//percolate.blogtalkradio.com/offsiteplayer?hostId=790983&episodeId=10265659“>http:////percolate.blogtalkradio.com/offsiteplayer?hostId=790983&episodeId=10265659
Ceterum censeo MAGA esse delendam.
The opinions expressed are those of the author. You go get your own opinions.
Kate Greenough's daily drawings
Apprenez les langues !
Not your third grade paper mache
Portrait Art and Paintings by Jon Amdall
Books, papers and blogs by Joanna Moncrieff
"While I breathe, I hope"
My Life After Narcissistic Abuse
An intellectual, emotional and spiritual spittoon.
The latest news on WordPress.com and the WordPress community.
Everything Matters
Ceterum censeo MAGA esse delendam.
The opinions expressed are those of the author. You go get your own opinions.
Kate Greenough's daily drawings
Apprenez les langues !
Not your third grade paper mache
Portrait Art and Paintings by Jon Amdall
Books, papers and blogs by Joanna Moncrieff
"While I breathe, I hope"
My Life After Narcissistic Abuse
An intellectual, emotional and spiritual spittoon.
The latest news on WordPress.com and the WordPress community.
Everything Matters
Pammy, I have listened to almost all of this interview and so many feelings I don’t know what to say, do or write. I am repulsed, speechless some, proud of you and honoured by our friendship
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Jeff i am imoressed by your impulse of “repair”. I hope to post a story about something very similar and healing that i also did recently.
Cheers
Pam
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Thank you!!!
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in the late 60s, early 70s, you could buy these ceramic mold dolls, like the smiley-boy dolls . . . well, we had one in my family growing up, a bust of a man and a woman, stretched out, sort of, Easter Island style, and we kids bought it for my folks, Christmas 1970, 71, 72, somewhere in there, because the man looked like Dad, his crew cut, the high cheekbones. Well, that little statue has come to me since my parents’ and brothers’ passing, and I set it up to destroy it, put it right beside the light-switch in my basement suite here, and sure enough, middle of the night, I crashed it to the floor. In my first impulse – fuck it, lose it, along with everything else – I threw it in the trash, but a day or two later, I dug it out again, with exactly that plan, to glue it back together with something pretty, try to not only get it back but improve it – certainly the symbolism of it, for me and my family, will have been improved.
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the Christmas poem is terrific, huh?
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