: About Me

I am married, we have five great children, four boys ages three to sixteen and a nine year old girl right in the middle. We live just north of Boston, but we hope to move back to North Carolina in the not too distant future.

I love working in the garden, quilting, drawing, and photography. I have been working part-time for six years now on my Associates Degree in Liberal Arts.

During the course of going back to school, I discovered a love for writing. I am in the process of revising a children's book on self esteem and affirmations, titled "I Am Enough". I hope to be able to publish soon.

My husband keeps telling me to hurry up and get famous so he can be a kept man.

My passion is ...

Being a good mother and raising good people.

I know too much about ...

Too many things, I wish I could focus more on less.

My parents always told me ...

I won't go there.

My childhood ambition ...

Was to grow up and leave home and never be like my mom.

My favorite memory ...

The births of my children.

Why I write ...

My husband tells me I tell stories better on paper, he says I orate like Edith Bunker.

What I am reading/watching/listening to ...

I am waiting for Stephen King's next book, My newest favorite TV shows are Heroes and Big Bang Theory, I listen to anything and everything.

My first job ...

My grandmother got me a job at a factory she worked at for over thirty years, it was like family.

My best moment ...

(s) are those little gems my children give me, an unexpected hug, a cute little mispronounced word, a funny little face.

My inspiration ...

My husband and our children, cliche and corny, I know, but they are my world.

Creative Writing > Poetry Poetry: Life's paradox

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The Night is a Lie It is late in November and the night is a lie. The moonlight, softened by still, misty clouds glows through the skeletal branches of the mighty oak, whose arms, outstretched, reach in vain to touch a starless sky. A soft, gentle breeze caresses my skin, plays with my hair, teases the wind chimes and whispers of summer, long past, ignoring the weather vane high in its perch, chasing a leaf, dried up and tumbling along on the way to take a place in the never-ending cycle. Oh, tricky breeze, no longer sweet with perfume, you deceive the senses like a love no longer ablaze, ...

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