Libby Powell

hero (February 20, 2024)

I have often tried these last several months to find words to write about Grandpa Powell. Tried and given up. Words don’t come easily to me now, at least not about the memories or the people who matter most to me.

It’s six months and a day since Grandpa passed; almost exactly two and a half years since Grandma, his wife, passed in June of 2022.

I have written nothing new since his death. The visit home this Christmas has rekindled the desire to capture the memories again, and I haven’t given up entirely. But I have not found the words yet.

be still – a poem

Listen.

Hear the clock ticking
the subtle roar of the air conditioning,
the growl of the dishwasher,
my laptop exhaling and the
faint sound of typing from the back room.

Judith – a memoir

Hi, friends. It’s been too long and the fault’s all mine. I’ve written and shared with a few close to me, but I want to find the courage to start sharing with you again.

Last semester I took a class called Journal and Autobiographical Writing (which could more aptly be called Memoir Writing). It forced me to process my life and memories—why I am the way I am and the people who’ve touched me in big and small ways. There were some sweet moments, some painful ones, even some that were eye-opening. And I discovered a form of writing that feels like home to me. So humor me as I’ve chosen to share one of the early pieces of that journey with you.

And thank you more than words can say for sticking with me through these silent months.

in which the journey continues (after a long silence)

Hey friends, it’s good to be with you again.

Nearly five months have passed since my last post in October… too long, yet it seems like just yesterday. No, nothing drastic happened. Just life. And sometimes, life happens in a way that makes it hard to keep up with everything I want to do.

tradeoffs, the bridge of little Jeremy, & a blogiversary

The nipping wind and my chilly toes every morning testify that November is almost here. It’s not a bad realization. We’re over half-way through the semester and each week that passes is one more that brings me closer to being home. There’s one thing about this fall, though, that keeps putting me off. There are no colorful leaves in SoCal. No maples bursting into flame, no vibrant trees along the lane. It’s like summer all over again, but draftier.