Serendipity

New view from where I live now Truth be told, I hate, hate, hate moving... but worse... the unpacking.  This time though, there was a lot of hurt, anger and sorrow that came out of those boxes along with what was left of my life. I will be 53 toward the end of this month, and those 13 boxes of material and sentimental possessions are all that's left of my life.  It isn't much...not really.  No dishes, very little in the line of clothing, less than 2 dozen books, about a dozen nick nacks, important papers, computer supplies, 3 pair of shoes, all my photos that hung on the wall or were in photo albums (to conserve space, I stripped all the photos out of their frames and albums)...a nd my computer. My heart ached as I pulled various items out of the boxes...remembering what I once had, and what I had to leave behind. Eleven years ago, at the end of my last marriage, when I moved out, I had everything to restart a new household and home. When I moved in with my daugh...

I believe in...              dreams, stranger things and    fleeting memories, which gives perspective         to an often blited world,               mysteries, intrigue and mischievous     eyes, innuendos that hide truth and                 the tears on aged faces after seeing                            what the future may bring,   laughter, pain and the quiet grounds                in-between,         tomorrow's hope, conception in every form,       ...

Writing is the most powerful way I know of to sort through all the inner voices. ~ Rebecca Maddox As a teen, I did what most teens did by keeping a small diary of my days at school, my crushes and frustrations with school mates, but it wasn't until my second marriage that I started journaling again...because I felt so lost, so miserable inside, and needed a place where I could find some small piece of sanity.  A place where I felt at peace. For the duration of that marriage, some 11 years, I filled literally dozens upon dozens of spiral single, three and five subject notebooks, and as each one was finished, I placed them on my book shelf.  I had no fear of being spied upon by my husband or step-children because they had no interest in what I was writing.  I had learned a tip from reading about journal-keeping: what's obvious isn't interesting to others.  Hide a diary, then others will want to know what it is you are writing about....