Valentine’s Day is now four days behind us, and it’s safe to say what I could not say before. I love you. I love the way you walk. I love the sound of your voice. I love that you cry over movies about dogs. I love the greeny blueness of your eyes. I love your turned up nose. I love the way you scratch your nose. Actually it’s not so much the way you scratch your nose, as the way you smoosh it. I love the way you ask me ‘do I look fat in this outfit’ - when we both know it’s a trick question. I love the way you turn every experience in to words on a page in some form or another. I love that you are passionate about writing. I love that you are relentless in going after what you want. I love that you know when to walk away. I love your vision and that you are not afraid to express it. I love that you care about other people and often put them first. I love your defiance. I love that you can tell someone to FO with a smile on your face. I love that you love to look good and feel …
This is dedicated to my grandmother, Anna Benjamin Larson, who was born February 14, 1914, and who taught me that we were born to fly. Anna passed away 2003 at the age of 89, after valiantly fighting cancer. I was asked to deliver her eulogy. Here is what I said about the woman who taught me to fly. An angel spoke to me today. She said, “Follow me and I will glide over this beautiful earth, down canyons, over mountains, over water, and down on land.” “But how can I fly with you?” I asked in awe. “I have no wings or magic carpet in which to follow you.” “Oh, yes you have,” she answered in a deep mysterious voice. I was intrigued and, after pondering over what she said, I decided to see how she would to this. “Yes, angel, I will explore all these wonders with you, if you show me how.”“It’s all up to you,” she said. “I know you can do it if you let yourself do my bidding.” With that she said, “Sit back in your chair, close your eyes and let your thoughts float with mine.” …
I am writing to wish you a happy anniversary. Today is the day that I affectionately call my day of emancipation. This is the day that you set me free in the most unusual way.
Today is the day of that fateful meeting - you remember the one that angered me, that made me cry, that hurt me to the core, that made me question everything about who I am, from the sound of my voice, literally, which you said was irritating, to the structure of my sentences, to the way I dress, the way I walk and breathe. You made me question my life, my choices, my existence.
You made me wonder why I stayed so long, when I knew this day would come. You made me wish I had listened to my instincts, when every fibre of my being told me to fly that day. You made me wish I was someone else. You made me afraid. You made me grieve.
I made me strong, but still there is not a day that goes by that I don’t think of you. At first, I admit, the thoughts were angry; my body would quake when I thought of you. I w…
I am a huge fan of Annie Lennox. Her view of the world, and the places she goes to find the song are inspiring to me as a writer. Every story is an opportunity to find a new voice, discover a new element. Tell a truth. Inspire somebody. Shine the light on the work that we do, because work is such a defining element in our world, and as always been. I like how she talks about the human journey, and the element of risk, and the painful dark twist in every truth.
She talks about the process of writing a book, how the character brings the story forward. Singing, she says is like that. It is about bringing pictures to life . . . "suffused with attitude.”
Suffuse - Merriam-Webster Onlinewww.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/suffuse to spread over or through in the manner of fluid or light : flush, fill <the northern horizon was suffused with a deep red glow — P. M. Leschak>. — suf·fu·sion
Tonight I had dinner with a friend and journalist who will be joining me as a contributing writer for SKY Magazine. We talked about life, holding on and letting go. We talked about standing at the precipice and deciding to take a leap of faith, with courage and conviction, to fly, or to retreat.
We talked about how retreating is so easy to do, if one doesn’t mind giving up one’s soul. We talked about letting go of relationships and impulses that do not serve us. We talked about taking a leap of faith so that we may fly.
“And when we fly, we paint the sky.”
Pink Flamingo in a Brown Duck Pond is the story of taking flight, after more than 20 years of standing on the runway, where my job was to help companies find futures, while looking at my future, knowing that it was close enough to see in my heart, but too far to reach out and touch. It is about standing on the precipice of my own making, the final place from which I finally jumped.