Friday, March 4, 2011

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I'm a writer.

I write poetry and shortstory fiction. Somehow I learned to use my stories to open the window to other folks heartaches. This next post is unfortunately true. I can tell myself now that emotional distance was what taught me how important a hug can be to us all.

I guess the next post should have started with a song...



The next post is a story about my father and a hug. He never had to write a Bucket List. He has and is spending his life doing what he wanted. He failed and succeeded at business, he flew airplanes, he made and sailed his boat, he can catch a hawk and catch the imagination of a kid. When I asked him what he wanted to do next?

He wanted to hear the Universe.



I'm hearing that the weather tonight and tomorrow might be a bit fussy. Will see you on the flip side.


If we're lucky? It's always sunny the day after the storm.



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  1. I am a writer.March 4, 2011 at 7:34 PM

    I'm sitting here in the kitchen wearing my fuzzy blue bathrobe and house shoes. I bought the robe before Christmas because I thought that it was magical. It has bubbles and yellow rubber duckies all over it. For some reason, I thought that I would need it this year. A comfey thing for a sad day. Actually I thought that I might need it for being in a hospital.

    I'm sitting here with Izzy on my lap. She's so tiny. The tinest of all the pups. Black and white with pointed ears. She came up to me and stood on her hind legs so that I'd pick her up and hold her. So I did.

    You have to understand how Izzy came to be an inside dog. I had her out in the kennels at first but every where I put her, the other dogs were mean. One night when it was cold I heard a yelp and went to see what was the matter. There was Izzy. She'd dug a hole in the kennel floor and was balled up trying to stay warm. I took her inside that moment and she's been inside ever since. I call her "Tiny but Might" Izzy.

    She's sitting quietly now. I was crying because of Dad. I worry that he'll die. I try not to because that just seems like a waste of his time here on Earth. I should be happy but sometimes I worry. So I cry.

    Izzy, my tinest dog who's had such a trouble in her life, looked at me crying and then kind of hugged my neck. Normally she'd lick my face but not this time. Instead she looked me in the eye as if to say, "It's going to be okay. You aren't alone."


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    Author Ann

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