
Who knew?
Within a calendar year, the first day of September in December always begin on the same day of the week. This year they fall on Monday.
A place to show my work

Who knew?
Within a calendar year, the first day of September in December always begin on the same day of the week. This year they fall on Monday.

Seeing acts of kindness and caring always makes me emotional. Whether it’s strangers helping each other or sharing special moments, these simple acts of generosity and understanding really touch my heart. It’s uplifting to notice the good in people and how one person can make a positive difference in someone else’s life.

Meg loves to dig,
With steadfast zeal,
She seeks the whispers
That the earth may reveal.
With shovel in hand,
She roams wide and free,
Uncovering stories,
Nature’s history.
In soil and sand,
Her joy takes flight,
A treasure trove of wonders,
Brought into the light.
Through layers of time,
She discovers her worth—
Meg loves to dig,
Unraveling the earth.

Whisper to me your deepest, darkest secret,
A truth that only we will hold and keep,
In the shadows where our silent thoughts can meet.

Sally Ann Cash worked with a grin,
At the shop where her talents did win.
With numbers in hand,
She was always so grand,
A trusted soul, where cash did begin.

Soft
Voice
Trying
Speak her truth
Wanting to be heard
Yearning for the world to listen

Within you, a vibrant hue,
Each color whispers a tale true.
A dash of red, bold and fierce,
With passion burning, never to pierce.
Blue like the sea, calm and deep,
Hiding emotions, secrets they keep.
Yellow shines, a ray of cheer,
Spreading warmth, dispelling fear.
Green like the earth, ever serene,
Nurturing life, a tranquil scene.
In every soul, this vibrant blend,
A rainbow of colors, without end.

Judy Garland’s Dorothy was originally a blonde in The Wizard of Oz
In L. Frank Baum’s original book, Dorothy’s hair is blonde, not brown. Though MGM production staff put Garland in a long blonde wig and heavier makeup, temporary director George Cukor nixed the idea, believing she looked too artificial and sophisticated to be a rural farm girl.


In a world full of noise and despair,
We seek kindness; it’s truly quite rare.
It’s not far-fetched to dream,
Of a world where we gleam,
In the light of compassion we share.

This time I’m the parent, you’re the child,
How strange it feels, the roles restyled.
I coax and nudge, with gentle pleas,
“Let’s get that checked, just come with me.”
But you cross your arms and shake your head,
Mutter excuses, fill with dread.
You’re stubborn now, resistant, sly—
A glint of “no” within your eye.
I hear myself, your voice from then—
“Don’t worry, I’m just fine again!”
But now I know, with growing heart,
Why you insisted from the start.

Groaners: World’s Best of Bad Jokes and Puns
A little boy had a knife and a piece of wood. His mom asked him if he was going to carve the wood. He said, ” Just a whittle.”


Before the storm, a warning: light grows sharp and thin,
A whisper at the temples, an ache beneath the skin.
The world begins to shimmer, colors blur and bend—
A silent drum is beating, sending its signals.
During comes the pounding, relentless, and severe,
A throb behind the eyelids, the sound you cannot hear.
Each movement sparks a ripple, each thought is met with pain,
You close your eyes and wonder if you’ll ever feel the same.
Afterwards, the silence—soft, a gentle, fragile peace,
The world returns in fragments; the pulsing finally ceased.
You’re weary as a river that’s finally met the sea,
Grateful for the quiet and the hope of being free.