Blue Eyed Indian
a story about searching for one’s lost tribe Wingapo Cheskchamay (“Welcome, All Friends” in Powhatan language) I share this excerpt from my book with you now because I have lately struck a chord in some of my posts….there are others besides me who do not feel that they fit in, and are looking for their tribe. Being “lost” is a kind of dramatic tale to weave…..it appeals to many. There are certainly lots of stories in history of “lost tribes” and their tragic search to come home. I am a prime example of thi

Telling the Truth
“When a woman tells the truth she is creating the possibility for more truth around her.”  -Adrienne Rich free bird There is something about having an audience that provokes an artist (of any kind, whether writer, musician, visual artist, actor, etc.) to rise to the occasion and express themselves.  I find this to be what will cause me to sit down and write, sometimes more than the need to express, itself.  But the need to express today is strong.

The Gift of Gratitude-from 2004
"Under the Wing", photo collage by Dascha Friedlova, 2009 (Author’s note: It is interesting to me to see how my thoughts and writing style have evolved over years of time.  I see that there is still some use to the writings below, so offer them for your perusal.  Perhaps an updated version will follow!)

My Own Space, part 2
The response I’ve received since publishing my last entry about my desire to have “my own room” has been so interesting, I felt it merited a little more airtime.  Some have written to accuse my husband of not wanting to share power (sorry I told on you in my blog, honey!), others have responded that they feel this same urge but won’t allow themselves to have it, and most others just say, don’t worry, it’s coming.  Mostly, my own response is what is of note. The night of the day of the aforementioned conversation, Pete and I talked again.  This time, I experienced him more receptive to my desire.  He listened attentively to my feelings, and reflected the

Woman, Interrupted…..My Own Space
Journaling this morning….11-19-09 I’m feeling sad lately not to have an office space that is my own room.  Licia’s space, where I can work on art and writing.  Crying about it this morning.  I am told this relates to being a teenager and not having much of my own, including my own room or private space.  Of course, Peter is worried about the money, and I think of this too.  I know my writing will not yield much in the money department for a while, but have been guided to