Tuesday, November 24, 2015
Hours drag yet they're a blur. The lights are harsh and the noise is constant. I try to breathe in unison with the ventilator but my husband's breaths are many and rapid. I need many and slow.
At home in our bed together, I often watch his slumber in the quiet and the pale light, of dawn. I've never told him I watch him breathe.
He doesn't know I'm watching him now, from a bed we cannot share. Dear God, let him breathe on his own again! Please, let me take him home for many more morns.
Saturday, October 17, 2015
When Spoke and I traveled to Italy, we rarely left the streets and their piazzas except to stop into coffee bars, trattorie and churches. Even museums couldn't hold our attention for too long.
Aurora Dallas was very much like that, eight of us soaking up the illuminating evening. We entered one church but passed on most shows. We strolled the 19 blocks, among the lights and under the stars, knowing this was an opportunity not offered by many other cities. Last night, it was, for me, a Little Italy.
Thursday, October 1, 2015
Sunday, September 20, 2015
Saturday, May 16, 2015
I could not wait to get here.
I enjoyed a brioche at the little table in the sun.
Back inside ...
Croissants, croissants, croissants; so many types, sweet and savory. Kouign Amann in three flavors, Canele, Palmier, and even homemade Jam.
I am in love.
Maybe I'll stop by tomorrow.
Sit again with the sun on my face while I practice; queen-a-mahn, queen-a-mahn, queen-a-mahn.
5531 E. University Blvd.
Dallas, Texas 75206
Tuesday, May 12, 2015
She formed her sentences carefully like a slow reader
who foresees ahead of him the next sentence
and guides his pen towards it.Finding the opening lines has always been the hardest part of writing for me. Once I have them, the rest usually follows. Those hours, sometimes days, when jumbled thoughts consume my mind, are by far, the most fun and rewarding part of writing any piece. Words follow thoughts, sentences follow words, paragraphs are formed until the content comes to its close; the end.
I am pleased with my works but the process is where my true joy is found.
Other writers get their thrill with a finished product. They defined their end and rushed to get there, the wordy path frustrating. They're happy to be done, and however good it is, they didn't enjoy the journey, they only hope it sells.
I hope my cookbook sells, too. I've been patiently working on it for so long. But like a blog post that gets buried in many and perhaps only read by few, if it shouldn't, I still reap the biggest reward. The book will remain my pride and joy, for it is love of the process that guides my pen each time.
Travels With My Aunt