First Day of Spring

Lake Champlain, Vermont.

Hon, this poem speaks to the heart I wish to heal, the head I hope to clear, and the life I must make matter.

“So I am not a broken heart.
I am not the weight I lost or miles or ran and I am not the way I slept on my doorstep under the bare sky in smell of tears and whiskey because my apartment was empty and if I were to be this empty I wanted something solid to sleep on. Like concrete.
I am not this year and I am not your fault.
I am muscles building cells, a little every day, because they broke that day,
but bones are stronger once they heal and I am smiling to the bus driver and replacing my groceries once a week and I am not sitting for hours in the shower anymore.
I am the way a life unfolds and bloom and seasons come and go and I am the way the spring always finds a way to turn even the coldest winter into a field of green and flowers and new life.
I am not your fault.”
Charlotte Eriksson


img_7229I wear a veil of sadness. My mother’s illness and passing has left me unmoored, so please bear with me as I stand in an ocean, the waves lapping and tugging, lapping and tugging.

img_7227 img_7228

Epitaph by Merrit Malloy

When I die

Give what’s left of me away

To children

And old men that wait to die.


And if you need to cry,

Cry for your brother

Walking the street beside you.

And when you need me,

Put your arms

Around anyone

And give them

What you need to give to me.


I want to leave you something,

Something better

Than words

Or sounds.


Look for me

In the people I’ve known

Or loved,

And if you cannot give me away,

At least let me live on in your eyes

And not your mind.


You can love me most

By letting

Hands touch hands,

By letting bodies touch bodies,

And by letting go

Of children

That need to be free.


Love doesn’t die,

People do.

So, when all that’s left of me

Is love,

Give me away.

Peacock, Puppy and Boy

Peacock stutting his stuff.

Peacock strutting his stuff.

To top off my Series of Blue, I’m leaving  you with a Shel Silverstein poem,  perfect for kidlit lovers…and kids.

Put Something In

Draw a crazy picture,

Write a nutty poem.

Sing a mumble-gumble song,

Whistle through your comb.

Do a loony-goony dance

‘Cross the kitchen floor,

Put something silly in the world

That ain’t been there before.

Hot dog in a cool pool. Lucy loves the baby pool.

Hot dog in a cool pool. Isn’t Lucy adorable?

Boy with Kite, Acadia National Park, Maine.

Boy with Kite, Acadia National Park, Maine.

Dale Chihuly in Denver, Pink and Purple Color Comparison

Dale Chihuly, Blown Glass Spheres

Dale Chihuly, Blown Glass Spheres, 2014.

Pinks and Purples 

I loved the glass in the garden at the Denver Botanic Gardens. Dale Chihuly created gorgeous glass sculptures that grew alongside “rooms” of blooms.  The resulting color comparisons were poetic.

Where the Sidewalk Ends

by Shel Silverstein

There is a place where the sidewalk ends
and before the street begins,
and there the grass grows soft and white,
and there the sun burns crimson bright,
and there the moon-bird rests from his flight
to cool in the peppermint wind.

Let us leave this place where the smoke blows black
and the dark street winds and bends.
Past the pits where the asphalt flowers grow
we shall walk with a walk that is measured and slow
and watch where the chalk-white arrows go
to the place where the sidewalk ends.

Yes we’ll walk with a walk that is measured and slow,
and we’ll go where the chalk-white arrows go,
for the children, they mark, and the children, they know,
the place where the sidewalk ends.

Hon, I write.  I write picture books and chapter books.  In my stories, the little girl inside of me invites other children to mark the place where the sidewalk ends.

In that place and in that space,

we explore the world with open minds,

share our curiosity and wonder,

marvel at spiders and stars,

and believe in the magic of our imaginations.


Zinnia, Denver, CO.


Columbine, Breckenridge, CO.










Purple Reeds, Chihuly.

Purple Reeds, Chihuly, 2014

Flat Sea Holly.

Flat Sea Holly, Denver, CO.

Blue and Purple Boat, Dale Chihuly, Blown Glass.

Blue and Purple Boat, Dale Chihuly, Blown Glass, 2014.

“Glass itself is so much like water.  If you let it go on its own, it almost ends up looking like something that came from the sea.”  (Quote by Chihuly.)

Related Posts:

Dale Chihuly in Denver, Glass in the Garden

Dale Chihuly in Denver, Fifty Shades of Grey

Dale Chihuly in Denver, Orange Color Comparison


Happy Mother’s Day!



Happy Mother’s Day–dedicated to my mom.

This poem was tacked to the bulletin board in our kitchen.

No Child of Mine Poem

My dad and mom with the triplets.

My dad and mom with the triplets.

Me, my mom and my son.

Me, my mom and my son.

Grandma and granddaughter (my Plus One), matching.

Grandma and granddaughter (my Plus One), matching.

Butterflies on Cone Flowers.

Swallowtail butterflies  on Cone Flowers.

I hope you have a lovely day, hon. 

Philippine Typhoon Relief

A-man-walks-along-as-the-national-flag-of-the-Philippines-flies-over-the-rubble-of-destroyed-homes-in-Tacloban-AFP-1, Agence France-Presse

A-man-walks-along-as-the-national-flag-of-the-Philippines-flies-over-the-rubble-of-destroyed-homes-in-Tacloban-AFP-1, Agence France-Presse

I’ve never posted an appeal for help before but I got a request from Mai Demeterio, a Filipino mom in my neighborhood.  She and Odessa Alpuerto started a grassroots effort to raise money for victims of Typhoon Haiyan.  If you are so inclined, please check out their fundraising effort:  Phillippine Typhoon Relief.

In addition, I follow a blog called This Man’s Journey.  “Island Traveler,” who writes the blog, is also Filipino and raising funds for victims of the typhoon.  If you click on This Man’s Journey above, it’ll bring you to a post about what he and his family are doing and how you can help.

I’m leaving you with a poem I read on Cristian Mihai’s blog, which he reblogged from The Mirror Obscura.

You Were Talking About Bliss

(For a gypsy heart)

You ask me in an offhand way
To tell you what I know,
Of bliss.

To go unobstructed along dark paths,
See the light of day fold itself
Into a canopy of trees
That confides its own theology
Is to be devoutly wished for.

I am not talking about gods
Who have their own agenda
In choirs of water that whisper
To my weaker ambitions.
They can drown out the still small voice
I never hear
Until after it has said
What it meant to say
And left as soft and calm
As it goes to steal away, so quiet
I might think its thoughts were mine.

But, it is my voice that speaks to me;
Not deities or muse,
That puts one foot in front of the other,
That takes me through meadow, forest,
Along some tide worn beach, or into cities
Where humanity attempts to best itself
In a thousand different ways each day.

I will not go gently anymore from here.
I’m done with timid questions. Or else
I fade immeasurably. Grown clear,
Living has become a solid thing, real.
The day to day I answer to.


Autumn Haikus


My triplets plus one pumpkin picking.

My triplets and Plus One pumpkin picking, ages 10 and 3.

Colorful and crunchy leaves make me nostalgic for the time when my children were little. If you read my recent post, 19 On the 19th (Happy Birthday To My Triplets), then you know I’ve been strolling down memory lane since September.  Every year, we would

drive to the a country farm,

ride in a wagon,

pick pumpkins,

decorate our house,

carve pumpkins,

jump in leaf piles

and, of course, go trick-or-treating.

Topping off the holiday season was the best entertainment around, the elementary school Halloween show. Soon after Thanksgiving arrived and we feasted with extended family at our home.  Heaven!

I recently came across my big kids’ third grade Autumn Haikus.  I couldn’t wait to share them with you, along with a photo of each kid, all grown up now.

Autumn Haikus H

"Baby A"

“Baby A” and me.

Autumn Haikus T

'Baby B"

‘Baby B” and Hubby.

Autumn Haiku M

Tween Daughter, Me, "Baby C"

Tween Daughter, Me, “Baby C”

Do you and your family have favorite Fall traditions?  Hon, I’d love to hear them.