Posted in Life Writing, Stream of Consciousness Saturday

Signing it Over for Stream of Consciousness Saturday

Yes, that’s right. We’re ready to sign it over. It can mean lots of things, but, in this case, it refers to my car – an elderly-and-then-some 1998 Subaru Outback. Oh, and it also means our almost-old-enough-to-qualify-as-an-antique Dodge Ram ¾ ton truck, Gus.

My Outback had just over 288,000 miles on it when a control arm snapped Tuesday night. Oh, did I mention that it happened at about 55mph, on an interstate? Or that the resultant “equal and opposite reaction” sent us skidding across all three lines of the highway before I was able to get enough control through steering into the skid and gradually braking?

I just about wrestled that car back across the three lanes and then as far off the shoulder as I could get us. The control arm was dragging and scraping the entire way.

Did I mention that “us”, in this case, was me and my not-quite-sixteen year old son?

He was impressed at my calm, and my getting the car off the road. He is an even-tempered, safety-conscious, level-headed kind of young man – but this made an impression on him, I think, that no amount of lecturing or studying the driver’s manual could. It was sudden, unexpected, completely taking over the evening.

There were no other cars on our stretch of interstate throughout the trip over and back. Given that we were passed by at least twenty semis once we got to the side of the road – whether it was divine intervention, or just a matter of extraordinarily good timing, we didn’t collide with anyone else, or endanger anyone. Fotunately, I got my license here in upstate New York right around the begiining of the winter when I was 20 – I learned quickly how to handle skids and slides.

We were lucky. But my car?

Not so much.

I did mention that it’s a 1998 (yup, from the last century!)? And that it was edging in on 300,000 miles? I don’t think that I mentioned the significant rust, the phantom electrical gremlins, the transmission whine….

In short, it’s become a more feasible financial decision to sign the title over to the garage it was towed to. As my Accomplice said, it was hard to imagine a new car in a driveway that already held two cars….

Oh, and it also holds that old vintage pickup – the one at least three men have stopped by to see if we were willing to sell.

My Accomplice had been determined to keep old Gus. You see, Gus is, in some ways, the symbol of our relationship. He was the first thing we ever bought together, back at the Grand Canyon, before we were even married. My roommate told me I was making a mistake. I didn’t know this guy very well, after all.

Gus is also our history. We used him for traveling to backwoods places to camp – and then to pull our two travel trailers – the 21 foot one we bought for our first home, and the 30 foot replacement, where our son came home four years later. Between those events, we used Gus to drive around the country three times.

And then we drove back to upstate New York with our newborn baby boy in the wake of September 11, 2001, and parked Gus at my parents’ until we bought our own home up the street.

Gus never went far, after that, and, for the last eight years, he’s been at the foot of the driveway, undriven, and needing work we kept saying we were going to get around to, someday.

The shift that came with the loss of my car cast our rather precarious recent financial situation into potentially becoming disastrous. And, at the same time, the nature of our marriage is shifting in the way some do, when women in our mid-to-late forties realize that we’ve been complicit in our own unintentional subjugation.

My car is gone. For the moment, then, I have less freedom than I did a week ago….

And yet, it’s also liberating.

Gus will go, sooner or later, to someone who wants to take the time and spend the money needed to make him spiffy and roadworthy again (but we’ll keep his Wyoming plate). With him, we release a physical symbol of our relationship’s beginning, as we muddle our way through this transition – our youngest child soon to be a teen, our eldest only a few months from being old enough to drive…my Accomplice’s hot sauce business taking its first tentative steps into the world, and me learning more and more about how to help him, and how to turn my writing from a passion to a business I can call my own.

So, we’ll sign some things away, but there will also be room for growth, and change, in the signing. And that’s something of a sign of the times.

Have you ever found liberation in something that at first seemed like a setback?

Please share your experiences in the comments – life’s more fun when we share!

This post is part of Linda G.Hill’s Stream of Consciousness Saturday meme -an unedited stream of consciousness piece that ties into the weekly prompt: “sign,” used any way we like.


If you’d like to dip your toes in the Stream of Consciousness, click the prompt link or icon above.

Posted in Uncategorized

I’ll Admit It…#SoCS and StoryFest for June 10, 2017

Okay, I’ll admit it. I really don’t have any idea what I’m going to write. It’s a full moon, and it’s been nearly a week since I’ve had a regular night’s sleep.

Things are a bit off-kilter this week, and, despite trimming back my monthly goals significantly. I’m feeling like I’m going in way too many directions at the same time, and the result is that I’m feeling a bit mired and at a standstill.

Also, my Accomplice isn’t feeling well. He hurt his back at work earlier in the week, while doing some heavy lifting, then he mowed the lawn. The pollen count was quite high, and he’s a transplanted West Coaster with no native immunity to our allergens. He’s also dealing with an upset stomach, and chills….

So there’s just an “up in the air” feeling here. Even my phone apparently agrees – my health app doesn’t show my 3.07 mile walk with my daughter, despite running the entire program and giving me the proper end-of-run cues. So it’s telling me that I missed a scheduled workout, despite logging the time spent in the activity.

I’ll admit it. That’s frustrating. I was working toward a perfect record, but I’d have to do five miles tomorrow to finish the week with my schedule full- and I don’t think I quite have the fortitude for that…even if I felt I could spare the time.

You see, the homeschool reports are due in five days, and I’ve barely started them. That means there must be time devoted to that legal requirement during the next few days. I’ll admit that I’m not exactly looking forward to that dull, dry, largely lifeless writing…but it’s the law, and the price of our getting to live a live that fulfills each of us.

I’ve finally, after what seems like a huge amount of learning, frustration, experimentation, and more failure than I was hoping for, managed to create a label prototype my Accomplice loves. There are still a couple of minor changed to make, but I’ve topped the wall on that one, and now I have a template we can adapt for all of his sauce flavors….

I’ve also managed to get my story revised for the #StoryADay May StoryFest, which is this weekend. I polished up my Kifo Island story, “Broken” after submitting it to the mini-critique group, where I garnered good suggestions, great insights, and some favorable response.

If you’d like to read my story, and/or other short stories, head over to the StoryADay site. The StoryFest posts will be on the front page all weekend – read one, read all, read somewhere in between. It’s up to you – but writers love feedback, and to know people are reading our words. Won’t you make a writer happy this weekend?

I’ll admit it – that was a rather shameless plug.

On that note, I’m going to admit defeat. I never really found a cohesive thread in this post – but I did add another 500 words to my #JuNoWriMo word count, so there’s that.

I’m tired, and I’m thinking about admitting myself to dream-land.

This post is a part of Linda G. Hill’s Stream of Consciousness Saturday, where this week’s prompt is “admit,” used any way we want. Find the rules of engagement here, and take a dip in the stream here.

Want to join the conversation? Use the comment box below to share your thoughts and experiences. When have you felt mired? Do you have strategies to move through and past it? Your ideas just might be what someone else needs to get out of a stuck place, so feel free to share!

Posted in Challenges and Contests, Flash Fiction Pieces, Story a Day May Challenge, Stream of Consciousness Saturday, Writers' Resources, Writing in Freedom, Writing Samples

Getting Emotional for #SoCS and #StaD May; Day Six

Hello there, and welcome to my Story a Day May “Show My Work” post! This is where I give you a sneak peek into how I’m creating two (very short, and very different) stories, every day this May. Yep, that’s right; less than 24 hours from my first reading of the prompt to a committed story, even if I’m not quite that fast at posting them!

Ready to read?

Well then, what are we waiting for?

Story A Day May 6 prompt,  by writer, writing coach, and international speaker Angela Ackerman:

Emotional trauma is an experience, or set of experiences, that can change your character in fundamental ways, altering their personality, embedding fears in their minds, affecting their ability to connect and trust others, and steering their needs and desires during your story.

Write about a wounding experience from your character’s past that changed them into who they are today.

HINT: most wounding experiences involve someone close to the character as it is the people closest to us who are able to do the most psychological damage.

For emotional wound ideas, try this list.

Additionally, this is my entry into Linda G. Hill’s Stream of Consciousness Saturday for this week. This week’s prompt is “inter”, used however we wish.

I’m doing things a bit differently this week. I have two stories linked from this post; both fit the prompt, so I’m submitting this master post, so that you can choose one, both, or neither, as you wish!

Main Project Premise:

  • Marilyn goes outside to smoke a cigarette – she’s messed up again and wants out of the strangling, smothering house – and finds her mother dead on the front porch.

Fleshing Out the Premise:

  • Marilyn is on a great trip, and she wants a cigarette. But Mom forbids smoking, and the damned cook can smell it anywhere in the house, and she’ll tattle to Mom any chance she gets. So Marilyn heads outside with her clove – and opens the front door to find Mom sprawled there – cold and dead.

Favorite Bit of Trip Interrupted:

Here, with a mother who wants nothing to do with her, because, “You remind me of that ass I married, who thought tropical waters were just fine to take a dip into.”

She wished Mom wouldn’t talk like that, when she was little. But, now – now that she was growing up, Mom said she looked just like her damned father, sounded just like her damned father.

How is she supposed to not be like a father she can’t remember even ever having seen? A father who was gone out of her life before she was three years old?

Standard disclaimer. I don’t own them, I don’t profit from them, but they insist on telling me their stories, so I’m sharing them with you.

Side Project Premise:

  • Soval is a young man upon the Forge when, offered Vulcan’s rarest gift, he hesitates, and the opportunity is forever lost.

Word List:

  • Serenity

  • Magnetic Resonance

  • Obsidian

  • Sandstone

  • Superfluous

  • Entropy

  • Tantalize

  • Taboo

  • Intercede

  • Withdrawal

This story follows directly after the previous Soval chapter, “Put Your Eyebrow Down”. And there’s no premise development because, when I went to write one, I ended up writing the drabble instead!

And so I offer you...Logical Withdrawal, in its entirety:

“You believe the accusations false.”

“It doesn’t square with what I know about him.”

“There is logically much about any individual that remains unknown to others.” Soval remembered – The serenity of night on the Forge, T’Khut a magnetic resonance above, reflections diffracted by obsidian; absorbed by sandstone.

Superfluous beauty, because he feels the plant germinate, and he is compelled to the place where the entropy grows to tantalize him. The moment taboo; alien to logic, unchangeable once committed to. Will he choose to intercede in the life cycle, and take the nectars?

He pulled his hand back, in logical withdrawal.

To see the drabbles in sequence, as they post, visit my page!

And, if you’d like to learn more about Julie Duffy  and Story A Day May,  click the links and learn away!

Posted in Stream of Consciousness Saturday, Weekend Coffee Share, Writing in Freedom

Unsettled for #SoCS and #weekendcoffeeshare

If we were having coffee, I’d tell you that things here are unsettled. Unsettled skies, where sunshine is replaced by overcast, or torrential rain, and then, in moments, sunshine again. We’re expecting storms tomorrow.

I’d stop myself before I get too far into the unsettledness of things, because I forgot to make sure you’re comfortable. I know, I know. The house is a bit unlovely in its chaos; there’s that unsettledness creeping in again as I caution you about that big box and tool kit waiting to ambush you on the other side of the kitchen island. I’m hoping they won’t be there long, but maybe your toes will be a little safer in the living room. I’d suggest the yard, but, with the unsettled weather, your coffee might get inadvertently watered down out there.

OK, the living room it is. Don’t mind those game boxes by the green desk, or the impressive array of items on the other desks surface and hutch shelves. The games have been cast off; I’m intended to purge them, and haven’t yet. The overloaded desk is a testament both to my newly twelve-year-old’s expansive nature and her growing maturity – it used to be that all her projects and plans in progress happened on the floor, creating an ever-shifting obstacle course. Now she’s – somewhat more contained.

She had a doctor’s appointment this week, and her kitten did, too. That was parts of Monday and Tuesday taken up….and then, that brings us to Wednesday…

Ah, Wednesday. The If Only Paradox day to end all days – except for July 25, which brackets the other end of the lifetime of our second child, Elijah James, who lived only 12 days of 2003, all of it in a hospital NICU.

That’s a lot of unsettled. If Elijah had lived, Annalise would never have been conceived.

I can’t imagine life without my daughter. I can’t imagine life with a second son who would now be 13. I can’t imagine the now-teenage girl who received his heart valves not having them.

I’m reminded of a line from Hamilton….

If we were having coffee, I’d see if all this heavy stuff has made you ready for a refill yet. I know I can use one – because Wednesday brought even more unsettling this year than it usually does. So let’s refresh our drinks, and then I’ll tell you about it.

My Accomplice was fired from his job of nine years on Wednesday. He’s a chef; the restaurant owner isn’t, but his son, newly graduated from college, has been working as one in another state. Essentially, the owner wanted a change of direction. My Accomplice did all he was able, attempted to explain why the impossible was so, and continued to offer his decades of experience.

But owners have the final say, and a son looking to relocate won out over a seasoned chef.

For the first time since our daughter was a toddler, we’re at loose ends in the work world.

We’re unsettled, but adjusting. Weighing options, and feeling simultaneously weighted down and liberated. I’ve been out of the workforce since my oldest, almost 15, was of school age, to focus on homeschooling. But the kids are older now, and less emotionally reliant on me. I’m learning a great deal as a writer, and I’m moving closer to the day when I might be able to earn a modest living with my words. I’m still two or three years from being close to that point, though, so it won’t help us right now. I may decide to take part-time work – so that I can still focus on my family and writing, but also contribute.

As for my Accomplice, that heavy box and tool kit are his personal belongings from the restaurant kitchen. He’s been taking steps to launch a business of his own, around his work schedule, for the last several months. Today, he went to Massachusetts, a three-hour drive, to take a certification exam he needs in order to market his hot sauces, and, eventually, his jerky.

Again, it may not be a viable option right away, although his path is more concrete at the outset than mine is.

We’re still working all of this out. Life will look very different, but change does tend to equal growth, and, with our children nearing adulthood, and a cross-country move in our future, this is about as good a time as any for us to grow and change.

If we were having coffee, I’d tell you that I’m not sure where we’re headed, but I do know that we’re doing it together. And, someday, we’ll be looking back from the other side of this challenge, remembering what it used to be like, back then.

This post does double duty.  Its my entry into  Linda G. Hill’s Stream of Consciousness Saturday, where the prompt is “If/then” – beginning with “if” and using “then” in the last sentence for bonus points. At the same time, it’s my #weekendcoffeeshare post: go see Diana at Part-Time Monster for more cups than you can drink!

Posted in Blogfest Entries, Just for Fun!, Life Writing, Parenting, Stream of Consciousness Saturday, Unschooling, Writing in Freedom

The Sweetness for #SoCS

This post is part of Linda G.Hill’s Stream of Consciousness Saturday meme -an unedited stream of consciousness piece that ties into the weekly prompt: ‘concentration,’  used any way we like.

Still Silly After All Twelve Years!

The Sweetness

There are so many things I could write about concentration – but I’m pretty worn out today. Why?


Well, because yesterday (Friday) my daughter turned twelve, and she and I spent the day out together, doing some light shopping, eating croissants and sweet treats (a cake pop for her; a slice of pumpkin bread for me) at Starbucks, then hanging at the mall and going to see The Secret Life of Pets on a very crowded opening day. After that, we hung out eating food court pizza, then grabbed a few grocery items before finally heading home.

I can see generations of my family’s women in her young face. And a sparkly, impish nature that is all hers!

I always try to make my kids’ birthdays special, and I feel it’s important to concentrate on making them special in ways the kids want them to be. But I am not fond of shopping or hanging at the mall for myself. So I’m a bit tapped out today.

Croissant Love!

It was probably more important this time around. Next year this girl will be a teen. This is like a magical threshold year, when she transitions from, as she describes herself, my “medium kid” to a big one.

Growing up happy.

And then there are the things happening in my country, things that hurt my soul and make me wish for a magic wand that lets all people see beyond bigotry, that gives better conflict resolution, that gets right to the root of what’s wrong, so that it can be untangled and set to rights. I have words to write about that, but they need time to rise to my surface.

First time riding in the front seat beside me. =D

For now, though, I’m just going to concentrate on the sweetness in my life, because I think, somehow, that there is power in it.

With my favorite girl in the universe for the last twelve years running.

So here are my pictures, and a few words to go with them. Maybe they’ll offer you some sweetness, too.

Focus. Much as i love her smiles, she’s lovely when she’s fully engaged in a project. Here, she was making a music dub video.

Did you enjoy this dip into the Stream of Consciousness waters? Come join in – there’s plenty of room, and just a few simple rules. Check out the #SoCS hashtag, or get more SoCS!

Because why WOULDN’T you have your picture taken with a giant cat in a blue tie when it’s your birthday?!
Posted in Just for Fun!, Life Writing, Stream of Consciousness Saturday, Weekend Coffee Share, Writers' Resources, Writing in Freedom

Writing in the Weather: #weekendcoffeeshare and #SoCS

If we were having coffee, I’d tell you I’m very happy you’re here, because both the weather and my writing are unsettled. We’ve got thunderstorms and a tornado watch active on this first day of July. A bit less than three hours from now, that will expire, but we’ve had three thunderstorms already. The first was the fiercest – it came with hail nearly the size of ice cubes, and rain that made seeing to the end of my backyard impossible.

My daughter doesn’t like thunderstorms, and, due to the rotation of the storm and our basementless house, I felt it was wise to wake her, although she’d been up all night and well into the afternoon, when we were listening to Hamilton together.

I packed a bag with essentials, in case we needed to head off to emergency shelter.

If we were having coffee, I’d tell you that this post began its life scribbled in a notebook that will fit easily into my computer bag. I decided to delete the last page or so, but, even though its now late Saturday evening, and it’s taken me longer to get back to this than I wanted or expected. That was due in part to the storms. All that turbulence led to a disruption in my rhythm that was followed by neighbors setting off fireworks. After all the thunder and lightning, I thought there was more weather chaos happening.

And then I’d tell you that I feel like it’s been too long since we visited like this. I’ve been writing, and plotting, and planning – not so much blogging. That always seems to be the thing that gets left behind when the creative surge tugs at me. I miss being here, chatting with you. Eventually, I’ll work things out so that I can both indulge my writing passion, and the one for connecting with others.

If we were having coffee, I might show you the notebook that currently holds all the relevant materials for my current novel-in-progress, The Far Shore. I might show you my emerging character work for the next novel on my agenda, Tsunamis. I’d tell you that, once these are added to A Rising Tide, which I finished drafting last week, that makes six novels drafted for my Kifo Island Chronicles series. It’s a solid start toward my goal of having the first dew novels ready to publish within a few weeks of one another, with more in various stages of production.

I’d tell you that I’m getting much faster at the writing phase of this venture. Now that I’ve done some research into story structure, and experimented with open-ended plotting methods, that part is moving along more efficiently, and I’m even getting faster. I try a new method for each year’s projects, and keep the best of each for my own. So far, I’ve explored Rock Your Plot, which I’ve kept quite a lot from, and The Snowflake Method. I’ve adopted a little from that, but, on the whole, it wasn’t a good fit for the way my mind works. I don’t see that as a waste of time; learning what doesn’t work for me is as important as learning what does.

This year, I’m loving my work with The Writer’s Coloring Book. I’m going to be keeping a lot from this – maybe nearly all. I love the way it engages both sides of my brain, and I get to play with color-coding, which I absolutely love. Like RYP, there’s a lot of layering, and a strong focus on developing characters before plot. Since everything I write is character driven, I find that approach intuitive and delightful. And both are open-ended enough that, although I end up with a solid outline and understanding of the story’s “bones,” I’ve got lots of room for the story to unfold and evolve, so there’s still plenty of surprises.

If we were having coffee, I’d tell you that the part of the process that takes the longest, right now, is revision. I don’t know as much about it, but I’m learning. I’m gradually rough-editing Sea Changes, the first installment in the Kifo Island series, so that I can submit it, scene by scene, to my local critique group. After that, I’ll compile all the notes, and devise a revision plan I’ll be working on in the early months of next year (I’d like it to be sooner, but time is a finite resource…)

If we were having coffee, I’d tell you that writing is not an avocation for sprinters! It’s more, even, than a marathon. It’s more like a decathlon!

If we were having coffee, I’d tell you that I appreciate your letting me rant a bit before I dive back into the writing. I’d also tell you that this post is both part of Diana’s #weekendcoffeeshare over at The Part-Time Monster Blog, and Linda G.Hill’s Stream of Consciousness Saturday -an unedited stream of consciousness piece that ties into the weekly prompt: ‘long,’ used any way we like.

I’d also ask you to forgive me if I wander off into the worlds in my head. Feel free to finish your coffee; writers just do these things, sometimes…and sometimes we post random Hamilton clips, because it’s Independence Day Weekend, and because, well…Hamilton!

Posted in #8Sunday, #RevofKindness, Challenges and Contests, Just for Fun!, Life Writing, Stream of Consciousness Saturday, Travel, Unschooling, Weekend Coffee Share

Class, Kindness, Coffee, and Hamilton: An #SoCS #RevofKindness #weekendcoffeeshare

If we were having coffee, I’d try to take a nice deep breath and relax while you’re here. But I’d have to admit that I’m feeling the press of time’s passage, today, and apologize for the fact that I’m rather scattered and rushed today.

In order to get some things done, and hopefully with some sense of relevance, I’m making this post due triple duty, or maybe even a little more than that. It’s my Stream of Consciousness Saturday post, which makes allowances for the scattered and unedited nature of this post. Today’s prompt is “class.”

If we were having coffee, I’d tell you that I loved school. It was there that I first learned about Alexander Hamilton – that he was a Founding Father, the first Treasury Secretary, and that he was on the ten dollar bill. I also learned that he was killed in a duel by Vice President Aaron Burr. I may have heard that Martha Washington named a tom cat after him, or maybe I heard that later.

If we were having coffee, I’d tell you that my own children, now just shy of 12 and almost 15, had ever had a history class. They have, however, been to Philip Schuyler’s house in Schuylerville, NY, right around the corner from where their dad works. We’ve watched magical puppet shows on the same lawn where Alexander Hamilton may have walked or watched his own children play (Philip Schuyler was his father in law.) We’ve attended an Eighteenth Century Day on a summer afternoon where we watched weaving, sheep shearing, quilling, and soapmaking. My daughter tried her hand at candlemaking and stiltwalking, and my son was fascinated by medical leeches.


The Schuyler House at dusk, July 2010.

We have a different kind of life, as unschoolers. My children can learn about Alexander Hamilton, and the world he lived in, in many ways, even if neither has thus far been thrilled by my recent fascination with Lin-Manuel Miranda’s breathtaking musical…I hadn’t made the connection between Schuyler and Hamilton until my son stopped to read the sign as we were leaving from that puppet show.

How my kids learned about the duel…

If we were having coffee, I’d tell you that I value this life where learning comes not from classes, but from all the directions our lives carry us. It’s organic and unpredictable and not at all within my control. Daily, something one of my children says, or does, or creates, awes me. What they know, they know. They don’t know it to pass tests; they know it for their own reasons, and use it for their own purposes.

Leeches at the Schuyler House!

It’s very cool. This week has been busy with kid travel. My daughter had a sleepover at her best friend’s house. My son is on his first out of state trip without me, to a boys’ only birthday party. I met his friends halfway, and, before that, we stayed up all night, talking, and going for a long walk, and I was quietly amazed at this child I gave birth to, who is now an intriguing combination of almost a man and a great big goofy puppy with oversized paws and ears who just gallumphs joyfully through life.

A curvy dipped candle fail, but a cool experience nonetheless. August 2013


It was a long drive home, all alone. It had been a long time since I had a long drive solo – and I listened to Hamilton and enjoyed -until my new Bluetooth speaker cut out, and, without the boy who excels at the tech stuff that flabbergasts me, I ended up at a rest area, trying to work things out.

If we were having coffee, I’d mention the car I noticed next to me, with an elderly gentleman in the passenger seat, and a young man maybe in his 20s behind the wheel. It was a casual kind of noticing, because I really wanted to figure out the speaker (I did, but not until I was home again.) When the car pulled away, I was occupied, but when it pulled back in and the passenger attracted my attention, I was a little surprised.

Stiltwalker in Shadows…

He had a story of having left his wallet and cell phone at a rest area a few hours before, and being without funds, not able to find the person who could help him relocate his lost items. They said they were headed for Syracuse, and we were still considerably south of Albany.

He was willing to give me contact information if I could help him. I had only a small amount of money – perhaps ironically, a ten dollar bill with Alexander Hamilton’s portrait. I could have assumed this was a scam. It happens.

But, instead, I gave the man my ten dollars, and said it wasn’t necessary to share information or repay me. In the end, I figured that kindness trumped purpose. I don’t need to know if their story was true, or their gratitude genuine. I’ve been in dire circumstances, and there have been times when a complete stranger came to my aid.

Kinetic Still Life at the Schuyler House

If we were having coffee, I’d tell you that giving the money to those two men was also an act of kindness for myself. I set aide the speaker, and popped in my Jewel CD, and sang my way home.
I’d also tell you that this post is my #weekendcoffeeshare entry, and that it’s also my Kindness Challenge Week Six post, where the theme is “Inspired by Kindness.

Given this post, it seems only fitting to share this, from last Sunday’s Tony Awards.