stick your worries on a shelf
i have not seen worry dolls in over a decade. the moment i laid eyes on them in the shop i was eleven years old again.
oh baby
This weekend New Jersey experienced unseasonably warm Indian Summer temperatures. To take advantage of weather, the mister and I met Donna, her husband Pierre, and their baby boy Mateo at the New Jersey Botanical Gardens.
it happened in a donut shop
this week i came face to face with one of those ridiculous situations which can only happen in a dunkin donuts.
3:45 Dead on Arrival
My mama invited me to hear a motivational speaker at an event her employer was hosting. I went without any expectations, but within minutes was blown away. Inside the nearly two hour talk, I learned a lot about Kathy Buckley, and surprisingly a lot about myself.
come as you are
When asked to defined morecowbell, I always explain this site as a documentation of my journey towards living life louder. More than a tagline for my website, “living life louder” is a personal mantra. A reminder to stay true to myself. keep the funk alive. fuel the fire which burns under my skin. be more colorful.
to bear witness
A sunset rocked me. It was not an obligatory; “i may never see the dark spill over jerusalem again so I will soak in every second” moments. It was simply one of those skies that startled me. Unexpectedly rattled me to my core. A landscape splashed with a golden rose, impossibly magical hue, which only presents itself when we need it most.
america today is on bended knee
i watch this every year and encourage you to do the same. watch it with your children. feel the pain we all felt that day. remember those who were lost. remember the feeling of coming together. remember how proud we felt to be americans. to be resilient. to be free. god bless the souls of the men and women who perished on that fateful day. god bless the brave troops who fought and still fight to defend this great nation. god bless the united states of america.
in the sky with diamonds
she was smart… she was funny… and she was a fellow believer in copious amount of mascara. the level of my sadness at the passing of joan rivers has taken me by surprise.
instead i fixed her hair
she cried. tears pooling in the wrinkles at the corner of her eyes; begging me to help her. sneak her out when the nurses turned their backs. feeling like she was falling, she clutched and clawed at the bed.
all of a sudden
like the paper thin skin of her hands, my grandmother’s eyes are almost transparent. i watch as they frantically dart around the room, desperate to focus and meet my gaze. they are pleading; begging me to understand a lifetime of tiny memories, of regrets, of little vignettes frozen in time.