It’s September 2009. I’m beginning a long-overdue sabbatical, and am determined to get back to personal writing. I’m excited about using The Artist’s Way as my guide. Twelve weeks of structured exercises every day. I love it!
Well, maybe not all of it. Read the rest of this entry »
Each fall I think about what might have been. Hopes, dreams, plans. One by one, the leaves drop to the ground. Dead? Maybe. Read the rest of this entry »
It’s been an age since I first met you—
You there, looking back at me
Three score years plus eleven to be exact
You haven’t changed a bit, they say
You and I know better Read the rest of this entry »
gnarled scarred misshapen
trunk stands tall serene exposed
mirror of a soul
* * *
© Elouise Renich Fraser, 19 November 2014
Photo credit: DAFraser, November 2014
Longwood Meadow Garden, Forest Edge
I’ve never thought of Mother as my primary role model for relationships with men or with women. Yet she was precisely that, in ways my father never was.
About gatekeepers and me
Gatekeepers: The bosses. The men in charge. In my lifetime they’ve all been men.
Their words and attitudes could make or break a woman’s reputation. Read the rest of this entry »
I gave this slightly tongue-in-cheek yet totally earnest devotional at a faculty meeting in April 2000. It’s about the way I want to work. I wrote it because I was struggling with boundaries. Read the rest of this entry »
I’m still thinking about my confused and confusing relationships with men. This story is about my Mother and me. It’s also about at least some of my troubling relationships with men. Read the rest of this entry »
Because society would rather we always wore a pretty face,
women have been trained to cut off anger.
~Nancy Friday
Anger repressed can poison a relationship
as surely as the cruelest words.
~Joyce Brothers Read the rest of this entry »
Continued from Part 1. “…I do need to express, however, a part of my experience as a woman in ministry about which I have remained silent.” Read the rest of this entry »
April 1999, Houston. Diane is now on a ventilator—her last major adjustment. Every day and night I hear the sound of air pumping in, out, in, out. Sometimes an alarm goes off to signal something isn’t working quite right. Diane is surrounded by a growing assortment of machines, pillows and sheepskin padding, carts filled with personal and healthcare items, plus tubes and electrical cords.
Is it worth it? Read the rest of this entry »
