Mom smelled of Tabu perfume and whiskey when I was a child following her around. She wore pancake powder make-up she valued like money. She had high Indian cheekbones and oval complexion that emphasized her small thin lips outlined with Cherry Red Lipstick. She had a full head of curly dark brown... Sign in to see full entry.
Turning my memories into organized stories made perfect sense to me in my optimistic times. In those moments when my libido ran out of steam, I fervently bargained, “Not my will, but yours, Lord. Please help me do your will!” For you see, a writer cannot write without hope. With hope any ordinary... Sign in to see full entry.