Me in the Middle of ‘Be That Love’

~ Be That Love ~

This year’s Valentine’s Day had us all thinking about love ~ all ways of loving ~ the ups and downs of loving ~ the highs and lows of loving ~ the shallowness and depths of loving.

And then it happened  …. Into our reality and consciousness collided the very antithesis of love.  Seventeen lives were gone in a flash and  we were, once more, confronted with the darkness and destruction of evil that lives side by side with the light and creativity of Love.  Be that Love …..  Choose Life … Choose Love.

********************” target=”_blank” rel=”noopener”>Be That Love ~ Zach and Lexi Read


After the usual shock and outrage – the debates on what the answer is – the finger pointing of blame – things will settle down.  Some will remain unmoved from their entrenched positions on both sides. Some will begin to move closer towards finding solutions outside of politics.    Some will recognize that the answer lies in working together on all sides to intervene and make the chances of ‘the next one’ less likely.

And then there are those who become advocates for the human condition as it exists with their tireless dedication and commitment to making this a better world one step at a time.  Be that Love.

  There are no easy answers.  (And when you mix all that is the human condition with easy access to guns you’re creating a time bomb.)  

********************” target=”_blank” rel=”noopener”>Sandy Hook



Sandy Hook Promise






Me in the Middle Remembering a Dream





by Mary Lou

It was during a time of great crisis —–
When I had been left with the responsibility
of my family’s emotional and economic survival,
and was feeling overwhelmed with the bleak
reality of it all. I worried about earning
an income to make ends meet; about whether
I would be able to keep the house; about the
well-being of my five sons while I was at work.
Each day was filled with anxiety and anger
at being in this situation, and fear
that I would never get out of it.

One night I had a dream that remains vivid
in my memory to this day.

I was riding in bus which was hurtling down the
highway at a reckless speed. I was gripping the seat
in front of me and trying to understand
what was happening and where I was going.
Suddenly, the bus began to stop and the ride
took on a slow-motion transition up a hill
on a winding road toward a large old house.
There was a misty, grayish-blue caste over the
surrounding area.

As the bus moved closer to the house,
I saw a lone figure sitting in a chair on
the front lawn. It was an old woman with
soft, white hair and a soft, gentle face.
When she raised her eyes to meet mine, I
could see there was immense peace and love
in them. It was then that I realized that
this old woman looking up at me was me in
my old age and I was filled with peace.

I knew from that moment on that I was going
to get through ….. that I was going to be OK.



That was more than thirty years ago that I had this dream.  It stayed with me because I rarely dream that vividly nor do I look for meaning in my dreams.  I had to write it down to capture the feeling I had when I woke up remembering it.  I can still see that old woman’s face and would love to capture it in a sketch some day.

So far she hasn’t shown up and I know she’s going to appear some day in my mirror.  For now I like to think it’s this old woman who will show up when I look in the mirror.   🙂


“It’s your outlook on life that counts.  If you take yourself lightly and don’t take yourself too seriously, pretty soon you can find the humor in our everyday lives.

And sometimes it can be a life saver.”

~ Betty White ~

Killing the Angel in Order to Write

BREVITY's Nonfiction Blog

HagemanauthorphotoBy Shannon Hageman

“Killing the Angel in the House was part of the occupation of women writers,” Virginia Woolf wrote in her essay, Professions for Women (1931). I’d like to believe that women have come a long way; I wasn’t even born until forty years after Virginia Woolf advised women writers to kill the Angel of the House. I know we’re not expected to be Angels anymore, but there are expectations. Expectations I picked up from the housewives in my family –grandmothers, godmothers, and aunts. Expectations I built while scorning my own mother who worked full time, let my father do most of the cooking and cleaning. There’s a constant nudging: be the mother portrayed on social media with her perfectly assembled outfit and frizzless hair in the carpool lane, who sends her kids to school  with well-balanced, organic cold lunches packed in Bento boxes. Mothers who don’t just pin, but…

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