Dad's Flowers

For the 20th year in a row, the purple, white and yellow crocus blossoms are popping their heads up in my garden beds. From twenty bulbs, they have managed to multiply and spread underneath the liriope and ramble beneath the wild strawberry groundcover. And to think I planted them upside down that cold November day in 1986. That was a week after my dad died and I had been so grief-stricken that I'd put all the bulbs in the ground the wrong way. Somehow, each flower managed, over that long, cold winter, to turn and right itself just in time to bloom. What a testament to sheer will.

Every year at this time I think of my dad - and how he would want me to continue to use that same strong will to press on through all of life's struggles and fears - searching for the bits of happiness and grace that can be found in every moment--if only I look close enough.

New Directions

My second book is about to go to the publisher and I've just finished a very nice profile on one of the top eye surgeons in the world. I'm proud of both pieces but it's time to re-evaluate my writing career--where it's been and where it needs to go next.
Though banging out stories for the local newspaper is easy money and has allowed me to meet many interesting individuals, I've come to dread working on yet another deadline and for very little pay. So this week, I'm going to let both my editors know I'm taking a leave of absence. I want to love writing again--something I've not felt in the past year or so. I want to read and re-read something I've created and just swell with satisfaction knowing I put such a great story together. Other than Robert Osher's story, I haven't felt that way in a long, long time.
Now I want to play around with creative pieces and, if I'm going to devote long stretches of time to projects, I want them to be substantial and worth the time I'm investing.
For a person who abhors change, I have to admit this one feels pretty good!