always more questions than answers when it comes to death. Much like our birth, our death is personal. Something I deem to be private and unique. Each of us must face this journey and face it alone. Is it just a coincidence that we can never share this experience with anyone? There is never a witness to this phenomena.

Why do some see this and some don’t? See, many, many more questions? I have had a couple of different “near death experiences” Technically I never died, but death was surely counting the seconds until it could claim me. I never once saw a bright light or a dead relative there to engulf me in their long lost embrace. There was only darkness, no awareness, no memory of well anything. Is it because I didn’t actually die? Or was there something more sinister afoot?

Then the question arises. Are there really ghosts? Or is it just my mind playing tricks on me? To that question for me the answer in a round about way I have found in the Bible! Revelations to be exact. You see according to one scripture I have read about in the end of days there is no heaven or hell! Yet! Yes, I do believe they exist but I wholeheartedly believe we won’t actually experience either the fiery pits of hell or those beautiful streets of gold until the actual end of days.

The Bible verse in Revelations speaks of the dead rising from the grave to be judged by God  for our sins.This in my interpretation is that the dead lay in a waiting period until God comes back to claim his children. Yes, I understand that that does not explain why people see a white light when they have an experience but what if that is just a gift God is showing us what waits for us upon his return? Maybe some people need this “vision”  to shake them, wake them, and change their lives. It would certainly explain Ghosts! If our spirits, our essence is still earth bound it would make sense that our energies would collide every now and again. Just think thousands, no millions of years and millions upon millions dead all sharing this space. It makes for a crowded world we live in. The key word here is live!

No matter the experiences we have had while alive or dead. We need to remember it is our journey, ours alone. And while it seems like it would be very lonely it also fills me with a sense of peace I cannot explain. While the act of death itself is something we will all go through my own experience will be all mine.

I almost didn’t make it when I came into this world and I know God was at my side then as much as he is now. I anticipate the day we actually meet and all my questions will be answered but, I think I can wait a few more years for my answers!



I haven’t been able to write in a while. Everything seems to come out as garbage lately when I do write. Hemmingway said, “even if you write crap, write.” I am paraphrasing here but as much as I love his writing I can’t seem to force myself to write crap. I can’t bring myself to go through the motions the simple act of writing means more to me than that. This is not one of those things that I can “fake it till I make it” situations.

I went down to my “church” my open mike night down at my favorite bookstore last night hoping to get a smidge of inspiration. While there were some good reads and I did feel a little trickle of the old me shining through (you know the me that can write) I came to a realization about myself. Albeit  there was some very good and deep poetry I felt as if I as deep as I have gone inside myself to pull out the darkest and ugliest to write about there was still something missing.

Have I not gone deep? Is there some untapped vein inside of me that is still hiding from me? I fear that is exactly why I am not writing because what I have uncovered so far is just deep enough at the same time I feel that there are depths to me to which even I don’t understand yet, and that is scary.

How can I not understand… ME? How can I not see that there is more to me than just what is on the surface? Aren’t I the one that gets upset when others don’t look beyond that to see who and what I really am? How could this be?

I have always considered myself a what you see is what get kind of girl and yet I have been lying to myself all along. Maybe now that this realization has finally presented itself. I will be able to open the flood gates once again and write more sustenance for my soul. I just have to keep calm in the meantime and just breathe. I know it will eventually come to me. I can’t wait to discover the new depths of me…

<a href=””>Calm</a&gt;

<a href=””>Discover</a&gt;




Yes, I see the irony of this post being the day after Thanksgiving yet when I hear the word SATED I don’t think of being sated by food. I think of all the books I have read and how the sexy man fed her sensual pleasure. How his desires for her and the passion they created together actually sated by way of libido.

I have read every romance novel and much much more since I was around twelve years old. I used to steal my mom’s romance books and my grandmother was even worse. She at one point had a two car garage filled to the brim with you guessed it BOOKS! As I have stated in previous blogs I have wanted to write since I could actually legibly write my own name. It makes sense that I was voracious for the written word. Every book I got my hands on I read even today at the age of forty nothing has changed.

My son’s like to read as well and even though my husband has issue with it as a lover of books I say read, read until the words blend together and you are nodding off at the sight. Reading is paramount to any vocabulary and I for one am glad to see it. What with all the electronics and tv shows nowadays seeing them read a book is well magical.

Being an avid reader since I was twelve there isn’t a whole lot I haven’t read about. Anything and everything I could possibly get my hands on anywhere from romance and the eternal struggle of true love, to the darkest reaches of hell in the ever popular paranormal love. I have come across the word sated in all of them. It is a word that actually conjures such images of bodies entwined and the sexy farm hand taking the time to brush his fingers through our heroines long dark locks just before he… well you know.

It used to be that reading sated me body and soul. Now, however it is writing. I am feeding my soul one word at a time and I am loving it. I know that the passion I feel for writing is akin to the images I see,when I see that word. I am passionate about the words I write on a whole other level than just a passing roll in the hay. I am sated on my words mind, body, and soul and I am loving it… Maybe one day I will be able to write with such sexual prowess but for now I am loving where the journey is taking me and I am sated from the simple act of just writing…

<a href=””>Sated</a&gt;









My soul is scorched, my heart is burning.

You came to me with your pretty lies and I ate them up, starved for affection.

You promised me the moon, but all I really received was a tainted love and a bruised mind.

Your promises of love and forever quickly turned to cinders in the smokey remains of once was.

Remnants of our shattered love still float by, burnt embers on the stilted breeze.

Ashes to ashes dust to dust our relationship has returned to the ground from which it came.

No more crying, no more dying, just a scorched soul and a broken heart.





<a href=””>Scorched</a&gt;







Terror sets in as my memories have begun to fade to black.

Fade into nothingness or like the discoloring of wallpaper  in an aged home.

I can feel them slipping out one by one. As if the earth’s gravitational pull is slowly yanking them out.

It started out unperceivable to me. A thief in the night stealing those memories I wouldn’t miss. Such as, what I had for dinner yesterday!

Now though as I get older these memories are fading more swiftly capturing more notable memories like the day I met my first love. Or the scent of my husband the day he proposed.

I know to most, the scent of your love doesn’t matter, yet, is it an omen of things to come. More memories lost.

The love I carry deep in my soul for my children. The way my husband gazes at me as if I am the only thing in this crazy world that matters.

The way I feel when I see a sunset. Or the lightness I feel dancing under a full moon on a hot summer night.

When will these memories fade? When will I be nothing more than an empty shell of the person I once was.

Our memories are what keeps us going. Keep us human. Without that! What will I become? I can already see the empty holes of memories lost now cluttering my mind. How long before the swiss cheese of my mind becomes just empty space?

How long before the sunsets turn gray because I can no longer remember their color?

How long before the love I spout to my husband and children turn to ashes in my mouth?

How long before I look in the mirror and see only a stranger staring back at me?

I hold on tight to the memories I have left. I keep them locked away in my secret vault. Terrified of the day those memories too, begin to fade…








I run into the corridor gasping for air. Another dead end as the walls appear to be closing in on me. While the smoke thickens to a foggy soup. My white t-shirt now smudged with soot and sweat, is unrecognizable. My once new jeans are now plastered to my legs like a second skin and covered in soot as well.

I step into the alcove to escape the cloying scent of fire, if only for a moment. I lean my head on the metallic walls thinking they will be cool to the touch. As the fire hasn’t reached this area yet. I jump back as the hard steel scorches my forehead. I gaze upon it now with new eyes and I can see it that it is so hot, bubbles are now surfacing as if they are droplets of water running like rats on a sinking ship to freedom.

I take a deep breath in the one spot left of clean air before the smoke takes over and I head into the next hallway. There are no windows, no doors, my only light is the pen light I received for Christmas the year before. Which at the time I thought of as a frivolous purchase. Now, it is my life line!

I turn the corner and the metallic hallway seems to go on forever. The walls appearing alive breathing in and out trying to escape the clutches of the fire. I race down the hall and my heart stutters at the realization that I am at yet, another and final dead end. There are no more hallways to check no more alcoves to breath into. Nothing!

An ash streaked tear rolls down my cheek and I know this is the end of the line. Too afraid to turn around I can feel the edges of the flames licking at the back of my neck. The heat is overwhelming as I drop to my knees now weeping for all the things I never got to do.

I finally turn and see the fire raging towards me as maniacal stranger. I put my arms up to shield my face instinctively as a strangled scream escapes me as I close my eyes. Then…. Nothing!

A piercing alarm sounds and I open my eyes to see I have fallen asleep in class, again!  The bell is ringing signifying the end of class and my strangled scream has awoken me from this nightmare. I grab my things and head out the door as if the room is really on fire. Ignoring all the faces of judgment that are my classmates.

The dream came to me, again! Is it a premonition of things to come? Is it just a dream? Too afraid to sleep anymore I am exhausted from its daring. A chill runs through me. I can still feel the tendrils of the flames caressing my neck as a lover would.

“What is happening to me?”  I silently scream. IU draw up short in front of the hallway mirror as a sliver of fear washes over me. There, there in my reflection is a perfect burn  mark on my forehead where the walls burnt me in my dream. I begin to shake and back away from the mirror. “What is happening to me?” I whisper again. As my head begins to swim The last thing I remember before inky black dots begin dancing in front of me and I start sliding toward the floor, was the little flicker of a flame as it shoots out of my fingertips and into the metallic walls of the school…

<a href=””>Flames</a&gt;