The Art Of Reading Through Tears


I knew it was a risk. I had been told about a book called The Art Of Racing In The Rain and had all but ignored it…until now. I began reading this book in the waiting room of my Honda dealership while passing time during an oil change and brake pad replacement. It was a fitting scene.

The book is narrated from the perspective of a dog who belongs to a race car driver. Although I am not a race car driver (perhaps only in my mind), the irony of sitting in a car dealership while beginning this book was not lost on me. I devoured the first half of the book in two hours while waiting for my car to be serviced. I sat in a small, sparsely furnished area with three very large men and openly wept while devouring every chapter I could of this novel.

There is an underlying joke between my friend and I that we would be gold medal winners if the Olympics ever created a competition for crying. Sitting in the waiting room of that car dealership while reading this book was certainly my qualifying round. Initially I did my best to conceal my tears, but these three men were on to me from the appearance of the first glistening tear that tracked its way down my cheek and they made every effort to not make eye contact from that moment forward.

I have a dog who recently turned twelve and has health issues, and the narrative in this book hit very close to home. Every well-paced paragraph reminded me that I may be mere moments away from having to realize every truth written in this book about an aging pet. It was eviscerating, but strangely comforting.

This book gave me a gift. I now know that I will have the strength to make that tough decision because it is what is best for her, not for me. Her comfort and her dignity come before my need for having more time with her. And as I cry writing the end of this post, I know it will be one of the most difficult decisions I will ever have to make, but one that has to be made….for her.


Soup’s on….again


I have to say, this is my favorite time of year. The days are still warm enough to have the nostalgia of summer but the nights sufficiently cool down enough to make me think it’s time to make soup.

These are the days I find my center again, the time when I make my way back to myself. I am grounded when I am in my kitchen. The outside world becomes a distant memory and I can embrace the feeling that I have truly found my way back to me.

My love of cooking was absorbed through osmosis. Both of my parents spent many hours in our family kitchen. Whether it was following a recipe (my mother) or throwing ingredients into a pot and hoping for the best (my father), my favorite childhood memories revolve around time spent in that family kitchen.

I have always said my writing is cathartic but cooking is a true salvation. There are no rules to cooking, no grammar and no punctuation. And while writing continues to free my mind and my imagination, cooking frees my soul.

(image credit)

The Beef Barley Soup is simmering in the crockpot as I write this post and the ingredients for New England Clam Chowder await their chance to be blended into a concoction of creamy goodness. My mother most often called us to dinner by yelling “soup’s on” and that memory always makes me smile. The soup is on…..and the simple smell of those ingredients has removed every bit of stress that had accumulated over the last few months.

This is my time, my time to cook, and I am going to embrace every second of it. Soup’s on!





Learning to leave it behind

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I internalize a lot of things and lately I have been bringing a great deal of negative energy home with me. The precious moments of solace I used to have at home are slowly being diluted and I am struggling to find the peace I used to have at the end of a long day. I know I need to leave it behind, but that is easier said than done.

Emotion is a fickle creature. As much as I think I can regulate mine, it has found a way to take the driver’s seat and I have been thrown into the back seat, a mere passenger in a vehicle that is recklessly careening out of control on what should otherwise be a smooth ride.

I have tried many avenues to escape the intensity of my emotions but I have come to learn this blog is my lifeline. This is how I process emotion. I write. I expel my demons into the void and hope I can free myself of the weight of the unhealthy aura I carry on my shoulders. My words are my own judge and jury and it is up to me to read them over and over again until I am convinced my phrases ring true and I rule in my own favor.

I need to walk away. I need to leave the negativity behind and free my mind from the challenges of my day. I need to close the door on the bad energy and open the door to my happiness when I get home. I am the only person who has control of how I let myself feel and it’s time to learn to leave the bad stuff behind and focus on the things I can control and the things that make me feel truly happy.