The essence of Europe is ancient, permeating with history, adorned with masterpieces of all artistic DNA and virtuosos of every field — from art, architecture, poetry, music and more. Human-made and divine spirituality thrives here. And, they all collide with the splendor and grandeur of nature.

The thin cloth separated me from the world on this street named of chivalric romance, castles, kings, knights and the lore where legends live. My life never resembled the legend of Lancelot, but it did awaken the dreams I dreamed. There, reality came to life, for within the creative, gentle cloak of the Camelot Curtains, I dared to dream to be a writer, a wife, a mother and so much more.

I carry a few logs to stack in the fireplace. It is ironic how stories, occasionally, find roots in such strange places. These logs take me into the past and I remember a massive 500-year-old tree 15 minutes outside of Dubrovnik in Trsteno, a small seaside Croatian village. I wonder how many generations, transformations and historic events the tree has observed. Is it a witness to history or is it simply history itself?

My eyes fell upon the past—the sea’s past, the rock’s past, my father’s past. Each rock once touched by his young hands, hidden, covered, transformed, to once again be reborn for my eyes to see... Not once did I wish for the old, sturdy dock; this dock held all of the memories, the past and the future, and I loved, just as the sea intends me to love: raw, natural, kissed by the past, aging towards the future in imperfect symmetry.

LIVE was performing at the Cynthia Woods Mitchell Pavilion outside of Houston. The stroll through the woods to the open-air seating alone made this venue my favorite. But it was the mysterious, intoxicating scent of the woman seated in front of me that distracted me for much of the evening.

I love the warmth of the sun on my skin, but it is the moon that calls to me, tantalizes me with her whisper. She changes. She ebbs and flows like the tides of which she is the keeper. Her essence is tranquil, restrained yet powerful enough to move the oceans. Waxing and waning she flirts with the naked eye, allowing it to see her in her full or veiled presence.

Do you want to be my friend? I never thought to ask that question. Perhaps I did. When I was a child. I don’t remember. But as an adult, it’s too revealing, threatening, fragile, immature, vulnerable and much too terrifying. As children, we are braver, bolder and live with less complexes.

The letters stretched across the page, one by one. Hurriedly they raced to fill the empty space and mark their spot. A dance of patrons hastily shuffling, filling the hallways to the red double doors of a grandiose concert hall as the lights flicker and dim announcing the second act of Lucia di Lammermoor. READ MORE

Within the whispers of spring, winter’s insurrection brought down the encore of a season that was to leave the stage. The buds abloom frozen in time as a northerly gale swept through the corners of a state unfamiliar with such weather. In fact, it carried its cause to other corners of the nation. READ MORE

The act of having, caring for, protecting creates a sense of undeserving custody, even possession, at least in the manner we speak. My daughter. My baby. That child filled a previously non-existent place in your heart. Not until the moment she walked in, did you realize it was there, that it would have to be filled with her, only her, until the day you took your last breath. But deep down, from the moment that baby is born, the only lesson to be learned is the process and ability of letting go. It is actually that baby who possesses your heart, who you find yourself thinking about ceaselessly, incessantly and lovingly, while learning to watch her grow, learning to trust and let go. CLICK TO READ

They are the dreamers of the sea; the poetic kings keeping watch over the coast, assuring life continues in equilibrium. As a coastal people, we dream of flying, frolicking and singing with them. We envy their perpetual freedom. We covet their fishing skills and simple love of life. CLICK TO READ MORE

Along the striking Dalmatian coast, a small, unique cove has harbored countless ships during calm and tempest. Many years ago, I remember seeing the massive yacht of Steven Spielberg, taking up much of the sea across from our beach house. He was just one of many who found safety, beauty and comfort here. CLICK TO READ MORE

As a little girl, I remember visiting my paternal grandparents’ house. It was filled with books, paintings, photos, crystal and fine china. Yet my eyes, my interest, always fell to the little girl in the painting. I soon came to find out the girl in the painting was my aunt, who lived with and cared for my grandparents. READ MORE...

I asked her if she had a favorite saying or expression. She was quick to say, “’Let’s Roll’ because those were the last words Todd Beamer said before he died. It’s a very nice and strong way to say let’s go. I like that!” If she could get a message to every person in the world, Jacqueline says she would say this: “Thank you for being good people. Give money to the people who are poor and be nice to everyone. And do not be on the electronics a lot, but use your imagination because so many people are on their phones these days.” CLICK TO READ MORE

That day in August, the little, overweight Beagle came home with us. As he got out of our pickup, Tom was his welcome committee. They were instant friends. They cleaned each other, snuggled. Tom purred and the Beagle whimpered. It was as if they knew they were two once-hopeless beings, who were given a new chance at life and a new friendship. READ MORE

Our actions can leave permanent memories for others to cherish or abhor. They can dramatically impact and change lives with the least of dramatic actions. After all, a grand oak tree begins as a tiny acorn that survived the grasp of a squirrel... READ MORE

Then our world started to change. The field that was a part of me, the field I respected and held to a high standard appeared to begin a kind of metamorphosis. READ MORE

They sat in a swing with their great-grandmother, a spunky, deeply religious, hard-working southern lady in her 90s. She makes them laugh. They love it when she calls them “Cher” (pronounced sha), a Cajun-French word for “sweet” or “dear”. They love the way she talks about herself in the third person, “Ma packed up some shrimp for you.” And they love the old memory of her letting them have their first Dr. Pepper while telling them, “Drink it or wear it.”

Naked branches draped in Spanish Moss gently swayed above the placid bayou as the cypress knees seemed to extend in devout prayer. The tranquility and presence of nature’s harmony is unmistakable. The birds feign to hide their appearance, but operatic in raising their voices in a choir of prevailing exquisiteness and grace. It is as though they sing with pride, thanking God for providing them with such a serene home.