Wednesday, December 28, 2016


Wow. It's been some time since I posted here -- a few weeks at least. In that time, a lot has happened. I suppose I should say that I finally (just today) got my 'office' put back together. Which is why I'm here now, writing this post. It's not the optimal set-up, but it'll have to do until we move into the Plum Palace.


December 22nd is the anniversary of my mother's death. This year marked three years she's been gone. Every year, I light a 7-day candle on that day and pray/talk to her. I tell her how much I miss and love her, that the family's doing well, although she and I both know that is subjective commentary. On Saturday last, I got the news that Nicole Meredith, sweet Littleflowers, had passed from this world, and the news hit me like a ton of bricks. On that day, the 7-day candle, burning for just two days, burned out. It was later that I found out Nicole had chosen to go on the anniversary of my mother's passing, and I couldn't help but feel a little bit of her poetry in that move. I'm am gutted. I feel like what I'm writing isn't going to make much sense. For a few days after hearing that she'd gone, I dreamed about her. I dreamed she was preparing to go and I was selfishly trying to convince her not to.

I don't think I can do this right now.


  1. Annemarie7:03 AM

    This is so sad to hear. I didn't know Nicole, but I was a customer at her etsy shop. Her stuff was gorgeous. I still have some facial serum left that has gone off but I can't throw it away somehow.
    I'm sorry you lost a friend. And sorry your mother isn't there anymore, too.

    1. Nicole touched so many people in so many ways. She was a special person who made everyone she met feel like they were the most important, interesting, and special person she had ever met. The capacity she had for caring about people was unbelievable. Reading all the stories people are posting on her FB page makes me wonder how she was able to keep all of us and our stories straight. There are thousands of us! I am one among many who received wee notes penned on post-it paper and hand made cards with messages of encouragement on our own particular situations. She had memories with each of us that she kept near and dear to her heart.

      And my mom . . . I the sound of her voice.



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