Tidbits, raw from the writers' group

5. Other peoples' germs are wiped off the eight by ten tray, the sleazy seatbelt, the stale air. The transport is not to another city, but to a bowl, where I release my joints and float, like Elvis in green Jell-o. At last, we hit the channel: the altitude that signals time for the cart and the crossword. I can be totally alone, tightly packed. A seat apart from fear or change or cost or time. Where should I go? Home.

4. We laughed as uncle chased you around the den. He wanted what I had and didn't know what I would miss in a friendship flushed, a story with its middle ripped out. Thirty years to atone should feel better. A new place. Deal? Deal. And so it is time for coffee. A paper napkin of safety and photos. You look like all is well. I am alright.

3. Music prompts memories of birth, of joy, of times untouched, of memories twisted toward a good end. Singing loudly to roll in the joy of being in that other place -- sitting on a kitchen counter where you shelter me and I found the bone on the back of your neck.

2. Is too private. It concludes: "There is no because that doesn't sound cheap."

1. Is too private. It concludes: "Why now?"

Pencils up

Having missed my writers' group in April, I realized tonight how much I'd needed it. My pencil was moving faster than my brain, as I purged thoughts confused onto a yellow legal pad. I heard my friends hearts and laughed at their wordplay. It is a joy to be in honest company.

Dotted and crossed

In eight days' time, I have entered officialdom in two important aspects of my life. On day one of the eight, I officially changed my church. I signed the big book, marking my membership into a community markedly different in theology than the one of my upbringing. I am joyous about my new affiliation but am grateful for the hallmarks of my old, which are ingrained in my spirit. Those heritage elements of color, symbology, wonder, and outreach to the marginalized set the stage for my expansive step into a faith community that fits my mind, heart and spirit.

On day eight, I gathered the first of five signatures that seal my course to the general examinations that are the gateway to my doctorate. It's real. It's in writing. The years of hard work that show in my crows feet not withstanding, I am giddy having seen the I's dotted and the T's crossed. It is just that simple.