Truth can be more literal than the writer imagines.

My eleven-year-old and I were playing a game wherein the question was, “What is something that is sugar-coated?” I warbled, “Truth.”
The answer was:cornflakes

Hope is the reason we have children.

I had the phrase in mind as I put together my submission to the SheWrites Passion Project. The phrase is not in my submission. I submitted the concept of hope being the reason; the only element of sanity, really, if you examine the facts of family from a cost/benefit perspective. We hope to create something better than our experience. Perhaps because a parent’s wants and needs by definition must fall second to keeping a child alive and thriving, often unsaid is the idea that in the attempt to create something better, we experience the joy of the attempt.

These thought arrived this AM, during a Feldenkrais session. I was working with my upper back and felt a long-in-coming truth about a connection between the belly muscles, upper back, and shoulder.

I didn’t think, “Back, shoulder, belly.” I thought, “Most truth comes quietly.”

Latest essay a big hit! Subtitle: Readers respond.

Lovely responses to The Buddhism of Baseball, mostly from readers I don’t even know.  In order of appearance:

  • “You had me laughing, admiring your writing, and then getting all teared up. Sheesh, girl, you have some catastrophic writing skeels! OMG I wanna be you when I grow up. Even though I am unsubscribing from like every email I get, I signed right up, quick as a bunny, to receive your crisp and lively missives.”  Julie Genovese, Nothing Short of Joy.
  • “Nice essay. I’m still defragging. I must be running on motherfucking Windows.” Dave Gilbert.
  • “A great swirl of themes in a compact package. Fantastic.” Susan Barrett PricePassion and Peril on the Silk Road.
  • “Dear Alle: I gasped and choked at your last words. Wow. I do love your essay. Your thinking. Your persistence. Your survival. As I am yet another person wound up in the web of your ability to love, I am thankful.” Chris.