Oh how the stomach can be the key to a man’s heart. Though I already know my place there.

Making him a big pan of lasagna just made him so appreciative. Cooing over my cooking skills, worrying about the “war wound” I got while making it.

It’s nice to be able to cook in an organized kitchen, and to cook for someone who appreciates it.

He’s grateful for the food, I’m grateful too, but for other things.

Little things

Sometimes happiness comes in the form of little things. Sleeping on soft sheets, cooking a good meal, doing a little project, browsing around a store.

I can find something to enjoy about each day. Multiple things actually. There’s something to look forward to each day as I wake, and I’m sleeping better, so even going to bed can be nice.

Another week

Life seems to change by the week lately. I’m adjusting.

Hoping more change comes in the next few weeks, positive change.

I’m hopeful and that’s certainly a change from the last few weeks.

I only ever knew the chorus

Like so many songs my mother sang to us at bedtime, we got her memory of them, her interpretation, her made up lyrics.

I only ever knew the chorus:

Too-ra-loo-ra-loo-ral, Too-ra-loo-ra-li,
Too-ra-loo-ra-loo-ral, Hush now don’t you cry
Too-ra-ra-loo-ral, Too-ra-loo-ra-li,
Too-ra-loo-ra-ra-loo-ral, That’s an I-rish lul-la-by

It’s amazing how comforting someone singing can be, still to me now (though not quite the same as being sung to). Music often soothes the things not eased by any other method. It was the one she pulled out when you were sick, or really tired – shorter than the rest, she’d just sing the chorus a few times while she smoothed the hair on your head.

Every St. Patrick’s day I can still hear her singing it.


I catch myself grinning

unable to control it sometimes

other times, I’m caught off guard

Not so much smiling for any particular reason

as much as it is just a reflection on how I feel


Sundays are those weird days, always a day I think too much.

Once upon a time, it was sitting in a pew, singing and thinking. Kneeling and praying and wondering.

Then it was coffee, some kind of pastry, the paper and PostSecret.

Sundays lately have been quiet and lonely.  Last Sunday was spent in the car.

This Sunday, I find myself a little unsteady.

I’m hoping as the day goes on, that I find my footing.