Author of the novel WHEN YOU LOSE CONTROL

Your left shoulder  Is my favorite place to be  Nestled in your arms  Oh, the way you love me  Melting into your chest Call me your baby or honeybee  My heart is yours, always  I wear it on my sleeve for the world to see

Regarding you, I am the most sure I have ever been.  Being with you makes me happier than anything ever has.  Life with you feels like a fairy tale.  I am sure, always. 

It was the first hot day of spring, and I was at the at playground with the two kids I nanny. As they've grown older, they need me less and less, and often in times like this, I sit back and watch as they snack or run around or make friends. This was the case as the youngest finished their snack and went to throw the wrapper away. Instead of pushing the trash through the little flap and moving on, I watched in horror as the trash went through the flap, followed by the child's arms, head, neck, and part of their shoulders. I jumped up in horror, no sound coming out as I helplessly watched that little body get utterly doused in billions of germs. As soon as they were close, I asked why they had done that, as I began spraying them down with hand sanitizer. My answer was a mellow, "Because I fit, and I wanted to see where the trash went."  

I went from feeling like,  "you ain't a beauty, but hey, you're alright."  to,  "and when we danced, she held me tight when I walked her home that night we stood beneath the moon so bright and she kissed me The first time I saw her, I knew I had to see her again I knew we was gonna be so much more than just friends I didn't know just what to do, so I whispered I love you She said that she loved me too and she kissed me She kissed me in a way I've never been kissed before She kissed me in a way I wanna be kissed forevermore I knew that she was mine, so I gave her all the love that I had" Lyrics from Thunder Road and Then She Kissed Me, respectively. Thanks, Bruce.

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Poor memory and misspeaking begets inadequacy. 

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On a trip yesterday, at two different times, a pale yellow butterfly flew in front of the car. Much later, on the return trip, a fox (safely) crossed in front of the car. I don't believe in anything supernatural or the like, but I thought it could be fun to see if these three little events 'meant' anything symbolically.  In regards to the butterflies,  Spiritual Desk says, " Butterflies are often associated with love and romance, and a pair of butterflies can signify a deep connection between two souls." And  Uniguide.com says, "When you see a yellow butterfly, it is a positive sign of hope and happiness for your life. Yellow butterflies can also represent...someone with whom you feel a  soul connection . You might have an immediate feeling like you’ve known this person your whole life. Indeed, you will likely feel comfortable with them right away. These types of soul connections are rare, but when you have one, it’s a  profound and life-changing experience .

I feel very lucky to be included. Not just as an afterthought but warmly and genuinely. I've always felt like I was outside of every circle.  My mother never wanted me. In catholic school, I wasn't a believer. In middle school, I was the new kid. In high school, my friends and I didn't like the same clothes or music. A lot of my family are conservative republicans. All my friends have kids. I'd glom on to other kids' families for a chance to feel that bond that I'd only read about or seen on TV. Now, I think I'm actually in the circle. I feel like it's okay to be me, and I feel wanted- like I belong. 

I'll never forget the irony of the rage that flashed across my father's face when I flinched. His temper was red on his ears and cheeks, his eyes narrowed, prepared for battle. He was screaming his deafening yell, the kind that would still ring in your ears minutes later. He was lashing out like a vicious caged animal, so instinctively, I flinched. Suddenly I wasn't a twenty-something adult; I was five again, the whipping boy—a cowering thing, his child , to scream at. I had flinched then, and I flinched now. A stinging slap across the back of the head was expected, then. Was that the case now? Would he dare hit an adult?  My thoughts raced around and around. I didn't want to think about being a child again; it was bad enough the first time.  My father flushed a darker red and raised his maroon hand above his head. I couldn't help but wonder if he was on the verge of a third heart attack, as the cartoonish colors he was changing couldn't be healthy.  "What

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"Musicians want to be the loud voice for so many quiet hearts." -Billy Joel  I didn't know how to speak up for myself until I was in my thirties. I was shy and scared, and full of panic for most of my life. Billy Joel was the voice for my quiet heart. Happy 74th!

One of my favorite books of all time is Little Women. I've read many adaptations and seen most of the movies. I was fortunate enough to see the story performed last night as a musical in Concord. It was a gorgeous adaptation that left me crying more than once. Though many minor charters were left out, and some plot lines were slightly rushed, the musical is a beautiful iteration of a beloved story. I'm so thankful this tale lives on and that I was able to enjoy such a lovely performance with fabulous company. 

From a writer's group prompt: write a memoir in six words or less.  Anxiety ruled for decades. No longer. 

It's clarity, that relief I feel. Until my mid-twenties, I was deeply enveloped in survival mode. As I slowly emerged from that darkness, I moved into a haze. It was partially the aftermath of decades of fear and exhaustion, and some of it was waiting. I had to wait and help both melt away. I couldn't wait for the haze to clear. I couldn't wait to see. Eventually, I knew what had to be done, but I wasn't strong enough. I didn't have clarity yet. But it came. It came, and I could see and feel and want. Oh, did I want. I never thought I would get what I so dearly craved, but I did. I did, and it's better than imagined and better every day. I want to be better, brighter, stronger. I want to make up for lost time and make up for decades of not seeing, not believing, not feeling. I believe in myself now. I'm done with survival mode, autopilot, haziness, doubt, oblivion, and I'm here to feel and flourish and fly. I'm here to see.

Farewell, Patrice, if this is the end. For twenty years, you left everything on the ice and truly were a big, bad Bruin in every sense of the word. I'm so happy you got to win the Stanley Cup; no one deserved it more than you. You mentored newcomers and played playoff hockey with a hole in your lung; the fans could never ask more of you. It sucks if this is how it ends, but Boston will never forget the good times, the wins, the cup, and the historic 2023 season. May your future bring you as much happiness as you have brought us.