Wake me when I’m feeling better!

Clinging to a tissue box

Wrapped in blankets, robe and socks

Nose is useless for a breather

Vocal chords don’t work much either


Head is pounding, eyes are red

Set up shop inside my bed

Try to write but thoughts don’t come

Senses dull and brain is numb


Up again, I hear that soup

Cures colds, Bubonic plague, and croup

Pass a mirror- shrug and stare

Don’t care enough to brush my hair


Pills and steam and old wife’s tales

Nothing cures my aches and ails

Start a chore, pretend I’m fine

Dizzy, woozy, never mind


Crawl back to my little cave

Bed and pillow now I crave

Day is done, heads a balloon

Good night cruel world! Its only noon


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WHY Write? An Artist’s Perspective on Creativity

I was recently challenged by a wonderful public speaker and motivator, Marshal Gillen. The challenge? Come up with a WHY. WHY am I doing what I’m doing? What is the purpose? In my case, Why am I doing what I’m doing, writing and music-wise.

It used to be an easy answer—“For my kids.” And it always entailed sacrifice, artistically speaking. “I will take the secure gigs. I will take requests and play what everyone wants to hear. I will people-please and make money and put a roof over my head. I will be formulaic and study what gets me the best gigs.”

I was proud of being a musician AND a responsible breadwinner. I bought a home with musician’s wages, I bought a car with musician’s wages. I didn’t do the artist thing, not properly—I couldn’t afford to take risks.

But now that my kids are grown and on their own paths, I am embracing the artist. The uncompromising one. And the WHY has changed.

Here comes my new WHY:

  1. I am the only one who can write the stories and songs in my head. They are important. I was given a gift and I need to honor that.


  1. I have the potential to break the glass ceiling with my writing. If I don’t try I have zero chance of doing that. If I succeed, then I can make a living doing what I love most—CREATING. I am a creator. And with that comes the responsibility to create.

Lets say there is a God who created all that we know. Regardless of your belief, just go with me on this one. What if God made the universe and the stars, but before he made the planets he got frustrated and said “What’s the use?” and stopped? No earth, no people.

But the earth does exist. We exist. And artists exist. Why? Specifically, why do artists exist? To create. It is that simple. Everyone has their gift, their purpose. Some people heal. Some are wonderful listeners. Some are educators, some are protectors. Some quietly hold the world up with good thoughts. Some lead, some follow. Some protect the world from moving forward too quickly, some catapult the world toward a better tomorrow. And still the artist—creates.

Why? What’s the use?

Remember that God out there who could have stopped with the stars, but didn’t? Maybe God didn’t even know what would happen, but felt compelled to create for some reason. And there was a reason. It was us! I think all in all, humans are pretty cool.

We artists may not know why the hell we spend hours and days writing, painting, playing our instruments and spouting poetry to no one, for no money. But there IS a reason. It is because we are creators. It is what we do. And in the end, we do make a difference.

Did our song, our story, our painting uplift a person or two along the way? Maybe prevent some tragedy by calming just one broken soul? Even if that broken soul may be our own?  I think the answer is, YES. I’ve been touched a thousand times by an inspiring word, the lyrics of a song. I stood for hours once at a Van Gogh museum, with tears in my eyes. I had no words. There was no explanation for a bunch of blobs of paint touching my soul, but there it was. Long dead, Van Gogh touched my soul and changed me for the better. His life was a tortured, tragic one, but he has inspired millions.

I have no fame, no fortune. But I have had a few people say they were deeply touched by something I wrote. I have even had people tell me my music or message changed their lives. I am not Van Gogh, I am nobody really, but there it is. I, little me, through my own creation, touched someone’s life for the better. So that is my WHY. I am a creator. It is my responsibility to create.

Marketing it? That’s a whoooooole other subject. It is the other side of the coin. An artist can toss coins all day long, but if you love to shout “Tails!” you will lose 50% of the time. You have to shout “Heads!” now and again and toot your own horn. Yuck. Not my forte. But I owe it to the creator in me, to try.

I would like to thank Heather Walters for inspiring me. Her blog was a game-changer. Also a thank you to Marshal Gillen for the WHY challenge.

Elephant Trophy Stance–the Last Straw.

elephant trophy ban reversed
Tusk, tusk, Mr. President.

Enough is enough. I mean—Trump is encouraging elephant hunting, and reversing the ban on bringing back their heads? Elephants are an endangered species!  I have never been so continuously humiliated and shocked by anyone in my life, and he is our President! The only thing left to complete the cliché of the Ugly American is… oh. I think reversing the elephant ban was it. Our image to the world is complete. We are officially a disaster.

I feel I truly have to apologize to all my friends, family and fellow human beings across the world. I don’t understand how any of this was possible to begin with. When Trump was running, he said, “I could walk down the street and shoot someone and they’d still vote for me.”

Desperately relieved, I thought, “Goodbye, Mr. Trump.” I mean, no one would vote for him after that personal slap in the face to his constituents. What a cruel and evil thing to say. I literally thought there wouldn’t, and couldn’t be a single person who could vote for him. He just called them idiots, on camera! He just called them blind followers. He just called them advocates of murder! I would love to have someone explain how they could hear such a condescending, disturbing comment, and still vote for him. Still waiting.

Everything he has done has taken us ten steps backwards. All the beautiful things that we teach our children that is good and right with the world, he is personally undoing. The air we breathe. Sharing. Being kind to strangers. Being nice to animals. Being respectful to each other, to the invalid, to the sick, to the poor. I choose my words carefully in order to be 100% truthful. He even claims to be Christian. All the above are Christian values too. So what’s next? Elephant hunting? Elephant body part trophies? Yep. Can we please stop the insanity? Can someone wake me up from this bad dream?

Who on God’s green (soon to be brown) earth would disrespect a Climate Change Summit? Who would unprotect protected land? Deregulate factory emissions? What is wrong with our President? Seriously, what is wrong with him? And now, we can go after elephants again? What’s next—condors and pandas?

Regarding women, Trump said, on camera, “When you’re famous you can do anything. Grab them by the pussy.” So we knew our President couldn’t say anything about other Republican scoundrels, because that would take integrity and self-implication. As predicted, our dear leader was quiet as a mouse when senators from his party were accused of sexual misconduct.  But when Al Franken, a Democrat, was accused, I thought, Here we go. Trump’s going to throw himself under the bus because he can’t help himself when it comes to his so-called enemies.

Aaaand, yep. He did. His Tweet finger juuuuust couldn’t hold back. Whoopsy, Mr. President, that is one hell of a can of worms you just dumped on yourself. Trump has a list a mile long of women who have complained about his sexual misconduct. Clinton was impeached for that. Mirror mirror, Mr. President.

I have been quiet. I have been holding back. Its funny how elephants, in the end, were the last straw. Mr. President, please kindly step down so we can start moving forward again. Enough is enough. Until that day, I’ll be the girl with the bag over my head, cringing with shame. Sorry world. We’ll do better next time. We truly can’t do any worse.