Where are the words?

It wasn’t the reading that was hard, but the writing of a summary that got me.

In second and third grade, the one thing at school that would send dread into my spirit was the assignment thereof: Write a book report, explaining the characters, the main idea, story development, and ending.

I loved to read so much that when my Mom and I visited the library together, I checked out the maximum number of books, about 8 or 9 volumes. And in two weeks, I read all of them.

I knew what each book was about. I could tell you the characters in casual conversation. But to write it down, I just could not do it.

In 3rd grade, I developed a fear of any question that demanded a sudden answer.

My teacher at the time called on me to stand before the class, and pronounce the word on the board before me.

Sounding it out, I said “cha-rack-terrr.”

She became furious, taking me by my shoulders and shaking me, then letting me go, and I flew into some desks.

Today, she would have gone to jail.

Back then, not so much. My father confronted her. He advised the principal she needed to move me out of that class, and after that year, that teacher was no longer teaching at the school.

I was relieved.

It is a weird memory, not being able to pronounce a word, being fearful, not being able to write a book report because I could not articulate the summary.

My second grade issues were not dealt with, leaving me open for troubles in her class.

Today, I do not have that issue. I have written hundreds of published articles, published a book, won a college writing competition and other awards. So that point in time is merely reflection now, for me.

That is a very long foreword for today’s blog.

“Sometimes, there are no words.”

Since I published my story, “The Brighter Side of A Darker Thing,” I have met many survivors of sexual abuse and childhood trauma.

One question I get a lot is this: how do we heal?

I am not a counselor. I do not have a degree in psychology. But as a fellow survivor, I can say that yes, healing comes, especially when you make up your mind to walk that road.

You know, I have noticed through the years .. on my personal road of healing .. you could tell a person anything from hey I grew up poor to we moved around a lot from town to town. The minute you say anything about abuse, the whole scene changes. And truthfully, it depends on whether or not the person in front of you is ready for your truth.

How do you find someone to listen to the words that are in you .. that you cannot articulate at this time?

Well, counselors do come into the mix. There are also resources (small groups, non-profits) who reach out to survivors.

Churches can .. but even in that arena, it can be a challenge. One person years ago wrinkled her nose at me, and said, “Well I have never been through that, I cannot even relate.”

Here is the unfortunate truth.

If you begin having conversations with people about your past, talking about how you are on a journey of healing, suddenly the whole forest lights up like a swarm of sparkling fireflies.

Most of my closest friends are survivors themselves, and I am proud to say that they are beginning to share their story as well.

We get through this life with the help of our friends.

Over the years, it has helped me heal by meeting others who experienced similar things I did .. yet used that story to fuel their inner talents. Artists, writers, musicians, dancers, government officials, animal trainers, cosmetologists, hairdressers, aircraft mechanics, and more.

One thing I have realized is this: where there are no words to express the feelings of hurt, inner hatred, shame, awkwardness, anger, frustration, loneliness, feeling like a freak .. there are ways of articulating that and using our pain to make something positive.


I was painting for the first time as an adult, and was not prepared for my reaction to that color.

I changed my painting several times, adding other colors, watching the swirl, eventually ending up with an olive green textured background, with a white and pink flower shooting across the canvas.


Just a thought for today. Grab some clay, or a paintbrush, a charcoal pencil, explore. Don’t worry about what you are going to create. Don’t obsess that it will look elementary. Whatever you do, don’t criticize yourself. Let the creativity flow. Stay in touch with your spirit. Ask yourself what colors do you like, and why ..

painting brush on palette
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Happy Tuesday, all.

For those of you new to glitzyadventure.com, if a blog speaks to you, share it. Be sure to register your email as well. And feel free to email me or share things that have helped you heal. I am still, and always will be, in that healing process.


Note to self

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People who are always seeing to the needs of others often neglect themselves, and sometimes it takes other people to recognize that and point it out.

“You’re doing too much,” said one of my mentors, a very wise and kind friend from The Daughters of the King (a prayer order within the Episcopal church dedicated to taking care of the parish, having a daily prayer time, and supporting the mission of the church.)

I smiled and said I was fine 🙂

In a conversation with another friend, told her I made two meatloaves and wrote a blog before coming to work.

“I am tired already,” she said, laughing at me.

I thought everyone did stuff like that.

“People are saying you are a driven person,” someone else confided in me.


“What drives you?” they asked.

Well, I like to stay busy. And there is so much you can do, and are able to do.

I like the word, “do.”

To counterbalance the do, we are told by numerous self help books to learn the art of “be.”

Well, we are, or we could not “be.”

Creatives often use this word, “be,” to describe that flow of energy between the wheels of creativity.

In other words, let the creative come naturally.

I have another friend whom I call “Little Davinci,” for the kid is into everything. While most people gravitate toward either an existence of mathematical proportions, studying the realms of science, or choosing the opposite side of the wheel, flipping out creative art of all kinds, this kid does both.

He has been told by several, you cannot combine these parts of your life.

“Watch me,” he said.

And it is not in doing all things that his endeavors suffer .. oft it is the short sighted people who say it cannot be done.


I have asked a number of go-getters through the years when the last time was they nurtured themselves.

One time I did this, a judge stood up in the middle of a city meeting he was attending (not presiding, obviously) and left the meeting. I smiled. He smiled.

Funny that a judge had a eureka moment about self care, right there.

What does this mean for you?

Well, my note to myself includes this: Don’t forget to write You on your own schedule.

This past weekend, I went for a mani and pedi, and felt somewhat guilty as that is a frivilous thing.

But, is it?

When my pedicure started, I put my phone down, and sank into the massage chair. I did not realize how tired I was, and how much I really needed this excursion  …

“When you work, you have to do something for yourself,” said a close friend of mine, “mi Amiga,” years ago. That is how the nail salon ritual became a thing in my life.

My Note to Self this year includes such things also, as spend more time with friends, learn more music, visit the beach and the woods often.

I think we mistake the “be” sometimes for a place or moment of inactivity. Yet it is not that at all. It is the place of mending and restoration, inspiration and rejuvenation, contemplation and creation, the playground of the soul where a million fireflies glow.

Happy Thursday, all.

Let me know how your Note to Self goes. Remember glitzyadventure.com is meant to be a shared journey. We learn from one another.

It was there the whole time

After packing lunches this morning, I made two meatloaves and heaved them into the oven so they could cook while I had my morning coffee.

Glitzyadventure.com picked up some new followers this week 🙂 Happy face emojis all over the place.

The readers then would say: What is the word of the day?

Well, this time last week (actually, it was daylight, to be exact), I was wandering around the newsroom parking lot, searching for my car key that had somehow worked its way off my key chain .. to who knows where.

For about an hour, I wandered in the wilderness, looking under my car and others as well. A gentlemen noticed this, as I leaned with a sigh on my car, and I feared he thought I was looking to break into people’s cars, although, admittedly, who would do such a thing in dress clothes in a news parking lot, of all places, in broad daylight? But then, that is how a cops reporter’s mind works, because you hear and see just about everything come across your desk.

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The guy, dressed in very pressed khakis and an oxford cloth shirt, approached me and said “May I help you?”

“This is my car,” I huffed, totally exasperated at not having a clue as to where my key went.

He smiled and said something to the tune of .. no literally .. you look like you need help.


But of course. I explained to him the great key saga. We looked all over the place. I found a rogue rock (a rock!) in my wheel well. So that was the noise I heard when I was driving.

Later, a colleague used her boundless Triple AAA to call for a locksmith, and after totally disemboweling (is that a word?) my car, there was no key. Yet moments later, one of our editors was leaving for lunch, then suddenly hopped out of his car. “Your key!!” he said.

He had rolled over it.

It was there, in the parking lot, the whole time as I pattered around, vexed at my situation.

The phrase “It was there the whole time” reminds me of my thought of the day: Realizing your untapped potential.

About 11 years ago, a news team took a chance on me, a middle age woman with no college education (only one or two classes at the time), and hired me to do full time news. It was the first job where I sat at my desk thinking to myself, “I feel like I know what I am doing.”

Writing has always been my happy place.

What is funny is that for years, I tried to get my poetry published. My Grandma Ferguson believed in my potential so much that when she turned in my name and my children’s names for our family tree volume (a massive book!), she wrote my occupation as “poet.”

It stunned me when I saw that, years later, after she passed, when the book came to me.

Along my writing journey, I received a lot of rejection letters. I kept one from The White Pelican Review (which shuttered eventually) that said, “good luck getting published.”

I smile.

It is in each of us, this potential of the great whatever.

This year, I will be 51 years old, and I think to myself, I am just getting started.


I have some friends in mind as I write this, and you know who you are. Don’t doubt yourself, your potential, and whether you will ever reach your goal.

You know, I could not believe that car was on top my key.

Then again, I am glad it was. At least we found it.

Have a good day, all.

It is Wednesday all day long.

Spring cleaning begins, and has a lesson of its own

Perhaps I am not the only one who gets busy with their schedule, only to wake up one day and realize .. six months have gone by, or more, since you had lunch with a close friend.

Or since you truly cleaned your home.

Or your car.

Or had a pedicure.

Why is it we neglect things so, as one day slides into another.

Someday, we’ll make time.

This week, I decided that no matter how tired I was, or if my leg was hurting, or if I could assemble a battery of excuses, I would make a list and follow it.

I make lists for work all the time. And I used to do it for personal stuff too.

So I had lunch with a friend of mine. A five hour conversation with waffles and 7 cups of coffee, amazing how we both needed that.

The following day, I made my list and worked it. Not only did I set up a creative space in my farmhouse room, I found some things I had been searching for .. two bottles of medicine, a black and a white sweater for work, old news articles from my previous work at other newspapers, I tended to some personal chores, and am happy that I did.

The creative corner was most important, as that is the space for me to write and sew, play music and think.

I tossed a lot of things yesterday. Put together donate bags.

And got a pedi and mani afterwards because my hangnails were bugging me and my feet hurt.

Make time for life chores, or life will make a chore of you.

Happy Tuesday, all.

Molly is asleep on the floor. I had a hot flash while reading my morning scripture, so she let the fur fly, literally.

Onward. A new week is ahead.

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Sand and sea, the wonder of thee

The tide was coming in, but that was ok as my bestie and I plopped our beach chairs in the warm Florida sand. An advantage of living here is paradise is only an hour and a half away.

I took it all in, the salty air, the sunshine, the beautiful ocean. Waves, the ebb and flow of tide.

A multi-sensory experience, a chance to unwind. She, burdened with providing for her family and worrying over a husband with cancer. Me, exhausted from two years with no vacation. (This June will change that.)

We did not say much for a while. No words were needed. A pile of children chased the waves out to sea, then ran quickly back to shore, trying to outrun them.

I thought to myself, that is what our lives are like. We chase the waves of work, family, paying bills, church, errands. To do, to do, to do.

Then we run quickly and try to keep from being overwhelmed.

Down time is good. Trouble is, most of us are not real good at making it as much of a priority as working our day to day lives.

For us, this day meant giving up church for the day. At least, formal church. The beach and the mountains are where I go when I want to feel close to God.

“The ultimate cathedral,” I told her.

Sand, a trillion grands of sand, covered my toes, and I sat in awe. Just how many grains of sand and dirt does earth have?

How deep is the ocean? How wide is the horizon?

If I get on a boat and head straight East, where will I land?

It took about an hour for both of us to finally chill enough to enjoy the scenery. Her headache was gone. I felt like I could sleep right there.

A large family under a beach tent next to us packed beer, lots of beer.

They did not seem drunk, yet they were all very chill.

I thought, we don’t have alcohol, and we are already there.

They say the ocean’s energy is good for all that ails you. I thought of my knee contusion, and how the time at the beach was helping even that injury.

Mental note, I made. Must do this again soon.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

A chance to just be.

scenic view of ocean during sunset
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Where simplicity reigns

Life is still simple for some in the Blue Ridge mountains, where springs of water run cold and pure, and time seems to stand still, unfettered by the hustle of the rest of the modern world. The woman before me, a 40 something Irish-Indian lass with silkie, long white hair and biceps more defined than most men I knew, seemed as if she stepped out of a history book. Pointing to some empty 5 gallon buckets, she said “this is our water supply, we carry it in from the well outside.” I tried to lift a full bucket. Clearly, this would be a challenge for me. Married to a man who did not allow her to cut her hair, have outside friends, or wear makeup unless they were together, she did not seem unhappy. He worked on projects around the farm, and together, they lived off the land.

She had lived in that same house her family owned since the 1800s. Knowing no other way of life, she seemed both backward and uncommonly wise all at once.

“This is the tour,” she said, cackling in her raspy voice. She smoked, but could not let her husband see her, as he saw it as a disgrace. So she hid it. Probably only a half cigarette a day, as smokes were expensive, she said.

The pantry was amazing. Hundreds of jars of various items she canned glistened on the shelves. Some had been there since the 1920s, canned by her mother. Black strap molasses and green beans, she said. “They’re still good.”

Opening one jar, she let me have a taste. Interestingly enough, the molasses were not rancid. Strong, yes!

No wonder her cookies were so good.

She farmed, growing tomatoes, beans and squash. Sometimes, onions and peppers.

Soft deerskins were draped over a banister upstairs, as she showed me my room for the week.

“I cured those, the old way,” she said.

With the Indian heritage she had, she could hunt, butcher, dress, and cure the meat the family brought in. Truly, nothing went to waste. “Pa hates waste,” she said.

Other delicacies included wild hog, squirrel, rabbit, and lots of fish.

“We may be poor, but we do not go hungry,” she said.

Her days were long, though because her husband was a night owl, she did not wake until the late morning hours. She slept maybe 6 or 7 hours.

I looked at my room. The bed had an old, very flat feather mattress, laid on a handmade frame, and topped with what is known as a handmade “crazy quilt.” Crazy quilts were a way pioneers used all of their fabric scraps. Embroidered on the quilt was a family member’s initials and 1800 something. I do not even remember what year it was, because I could not get past the 1800 part.

“We have no heat upstairs,” she said. “But your room is warm, because the vent from the wood burning stove downstairs will keep you toasty.”

She and Pa would sleep downstairs, she said.

The home seemed like a museum that should have been kept safe from the modern world.

“We have electricity for lights and the tv, only,” she said.

Surprisingly, I slept well. Yet morning brought the mountain’s sub zero temperatures. She had already been outside with one of her boys, chopping wood.

She poured me a cup of coffee she brewed on the gas stove. “It may be strong for you,” she said.

It was. But I was glad for it.

“Bath time is different around here,” she said. Showing me to the tiny bathroom with a large white tub and a sink, she said she would need to heat up the water, and it would take about 30 minutes to get a few inches of water in the tub.

They did add septic pipes for the toilet, tub and sink, but had no running water.

Quietly, I had to ask. “Doesn’t that bother you?”

Knowing her husband had the know how to bring running water into the house because he had been a handyman by trade, she said she had never known any other way.

Which explains her fascination with my bathroom when she visited me in the city.

I helped her carry the hot water into the bathroom, and was surprised the tub kept it hot for so long.

“As you can see, we don’t need to exercise, we get plenty around here,” she said.

After I readied myself for the day, the guys went outside for target practice to get ready for hunting. We stayed to prepare breakfast before they left, and make the one large meal they had a day.

No restaurant on earth could compete with home made biscuits and gravy, fresh green beans, smoked venison, sliced tomatoes, mashed potatoes and more. Her cookie jar was two feet tall, 12 inches wide, and full. Pies adorned the shelves nearby.

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I thought to myself, once upon a time, people worked really hard just to survive. They did not have as much time for leisure. But they learned to enjoy the moment.

Thoughts for the day. And yes, this is a true story. Ask my children. They remember the farm, which still exists today.

A blank sheet of paper

Empty lines intrigue me. They are full of possibilities. Ink has room to flow in space. Words. I love words.

My son’s fiance noticed that, and a few years ago, for Christmas, they gave me a set of porcelain coffee mugs with inspirational sayings on them.

Freedom to explore.

New journals are loaded with potential. What will the pondering of my heart be today?

Truth is, some days the pages hold pain. Other days, a victory or two. All on paper, it is, thoughts, feelings, musings and observations.

Spring time is a time of newness. Bulbs that have laid dormant now come to life. The garden blooms with little effort. Each day is a new possibility.

Today’s blog is dedicated to those who find it hard to articulate what will fill the lines.

I tend to be a realist as far as life goes. Yes, I dream. But reality was something my family preached when I was a child.

I believe our world has tried to sugarcoat so many things that it has made it hard for people to be transparent with others without the fear of shunning, rejection, or putdowns.

It is what it is.

Survivors of sexual abuse, or any kind of trauma for that matter, often face days where, in the words of one survivor I heard, “Just getting out of bed is a big deal.”

Why is that?

Speaking to this subject matter, not as a person with a counseling degree or license to instruct, but one who has lived through it ..

Shame, despair, feelings of worthlessness because you feel you should have been able to stop what was happening to you .. feelings of insecurity .. can I do this task at hand .. am I enough .. why do I feel like a freak no matter where I am .. why do I get depressed easy .. why do I find it hard to look at life and see the sunshine?

All these feelings impact how you fill in those journal lines .. of this .. your life in the now.

So what then?

We can get pretty overwhelmed if we try to jump four squares ahead on this board game of life.

It has helped me to make a little list of my priorities for the day. Quiet time. Personal grooming time. Work. Lunch. Work. Stop at the store. Etc.

Our list is our own. We make it for nobody else but us. And we say, well I had so much more I wanted to do.

Truth 🙂

There is a quilt in my closet I need to finish and my garden looks like a pile of weeds right now. I at least cleaned out the bunch of stuff I had been hauling inside my car (no, I have not gotten to my trunk yet.)

My goal is that someday, my car will not make me look like I am homeless, lol.

There. Made you laugh. I bet yours looks like that too. Or maybe your closet does.

Precious One, have a good day today.

We get through this life with the help of our friends.

Share glitzyadventure.com with those you know who would like to share this journey.

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Embrace the possibilities

A hot cup of coffee is my friend at this moment, as I am curled up in my room with my Bible, notebook, and other reading material before work.

It is fairly quiet outside. I work today, and am looking forward to being “in the field.” This is what journalists call it when they are out of the office.

You might remember that I started off the week decluttering.


Solitary exclamation point. I had so much energy and positivity that day, I was like, yes, spring is here!

The following day, not so much. It was more like I was a zombie character on an episode of The Walking Dead.

However, I did at least unclutter the inside of my car and hang a new air freshener.


Sometimes it is like that in our healing from past trauma. We make our way forward, only to wake up the next day .. and the only two words we can utter are, “Oh, God.”

And not in a way of taking His Name in vain.

Literally, not being able to find words to formulate what we seek in prayer.

So what does this mean?

Here’s the deal.

Sharing my story has not been easy. In fact, often after I either write, talk to someone else about their trauma as a kid, or read yet another account of a child’s life being wrecked by intimate abuse, I find I need to do something to counter balance those uncomfortable moments.

After all. We were not made for trauma.

Or were we?

It is true that you cannot go back and unscramble the egg.

We cannot fix our past. What we have seen, experienced, heard.



Listening to a positive video. A story of overcoming. And it might not even relate to your struggles.

In the words of another lady I know with a story like mine .. “I like to celebrate the accomplishments of others.”

Art. Walks in nature. Concerts. Time with family or friends.

Or just walking into a cozy coffee shop, alone, getting a sesame seed bagel and a cup of coffee, and reading a good book.

A public information officer for a law enforcement agency recently asked me how I deal with some of the very horrific arrest affidavits we

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Photo by Daria Shevtsova on Pexels.com

sometimes have to read before writing an article about someone who “allegedly” hurt a child. “Given what you have been through,” he said.

The media recently ran a press release about 26 sex offenders who were arrested for not keeping their info current with the state.


And I thought, if this release is true, and if it is true that all 26 of them really did commit offenses that convicted them .. in most of the cases, involving either children or someone else they “allegedly” compromised .. then that is 26 (at least) lives that were wrecked.


I told this person that I have and am continuing to work through my healing. I choose life, color, beauty, positivity, faith, hope, creativity, dwelling “on that which is good.”

And in answer to his question .. I take a very quick moment .. and read something positive.

Two minutes is all it takes to immediately refocus me. I have been doing this since I was 9 years old. I grant that not everyone is as able to refocus that quickly, and I am not critical of anyone who cannot.

But that is what I do.

Because I am not yesterday.

And yesterday is not me.

How is your healing journey going? Make a list of some creative things you can do to refocus when you are exposed to things that are less than positive.

Embrace the possibilities of overcoming.


Little steps

Clutter makes me crazy. And yet like most people in America, I find no shortage of it.

Somehow, I seem to accumulate lots of whatever.

So I have been trying to (gradually) look at my clutter and decide if it is something I need, something to pitch, or something to donate.

It is amazing how we look at things and think it is so important to cling to them.

I look at my farmhouse room and think, “You know, if Grandma were here … ”

Yep. She sure would toss. That was one clutter free woman, and my daughter Phoebe is just like her.

It is just part of her life.

My thing is when I get a couple days off, the last thing I want to do is stay inside the house.

So am thinking.

Maybe Emilie Barnes was right. (Years ago, she wrote a book, a system which I have used twice as my kids were growing up, and it worked. “More Hours in My Day.”) The idea was you get overwhelmed with all the piles.


Yes you would.

If you saw the floorboard of my car. Newspapers (of course, I am a journalist), tennis shoes, Christmas decor from the office, an empty cracker box, five or six sweaters and jackets, my choir folder, and a rolling can of soup of the floor of the front passenger’s seat.

It is aggravating because as I commute, it rolls back and forth on the floorboard.

My greatest hope is I will not be in an accident, nor that any of my friends need to hitch a ride.


Anyway. I am going in.

Going to take 15 minutes this morning and at least tote some of the items in.

That way maybe today or tomorrow at lunch, I can take it to a car wash place to get it washed and vacuumed.

Little steps. Will let you know how it goes.

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Here’s to you

If you are reading this blog, then it is proof positive that you have made it.

What does that mean?

It means that regardless of what you suffered, in spite of any effort of the universe to take you out, no matter what you have seen or where you have been .. you are here right now.

How long has it been since you celebrated you?

I was once at a spiritual retreat designed for singles (it was co-ed, kind of like church), and the speaker was doing a lesson on loving yourself the way God loves you.

Out of a few hundred people (I was not even sitting in the front), he called me up to the front of the room, and asked his wife to help me stand on a chair in front of everyone.



He asked me to then tell everyone how special and beautiful I was.

He said it in such a way that it literally turned on the faucet to my pent up pain and low self esteem.

Tears, yes.

His wife wrapped me in a hug, and I sobbed.

Though for sure it was vulnerable for me .. there was not a dry eye in the room.

He said, “you see, she cannot do it.”

And went on to talk about how something, somewhere, impacted me so much that I literally loathed myself.

Why do we as survivors hate ourselves so?

I think of my beautiful babies and my grandchildren. How I adore them. Their pictures are on my desk at work, in my phone, and all over my room at home.

Cherished. They are my world. There is not a single moment of my day but what I am thinking of my family.

The same applies to us. I know everyone has a different world view. That is the power of choice.

I believe in the Creator. As the created, I look around at others and think, you know, I am not as good as they, as smart as they, as pretty or talented as they .. are.

One of the hallmarks of experiencing trauma as a child is self hatred.

My counselor years ago asked me if I would talk to my children the way I talk to myself, and I said no way.

He told me to take the little girl inside me by the hand and be gentle with her.

I still struggle with self hating thoughts at times, but am making great strides.

The concept that I am a unique creation, deliberately fashioned, by God, has been healing in many ways.

I do art .. writing, sewing, crocheting, drawing, painting, snipping, pasting, singing, song writing.

I love art because it is organic and unique. Something I created.

Today, remember that you are not a mistake. You are precious in the sight of God. You have gifts and abilities. Talents you do not even see. But others do.

Today, celebrate you. A hard exercise, it is true, but entirely possible.

What does that look like?

My name is Kathy Leigh. I love God, my family and friends. Little things mean a lot to me. Simple things amaze me. The whirl of dry leaves in the breeze on a fall morning, the smile of a baby riding in a stroller at the grocery store, the sound of the ocean and the memory of its thousands of secrets, sunrises and sunsets, starry nights, fireflies, glitter left behind by a child decorating a city sidewalk, rows of cows line up by a country fence. Beauty. Everywhere.

I love coffee and drink a pot of it ever

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y day. Long walks in the country inspire and refresh me. I laugh every day, because life is too hard to frown all the time. I make many mistakes. But also learn from some of them. I always thought I made friends easily, yet inside always worry about being a burden. I love to read and listen to music. The contrast of light and darkness is beautiful to me .. candlelight and mini-lighted topiaries make me smile. I don’t like arrogance. People that are full of themselves are a big turn off, yet also I see they may have morphed that way because their childhood was rough too. Perhaps. My heart breaks for people who have nothing, those who are alone, the broken and the needy. I have compassion. Bitter? Yes, I have also fought bitterness at times because of my road.

Today I celebrate me. My purpose is to be a blessing. That is all.

Here’s to you, today. Make a list of your accomplishments and beliefs. The things you like and don’t like. And always, look .. on the Brighter Side.