I’m the type of person who puts my entire heart into everything I do
Love pours out from me like a tipped over water glass
Drenching everything on the map in front of me
Lines get blurred, everything mixes together
All aspects of my life live in harmony
Until the day that a sinkhole appears
The water rushes away from all areas of the map
And vanishes into this black abyss
Leaving only my tears to water to the desert my life
(Photo by Eric Muhr on Unsplash)
The black mist rolled around me
And the vase shattered into a million pieces
The flower petals it once held
Orange, red and yellow, they were all scattered around
The pieces are now jagged and sharp
Piercing my skin deeply with every try to collect them
Maybe I’ll make a mosaic of them one day
And hopefully that image is as lovely as the vase used to be
(Photo by Fabien TWB on Unsplash)
Songs, tales and myths
Have been told about cats
Cat Scratch Fever
But no one writes about
Twenty-pound dogs fighting
And you ending up in the ER
He’s happy to get in the car
He’s happy for the ride
He is intrigued by the door
The eyes of hatred pierce my soul
Daggers to my side
Sliding ever so slightly into my lungs
I can’t breathe yet I can’t let you see me cry
Today I wanted to bring you a photo of my family’s old farm. These 250 acres of the family farm land in Pelham, TN, is where I spent a lot of my time growing up and where I learned a lot about food. My Mutsi had a tiny vineyard where we could pick the grapes to make jam. My Papa had a little garden out front where we could collect veggies for our salads and other side dishes.
Growing up in the South, you learn from an early age about racism. Our public schools taught from books that The Daughters of the Confederacy bought for schools. Eventually, we read books that actually told some truth.
I remember reading about the Civil Rights movement and its leaders. I remember learning details about Martin Luther King, Jr. I remember feeling shame to know he was assassinated in my home state of Tennessee.
The year 2020 has been a strange year, and so has the Jewish year of 5780.
As the sun sets tonight, we hope and pray for a better year.
What will 5781 bring us? Do we dare to dream of health and happiness?
Or shall we begin to brace ourselves for a long, hard winter?
It is our hope which will sustain us, and we pray for a better year.
5781 brings us hope, and another step closer to coming back together.
What is happiness?
It’s sitting in the comfy chair in the reading nook, next to you while you work away at your desk. It’s our pup laying behind your chair, chewing his favorite toy, completely at peace. It’s our baby girl, purring away sitting on the ottoman next to my feet.
Happiness isn’t money or the nicest things the world has to offer.
Happiness is your kind and loving heart, loving me forevermore.
Being a Southern woman, making food is a part of your soul. It’s in our blood, it’s part of our spirit. It’s just what we do – we cook when we’re happy, when we’re expecting guests, when we’re down, or during a pandemic.
Sometimes I think of our love
as though it’s an old Southern backroad
You’re in the driver’s seat
my feet are on the dash
The roads are curvy and dictate our speed
sometimes we take them slow, sometimes fast
At times they’re the straightest path
with fields of corn on either side
There are moments of fear
but also moments of pure joy
Those old Southern backroads
can go on forever, with no end in sight
Many times you ride those roads
with your most trusted companion
Those Southern backroads are an adventure like none other
and it’s only you I want by my side.