…because they asked me to. And why would I turn down The Big 1¢ Steal— any 11 records or tapes for 1¢, or any 13 records or tapes for 1¢, depending on […]
Suzannah Gail Collins
I am the author of a poetry chapbook, I Will Meet You at the River, (as Suzannah Gilman) the mother of four adults and grandmother to two, frequent traveler, and a licensed attorney who represented victims of domestic violence under a grant from the U.S. Dept. of Justice Office on Violence Against Women. My poetry, essays, fiction, and nonfiction have in such in such publications as The Florida Review, Pearl Magazine, Calyx Journal, Green Hills Literary Lantern, Pearl Magazine, Prick of the Spindle, Slow Trains, The Cafe Review, and The Meridian Anthology of Contemporary Poetry. I competed in flash fiction slams, winning every time. I won Literary Death Match on my 50th birthday. Twice nominated for a Pushcart Prize for poetry, I now concentrate on blogging for The Gloria Sirens and writing fiction. I live with my husband, the poet Billy Collins, in Florida.
Out of all the love affairs of my life, the most unlikely has by far been the most satisfying and most loving— the affair with a man twenty-five years my senior. We’ve been together fifteen years. Things have changed, but not in the way you might expect.
It’s unfortunate and I really wish I wouldn’t have to say this, but I really like human beings who have suffered. They’re kinder.
Hope is not about proving anything. It’s about choosing to believe this one thing, that love is bigger than any grim, bleak shit anyone can throw at us.
– Anne Lamott
In the end, though, maybe we must all give up trying to pay back the people in this world who sustain our lives. In the end, maybe it’s wiser to surrender before the miraculous scope of human generosity and to just keep saying thank you, forever and sincerely, for as long as we have voices.
― Elizabeth Gilbert
So lucky to have our grown children with us today, finishing up the Thanksgiving prep, graciously sharing hosting duties, and almost making it through the day before succumbing to well-earned naps. Now we are packing up leftovers for their coolers and preparing to send them on their way. They have other responsibilities: pets to care for, jobs to do tomorrow, friends to check in on. But they come home to the lake when they can, and we are grateful for it.
-Wendy White Goddard, 2018
It doesn’t have to be
the blue iris, it could be
weeds in a vacant lot, or a few
small stones; just
pay attention, then patch
a few words together and don’t try
to make them elaborate, this isn’t
a contest but the doorway
into thanks, and a silence in which
another voice may speak.
― Mary Oliver
If you die and nobody brings food, it’s a sign that you weren’t very nice.
– Julia Reed
Happiness is a virtue.
– Sue Taylor Lilley
My photojournal entries for the last nine days show how even when I resist the urge to amass a caterpillar condominium of mesh enclosures filled with monarchs and milkweed, I still get […]