photo of Susanna, April, 2014 April is the cruellest month, breeding Lilacs out of the dead land, Memory and desire, stirring Dull roots with spring rain. from The Waste Land by T.S. Elliot I miss Susanna in the sunshine. I miss her in the rain. I miss her in the snow. I miss her in… Continue reading Miss
Category: bereavement
“I Like Your Earrings”
illustration by Arthur Rackham “Sadness lets you wear stilettos, sadness lets you dance in the moonlight. She just has dark rims around her eyes.” – Tori Amos Spirit communicates in faint whispers sometimes, right below the surface. Sometimes through a voice vibrating warm in the flesh of my ear, as I awake from a dream.… Continue reading “I Like Your Earrings”
The Cailleach
The Cailleach, the Celtic crone goddess of storms and winter, wears a hood in visual interpretations. I imagine her surrounded, beneath her cloak, by cool and crisp vapor, more like that from an autumn evening than anything frightening. When I was isolating during the pandemic, I was trying to make drawings like I used to.… Continue reading The Cailleach
Dumb Supper
The veil is thin, October, and I am surrounded by mist. I can sometimes feel droplets, the atmosphere is cool and blurry. My awareness vacillates, I can be here or somewhere else. Susanna’s death, now years ago, pushed me toward an edge which became my home. Life/death, death/life, this blurry line is home. My… Continue reading Dumb Supper
Two Weeks Past Imbolc
When meditating yesterday, during this coldish winter break, I received some late winter advice. “It is not time to gather a bunch of flowers yet, but still time to gather a bundle of firewood”. I have stretched this message into urban life, no fireplace here but I continue to ride out some winter. Winter has… Continue reading Two Weeks Past Imbolc
Dreams, and my Mom
My Mom passed a few days ago. There is much to be said about her, I loved her very much. But I am going to write about a dream I had. My Mom’s passing is the end of one story but the beginning of some others. Last week, my Mom lie resting in an… Continue reading Dreams, and my Mom
Strega Nona and the Golden Ball
Strega Nona is an alter-ego of mine. She was a “strega”, an herbalist and a witch. A crone, nestled in rich old Italian locale and culture, using her wisdom to help others through magic (which is my biggest aspiration right now). Being that Tomie dePaolo’s original story was published in 1975, it is possible that… Continue reading Strega Nona and the Golden Ball
Herbs
Maybe in heaven there are fragrances. If I have a choice, I want to be able to smell the cilantro my Significant Other chops while I am falling asleep sometimes. A lover of toppings and condiments, he likes to eat late at night and meticulously cleans and separates the leaves, then gently taps the knife… Continue reading Herbs
Holding Space
My son was sitting on the bench with me at the playground, like Susanna used to do. He did not see anyone suitable to play with. Then, the little girl arrived, followed by the rest of her family. Curly dark hair in a ponytail, fluffy tutu with flats, spring in her step, about five or… Continue reading Holding Space
The Wheat from the Chaff
There is no goodbye. Not in terms of Susanna. Two years ago yesterday was the day my daughter was buried during a day-long driving rain. I was hoping she would like the chapel with stained glass, and the winding pathways in the picturesque historical cemetery. We invited a clergy person who asked my son to… Continue reading The Wheat from the Chaff
Susanna's Golden Ball 