Pamela Wight's Blog, page 2

Dream Talk

Time for a talk, or more for a listen,

I pray as I lay me down to sleep.

My mom’s voice, her face, I crave a vision

To help give me a needed treat.

I miss my mom, almost five years gone.

Her strength, her laugh, she was always there

To offer me stories, a tune to a song

In which truths and thoughts were often laid bare.

As my eyes close shut and my dreams begin

I hear her voice for which I so long.

The static is great though and I feel...

Up, Up and Not Away

Leaving, on a jet plane don’t know when I’ll be back a…. whoops. Never mind.

Half a day before my guy and I were set to fly off to the other coast last week to escape winter weather and bask in the warmth of friends and family, I got a phone call.

I was expecting the call, and yet I wasn’t.

My dermatologist had scraped off some skin from my nose two weeks earlier for a biopsy. She hadn’t planned to, but when I walked into her office she said, “I woke up two days ago t...

A Better Dress

Hold fast. Now is just now, it’s not then. Hold fast.

“Did you hear that?” I ask Natalie. 

“What?” my daughter replies. She is much more practical than me. She only hears what is “visible” to her ears, so to speak.

Hold fast. Stay aloft. Now is not then.

“That!” I exclaim. We’re in her bedroom closet, which is as big as a small room – with clothes and shoes and drawers for sweaters.  Personally, I think it’s overdone. It’s also extravagant but I believe in the Henry D...

One in the Magic of the Universe

So many impossibles in this world: Life. Creatures. You, and Me. I could count the ways that I feel like a mystery guest as I breathe into each day. I’m on the edge (are you?) between living a life in light or just pretending this will work. The feeling of just doing time, of walking across a frozen river and wondering if I’ll hear a crack, and yours truly will fly away (or under) into a rabbit hole big enough for one.

But the illusionist in me changes my perspective, or perception, and views l...

The Invitation

Katy searched for the correct way to reject the invitation. She was not inclined to meet Adam at midnight and drive to the open field 20 minutes away to see some famous “shooting star.”

Adam was a nice colleague, good-looking in an academic, black-glasses-hiding-thick-black-eyebrows kind of way, with a shy smile. Katy could tell he was interested in her. He acted as if she was a fairy princess who lit up a room whenever she entered.

But no, she was not interested in Adam or shoot...

Sharing the Divine

Cutter and me caught mid-conversation.

I can communicate with animals.

Last night I spoke with Violet, one of my grand-dogs, and asked silently, “Do you really like that canned pumpkin I gave you last night with your dinner?”

She stared back with liquid pools of brown love: “Anything you give me is full of love, and how can love not taste divine?”

Laughing with Violet.

I was stunned.

I wasn’t surprised that I’d heard Violet’s words as clearly as a train whistle, or a fogh...

White Rose Leftover

Last week, I experienced one of those horrible, frustrating, soul-sapping days. We’ve all had them once in a while. They seek to bring our Spirit down.

Because of that kind of day, I decide dinner will be the tried and true – pizza. I drive to our favorite pizza place, owned by some adorable Italians who landed here just a few years ago to begin their dream.

I don’t use the word “adorable” in a patronizing way. They are young and idealistic and work extremely hard to keep their busine...

Dare You!

“So, it’s your fault he did that?” Debbie asked.

“Well, it was a dare. I didn’t think he’d actually do it,” Judith said.

“What did you think he’d do?” Debbie stared, perplexed, at her best friend. Judith was a scientist, gorgeous, and somehow successful despite being a scatterbrain.

Judith pondered Debbie’s question. “We’ve been dating for 101 days.”

“Not that anyone’s counting,” Debbie rejoined, bemused.

“That’s the problem,” Judith said. “Chris obviousl...

What Went Wrong Went Right

Any author knows the ins and outs, the worries and woes, the joys and jubilation of publishing.

Most authors love the writing part. After all, that’s the fun!

Some authors tolerate the publishing part: agent? editor? mainstream publisher? Indie publishing?

Every author I know dislikes the last part: PROMOTION. I print it in caps but whisper it in tiny letters since it’s a dirty word to many of us.

But promotion is a necessary dirty function of GETTING YOUR BOOK READ...

with a Dash of . . .

I beg Murial for her mysterious cookie recipe.  I asked her five years ago, four years ago, three, two and now. Now, I ask her again as I take a small bite of this delicious, delectable cookie.

I feel light, airy, almost otherworldly, which makes no sense. It’s only a cookie.

Murial widens her large hazel eyes as if surprised.  “What? This little cookie? You want the recipe for it?”

I sigh. Muriel is 94. She’s as tiny as an elf, and as mischievous as one. “Mur, I’ve asked ...