A poet is someone who can pour light in a cup, then raise it to nourish your beautiful parched holy mouth. –Hafiz

Do you remember that song from a few decades, ago ... Once in a Lifetime ... Talking Heads.  It was the 80s anthem for the mid-life crisis.  I watched it when I was 12 and 13 years old not really getting the existential nuances of water holding us down, time not holding us back and the narrative of someone with a nice car and a hot wife wondering where their life went.  

I saw the movie Stop Making Sense from Talking Heads when I was around the same age ... not admitting, at the time, that none of it made sense to me.  

And now as a 43 year old mother of two, I get it.  

When did I go from being the person who tried to play Beatles records backwards and attend Grateful Dead shows to being the person promoting the school auction?  

When did I start to focus more on paying bills rather than paying attention?

Can't a little bit of my old rebellious side pop into my daily adulting?   

Most of us abandon our old dreams in a series of mini daily choices, morphing into grown ups and mother-of-the-year wannabes.

Where did this person go who I once was?
It's a fleeting thought every once in a while, when I'm elbow deep in laundry.

Picasso once said that: "The purpose of art is washing the dust of everyday life off of our souls."

If your life is feeling PRETTY dusty, I welcome you into the phoetry fold.  The place where laundry doesn't bury us ... it instead becomes inspiration for art.  

Little laundered moments of beauty and creativity in everyday life.  
A few minutes a day dedicated to making the ordinary extraordinary.  

I'm in here somewhere.  Maybe check under that pile of laundry...

I am devoted to seeing my life in a way that delights my eyes rather than wearing me down. So this is my steak in the ground.  This is the location of the buck stop.  

This is where I dust myself off and create.

Won't you join me?

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