Writings by Diane

I have noticed lately I have picked up a new interest: hand made soaps. There are two incidences that introduced me to this world. The first incidence was perusing YouTube and stopping at a thumbnail of a soap maker's reaction video. I clicked on it and enjoyed the humorous take of the soap maker. She was down to earth, spunky and informative at the same time. Then I clicked on her channel and was intrigued by the vibrant colors and decadent designs. It was a mix of being soothing and fun.  The second incident was a feed from a soap company that was on my Facebook page.  Their glorious photograph of a swirling black raspberry hand made soap defied what I thought soap could be. If I didn't know any better, I would have sworn it was a dessert. My mother would at times describe colors as being yummy and this soap fit it to a T.  What is it about this mundane item like a soap bar?   I wonder if it has to do with seeing all of the news about the importance of hand washing that has

A few weeks ago, I was sitting in my car outside of the hospital playing solitaire on my cell phone, waiting for my husband to receive some stitches. Typically, I would be back with him lending at least moral support. Now with COVID-19 precautions, the new normal required me to remain in the car. I must admit, I felt a bit annoyed, even though  it was a routine procedure and my absence was minuscule.   As I looked out the windshield, I reflected how I never thought I would live to see things like this happening--the reports of new cases, death tolls rising. I was amazed that my regiment for going out was donning a mask and keeping a healthy supply of hand sanitizer. This train of thought put me in an upset mood.  Then, my gaze fell upon a heavily pregnant woman walking along the path on her way to the hospital. The sight of her brought back memories of when I was pregnant. I remember how our friends and family were able to visit the hospital before the actual birth and how my husband n

One morning, I was cutting up radishes and I was suddenly reminded of my dog Trisha. Trisha was a Labrador Shar Pei that we lovingly called a LaPei.  When I would be prepping radishes, she would sit by my side, and look up at me with her limpid brown eyes. I couldn't resist and would toss her at least one radish.  She would chew it up and would even stick around for the wispy roots and short green stocks. With Trisha around, there was no waste of this vegetable. Sadly, she crossed the rainbow bridge over a year ago. I thought if I evoked even the tiniest of memories, I would immediately miss her  and my eyes would fill with jagged tears. I feared remembering Trisha would conjure up the images of the last days of her life, where her black fur was tinged with white and arthritis had changed her gait to a painful hobble.  However, as I stood in the kitchen, this memory washed over me in a comforting warmth.  My vision became blurry from tears, but these tears didn't sting. I was

A few years ago, I wrote a blog about my hobby of growing roses. I correlated  pruning roses is like shedding old habits. I am adding an update to this example. We removed a few of our rose bushes a couple of seasons ago due to what we thought was weed rot.  I was sadly disappointed when I saw they were withering. Seeing the empty bed of dirt was painful. When the next spring arrived, we were surprised that a few strong rose vines started to grow again. This spring, they have graduated to rose bushes, with new buds starting to blossom. I was amazed and glad about their return.  As I write about this experience, I am struck that it is a literal example of my writings. I stopped writing in my blog a few years back. Life was happening, many new directions that I was extremely grateful for and wanted to give them my utmost attention. Now that these paths are secure, I had some random blog thoughts that popped into my head. However, I was gripped with some trepidation to go back to  my o