What I Should Have Said (Bus Stop)


I saw you standing there

In the rain watching me,

Holding your black umbrella,

As you so practically do,

Your boots were getting wet.

Although your head was dry.

And the bus window was drenched,

And the sky was dark.

As I looked out the back window,

(We both knew I had to leave)

I smiled brightly at you.

I pressed my hands against the glass,

Then my face, I didn’t care.

And I know you thought it was the rain.

But trust me,

My cheeks were damp.

And as the bus pulled away,

As the rain poured down,

You lifted your hand and waved,

And smiled.

And in that moment I realized

My pounding heart was telling my tears,

That I had never said

“I love you, 

My dear.” 



commentary for “Let Her Go”


Well you only need the light when it’s burning low
… you always need the light unless you really like the dark…

Only miss the sun when it starts to snow
…or when it isn’t shining at all…

Only know you love her when you let her go
…I hope you knew that before you let her go…

Only know you’ve been high when you’re feeling low
... you need to feel low to know how high feels…

Only hate the road when you’re missin’ home
…then its time to go home…

Only know you love her when you let her go
And you let her go
…then get her back.

Staring at the bottom of your glass
Hoping one day you’ll make a dream last
But dreams come slow and they go so fast

…Dreams are called dreams and not made to last…
Stop staring and dump that glass…!

You see her when you close your eyes
Maybe one day you’ll understand why
Everything you touch surely dies
…don’t worry about understanding…
… change your touch…

Staring at the ceiling in the dark
Same old empty feeling in your heart
‘Cause love comes slow and it goes so fast
…You have an empty feeling in your heart that only God can fill…
…Love can go slower if you let it…

Well you see her when you fall asleep
But never to touch and never to keep
‘Cause you loved her too much
And you dived too deep

…you can never love too much…
… why did you…

…let her go?

A Diverse Ramble



Discussion swirled

Back and forth

About how some things are not

Just scientific but in fact


And who could deny?

For they say

There are no atheists

In foxholes

Why would there be here?

For this is our foxhole

And truly,

There cannot be an absence

Of a Divine Order of affairs,

For the filling of the void and

The answers to the longing

That causes these questions

Is found in the One

The Logos

Who in the beginning was the Logos,

And was with God

And was God.

And because I know

That all things were created by Him and for Him…

And that by Him all things consist,

I rest

While the questions continue,

They continue sticking their heads up

Looking about

Without any armor

And I in my foxhole,

Protected and safe,



Ref: John 1, Colossians 1


Glimmers of Winter

My “glimmers” as brought about by the weekly writing challenge

It was odd, I thought, that the church on the corner, built of dark red brick, was light tonight. Stained glass windows, lining the sides of the church had gold beams streaming out of them, into the darkness of the street next to them. Always I had seen this church dark, like the night and the city around it, I had never seen it with light.

I had seen it in the early morning, with its chipped white steeple standing upright like a sentry. Its windows were stark in their darkness, even if the sun was shining.

I had seen it at night, with its wooden front doors, with the  stoop full of shadows, where the homeless sat, flicking their ash on the stone steps.

Tonight I saw, for the first time, the gold and red tints in the windows, the outline of a tree through the first window, with the leaves golden yellow and the trunk golden brown and I wondered why did they design a tree in the glass?

The light shown out onto the sidewalk, catching the back of a man walking away wearing a dark hat, winter coat and red snow boots. His hands were in both of his pockets and his head was bent, and I still don’t know if it was because he was cold or because he was just not used to the light.

Earlier in the week I sat on a bench in the mall, and watched a girl walk by in a short black skirt and red, high, high heels. Her long bare legs were striding with purpose as she talked rapidly on her pink sequined cell phone. I sat, with my winter coat and hat and scarf still on, and warm boots firmly in place still trying to get warm after having to park two miles away from the mall and then hike in through the cold. I wondered-how did she get through the slushy parking lot and the chilly wind to the mall without dying of hypothermia? And I really wanted to ask her but she was gone and I wouldn’t have, anyway.

I remember the bright midnight that I saw, that same night coming home when the moon was shining so bright it was like the sun in Hawaii, except it was winter and the moon. The shadows that it caused, reflecting the trees on the hard white snow and hearing in my mind the song ” I go out walking after midnight.” The crunch of my boots on the snow walking to the house because it was so cold and realizing, that if it wasn’t eleven degrees I would go out walking, but instead I curled up under my blankets and slept, at peace because of the amazing moonlight that bathed my world in a silent glow.

Dear (Blank)

Following the WordPress suggestion to find an event listing, I found this one.

This seemed appropriate for my state of mind lately, and I had fun doing it!

A letter with blanks to fill in was a great way to get back into the mood.

Words in bold are mine.


Dear Writer’s Block,

I have been trying to forget that I feel this way for quite a while, but I can’t pretend anymore.  I am really (blank).  You know when you arrived and stood between the tip of my pen and my paper? And my fingers and my keyboard?  Well, let me share how that makes me feel…  When you stand in the way, like a man holding a stop sign for construction on a day when I am already REALLY LATE for work, I feel (blank).  Not so much as a thought or even inspiration, but really, really (blank).  It makes me want to start copying Webster’s Dictionary (the entire thing) with my pen in a leather journal just so that I am writing SOMETHING.  I would like to think that I am not the only one who feels this way.  As a matter of fact, you know what some of my blocked friends told me? What they told me about the publishers of all notebooks and leather-bound journals at $15 a piece?  Well they told me that you made a deal with them, that you come along, cause this surge of blocked writers who buy notebooks thinking it will inspire them. The blocked writers never write a word and the journal makers make money.

You know what they say:  If one person says you’re a self-serving, money hungry schemer, you can forget it.  When two people say you’re a self-serving money hungry schemer who is also lazy, you might want to consider it.  When three people say you’re a self-serving, money hungry, scheming lazy liar you might want to give up what you are doing to save your dignity.  It’s about that time for you, Writer’s Block.  Think about that.

Since we are being so honest, there are a few other things I would like to air.  I hate it when you critique my imperfect sentences and grammatically strange dialogue.  It makes me stressed, uptight and trying to write like the advice from a perfectly grammatical How to Appropriately Use the English Language book, if there is such a thing.

I also hate the way you cripple my stories.  Every time you tell me that my character can’t cry because they didn’t seem like the crying type based on their character sketch and their lack of development that I the writer caused because I was a BLOCKED writer and a poor one to boot I want to start stringing together words that really don’t make sense at all in your not so deep psuedo-cement vat of assumptions that of course I can’t write.


Also, the journal and notebook maker is not your real friend.  Remember that secret that you shared?  Well those who make those impressive holders for words and thoughts shared it with everyone.  Now everyone knows you are a myth and that real writers CAN use their notebooks and journals just as well as blocked writers can. So they continue buying and selling their notebooks and they all laugh at you behind your back.

I don’t want you to get the wrong idea.  I really like you.  I value our relationship.  But I cannot go on pretending that Writer’s Unblock hasn’t happened.  If you care enough about me and this relationship, I am sure you would agree to stay away forever. I am getting to know your cousin, Unblock. He seems a little less uptight.

Still friends?



Oops, let’s try that again.


This pen loving, notebook collecting, word delighting, at times grammatically damaging but always sentence creating, unblocked Writer.

Words, Sentences and Headaches




I love words. I love needless, excessive words and sentences full of fluffy adjectives and flowing adverbs. For example, I could have written the above sentence as:

 “I love words and sentences with adjectives and adverbs”

 instead of how I wrote it.

But it was so much more exhilarating to add the words needless, excessive, fluffy and flowing to my sentence.

If I was to go back and analyze all of my blog posts, I know that I could strip and cut until my sentences were stark, cold and bare. But I love my words.

However, my writing always needs improvement, so I took the challenge and dug into my blog post Practical Advice for the New Nurse.  Pulling out section #16, I noted it to be full of extra and possibly needless words written by a zealous word hoarder.

The chopping of the words and the clarifying of the section proved liberating.

No, wait.

 How about:

The stripping of the section was liberating.

At least, the finished product appeared liberated. I am not so sure if that same could be said for the process. Or for the writer!

I am going to show you my process of how I stripped section #16. If the stripping was a success- the answer is for the reader.

Section #16 originally read as follows:

You will get a headache during orientation. Possibly multiple headaches. You get a lot of information thrown at you at once. Bring your appropriate headache solution, such as over the counter drugs or caffeine. Write a lot of things down and don’t worry about not knowing or retaining everything right away. You will not remember it all. That is ok.

Taking the first two sentences, a headache is a headache. Once you get one, who cares about more? Multiple headaches at one time? Absurd!

Cut. Cut. Cut.

Down to.

You will get a headache during orientation.


True, and to the point.


You get a lot of information thrown at you at once. Bring your appropriate headache solution, such as over the counter drugs or caffeine.


Were all those words really necessary? What was I thinking? Why didn’t I just say:

You get a lot of information thrown at you. Bring drugs.


Then again, what if someone thinks I am advocating illegal substances? I can’t have that?!  So I fix the sentence again.

Bring something for the headache.


 I leave the sentence at that.

I then come up to another lengthy sentence:

Write a lot of things down and don’t worry about not knowing or retaining everything right away.

Now, with my newly acquired cutting power, I strip this sentence down. Ruthlessly. I make it two sentences.

Write everything down. Don’t worry about retaining it all.

Then I breathe a sigh of relief when I see my last two sentences.

At least here I was simple and concise.

Until I see two words I could convert into one.

You will not remember it all everything.

That is ok.

I survey the finished project. Section #16 now reads:

You will get a headache during orientation.

You get a lot of information thrown at you. Bring something for the headache. Write everything down. Don’t worry about retaining it all. You will not remember everything. That is ok.


And it is complete. Advice #16 stares back at me; concise, precise and stark in its adornment free state.

And I am fine with that satisfied.

Until I  bring myself to do it again.

And when I do it again, I’d better have drugs.

No, wait.

And when I do it again, I’d better have drugs something for the headache.



“Most of the sentences you make will need to be killed. The rest will need to be fixed. This will be true for a long time.”

~Verlyn Klinkenborg from Several Short Sentences about Writing

Tomorrow When I Wake


Tomorrow when I woke up

(I know, it doesn’t make sense)

I stumbled to the coffeemaker

With my cellphone pressed to my ear

Checking my voice-mail.

And I heard a message I may never hear again

Especially in the world of healthcare:

“I’m sorry

We are overstaffed this week

Please don’t come to work

And enjoy the time off”

I sat down and stared at the coffee pot

It started to make noise

And I, stunned

Stumbled back to my bedroom.

I set my phone on my dresser

And noticed a stack.

Not of socks,

Which is the norm

But of dollars,

Which is not.

Becoming more alert

I picked them up  and counted.


I counted twice

And was sure.

Still groggy I couldn’t remember

If I had went to the bank yesterday

Or not.

I sat down on my bed and processed all of the above

Decided not to question

Seized the day

Forgot the coffee

Took a shower

Grabbed my car keys

And went on my way.

I stopped at the nursing home

And dropped off a thousand

Told them to please

Buy some new equipment

For the residents

And told them exactly what I wanted them to buy

Just because I could.

I drove to my neighbors’ house

Who are elderly and fighting cancer

Gave them a couple thousand

For the gas to drive to


And to cover the co-pays

For the nausea


I then buzzed over

To my grandparents

And dropped them a couple thousand

For food, gas and electric

(Social Security just isn’t enough some months)

Feeling a bit bipolar

I resisted the urge

For sensibility

And decided to continue.

I stopped at the food pantry

And dropped off another thousand

And specified that it NOT

Be used

For Thanksgiving and Christmas

(People still need to eat in July)

(I mean really)

And emphatically declined

To have my name on the window turkey decal.

Having four thousand left

I decided

To do what I always wanted to do

I rented a


Storefront space

Went to lots of thrift stores

And bought


Second handed but good

Medical equipment









(Yes I did find a hospital bed or two)

And started planning a

Medical supply exchange store

For those with great needs

And little resources.

I still had much more work to do

When I drove home at the end of the day.

The sun was beginning to set

And I was


From giving so much money away.

(And I never did drink my coffee)


Lest you think I’m a martyr

As I turned the light out I thought

If today wasn’t tomorrow

And tomorrow when I woke up

All this had happened

Or not

Maybe today was free

And it all worked out.

If today was real

(And maybe it was)

And tomorrow lasted

(If it wasn’t today)

All week

Would I have done the same?

Further pondering as I drifted off to sleep

I thought:

If all of my todays were tomorrows

How would I live


Seize the day, seize whatever you can, ’cause life slips away just like hour glass sand” ~Carolyn Arends