Anne Hume was a Scottish writer in the mid-1700s who died in 1821. I would like to think that her songs and words not only speak to me because of their beauty, but because of an inexplicable link with Scotland, and my Father and our shared heritage. The song is about lost love and it … Continue reading
As Aeneas prepares to leave Dido she is heartbroken. Rather than live without his love, Dido decides to take her life. In her swan song she asks, Remember me, remember me, but ah! Forget my fate. But such simple words ask for an impossible request: remember me in good times, but don’t remember my death … Continue reading
The problem of the dead taking up space is that there is not a lot of room left for the living. Continue reading
Before words, before thoughts, there is a feeling. It is from this feeling that everything else comes. Like the small rock that starts the avalanche, it is that feeling that grips you tight and refuses to let you go. If you’re expecting me to recount an exact date or time when my avalanche started, I … Continue reading
As Shakespeare once said, “To self-publish or not to self-publish… that is the question!” Okay, so I may be paraphrasing here, but Shakespeare’s original line from Hamlet is not far from my own feelings today: indecision. Granted, my question does not deal with suicide, it does however, deal with a different type of death, creative … Continue reading
I have my Father’s eyes Almost green-grey. I have my Father’s height. I have his love of reading books. I have his impatience. I have his nose. I have my Father’s fierce loyalty. I have his toes. I have my Father’s fine, wispy hair. I have my Father’s bad eyesight. For that, I have glasses. … Continue reading
Grief is grief. There are no Grief Olympics were families and friends compete for the prize of feeling the most shit about losing the person they loved. Posting “RIP” on Facebook does not make you better or worse than someone who doesn’t. Continue reading
I am not sure that I can say this with much certainty, but I think the chickens preferred adventure novels best. I remember reading them passages from Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, The Jungle Book, and Charlotte’s Web. The adventure novels, I thought, helped the chickens relax. With each word I could see their feathers flatten, their walk become a little slower, and their clucks morph into a strange purr. The chickens and I were adventurers at heart. Continue reading
I wrote this story when I was doing my Bachelor’s of Arts. My father had struggled with rheumatoid arthritis for several years. He was always a fit and strong man and his arthritis stole a lot of his movement. It’s perhaps a weird homage to pay… to someone’s feet. I’m publishing this story on what … Continue reading
I just finished reading Tina Fey’s, Bossypants. The book is amazing. I laughed so much the whole way through, and it made me love Tina Fey that little bit more. Her book not only has reflections about her career in comedy and her show 30 Rock, but it also has stories and moments in her … Continue reading
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