Diaries of The Breadman’s Daughter: Know When to Take Off the Kid Gloves.

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Girl Warrior. Know when to take off the kid gloves. This comes with a warning, as it isn’t as easy as it sounds. Especially when it comes to our beloved tribe. And ourselves.

Our natural instinct is to be kind, loving, supportive and magnanimous of spirit. Our innate tendency is towards being nice, polite, agreeable and well behaved. We want to be liked. We don’t want to offend. Hurt someone’s feelings. Make another angry. Or worse yet, abandon us.

But at what cost Girl Warrior?

What do we lose by handling each other like Delicate Flowers? Does walking on eggshells really resolve issues? Is our skin really that thin? Are we so fragile that hearing the truth, and nothing but the truth, will break us? Is the fear that our authentic and genuine-selves is so unlovable that we’ll scare everyone away even those nearest and dearest?

No. None of this is true. We are not Delicate Flowers. We are not fragile, frail or feeble. Fear not. Have faith in yourself to speak from the wise and higher place within. And trust that the one hearing your words is there with you. Know that you are both strong enough to give and take a little tough talk.

Girl Warrior sometimes the most sensitive, kind and caring messages are the ones delivered when the kid gloves are off.

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Diaries of The Breadman’s Daughter: Ask and You Shall Receive.

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Girl Warrior. Ask and you shall receive. On the surface this is such a simple concept. Easy peasy pudding and pie. You know this. But do you really? Do you get it right down deep in your gut and marrow? The place where your truth lives, where the things that matter most take flight, where your greatness is born.

Understanding the brilliance and pixie dust of asking is a big game changer.

Take a moment Girl Warrior and imagine the life you want to manifest. Picture all the things you want to have or do or see – all the magnificent people you want to draw into your world, all the places your soul beckons, and all the personal and professional boundaries you want to bust through. Think about all those fantastical things you wish and hope for and go to sleep dreaming about.

Is the astonishing life you want achievable on your own? Probably not. We’re all on the Good Ship Lollipop together and we need each other. Big time. The help you seek may only be one question away.

What’s stopping you? Is it fear?

Are you fearful of your requests? Fearful of your desires, your needs and your intense yearnings. Fearful of your hunger and all the things in life that you crave, covet, lust and thirst for. Are you fearful that your requests will fall on mocking ears, scornful ears, or worse yet, deaf ears? That your impassioned appeals will go unanswered. Do you fear that your gorgeous tender heart will break from the silence, rage and fury that beats within?

Do you ask who is listening? Who will answer? You will never know Girl Warrior unless you have the courage to ask. And if you don’t ask, you won’t ever get.

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All photographs courtesy of Melissa Adams.

Diaries of The Breadman’s Daughter: It’s Okay to Fail.

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Girl Warrior: It’s okay to fail. In fact, it’s okay to fail repeatedly. Over and over and over. It’s not the end of the world. Not a catastrophe. Nor a disaster. Never just plain bad luck. It can be quite the opposite, depending on your perspective.

Tweak the lens of your defeatist frame of mind and you will have the power to see things in a different light. Not the end, but the beginning. A mere setback, not game over. Adjust the setting on your viewpoint and you will begin to see the doors and windows of opportunity fling open wide. Just for you.

The catastrophe becomes your good fortune. A disaster leads to your unparalleled success. Bad luck turns into your most profound blessing. You get to experience the awesome wonder of Divine Grace. You get to hear the Heavenly Whisperer’s promise that failing does not make you a failure. It makes you beautifully human. It is simply grooming you to fulfill your Girl Warrior destiny.

Try. Try. And try again. With each attempt you are one step closer to achieving all of your hopes and dreams and wishes and everything your passionate heart desires. All that you crave and hunger and yearn for draws closer and closer. Everything is within reach and ultimately achievable if you are determined, tenacious, resolute, persevering, patient, unwavering, and above all else, unshakable. Be like the dog with a bone.

And know this Girl Warrior, that when you fail you are never alone. A loving, faithful and supportive tribe, who are your collective safety net, surrounds you. And you will always, always, always have a soft and safe place to land.

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Diaries of The Breadman’s Daughter: I Fell in Love.

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Decades ago

In another lifetime

I fell in love

With a beautiful young man.

 

We were barely adults

On the brink

Of becoming

All kinds of things

Beyond what we were

In that sliver of time

And he was my first big love.

 

All capital letters

BIG.

 

I fell hard and fast

I fell deep and wide

I fell

Hopelessly

Painfully

Tragically

In love with this boy-man.

 

When you fall like that

It can only end badly

And it did.

 

All capital letters

BAD.

 

Time and distance

The years pass quickly

But untold seconds

Slow the clock of the heart.

 

Still I think of him

Way more than

Reason or rationality

And good common sense

Dictate that I should.

 

Sometimes I think

It’s sweet that I do

But there are times

When I think it’s

Either bat-shit crazy

Or sadly heartbreaking.

 

All capital letters

SAD.

 

 

 

Diaries of The Breadman’s Daughter: You Have the Right to Say Yes and to Say No.

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Girl Warrior. You have the right to say yes and to say no. You always have a choice. Always. It’s critical that you understand the importance of this. Especially at those times when you hit the fork in the road and a decision must be made. If not your life, then your wellbeing could depend on it.

It’s your life, your body, and your mind. It is all sacredly yours to decide how what where when and why you will use it as a means of expression. Only you get to decide what happens to you. This point is a powerful pill. Take it in massive doses.

Do not let anyone tell you differently. Do not allow another to pressure, persuade or push you into anything you do not want to do. Do not be coerced into giving consent or granting permission. Do not surrender your esteemed self. Do not let anyone sweet-talk you into being untrue to the self-respecting warrior you are. Do not enable arm-twisting of any kind.

No matter what.

Do exercise your right to self-determination. Do grow all your spiritual muscles around this notion. Do expand your understanding of the things that matter most to you. Do figure out who belongs on your odyssey and who does not. Do draw your own line in the sand. Do take control of your life. Do manifest your own destiny. Do say yes to the life of your choosing.

Girl Warrior whether it’s yes or no, the choice belongs to you. Only you.

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Diaries of The Breadman’s Daughter: Friday Night Dinner.

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This is a little fictional riff I wrote on routines and rituals, the dance of love, the intricacies of marriage and cooking Italian on Friday nights.

Pasta and Salad

They were back to back cooking Friday night dinner. The usual. Pasta and salad. He asked her what she was thinking. She told him the truth. He changed his mind about slicing the cherry tomato in half. Instead he turned to admire her lovely sensual back as she stirred the marinara sauce.

Basil and Oregano

His grip tightened. The sweetness of freshly plucked basil and oregano enveloped the kitchen. The spaghetti strap on her white cotton sundress slipped loosely over her tanned shoulder. Her hair scooped high in a messy tail exposed her delicate neck. He was no longer hungry. The truth had that affect on him.

Marinara Sauce

The sway to her hips as she grooved to Coldplay broke his heart. Nobody said it was easy. They got that right. Her sultry Italian lips kissed the wooden spoon smothered in steaming marinara. When they first started cooking together she would invite him to taste her sauce. But it was no longer his palate that she was seeking to please.

Steamy Sacred Ritual

She adjusted the seasoning and plunged the spoon back into the thick rich sauce. He noticed that one of her turquoise earrings was missing and this made him feel sad. God, it was hotter than hell outside and sizzling in their tiny kitchen. Yet she insisted on keeping this weekly culinary ritual. “Sacred,” she called it. Insane, was more like it.

Boiling Water

He was sweating bullets yet she was cool as a cucumber. Her full childbearing hips rotated in pulsing infinity circles. Round and round. Effortlessly sustaining the rhythm of the driving guitar riff, all the while stirring the marinara. Irony is cruel at times. Some voids were impossible to fill. The stainless steel pasta pot, a wedding gift from her parents, had come to a full boil. Spitting and splashing beads of water violently onto the stove top. Like angry tears. He could relate.

Fistfuls of Linguine.

As she reached for the pasta, he could see the thin translucent scar on the inside of her fragile wrist. Exposed and formidable. Skimming the surface of her veins. He longed to run his finger across it. Feel her vulnerability once more. He remembered how red and swollen it was at first. Like a lost river. But they were beyond that now. She measured the linguine by fistfuls. One for him. One for her. One for the pot. Just in case.

Forks and Other Kokkengrej.

She reached for the stainless steel fork that was stuffed in the pottery utensil jar next to the stove. It was the big one he used to remove the steaks from the BBQ. He knew it was bad form to pierce the meat like that. Releases their juices, she would chastise. Toughens the meat and makes it hard to chew. He knew this. But he couldn’t resist the urge to stab. Impale lifeless objects. It was in his blood. He was once an ancient warrior. She was the Goddess of basil and other fine herbs.

Al Dente.

He leaned back on the counter and watched as she stirred the pasta. He had difficulty breathing around her. There was a time when this was fun. And romantic. He closed his eyes and remembered. How she used to test the spaghetti. How she’d take a few strands and toss them across the room. How they giggled and applauded the sticky ones. How they carved their love in steam.

Breaking Bread

She insisted he cut the bread into perfectly polite little pieces. “It’s not rocket science,” he scoffed as he pulled out the scarred pine board and prepared the filone for cutting. It wasn’t all that different from sawing a piece of wood. A skill he had mastered at his father’s side by the time he was eight. She was all wrong about the bread though. It was made to be broken, torn and ripped apart. Stuffed into their mouths like savages.

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Diaries of The Breadman’s Daughter: You Don’t Know What You’ve Got Till It’s Gone.

4 Kings on a Wall

This morning

While I was sitting here drinking coffee

In the silent stillness and stifling solitude

Of my writing space

My mind drifted lazily

Back

To when I was a young woman

And my two oldest kids were still my kids

The time of two cats in the yard

Where everything was loud and noisy

Gritty and grating at times.

 

I was obsessed

With cleaning up my messy life

Which was actually

A deliciously divine messy life

But I didn’t know it at the time.

 

You see

Back then I believed

My messy life wasn’t good

And certainly not

Interesting

Beautiful

Virtuous

Or worthy.

 

It didn’t fit

Into the glossy pages

Of a coffee-table magazine

I would never ever be

Wife or mother of the year

But oh how I longed

For that impossible

That implausible

That unattainable

Distinction.

 

I thought

So foolishly

It’s laughable now

That this messiness was a problem

This glorious domestic chaos

And magnificent uproarious thunder

Racket and tumult

This callow tender tackiness

Of everyday life

Was something to be fixed.

Aimee + Tom Xmas

Halloween Aimee the Crayon + glum Tom

Halloween Aimee the Crayon

Polaroid Pictures Mom + T + A

Polaroid Pictures T + A Xmas

Tom + Aimee + Oona + DeeDee in Orange Chair

Tom + Aimee + the TO Gang

tom + aimee on bikes

Tom + Aimee on the steps of 402 Northcliffe

tom + aimee with cats