Vintage Me

An entry about wine, this is not. It’s not about movies or clothes or food or skincare. Okay, when is it not about food? I’ll try. It’s not about dieting, my closet, technology, nor my kids. There are no recipes or photos of my closet (though I do love my capsule experiment). It’s just a random daily post. Remember those? Just free flowing tangential posts that meander here and there without much thought? Random observations and unloading. My God, it’s freeing not to have a theme. I do much better without structure, though a writing prompt or two is always welcome to kick things off.

When you keep a personal blog for 13 years as I have, you begin to feel repetitive. So to bust on through to the other side, I’m imposing one small change, with the hope that it kicks my writing ass into gear: #WritingWednesday. Every Wednesday I’ll post a writing prompt for those who want to play along, as I myself, do just that. It can be as grand or as simple and short as you’d like.


Select the title of an existing movie, and write for 5 minutes. If you’re sharing on social media or aloud with a group, don’t reveal the title of the movie until you’ve finished. Word associate, pretend, play. Go. Don’t spend too much time finding the perfect title. Just go with it.

I’m so used to being disappointed by you that it’s no longer a disappointment. A foil star beside my name, validation for knowing you’d be the you I knew you were instead of the you I hoped you’d be. That’s the beauty in it I suppose, the disappointment grows from a seedhead into a full-blown lesson-learned, a climbing shrub of wisteria wisdom. It’s all the brighter in the wake of you, with colors so vivid they have a pulse. And the truth is as bright and central as the stars. Here’s to our new Silver Linings Playbook.



  1. Pingback: #WritingWednesday – Hot Mess, Cool Day

  2. Moments ago you were clinging to my skirt. Minutes ago, I was wiping your face with a damp cloth and kissing you on the nose. Then there were the endless school plays, music concerts, programs where I brought you flowers and watched with tears streaming down my face. Secret conversations, long philosophical discussions, strained moments where discipline had to be applied. Moments where you learned that life isn’t as easy as you want, and that things that matter are hard. Now, my baby girl is all grown up and a law student all the way across the country. I still want to hold you close and comfort you, but now you need to do things your way – your capable, brilliant way. So I love and admire you from here.

    Time passes.

    Gone With the Wind.

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