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When you love you wish to do things for. You wish to sacrifice for. You wish to serve.” ~ Ernest Hemingway

In my hometown right now, they are battening themselves down in anticipation of Hurricane Florence. I am concerned for my friends and loved ones. It could be bad. It could be worse than that. It could veer away and be little more than a nuisance.
But it could be bad.

I see on the social media many people offering their homes, couches, and space for refugees of the storm. Safe havens for those in need. Offering their open arms and their pantries for those damaged or stranded by the storm.

Open arms. Open hearts. Empathy, sacrifice, and serving those in need out of pure love for fellow humans.

Remember when our country used to have that same attitude?

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I Hope …

By Selwa Lukoskie

Verse 1:
I may not know exactly where this road is taking me,
But I know that I’m exactly right where I’m supposed to be.
The journey is long, full of joy and pain,
But as long as you’re smiling, I’ll stand in the rain.

I’ve got nothing left to give
Other than love.
But the funny thing about that is
Love is everything.

I hope there is love where you are… (4x)

Verse 2:
I may be a liar full of tricks but if you’ll open up your eyes,
You will see nothing but the truth behind all of my lies.
I broke every rule, and I bore every boulder,
And I carried the weight of the world on my shoulders.


Anyone can wave a wand and pull a rabbit out of a hat
And call it art, but without heart, you’ve got nothing but illusion

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A Place Reserved

A Place Reserved

There are walks We will never take.

Places We’ll never see together .

Adventures We will never share.

Stories We will never create.

Conversations, never born.

I remember them all.

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My First Book

Across the Table: Tales and Inspirations from a traveling #cardmonkey.

Now available at Lulu.

Thank you for your support, I hope you enjoy it.


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About an Appeal.

I write from the heart and edit through my head. Sometimes I don’t edit, because the feelings at the time are raw and real and I write because I am a writer. This is my open letter to whoever finds it enjoyable or helpful to read.

It’s also not here to coerce or manipulate anyone. Some close friends who love me gently pointed out that the previous entry might be read as such. Like I was trying to guilt someone into contacting me. And this simply isn’t so. Yes, it was emotional and yes, it was honest. I posted it as a blog because they (some of them) have me blocked on social media. I had hopes they would find it, or a mutual friend would point it out.

It was to them, and I found it was cathartic, once I started typing.

I write my feelings. There’s no other hidden agenda.

The main point I wanted to come from the post is: my door is open.

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An Appeal.

To my children: I love you.

I’ve tried to write this often, but the time is now. This is my heart. Let me be clear.

I was there the moment each of you were born. Mine were the first hands that held you. I was the very first to see your faces. I provided for you, there was always a roof over your head, and food on the table, and clothes for you to wear. I purchased instruments and lessons and negotiated gigs and opportunities, because i believe in you and the arts you embrace. I remain your biggest fan. I sacrificed for you, turned down shows that would keep me away too long. I cherished watching you grow and learn … create and laugh and give laughter. We threw parties and a wedding that were epic in our celebration of life and love and each other. People were jealous of the overwhelming love that was in our house. You had two loving, caring parents who were always there for you, growing up.

Yes, I was away and often, living on my stage, pursuing my dream, and doing what my hands were meant to do. But I called and texted and made sure you knew that, wherever I was, I was loving you and thinking of you. I wanted to show you by example that dreams could be won, obstacles could be overcome, and love wins. We celebrated together, lifted each other when we needed … we were a House O’ Love.

Yes, at times I was an absolutely horrible husband. Yes, I failed you all at times as a father. I’m human, and when i make mistakes, they are usually as large as my triumphs.

I admire that you stand up for the person you love against what you perceive to be an egregious wrongdoing. I do – we taught you to stand in the gap for those you love. We taught you to stand up for anyone that needs and deserves defending, and I am truly proud of you for doing what you think is right and so adamantly. I cannot fault you for that.

Some of you have not spoken to me in over two years. That’s simply heartbreaking. Even if I am guilty of everything I’ve been accused of, even if …
Am I really unforgivable? Does it erase over two decades of the love we grew?

You will always be my children, and I will always love you, no matter what. That isn’t negotiable and will not change. I’ll be here for the rest of my life, waiting for you to get in touch. But I won’t keep begging you. That does none of us any good. So.

You can hold your grudge and be angry, and i will understand your anger and deal with the silence. You can continue to keep me out of your lives, and I will watch from over here and pray for you, and cheer for you. You can hold me at arms length and build your walls higher.

… or you could Love.

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For The Fallen

Death is nothing at all, I have only slipped away into the next room.
I am I, and you are you.
Whatever we were to each other, that we still are.
Call me by my old familiar name, speak to me in the easy way which you always used, put no difference in your tone, wear no forced air of solemnity or sorrow.
Laugh as we always laughed at the little jokes we shared together.
Let my name ever be the household word that it always was.
Let it be spoken without effect, without the trace of a shadow on it.
Life means all that it ever meant.
It is the same as it ever was.
There is unbroken continuity.
Why should I be out of mind because I am out of sight?

 I am waiting for you, for an interval, somewhere very near, just around the corner.
All is well

Henry Scott Holland



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