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in your sleep twitcher
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lover, not a fighter

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Dragonflies

All shall be well, And all shall be well, And all manner of things shall be well. -Dame Julian of Norwich, 13 th century English mystic All was well. - JK Rowling, last three words of her Harry Potter saga I used to have a dragonfly inside my heart. She introduced me to the Dalai Lama's The Art of Happiness , vegetarianism, and the local food co-op. We hung out at bookstores. We played with my cat while enjoying black bean chili and leftover birthday cake during our lunch breaks. We confided in each other and blew bubbles out car windows. Soon we were best friends and she starting calling me her other sister. I fell in love and moved an hour's drive away. She fell in love and got sick. These obstacles did not deter us. We stood in line at midnight in my town with lots of Gryffindors, Ravenclaws, Hufflepuffs and maybe even a few Slytherins to buy Harry Potter 5. In her town I stood on a balcony in an iridescent hydrangea colored gown and sparkly silver sandals as I...

I'm It!!

Evidentially there is a game of tag going on in the blog world and Christine Kane got me . It's not freeze tag it's here-are-five-things-that-you-don't-know-about-me tag. So here it goes. I waited until I was 22 years old before I got my driver's license. And no, I didn't grow up in a big city with good public transportation. I grew up in rural North Carolina where you had to have a car to get anywhere . The problem was that I was genuinely terrified that I was going to kill people if I got behind the wheel. (Have I ever mentioned that I grew up afraid of my shadow and that I am prone to overwhelm?) After I graduated from college I knew it was time to learn to drive so my little brother agreed to teach me. He was much more patient than my driver's ed teacher or either of my parents had been when I was in high school and to be honest, I was a bit less of a drama queen. My bro even took me for my driver's test, which I passed on the first try, only because I ...

Welsh Love Spoons

the house had been filled with the noises of packing since late morning tape being unrolled and ripped along the jagged edge of its dispenser sighs from the solitary packer three mountains of flat cardboard have become containers surrounded by bulging boxes now he's almost finished he makes another box that will carry the contents of the last end table as he lifts the back-hinged lid the scent reminds him of his childhood this table has lived longer than he an eight-year-old unfinished project lies among the chisels and small saws Welsh love spoons that he'd carved on the balcony of his tiny apartment during the hours that he spent on the phone with the girl they are a gift never given, a blessing on the marriage of his friend a union long ended, he tosses them into the waste bin and seals this last box upstairs he searches for items that escaped the first round and finds none he sits on the naked bed and reviews his six years here he can't help but think of her - the girl ...

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