My dog, Minnie, celebrated her birthday this Sunday. She turned 3 and has been a source of joy and laughter every day she’s been in our lives. So, I sat at my table and decided to write her a poem.
Now, at first, I felt a little silly about the whole thing. She’s a dog (duh), can’t read (double duh!), and frankly, didn’t I have better things to do?Continue reading“Just a dog.”
He was an autistic 8-year-old; not fond of animals. She was a feisty corgi puppy, determined to bite everyone in her path.
He screamed. She herded. He cried. She cocked her head and squeaked. But nevertheless she persisted.Continue reading“Nevertheless she persisted – a true story.”
(Photo by Sirisvisual on Unsplash)
Are we worthy because we’re famous? Rich and successful? Do we feel special because we’re good-looking or well dressed? On days we’ve “contributed,” do we sleep better?
And when we come across someone else, how do we determine their worth?Continue reading“Are we worthy?”
(Photo by Kaleidico on Unsplash )
These past few years, I’ve learned a lot about writing from an assortment of sources. The art of effortless storytelling. How to come up with pithy pieces. Which writing faux pas are frowned upon and which are forgiven. I’d like to think I’ve absorbed some of this knowledge, but these days my brain feels like grandma’s old sieve, so those lessons aren’t always reflected in my writing.Continue reading“I can’t and I won’t.”
When I was 5 years old, my Amma read me this magical story. It was from an expensive book with big, chunky pages — part of a larger collection of fairy tales. I remember snuggling in bed on warm summer nights and asking for the same book over and over again. The story of Cinderella and her evil stepsisters. Amma read in her lilting voice, and my eyes would grow wider as she approached my favorite part. “Then the fairy godmother waved her wand and poof! A pair of slippers appeared on Cinderella’s feet. Beautiful, dainty glass slippers,” she’d finish with a flourish. I always made her go back and read that line, after which I would sigh with pleasure and let the story lull me to sleep.Continue reading“Warm, fluffy moccasins.”
August is a busy month at casa de Pavi. We have an anniversary, half a dozen birthdays, and the official start of school. I turn 39 on the 5th, which I’m thinking big deal, except it also feels like a bit of a damp squib. Continue reading“39”
So I chanced upon a little creative writing activity the other day. I’d been trawling Reddit for inspiration, and I found this nifty exercise hidden in the comments. The whole thing has apparently been designed to shake you out of your funk, and while I couldn’t make sense of the exact logic, a hundred thousand Redditors swore by it.
Noise. So much of it above, below, and around me. I’ve lived in California for close to 16 years now, and the cacophony never ends.
“You’re sure the return policy is 30 days?”
The lady behind the counter nods at me.
“And I just need to get the item and the receipt?”Continue reading“Lisps, tics and other quirks.”
(Photo by Japheth Mast on Unsplash)
My nephew is a firecracker. And not the sedate, sizzling kind. No, he’s the kind who comes wrapped in a tight, trim package, sheathed in fancy plastic and promising simple, wholesome fun for the whole family. He soaks in all the energy around him and lights up like a firefly in the twilight. You think he’ll crackle merrily, maybe even go off with an adorable pop, so you step in close to watch the fun.Continue reading“Firecracker.”
