Shakespeare, Oh Shakespeare

Thank you for every loving word, email and comment that was sent my way after Monday's post. I am so darn lucky to have all of you in my life.

the legendary shakepeare and company in paris

Today is Shakespeare's birthday. If he had been cryogenically frozen and then reanimated this morning, he would be 450 years old. It seems like such a long time, but in the space of humanity it is really just a blink. More people have had to live without midsummer night dreams and roses that would smell as sweet than those of us who have lived with them.

It's a shame.

Listen, none of us are Shakespeare. I've tried to weave words into gold and mostly, I've ended up with pyrite.


We are all stewards of language, possessors of the same vocabulary Shakespeare crafted into cadence and meaning. There is so much power wielded by the words we hold common even as they are the means with which we communicate needs, hopes and dreams with ourselves and others.

Today I hope we take extra care and creativity in the way we speak, write and communicate. Let's dedicate ourselves to the alchemy of language and renew our spirits with the carefully chosen words of others.

The Bard, I think, would approve.

And Joy

I wrote this last year. Reading through it today, on my 29th birthday, I realize it is still the prayer I hold close to my heart. Thanks for spending the past year with me. Here's to a few more.

Yesterday, I sat on the back porch of my in law’s house as the day began to end.  The girls played under a colorful sky for the first time in months. It was all blues and orange and streaks of white. They leaped under the canopy of clouds, their limbs bared and their cheeks red. My daughters with their strong growing legs and arms that reach for things I can’t see. They are beautiful. When I am very lucky, I can see myself in their unbrushed hair and grass stained feet. Only a few years separate them from me, I am sister as nearly as I am mother. And the strength, the potential, the bright light I see for them is just as much mine as it is theirs. We are none of us too old to move forward or too young to handle the big things of this life.

Today, I turn twenty-eight. An age without much attached to it, a lost year between the beginning of twenty five and relative youth of thirty. It seems it shouldn’t be a year starting with so much light and hurt. But as I watched my little girls play, one golden moment at a time, I realized that life’s profound nature needs to stop surprising me.  They danced under the setting day and I felt that this life will not become easier or more expected. And I knew that I wouldn’t wish for it to be different.  I want the lessons at the end of each difficult road. They are what I have come to claim as my own. If I can just have enough moments of light in the fading sun, I will be sustained when I cannot see in the dark.

And so for this year, I wish for things I have not before. For the courage to be shaped into the person I was born to become. For enough years to give me lines on my face and hands. For dirt under my nails and the sweat of the blessing of hard work. For inspiration and stories and ink filled pages. For touch and smell and taste. For late nights spent in Riley’s arms. For tears with meaning and an ache that drives me home. For the ability to live the hard times well.  And my girls, for them I wish even the briefest understanding of what we have here together and what we have here forever. Just a flash of the place where this moment touches eternity. If I can help them see that, then they will be able to see everything.

Today, I turn twenty-eight. And I am uncertain and the world is big and my heart feels new. But I have my husband and my daughters. I have my God and my faith. I have my passion and my path.

Then, there is joy. I do not have to wish for joy. It already belongs to me.

And for that I am grateful.