TJ White Writes

*** A short time ago, I started this other blog called The Upside of Down. I intended on writing about all the things in my life that have and will go wrong. After some consideration I have decided I'd much rather stick to one blog cause, let's be honest, I don't really have time for two. This blog, T.J. White Writes, allows me the freedom of writing what I wish. Although I am unsure as to the audience this will draw, I am sure that it will provide the outlet I need, regardless of readership. This is an exert from my previous blog. I will not be elaborating on this post.  *** I was born a Murphy. I am certain this imposed an automatic curse upon my very soul, despite the fact that I did not remain a Murphy for very long. My paternal donor hit the long and winding road, or should I say the bright blue skies, for his idea of greener pastures and better beer back in England when I was just two years old. It wasn't long before the Murphy name went with him. ...

*** So, I suppose I should explain myself... This blog stems from some work I have done over the past 4 or 5 years. I was wandering around Chapters one day and stumbled across a book called "Old Friend From Far Away: The Practice of Writing Memoir" by Natalie Goldberg. Although at first glance this book appears to be a novel, it is not. Instead each page walks the reader/writer through the business of writing your memories. It is an entire book devoted to unearthing, uncovering the essence of you. I have been slowly working through these exercises over the years and kept my musings tucked away until now. Each blog post is the result of a ten minute exercise. Ten minutes. That's it that's all. So, although these entries are far from perfect, they do offer you some insight into my somewhat chaotic brain.  With all this said and so many hours spent plunking away at a keyboard putting words to thoughts and letters to paper,  I do encourage anyone w...

I Can't Go Yet I will miss the smell of my daughter’s hair,     And the way she always smells like washing powder and little girl fun. I will miss my son's squeezes,     And the way he curls in my lap and wraps his arms around my neck like he'll never let me go.  I will miss the feel of cold cotton sheets     When I climb in to bed and the way the wind blows the curtains in the bedroom.  I will miss the creek of the hardwood floors in the hall      And the sound of closing doors. I will miss hearing my children       Call out 'Mommy' and the way they pout when they start to cry.  I will miss the taste of peanut butter     And the way it sticks to the roof of my mouth. I will miss hearing the birds sing     And the feel of wet grass under my feet.  I will miss the way the rain sounds on my roof     And the way it trickles down the s...