Because I Could…

My office held its traditional monthly birthday celebration this morning. My best friend made the cake – an intoxicating combination of chocolate, raspberry, and red wine. 

I couldn’t contain myself. I blame it on being about two days from turning 50. So, THERE.


Project 1 – KickAss Questions

LR Logo

Okay. So here’s our first project. Let’s answer some kickass questions about life. Answer them from your heart–not based on what you think others might want to hear. Some of these questions might be easy. Others may cause you to think a bit. There might even be a few that you have difficulty answering right now. That’s okay. There are no pass/fail grades for this project. It’s what you want to make of it.

Image courtesy of

I’ll jump in here as well and answer a few of them, too.

What’s always on your mind? If you were in a bookstore, what section would you gravitate toward first?

I’m always thinking about creative projects. Something that gets me energized and using my brain. Colors, sounds, photos… When I go to the bookstore, I automatically head for the “self-help” and “bargain” sections. I love to look through books to see how they’re designed.

What are three things you care about most, other than family, friends, and meaningful relationships?

What positive things do people say about you? What do they thank you for most often?

Who inspires you? Who would you most like to be like? Heroes/heroines… role models?

I am inspired by Brené Brown, who talks about the courage to be vulnerable, Elizabeth Gilbert, who has an amazing gift of being able to write and a dry sense of humor, and Marie Forleo, who has managed to do what I’m trying to do here…but with MUCH more polish and style! Of course, I’d really love to have the joy of life and ability to tolerate others that my grandmothers had.

When you’re at your best, what does it look like?

When do you feel most powerful, passionate, free, incredibly useful, and inspired?

If you had a chance to be known for something special or unique, what would it be? What’s the legacy you want to leave behind when you depart this world?

What is your biggest fear? What’s the thing that scares you most in life?

Okay, I’ll jump back in on this one because it was one of the most difficult for me to answer. My biggest fear is that, in pursuing my writing and sharing my truth, it will hurt others. When I write, I like to be in my own space. Sometimes I feel that I’m being selfish by doing that. 

What scares me most in life? At this age, things like cancer and never being able to get out of debt keep me awake many nights. I am a master worrier. I need to get over that.

…and the big one?

What do you REALLY want for your life?

So… how was that? Do you notice anything in particular about your answers?

thinking woman
Image courtesy of

Do they provide you a glimpse of what you desire for your life at this point in your life…and in the future?

Which questions were hardest to answer and why?

Please feel free to share your thoughts in the “comments” below if you feel comfortable. Let’s get a dialogue going here! 

Or… if you’d like to share your thoughts with me privately, please send them to 


Next week’s project?

Uncovering the layers of the past to reveal who you are today. (Yeah. Heavy stuff.)

We’ll look at experiences and events (positive and negative) that have impacted and affected you in some way. Then, we’ll take those events and create a “six-word story” about your life.



New Writing Project!

UK 50mph photoHere’s a new project I’m starting up soon. It’s all about the stories of those of us who have already turned the corner at the half-century mark… and those of us who are almost there.

Wanna know more?

Want to share your story?

Check out my other blog: “Finding Fifty Project”.

Peace… and Happy Thanksgiving!

I Made It, Folks!

VM poster

They loved me… they REALLY loved me!

I’m honored and humbled to have landed a part in our university’s production of The Vagina Monologues. This is important to me on SO many different levels.

Just found out a few minutes ago… my work-focus is shot for the rest of the day. 🙂

The Day My Vagina Spoke (Warning: Language)

I wasn’t so sure about doing this, but she was. It was an audition for The Vagina Monologues at the university where I work, and when I read the announcement in the weekly staff newsletter, she jumped for joy. Or maybe, she twitched. I’m not sure what you’d call it.


I guess vaginas can jump for joy, right?

Anyway, I walked into the student union about 10 minutes before auditions were to begin, and rounding the corner of the hallway, was met with a wave of loud, giggly, chattering women. YOUNG women. Barely even women. College-aged women in their late teens and some maybe just having reached their twenties. It looked and sounded like an audition for Glee or American Idol. Or a sorority rush party.

Shit. What had I gotten myself into?

“Don’t you go getting all weird on me. You know you’ve wanted to be in a play for as long as you can remember. It’s time to make a notch on your bucket list.”

I had to admit it. She was right. And I had been looking for a way to share my voice concerning things that women experience. Or tolerate. Or avoid altogether. So, I found my place in the line and took a deep breath.

There were young women who had their theatre audition “game faces” on, sharing their acting resumes with those around them in a vocal level noticeably louder than the rest of the group.  There was the young girl who was giddy over the fact that she “had just turned 19, and her mother couldn’t do a damn thing about her using ‘cuss-words’ on stage or anywhere for that matter – she could say ‘pussy’ all she wanted.” And there was the shy, frail-looking girl who was making her way to the end of the line behind me but who also looked like she’d dart and run at any moment.

I was looking over the part I was to read, when my “old lady/teacher/surrogate mom” instinct kicked in and couldn’t help but turn around to the shy girl and ask if this was her first audition. I could barely see her eyes over the top of her glasses as she quickly nodded yes. I told her it was my first as well, hoping it would make her feel better. She smiled nervously and continued reading her part.

My audition piece was about hair. You know, the hair down there? Yeah.

What the hell was I thinking? I had rushed home from work, made dinner for the kids, and fed and walked the dog, only to rush back to work for a chance to read a 45-second paragraph about pubic hair? I’d lost my damned mind.

“Keep reading. It gets better. There’s the part about the ex-husband who was demanding and controlling and who eventually screwed around on you because you didn’t satisfy his ego, regardless of all the sacrifices you made for him. Sounds familiar, doesn’t it?”

I swear, I could feel her grinning maniacally. Shifting my weight to the other foot to try and shut her up, I looked around nervously, hoping that no one had witnessed this. Nope. They were too busy holding hands in a circle, jumping and chanting, “Pussy Power, Motherfuckers!”

As I read and re-read the paragraph, it did begin to sound familiar. It began to sound like my story. I had been there, endured that, and eventually made the choice to leave it. This audition thing might not be so bad after all.

Tugging at the hem of my skirt was an attractive young girl, sprawled on the floor in front of me. I had been amused earlier by her iPhone video conversation with someone who was hopefully her boyfriend. She had been fluffing her hair and posing seductively into the phone for the last 30 minutes without saying much of anything. “Would you mind if I read my part to you?” I said that she was welcome to, surprised that she’d ask me instead of finding someone her own age who might better relate to her. This was going to be interesting, I was certain.

Her part was about the word, “cunt.” I detest that word for so many reasons, but apparently, it’s in this play quite a bit. She launched into this provocative, almost erotic, almost pornographic, yet perfectly-enunciated presentation. I was impressed and, at the same time, horrified that an eighteen-year-old seemed to know how to play this role quite effectively.

It was getting to within 20 minutes of the scheduled end of the presentation, and as I looked around at the group that remained, I began to wonder why these young women would even want to audition for something like this. What had they experienced in their young lives that even came close to the content in these monologues?  How could they begin to relate to the experience the character behind these words?

As the producer came out to say she was going to bring us in by groups of five to speed up the process, she pointed to me and said, “I’m going to go ahead and move you up to the front of the line.” I’m guessing she saw the haggard look on my wrinkled face and was told by the other staff that I was the “only one out there who wasn’t a student.” Maybe she felt sorry for me.

Removing myself from the line, I walked to the door, and as I was about to go in… I spoke to the group. Or maybe it was she who spoke for me, blurting out above the chatter.

“Girls, me and my vagina are AT LEAST 25 years older than you, and we’ve had a long day. We need to get back home to take care of two kids who have NO idea what type of audition this is, and they WON’T know until they’re of appropriate age for that explanation. So thanks for letting us go ahead of you.”

Oh, lord. I can’t control her.  Apparently, she’s in her element now. I’m not sure which one of us read the actual part during that one-minute audition, and it really doesn’t matter. The fact is, it was done. Checked off the bucket list. Pussy power, motherfuckers!

As I walked across the lawn to my car, I felt this chill of excitement. Of inspiration. Of courage that had risen to the surface and finally gasped for a breath. And out of that breath began to come my own monologue. OUR monologue.

Me and my vagina, we haven’t always had the best of relationships. In fact, I can’t say we’ve even HAD a relationship until this evening. I never much wanted to acknowledge that she existed for nearly 49 years. She has been the subject of horrible jokes from neighborhood boys, has been protected by me while being poked and prodded by doctors with no sympathy for the memories of past abuse that came suddenly and often, was the “last organ standing” after a hysterectomy, and now, she’s tired. We are both tired. But tonight, something changed. I realized that she and I are one and the same, and we’ve always been here, waiting for each other. We have experience and a common voice that can lend themselves to healing. Healing ourselves… and others.

When the producer wrote my name on the audition list, she asked me a question. If your vagina could talk, what would it say? Without hesitation, the words came freely:

“SHE would say, ‘It’s about DAMN time you let me speak!”

(We find out whether or not we made it in a week or so.)


Are YOU in Your Element? My Latest “Sundays on the Front Porch” Topic

Sundays on the Front Porch: Finding Your “Happy Place”

Here are some of mine, as promised in the video.

Hanging Rock House
The lake house at Hanging Rock State Park.
Hanging Rock Toes in Stream
Anywhere I can stick my toes in the water…
Toot Pic
When I’m lost in song (photo cred – Loretta Kohrs)
Front porch (go figure) at the Mountainaire Inn, Blowing Rock, NC.
Front porch (go figure) at the Mountainaire Inn, Blowing Rock, NC.
Anywhere there's sand, surf... and maybe a cold adult beverage.
Anywhere there’s sand, surf… and maybe a cold adult beverage.

Where are YOUR happy places? I’d like to know!