Category: Instagram Writing


Today is our 18th wedding anniversary. I can’t believe it’s been 18 years. The first 5 flew by. Newlyweds with few concerns. We were young. We were invincible. Free. Filled with joy. The second 5 we gave up our freedom with 3 children under 4, 2 of which were twins! A mentally and physically taxing endeavor for us both, to say the least. Axel’s hair filled with gray. Me. Well he didn’t see much of me because I was breastfeeding 24/7. Patience. That’s what comes to mind. He had a lot of that.

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“The voice within is what I’m married to. All marriage is a metaphor for that marriage. My lover is the place inside me where an honest yes or no comes from. That’s my true partner. It’s always there. And to tell you yes when my integrity says no is to divorce that.”

#quote #byronkatie “I Need Your Love – Is That True?: How to Stop Seeking Love, Approval and Appreciation and Start Finding Them Instead” by Byron Katie and Michael Katz

Photo by @axelmuench December 2016



The New Year. A new beginning?
Greens juiced. Decorations boxed.

45 days to Valentines.
Then Spring and Easter bunnies.
Then Memorial Day.
Then Independence Day.
Then Summer.
Then Labor Day.
Then Thanksgiving.
Then the Holiday Season.
Then New Year’s resolutions.

Three wishes.
Candles lit
eyes squeezed shut.

Show Gratitude.
Seek Joy.
Welcome Abundance.

#threewishes #poetryofinstagram #newyearresolution #joy #abundance#gratitude #faith #writersofig #amwriting


95. Today. Same day as Brad Pitt. Same as Steven Spielberg. Except he was first. 1921. A child in Great Depression. Oklahoma “Grapes of Wrath” style. Rode a horse to school bareback. Joined the army. Well, drafted more like it. WWII Veteran. In Japan when they dropped the bomb. Worked on landing strips in middle of nowhere responsible for changing Friend or Foe codes on planes. Retired Civil Servant. His dad, my grandpa, lived until the day before his 90th birthday. My dad, going strong. Exposed to agent orange, asbestos. His house exploded from propane gas leak when he was 76. 3rd degree burns. Skin grafts on both his hands and one leg because he dug himself out of burning insulation before driving himself 10 miles to hospital and collapsed. One month in Tulsa burn unit ICU. Severe 2nd degree burns to face. Doctors said he probably wouldn’t survive first week and if he did survive, he would die of infection because of his diabetes. He survived. No signs of burns. He’s a fighter. And at 95, doctors say he could live to 100. And to think, he was 48 when I was born. Old back then to have kids. Not now. I never thought he’d live this long. I worried my whole childhood. He’s always been as old as my friend’s grandparents. But he’s made it and tmw we are heading to brunch to celebrate. 95. Happy Birthday Dad.


verb 1. speak or shout at length in a wild, impassioned way.
“she was still ranting on about the unfairness of it all”
synonyms: fulminate, go on, hold forth, vociferate, sound off, spout, pontificate, bluster, declaim.

Sometimes I like to speak at length in a wild, impassioned way. Sometimes I like to shout. I’ve found it makes people uncomfortable. Passion, unless you are a man, tends to evoke thoughts such as “I wonder if she’s off her meds?” Passionate women, you see, are off their rockers, or so the story goes. I believe this is a phenomenon occurring mostly in the USA. Women here don’t have the freedom to rant without the fear of being marked as nuts. And I hate to say other women, as much as men, avoid passionate women (unless they want to have sex with them).

Relax is a word I heard often growing up. That’s a trigger word for me.
Why is speaking passionately about a subject negative if you are a woman?

#rant #timeofthemonth#offhermeds #relax #chillout #womanissues#feminist #feminism #acceptance #strongwomen#strongwomenrock

Save the Bubble

Once upon a time there was a girl who lived in a beautiful transparent bubble that she loved very much. She smiled each morning upon waking, thrilled to see the sun shining, happy to hear the birds singing, comforted by the warmth of her cat curled at her feet. She knew she was fortunate to have a roof over her head, a comfortable bed to sleep in and a wonderful family who inspired her.

It wasn’t all a pool of pink flamingos, believe me, but she focused on the good. Why give that other thing power? You see, she loved her bubble and would do anything to protect it. She was confident she was doing her part to keep her bubble safe. What she didn’t know, when she woke early that morning–a day like any other day–was how wrong she’d been. She didn’t realize as she drank her happy juice, watching crows flood the trees above, that today she would have to do more.

Because, you see, today was the beginning of an uprising. A revolt inside her bubble that threatened her very existence. It wasn’t a new threat, albeit one that had been acceptable to float beside. But that morning, the toxin spread farther and faster than it had in its entire existence. Expanding before her very eyes. Growing arms and legs. Tentacles encircled. Burning red like fire. It was sucking out the air. Sure to suffocate them. She knew it was time. The madness must stop before her bubble turned so dark she was blind to the toxin’s effects.

She took the first step, hoping others would stand with her. A wall was what they needed. A protective, impenetrable human wall to stop this bacteria from reaching the core. They must rise up and push back to the edges of existence. Everyone suffered. Everyone sacrificed. Everyone focused on one common goal.

“Save the bubble!” they chanted, banding together, closing the divide. Then, the bacteria began to shrink right before their very eyes. And POOF! It was gone. Just like that. She looked up toward the bright blue sky, inhaled deeply and smiled. Once again, the beauty of her bubble restored. That day she realized that from now on she had to fight to protect her bubble and so did everyone else. And they did and they lived happily ever after. #savethebubble#huffpostgram #writersofig