frost on the ground

cold and still

if you say so

golden grain in due season

Bread, in Your House



At an early age, I sought differences, was highly attracted to them, had to know, curiosity.  In my early 20s, I was plunged into an occupational world that held much diversity in acquiring knowledge, languages, cultures, traditions–a banquet.

And, I always thought I had to keep a secret:  I thought I wasn’t patriotic.  That admission in my country will not be followed by asking questions or listening – no logic involved – you will be boiled in oil.

Why not patriotic?  Well, in my occupation, I saw people from other countries, educated academically in other countries, in other traditions/languages/customs/cultures/religions who were intelligent – brilliant even, talented in many fields, kind, compassionate, humorous, wise.  Those ‘strangers’ came to teach something, to give us (the US) something of their experience/knowledge/art.  I got to witness that, be in on that, marvel at that.  I believed people of all countries had something to offer.  I believed many countries had come together and made unimaginable, heartwrenching sacrifices so that they could begin their journey to freedom and equality; that many helped mine continue that journey.  I believed that all countries were made up of human beings, living beings and they wanted freedom, just like I did.  I love the richness of traditions, cultures, languages, knowledge, art and I don’t think, to love my country, that I have to think any other is less, inferior.  That is deemed unpatriotic, heretical and a few other terms.

To love who I am, what I have, where I live, I do not have to think anyone is less.  To appreciate and express gratitude for the life I live in the place I live, I do not have to think anyone is less.  I love the ideals and principles for which I strive:  To be a good person, to do good to self and others.  I’ll do that anywhere and love who’s around me, and acknowledge and appreciate the sacrifices they made so that I am free to pursue that.

May there be compassion.  May there be awakening.  May there be freedom.  Thank you for taking your time.

Love, Lilie



I have a history that, unfortunately, too many can relate to.  I grew up in an abusive (physical/verbal/emotional) household.  My mother was a narcissist  – not saying that as an insult.  She was a narcissist, the whole deal:  gaslighting, demeaning, beatings, and on and on.  She beat me unconscious when I was 11.  Oh, but there was a good reason.  There always was.  That was a turning point in my life, a permanent mark.  No one in the family stood up for me and she was training us not to, it just didn’t work on me.

At 15, nearly 16, my best friends freed me from that house.  They stood up for me.  Then, other people did and I, at first, couldn’t take that in.  They said they loved me, and they acted like it.  It was almost too much, lol.   My best friends were brother and sister, real brother and sister – they loved each other and were good to each other.  Their Dad was good to them and to me WOW.  Their mother had died of breast cancer a few years before I met them and had loved them well and taught them love for others.  My best friend, the sister, died in 2014, broke my heart.

She was a pistol, the Francesca poem that I posted was her.  Fearless, kind, loyal, generous, compassionate, rebel.

The Tom Petty music came into our lives a few years on in our story, but the songs and his story reminded me of mine of me, and with them.  Because of them, I found tenderness instead of hatred; understanding, people are more than one thing, may have more than one face and you can understand that without succumbing to it; thinking for yourself, finding yourself and your own beliefs is a good thing – make, as sure as you can, it’s truthful and don’t hate others for theirs.  Argue the belief, not the person.  Generosity makes you strong, invincible even and opens, opens kindness wide.  Give without expectation, and don’t when you know better not to.  Compassion isn’t a weakness.  You can always be kind, doesn’t mean you have to include them in your life, or give up your oreos for them.  I learned to love my parents and siblings without attachment to expectation, recognizing the pattern and removing myself from it.  I knew the history and remember those events as they were, history, without the attachment of hatred or confusion I once had.

Tom Petty said in an interview that he had a fierce reaction to injustice because of his childhood abuse.  That was me.  Now, I knew where it came from, didn’t have to be frustrated by it anymore and I could channel it and lose my fear of rejection and speak up, speak out for myself and others.  Francesca and, we’ll call him Paul, began that journey for me, that setting me free thing, Tom Petty’s music fanned the flame. . . still burning, bright.

Sorry for the long post, couldn’t cut a thing.   Well, “they wrecked me baby”  They moved me, too.  Be strong, be fierce, be filled with love and kindness.  Thank you, Lilie


WELL. . .

One thing leads to another. . . leads to another.   I like color.  I wanted color in my house when it came time for the paint part of the project.  I looked at color, colors, books of colors, paint chips, books of decorating ideas.  I KNEW what I wanted.  Yep.  Uh. . .

It didn’t work.  Two colors and no more budget for anymore mistakes, I settled on off white.   Off white pink, off white blue, off white white – went for off white white, nice and s-a-f-e, no more runs to the paint store, no more decorating agony.  I do not like decorating anyway.

Then, I saw Bealtaine Cottage (by Colette O’Neill) YouTube videos.  I liked the color, inside and out, of her cottage.  What was it?  It was something more than ‘color’, the visual impression of ‘color’.  Finally, it hit me (I’m slow at getting the obvious), it was the  temperature of the room, the sensation color created in the room.  That’s what I had wanted more than the look of color in a room.  New perspective.  Well. . . well.

I started looking at my home, each room in it from the sensation I felt and wanted to express, to have in the home, in those rooms.  It was warmth, live in it – put your feet up, appreciate, accept and gratitude.  Surprise, colors came to mind and I chose them.  That was it.  Feeling, sensation.  For me, that was understanding the experience of color, more than choosing an image of decorating.  And, I have a husband who is willing to go along with change, and paints well.

I love my home.  I’ve never been emotionally attached to a structure. Didn’t grow up in a ‘home’ though always had a place to live, took care of it, was grateful for it, but didn’t care when it was time to move on and I liked to move on.  I love this little home and all it represents to me.  I love a new perspective and how the image of ‘color’ becomes re-defined, welcome for me.

I wish you perspectives, turned slightly here and there, for better views.  Thank you, Lilie.



We walked outside
this morning
it had been raining
the sky looks as if
it might bring more, even snow
and all the changing colors
surrounds us
in this place

plant kindness
on the earth
on the living beings

the world grieves
this morning

here is our reminder
plant kindness

may all those who mourn
be comforted