Pieces of Light

As Mother’s Day approaches, I look, once again, in two directions. In front of me, I see my grown daughter, while easily conjuring her as a child with an impish smile, wispy hair, and a vocabulary that kept me on my toes. Looking behind, in my mind’s eye, I see my mom.

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Emoji Fast

The other morning, I was texting my friend, searching for the perfect emoji to add. She had a cold and my text was a “sorry you’re sick” kind of deal. The emoji search was exhaustive.

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The PH Blues

If I played guitar, not in a strumming- sing-around-the-campfire kind of way, but more like Bonnie Raitt’s slide guitar that moans melancholy and emanates yearning with every string, I’d pick up that instrument today and compose the post-holiday blues.

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A Birth and a Day

Today is my birthday and I don’t want a present. Unlike some who choose New Year’s for reflection and resolution, for me, it is on my birthday when what I want is to contemplate what’s been and what’s to be.

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The Goodbye Girl

I am terrible at saying goodbye. This, I know, to be a truth. It has always been the case. There is a simple ripping in my chest when even thinking about saying the word, let alone acknowledging the feeling.

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The Engagement

Love is in the air. More than lyrics to a song, the sentiment is indicative of my personal clime of late. My daughter recently announced her engagement and although I knew, of course, this would happen, the news caused my heart to be blown across the prairie landscape of motherhood, like an impetuous tumbleweed of emotions brimming with decades of mothering moments.

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Naked Mole Rat Love

My nose is growing bigger, either that or my face is shrinking. Neither prospect is comforting. This vessel of a body that so graciously afforded me portage in this human life has been nothing but a gift of the holiest kind, but must it wither in its final quarter

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Are You My Valentine?

February has a giant sore thumb in its middle called Valentine’s Day. Since the month is oddly short, it possibly has a Napoleonic complex and makes up for it with a mammoth Hallmark-appropriated holiday that screams love while poking at our inside organs of guilt and insecurity.

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The Art of Beginning

I am struck by the singular opportunity that beginnings provide. A fresh start, from a kindling of an idea to the sunrise of a new day, is like cracking the cover of a new book. Who knows what adventures and storylines lie in the pages ahead?

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Resolution

There is no “s” on the above title because this is no end-of-year call to action nor a reminder to set to paper a list of goals. Truth be told, this motivational list-making is no longer fun or, more to the point, I would rather drag a dried up, pointyneedled Christmas tree through my house and wrestle it out the front door by myself, rather than write…

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In MusingCarole Vasta Folley