Kristine E. Brickey

It's been over a decade, over eleven years, over eleven years one month and days. Today, one month from what should have been his twenty-eighth birthday, I sat still and watched the latest Pink documentary. To be clear, I fckn love Pink. Her music helps me manage, helps me survive, and most importantly, helps me release the pressure valve when I least realize it needs releasing. I was prepared to love the doc, to learn more about her recent tour and her beautiful family. I figured there would be tears. However, completely unprepared for feeling all the feels that watching 'All I know so far' tore from me. SO much love. Not just the love of music and performing, but love at so many levels. The family she's built from years of performing with the same people. The family she's built with her husband, son, and daughter. Seeing the reactions of fans as Pink performed, how she embraces all people and draws emotions from so many. Yeah, all those lovely bits had me tearing ...

     I gave everyone fair warning, not out of self-pity or loathing, but because I felt they needed to understand, to have an ‘out’ if you will, an acceptable path to walk away from my crazy, my grief, my dysfunctional manner of functioning after my mother’s nightmare became reality.      I watched their faces upon hearing my words: Listen, I get it. I’m a lot right now. I’m going to be a lot for a while, possibly, for a long while. If you can’t handle me, I get it, no blame, no worries, no explanations necessary.                   I watched as they heard my offer, as to a person, each individual scoffed or waved away my words, as they assured me of their steadfastness.               I have repeated my offer over the years, and their reactions never change; but, there are fewer people to hear it, as I have watched some skulk away...

It had been an overwhelming, happy tear inducing, exhausting and exhilarating five days at High Knob Campground in southern Illinois’s Shawnee National Forest. Riding Cinder in extreme, challenging terrain, sharing adventures with my daughter on horseback for the first time in five plus years, and being awed on a daily basis by the beauty of the area should have prepared me for Rim Rock’s effects. Yet, there I was again, surrounded by a view from high above the clouds, mouth agape in wonder.  The flat stone walking path had been built in 1962 by the YACC’s and our group of four had made it about halfway around the quarter mile path without too much difficulty, teasing each other about the downhill slope and what that meant for our legs and lungs during the final portion of the trek. Seemingly out of nowhere, a stairway appeared to the left of the wooden observation deck. Clearly not built half a century ago, the treated lumber rails and steps led sharply downward where they disappe...

I am exhausted, but in the best possible way and for the best possible reasons. Only one month ago tomorrow, I brought home an eleven year old 14h shiny chestnut Mustang mare who was only handled since last fall by Naomi Rutter via Reality's Chance Rescue & Sanctuary. Green, green, green as far as trail riding. I let her settle in for a week, and then rode her out at Waterloo the first Sunday I had her and again the following Saturday.  At the 3 week mark of our relationship, we hauled down to High Knob Campground deep in Shawnee National Forest in southern Illinois. For Cinder's 3rd trail ride (ever, of her life), we rode over 8 miles in the challenging terrain; the next day was 9+; the next nearly 14 miles. We took Thursday off, because we BOTH needed a rest! Friday we rode almost 9 miles with my daughter, Katie, led once again by the incredible Tali. Saturday I chose not to ride, to let Cinder rest her unshod hooves and body for the eight hour haul home yesterday. When I...

Yesterday, as I do on most Thursday mornings, I headed to Ionia's Sozo Coffee Roasting to write with MMWG. During these mornings we share out any 'homework' prompt creations and then spend time receiving prompts, writing, and sharing out with the group if we so choose. There is always powerful writing, and yesterday was no exception. When this first was read, however, it seeped into my heart and I asked to share it here, with all of you. Please enjoy this magical story written by a talented writer and friend, Jim Kinsey, and inspired by 3 prompts:  No one expected the giraffe barn to catch on fire  I am suddenly jolted awake! You see, long ago…                                                        JOLTED A LONG TIME AGO! An azure blue colored dome arched over Mama Gator’s Bayou and its sand spit village of the same name.  Mama G, osc...

I feel the tension leaving her body as the morning writing progresses.  To others, it may seem she sits quietly; yet, I know that on the inside, there is only movement.  Her pen tap, tap, taps.  Blue lines on white paper remain word free, but the percolator is brewing. In my periphery, her fingers begin moving upon phone keys, words are written, ideas captured, no matter or not if they are shared out loud today. On the drive home, she tells me how much these days help, how as each person reads, it is as if she enters a different room where words dangle from the ceilings; and I am blown away by the beauty of the images she paints for me. I am pulled into her mind. I am inside that room, dangling words overhead, moving gently in the breeze of our presence. She is unaware of her brilliance, unable to see how her light shines brightly and adds to so many lives.  So I will keep reminding her, reinforcing her strengths, refreshing the pride I feel as she fights her way thr...

     Everyone seems to know everyone else and their business. Landmarks like: across from the old white silo, just past the big white barn that got moved, and you know, where that field fire burned recently are used and recognized. Teaching all thirty years in the same town, eventually having former students sitting across from me at parent teacher conferences, their son or daughter, now my student beside them…well, it makes for a unique, once in a lifetime sense of belonging.        I’ve lived in “The Old Lovette” homestead now coming on fourteen years. It’s longer than I have ever lived in one place my entire life. In our little town, when my husband and I walk about during the much loved yearly festivals, my name is called out as we pass by folks of all ages. One year, as we went into the fair on a hot summer evening, Chad straightened his fancy tuxedo t-shirt (thanks, Katie) and announced he was ready to fight off my paparazzi. Before my dismissive...