The Color Purple – Share Your World

For the Share Your World Challenge this week  The Color Purple

What would you name the autobiography of your life?   I would title it, A Whole Lot of Magic (and a little bit tragic).

Which do you prefer sweet, salty or buttery?  Salty! I’m hopelessly addicted to all things salty. Give me a margarita over a daiquiri any day of the week. Extra bonus points for salty and sweet, like a really good salted caramel.

What’s the finest education?  The School of hard knocks, of which I hold an advanced degree, probably even a fellowship. Seriously, I’ve learned more from raw experience than I ever have in any school.

What did you appreciate or what made you smile this past week?  Feel free to use a quote, a photo, a story, or even a combination.

Purple Clemantis

“I think it pisses God off when you walk by the color purple in a field and don’t notice it.” ~ Alice Walker ~ The Color Purple

Two of my kids had birthdays this week and that always makes me smile. One I gave birth to and the other I just helped raise but they are both of them so precious to me. If nothing else in life, I know that this I have done one thing well. Somehow in spite of myself I managed to raise two fabulous human beings.



For Tim on his birthday, in case you ever wondered why you love thunderstorms so much.

sky-thunderstorm-landscape-flash-53411 pexels

He was born in Ventura County,
in nineteen seventy-nine
his Momma loved to travel
she talked about it all the time.

They moved out to Kentucky
to make a brand new start.
She tried to settle down there
and tame her gypsy heart.

She hoped that he’d be
happy there
and that he’d find a home
without her soul that
had to wander
and feet that had to roam.

One night as she watched a thunderstorm
play across the land
his Momma took him in her arms
and this is what she sang:

**Oh Kentucky give this child a home
give him the love of a good family
and a woman of his own.
Give him a fire in his heart
give him a light in his eyes.
Give him the west winds
for his brothers
and these wild Kentucky skies.”**
** (adapted from John Denver’s Wild Montana Skies)**

Share Your World

Taking part this week in Cee’s Share Your World challenge

If aliens landed on earth tomorrow and offered to take you home with them, would you go? (remember this is SYW, they are friendly aliens)

— As long as they’re taking SuperHubs along with me (frankly, I think they’d be more interested in him anyway) ABSOLUTELY! SH and I are adventurers by nature and choice. Wonder if I could fit the SS Minnie with retro rockets?

How tall are you? Are you satisfied with your height?

—   64 inches, 5’4″, short. Am I satisfied with it? Well, I used to be but then I used to be 5’6″. I’ve lost about 2 inches to spinal compression and osteopenia. All in all I’m OK with it as long as I don’t lose any more height. Makes selfies with SuperHubs kind of a challenge since he’s still 6’1″ (he usually has to kind of squat down a little for the picture). 😉

Do you think you could live without your smartphone (or other technology item) for 24 hours?

— Yep, can and do. We travel overseas quite a bit and we usually lose all of our technology for at least 24 hours, sometimes more. I use the time to catch up on my reading.

What did you appreciate or what made you smile this past week? SuperHubs is off on a business trip and I HATE it when he’s gone. Life just feels all wonky. As I left the airport parking lot, all teary eyed, I saw this rainbow and I’ve been smiling ever since.


Patchwork Heart


She was just an average middle-aged woman.
With an empty nest, a good job, and a heart
that had been broken and shattered too many times.

When she stitched it back together for the last time,
there were cracks and holes that she knew
could never be mended, 
could never be filled.

Then one day in her late forties,
she looked around at her dull beige world.
She grew tired of trying to cram
her star-shaped shelf 
into society’s square holes.

And in an act of pure genius, or utter lunacy,
(there are those who still debate which it was),
she made a choice and a bold leap.

She left behind the pain, the anger, resentment
and tragedy of her life.

She dug deep through the colorless gray mud
in which she had buried her patchwork heart
and there she found, the wild-eyed gypsy child
who had always been her very best self.

She built a new world, free from resentment and pain,
filled with color and starlight;
and she let the light fill her heart until it overflowed.
She danced and sang until her sparkly star-shaped self shone
with the incandescence of a supernova.

What happened to the holes and cracks in her heart?
They reside there still, that’s how the light gets in.

Photographs, Memories, and Magic

Polaroid from pexels

Life is like a Polaroid

When I was a child, my father had a Polaroid camera. Although he was not a particularly proficient photographer, somehow 90% of his pictures came out with wonderful clarity and accents. I always thought it was magic. I have always loved photographs. The ones I have taken and ones I have not. Parts of my life, and photos that are strange and different to me. They hold for me memories of moments past, and perhaps a glimpse into the future.

From an early age, I was acquainted with how photography worked. In an abstract kind of 7 year old way, I understood. The film is exposed to light to capture the image and then through the reaction of certain chemicals that image was transferred to paper. It was all very scientific and very mysterious. I preferred the idea that it was magic. Magic made sense to me, more sense than most things in my little world.

As the oldest, I was the designated “picture guard.” I would either hold the undeveloped photo or stand guard over the picnic table fanning the air to prevent pine needles, insects and other contaminants from defacing the pictures. Daddy would snap the button and a small magic square would emerge from the bottom of the camera. He would fan it through the air a few times (to cast the magic spell I was sure), then hand it to me.

I still remember holding that magic square in my little hands, watching with eager anticipation as the colors turned from black to a murky green, and then the magic went to work and slowly, an image began to appear. First a little corner of blue/green, then a bit of yellow here and dull brown there. With excruciating patience (for a 7 year old), I waited. Sometimes I held my breath certain that THIS time the magic would fail and I would be stuck with a square green blob, but it never did. In time, my patience was rewarded with a moment, a scene, a piece of my life, captured forever in clear detail.

A Polaroid I have found is much like life. If you wait long enough, the magic works and the picture becomes clear. The simple abstract colors of childhood, the slowly emerging images of who we may become of our youth, and finally the clear picture of life and who we really are that we find with the surety of maturity.

If you are still in your youth, (and to me that means 55 of less) take heart, the magic won’t fail you either. Those images will resolve, you will find your voice, the picture will become clear. Just give the magic time.

Peace ~jpp


Angels      Daily Prompt:  Broken


Once upon a time, in the land of hush-a-bye, long about the wondrous days of yore, lived a young girl who loved her family. They had been wealthy once, lived in a big house, with all the trappings that wealth brings with it. Each year on December 1 they would break out the huge box of Christmas decorations and set them about the house, singing Christmas songs in the festive spirit of the season. Each year, her mother brought out the golden angels. Gold-leaf ceramic figurines that were her mother’s most prized possession. They were placed in the highest place of honor in their home, the center of the huge dinning table were they were seen and admired by all.

And it came to pass that the family fell upon hard times. They sold the home they all loved and moved into a small rental many miles away. Following what jobs her father could find, they struggled to keep food on the table and spirits up. This December, Father brought home a small and somewhat straggly tree, Christmas trees being scarce in the desert. When they had decorated the tree and played the Christmas albums, it came time to bring out the angels. Mother opened the box and carefully began to unwrap the tissue paper. The girl watched her mothers face fall as tears dropped to the wrappings. There in the box where they had been packed with such painstaking care, lay the angels, broken. The girl saw hope and dreams fade from her mother’s eyes. Mother ran weeping from the room.

Late that night, all unseen, the girl crept from her bedroom and spirited away the broken angels. There night after night with glue and patience she pieced together the ruined jigsaw of the shattered angels. Finally after many nights, she applied remnants of gold leaf that had been carefully saved from long ago craft projects, sealing the entire figurines with thinned glue. Having no other gift for her parents, she wrapped the angels with infinite care in a scrap of pretty fabric she had saved from an outgrown dress. She placed the package under the Christmas tree.

Christmas morning was happy, as Christmas mornings always are; yet somehow subdued. After the children had opened their gifts, the girl ran to the tree and pulling her carefully wrapped parcel from the back of the tree, she held it out to her mother.

“What’s this?” Mother asked.

The girl smiled in reply.

With trembling fingers, Mother carefully unwrapped the gift. Her eyes went wide and she turned to her daughter with a single word, “How?”

Eyes downcast, the girl spoke softly, “I know they’re not as good as before, but I wanted you to have them, somehow.”

Mother carefully set the renewed angels down and dropped to her knees, embracing her daughter. “Oh my precious child, thank you. You give me hope.”

“But Mother they’re still broken,” the girl mused.

“My darling, broken things are beautiful too. They are not the same, they are better. The love you put into them shows in every nook and cranny. They are perfect and more.”

“My sweet child I know it’s true
broken things have dents and dings
but they have beauty too.” ~oep