Women Who Eat Chocolate

Sappy and sentimental - that's me. But I've learned to let go and that's the key. Read my column posted several weeks ago on The Holmes County Bargain Hunter: Reaching a moment that you strive for is like taking a drink of water when you are parched beyond measure. For me, it was that moment when you see your kids leave the house for college, or for a job that will take them somewhere that you don't see their faces but several times a year. The house settles into its bones, moving and sinking into a comfort that doesn't hold racing up and down the stairs, or the shaking that comes with sibling fights and rivalries. Like the house, solid and cozy, I let myself sink in and accept my creaks and groans — the settling of a body that's housed three children and bore each fight, scar and tear. I envelope the silence around me, gather it into my palm, and move ahead to what my now entails: words written and organized, songs played against a blank canvas of time and ...

Newest column freshly posted on The Holmes County Bargain Hunter : I just rolled off the weekend – Thanksgiving weekend – and I do mean roll.  The table at our family gathering was heavy-laden and food was partaken of at a rapid clip.  The dressing, glorious in its vintage enamelware pan, is the heaviest of all. In all its fried glory, it is the most anticipated part of the meal – at least for me. I don’t make dressing on a regular basis — who does? If you do, I’m sorry, but there are certain foods I savor on the holiday – unless I’m eating in a local restaurant and get a bug for bready goodness. A dish appears on our table every Thanksgiving called cranberry salad, and lots of noses are turned up. I take a small helping because for one, I like its tart goodness and the way it cleans the palate and enables more food to go down. Bad reason? Nah. Thanksgiving only comes once a cycle.  With Thanksgiving tucked away, that means one thing – lots of sales! Even though this i...

I'm back writing my column! I've missed it, so swing by The Holmes County Bargain Hunter and have a read. Life is weird, but doesn't that make it interesting?  Herrera is back and ready to catch up Friends, I’ve missed you. Life takes a swing and you’re off on another venture, sometimes leaving behind something that was near and dear. This column was near and dear, but I had a few other things to do, so I was gone for a while, stacking up words neatly in piles. I’m bringing them out and dusting them off to let you know what I’ve been up to since we last chatted.  I’m writing my novel and it’s almost done.  It was a weight that sat directly on my chest, mostly taunting me through the years to finish. I’m nearly 60,000 words in and can see the finish line — albeit hazy in the distance. The last part of it seems to be moving at a snail’s pace, and that’s not for lack of being a fast typist. I do have typing medals to brag about from Oscar Miller’s class that I wore pr...

Mostly, we ramble along in life doing things the same way because nothing tells us to change. We've always done things a certain way, so we keep on doing them.  What if something comes along that nudges us and says, "Hey, this is wrong. We need to rethink this. Maybe we need to change how we do it?" There will be stubbornness and whining, because we have to learn a new thing. It's like a child, performing tasks and making mistakes until they learn to do it correctly. They find it annoying, but it's part of life.  Isn't it the same with us? Everyone is saying we've become too sensitive and touchy - that we call racism and are intolerant of those who "don't really mean anything by it." Either by the words they say, or their actions that speak one way and do another.  But... What if we've been doing it wrong all these years?  What if it's time to change and learn a new way? The cries ring out, "We used to do it this way! W...

This.  This is what I can muster for today. Love casts out fear.

What's the haunting season without a few short stories to make that chill run up your spine? I offer you a story I came across, that upon reading this morning, has stayed with me. If you tell me you don't read horror, but still read Ted Dekker or Frank Peretti, then you read horror. It's that thrill you're seeking.  I make no apology for my love of horror movies and books, just like I don't apologize for reading romance or science fiction. Read on, if you dare. ********************************************************************************* She still waits for me in the words of her book I sleep soundly, in my cozy, comfortable bed. Most nights I climb in and am asleep within minutes. Other nights I read. I'm not talking of e-readers, those that lull you to the other side with their easy interfaces and slick controls. Real books are what gather me up, the ones you can grab on to and feel the pages as the story leaps to life. I want to feel the spines of ...

Every year, a few days after my birthday grants me another notch, I sit down and think about the new number I've been assigned. After I turned forty, I didn't care what the number was, just how I was living. How I was breathing. That air was so fresh after forty. Forty-seven is even fresher. When I look at pictures of myself in my twenties and thirties, I see someone who hadn't yet claimed herself. I feel a sharp pang knowing the confidence I have now compared to then, but I don't mourn her. I took her for what she was and have shaped her into the woman I am now. My step feels lighter and my vision clear. My fingers move nimbly over the keyboard as words and phrases fill me. The clarity that comes from added minutes and hours to your life do not come at a price. They come as a gift that must be opened at once and used until spent.  Don't wait to use your gifts.  Spread that goodness to the ends of the earth and never question it. Not once. ...

One week.  That's how long it took for me to be inundated with life here, in the small corner of Ohio I call home. A retreat is just that - a retreat. It plucks you out of the norm and deposits you somewhere you can turn your brain around in your hands. A place to look at your thoughts, from odd angles, and reflect on what they mean. I found the words in Oaxaca and they poured out of me. I'm searching for a way to keep that unfiltered flow alive in this house. The world contained in this rectangular piece of electronics that I hold on my lap, that is what stops me.  I get swept away in the glut of information and attitudes that hold my frozen stare, and throttle any spark that may have ignited upon waking. Being away from this sphere, even for three weeks, allowed me to look in from the outside and see the inanity of who we - and I - can be. We sputter and spew on topics ranging from abortion to guns, and gay marriage to politics. I see every day on my feed wha...

The wild night sky out my window facing the city. Saturday, September 26th // 2015 The sliding of days into the past, like taking a sip of water until you find the glass empty, have overtaken my thoughts this morning. Today and tomorrow. That's all I have left here in this space, this small slice of found moments that I have put myself in the past fortnight plus seven. Urgency, though, hasn't found me here. The tranquility of this breeze hitting my face every morning, allowing me to write freely, has afforded no trace of urgency. Authors will tell you that any time the words find you that they must be written. This is truth. They have found me every day as the sun rises to its zenith and the afternoon sear settles over the land calling for a quiet rest. I move from my window at that time and sit on the bed and finish for the day until it's time for the afternoon comida. I've not found the words in the evening, or even at night. It seems I need to res...

This place, so heavy and dense.  It has enfolded me in its palm and I lay here, gently, on the hot surface.  Sometimes gasping for air.  Graffiti, beautiful and evocative. This week my word count has piled up and they are stacked neatly in my computer, waiting for the day they see the light. I have found them and I spew them out as water comes out of a geyser - forceful and necessary. I've found while writing that some characters don't have as much of a voice as I thought, and others are stronger. It's a strange process, writing, and the tiny threads you think won't mean much reveal so much more when pulled. I enjoy pulling stray threads and seeing where they take me. I write each day, every morning into early afternoon, and see where the trail takes me. I jot down notes and talk with George frequently so I can be sure to have details correct. Technology lets us see each other's face as we connect every morning and evening, love never losing itself over t...

Today marks one week in Oaxaca . The house I live in high up in the San Pablo, Etla terrain looks out over the city, like a blanket spread out and sprinkled with glitter. The lights twinkle as I connect them like so many dots on a familiar landscape - at least as familiar as one week can acquaint you. I have eaten calabasa, nopales in soup, agua de melon, and a plate of chicken enchiladas with salsa verde so fine I may never make them again in protest of not having these exact ones. Making them just like I ate them will be a challenge. The most amazing enchiladas I've ever eaten.  I am adjusted, I feel at home, and I am writing. Today marked a milestone for me as I completed nearly 22,000 words in the seven days I've been writing here. Each morning I awaken, always very early, and contemplate my day. I feel no stress and no urgency to get going...to move. When I finally arise I sit at my computer that looks out an open window to the city below, and I type. For all ...

Wanting something and actually carrying out the plan are two separate things. I'm usually on the former end of this scenario and do a lot of wishing and dreaming. Doing? It doesn't usually happen except if it's baking. Chocolate always comes first, hence the name of this blog. I am a gatherer of words. I love to parse each part of them and know their meaning, while rolling their pronunciation around on my tongue until I know it dearly. I've read thousands of book s which makes words come easy, though I'm not sure if the love of reading or of words came first. I guess they all go together in one tidy package.  I've written many essays, columns, blogs, and poetry. I collect letters to form tiny vignettes around my home because I must be surrounded by things I love. Words signify home to me, as well as safety and comfort. There is never a moment I'm not "currently-reading" something. I've mostly stayed in the physical book realm when it co...

Hello Monday. You of normally hurried minutes that diminish rapidly through a hazy time continuum. Today I met you with problems consisting of regular things, yet clouded mind. Money and things and issues and future happenings stirred in my brain this sunny day. Though the sun met me with warmth and color and flowers that were blooming on my porch. Ordinary days filled with troubles that aren't really troubles. Ways to meet obligations and fulfill them drift through me, pressing, gently pushing. This morning, yet again, I've given it over to the one who knows me, and embraces me still though I've wandered far. Always wandering and wanting something more and different than the light of a regular Monday morning. Today I work, gather groceries, and scribble poetry in a simple notebook in the dappled light of my porch. My haven and the place where my thoughts come together. A place where the book coming through my heart to my fingers finds purchase, and spills out ont...

I know you, America. I see you in the tiny back roads where wildflowers bloom and droop with the dust that covers them. Where I wander and watch verdant woods filled with green inch past my window. I feel you in the breezes that fall across my face, as I am free to travel your craggy terrain and find new places you have hidden from me. This, in your  excitement for me to explore you. You are on my front porch where I am free to seek refuge and form prose that falls from my fingertips like  blood, cut from jagged edges. Where I find the hard  words more defiantly than anywhere else. I know you, America.  You are not 'Merica. You are more than patriotic vitriol spoken with careless abandon, without connecting brain or tongue. Words wrapped in a flag and handed to you at birth to blindly worship and tread softly around. You are more than a flag, fibers and pigments colored to make red-hued stripes and white stars, signifying a...