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My mother was a great storyteller and the stories she would tell us, about the years during WWII when all three women lived together, were legendary. In the sunshine of my life,.
It was a day to remember an 82-year old woman beaten to death. Protecting her husband who opened the backdoor to let their little barking dog out. Only to let an intruder in who demanded her jewelry.
The who, the where, and the why. It turns out that my version of negative self-talk is imagining that other people are thinking negative things about me. Because really, I operate as though I give many fucks.
رحلة للبحث عن الهوية A Journey in Search of Identity. Please Take Off Your Shoes! من فضلك إخلع الحذاء.
Few things are more beautiful to me than a bunch of thuggish, heavily tattooed line cooks moving around each other like ballerinas on a busy Saturday night.