grandma-la-la-lovely1

Heaven knew we needed each other.

In the 1980’s and the here and now.

This is a story, a tribute, a mini-memoir, of my relationship with grandma who spent the last year of her life mentoring me.

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Instead of Coffee Green Smoothie | La La Lovely Blog

I know.  You are rolling your eyes at “Instead of Coffee” Green Smoothie.  I would be too.  Except that I drink this green juice (as I call it), these days, instead of coffee.  It’s the closest quick hit of drinkable energy that I’ve found.

I stopped drinking coffee because . . .

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Spilled Coffee

Most days I spill words, like I do my coffee, burning, aromatic, luke-warm, sometimes stale, straight into my white, hard covered, journal with my inky black pen.  I write what I feel and what I feel might overtake me, maybe already has, and mostly how hope wraps itself around me like my favorite blanket tucked tight like a burrito.  All year long, I pour out my thoughts like a kettle who’s water is screeching ready.  If I don’t pour . . . .

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christmas-tree-
image / Elisabeth Heier

I’ve never been one to cheat on Thanksgiving.  It’s always felt at bit two-timey, to me, to put a tree up before that thankful Thursday.  Everything, feels so rushed in this round globe we are spinning around on.  It can never just be one thing at time.  And, that goes for holidays too, I suppose.  This year, I can’t wait for Christmas.   So much so, that I think I might have it in me to cheat on Thanksgiving this year. The true confession is that . . .

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On Looking For Words

+ 11.10.2015

On Finding Words by La La Lovely Blog

I’m looking for words.

I know where to find them.

They are are huddled up inside my head.  Usually, when I leave them there, they group and they gather.  It’s like they meet for coffee and all discover they haven’t gotten out much and that they might as well just pour out like the steaming cup of coffee they’ve gathered for.  And, they do just that.  They pour out.  Pour out in my journal, on paper, and spill on this blog.  The pot is empty, the gathering gone, and I feel full.  But, these past two months I haven’t been able to pour.  If I’m lucky there is a drip, or a drop.  Mostly, there is only a slight aroma which evaporates into a tease of the rich taste I remember (It’s how I have to take my coffee these days anyways, only through the olfactory).

I’m not looking for words.

I know where to find them.

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