Mama Shujaa

Outside my window this Japanese elm is blossoming. A few years ago, its seed was planted, nurtured, and with time, it brought itself to fruition.  In nurturing our hopes and dreams, we often begin with just a seed. We grow and nurture our hopes, and sharing the fruit of our realized hopes and dreams is one of life's greatest joys.  This morning I am grateful for the many seeds I have planted in my writing.  As I tend to the soil, i.e. doing the inner work that will sustain growth and development, I look forward to sharing my realized fruits with you. I am tending the soil around this short short.  T he Shirt Waiting in The Closet The purple and white silk shirt in a plastic bag in my closet is waiting in perpetual uncertainty to be worn.  I bet I would have worn it with my pink platform shoes on December 24, 1979 when I squeezed through the bars of my bedroom window and jumped and landed on the flower bed. Safi's welcoming tongue on my bare ankles gave ...

There is a double joy in returning to this blog. First the joy of revisiting and celebrating my heretofore consistent postings.  Second the joy of clearing my voice again and getting back to telling stories. We are all hard wired to tell stories. More than once, I have summoned the energy to type a quick blog post, only to give myself an out, and procrastinate myself out of the 86,400 seconds that we have in one day.  And now that we are 'sheltering in place' I have more time to work on my mental muscle, to focus my creative energy. Besides, lately, my ambitious writing voice refuses to be silenced.  It keeps reminding me of the guests gathered under a beautiful tree where a bar has been set up, offering cocktails before the ceremony titled "Six Feet Closer To Each Other, Finally" kicks off. On the lawn are rows of green folding chairs and yonder, the sun is just beginning to sink into the horizon. The story of after we get through this - the whole world is hu...