Warm coffee 

There is an older gentleman who lives in my neighborhood. He is broad shouldered with fine features, and a stance of a hard-worked life. 

His truck is always clean and his driveway always plowed,

though I’ve not seen a soul to help him do either. 
He sits on summer days in a plastic chair at the head of his drive watching traffic.  

A broom or rake always resting across his knees.  

When I pass, I honk and he waves.  

In the evening his silhouette fills the long glass windows of his sunroom, 

backlit by what appears to be the fluid colors of a television. 
I do not know this gentleman, 

but he has become a part of my routine, 

to look for him sitting alone in his window, 

to honk for a wave as I pass, 

and to always ponder the possibility of bringing him a coffee and sitting awhile. 
I imagine my presence filling the empty chair across the table from him in the sunroom, 

or on the lawn cross-legged in the sun.
Just to know

Just to listen 

Just to chat
I never have.
That Cynical Cecil inside my mind does more than just discourage art. 

‘What would you say?’ It would ask.

‘How would you begin?’

‘How would he receive you — this young stranger with warm coffee and a smile…’ 
Lately-

the weather has been too harsh for sitting at the end of a drive, 

the wind too sharp for plastic chairs. 

I look anyway, 

waiting to honk at the silhouette in the sunroom,

sitting across from the empty chair that calls to me.
But-

the lights behind the long glass windows are too dark for traffic watching…

the vacant sunroom too sharp for me to imagine my seat in the chair.
I didn’t know

I didn’t listen

I didn’t chat 
My hand still hovers above my horn as I pass, 

waiting for that faint glow of a television, 

or perhaps that wave I have come to know… 
But mostly I wait for that gentleman 

with the broad shoulders 

and hard-worked stance.
Because now I know how I should have begun…
Simply, with a warm coffee and a smile.

Pinch me. 


Originally posted on Coralee Boileau 

                                   ***

There are certain moments wrapped infinitely in a web of overwhelming emotion, where time seems to stretch like elastic ribbons, distorted and unending then frozen in a moment of unrecognizable shock.
There are others that cause public spaces to fall away into a dark abyss of periphery. 
And there are some moments which are sharp, crystal clear moments of memory – like photographs. Unbelievable news delivered and frozen forever in time.
All extraordinary – more precisely perhaps, events of their own.
I had never felt them all at once ~ until recently 
Each one of those powerful and extraordinary emotions seemed to enter from the top of my head in a hurricane, tearing wildly through my entire body, pushing at the seams of my skin until the only words left floating in my mind were:
I. CANNOT. BREATHE.
Which was all my husband heard at the other end of the phone between my ragged breaths. 
Until I read him this:
“Coralee – 
You’re a strong writer and you’ve done a great job creating an interesting story with some very well-developed characters!

We’d like to offer you a contract . . . for publication.”
                                  !!!
Thank you – to all of you – for supporting me in this process and helping to keep my inner critic at bay ❤️💕 I can’t wait to officially share my words with you all. 
“Be fearless in the pursuit of what sets your soul on fire.” – Unknown 
#amwriting #Imaybedancinginmykitchen #amglowing #worldmeetSyniameetworld #writewithpassionfindyourinspiration #dreamcometrue #grateful #chaseyourdream #thereisnohashtagintheworldsparklyenoughtoexpressthisjoy #blydynsquarebooks

Write with passion.  Find your inspiration.

Coralee 

Real beauty two 

Seven years after creating a coffee table book titled Real Beauty in a word.  

(An idea I put together after being frustrated with the bombardment of media images my school age daughter was already being exposed to) 

I was inspired once again to create something for my pre teen daughter to hold on to as she moves into the tumultuous years of self and image.  

We donned tutu’s and high tops and toured the city.  Because we could.

But, more than beautiful pics from my friend and photographer Denise Picanco was born from this idea.  The true gift was a beautiful day of memories. 

You can check out the full post here

Happy Monday.

  

Putting my self out a little further.

Hello word press loves.  
Just wanted to share a little update. You can now find my blog on Facebook .
I’d love for you all to follow this link and continue to follow me.  
I am planning to still post here but perhaps not as frequently. 
Come along for the ride.  

Happy Friday! 
Write with passion.  Find your inspiration. 

C.

More than half my life

When I tell people that I am newly forty and have been married for nineteen years (together for more than half my life)

I always seem to get a surprised reaction.

Sometimes I like to chalk it up to my youthful beauty (insert belly laugh here) 

But I believe the reaction comes from a place of genuine shock and surprise. 

In a time where it is easier to throw out a broken thing rather than fix it -we are still standing.

My American grandfather always reminds us of this fact, I can almost hear him tell me 

Back in my day if something didn’t work right we didn’t shop for something new. We worked on and fixed what we already had, whether it was our lawn tractors or our relationships. 

In perhaps not those exact words.

For the record, sometimes it just doesn’t work. There are so many reasons for a relationship to fail.  Sometimes the tractor just needs to be junked. 

That’s ok too

My husband and I were young – in retrospect now that I have a preteen daughter and nieces and nephews who are now the age I was when I got married- maybe too young to get hitched.

I’ll admit – when I said ‘I do’, I didn’t fathom the depths of what for life really meant.

I have a memory of driving on our honeymoon and looking at each other in awe 

 “What did we just do?” 

Then laughing about the fact that when we turned 40 we’d already be married for 20 years. 

And now here we are. 

Please don’t get me wrong. It has not always been smooth sailing.  

There have been plenty of peaks and valleys on this road of ours. 

Lots of shit piles to plow through along the way. 

Lots of broken tractor parts in the fields of greener pastures. 

When we stumbled upon them (or sometimes fell right into them) 

We adjusted. 

We became expert shit shovelers.

We picked up the pieces of tractor and slowly learned how put it back together again. 

We leaned into each other instead of leaning away.  

The end result after our twenty years is not a shiny new top-of-the-line tractor. 

Nope

It’s a dirty, manure smeared, jolopy of a tractor, melded together with dented pieces, elbow grease and the labor of love. 

And I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Every marriage is a hard road. It’s easy to fall in love- the work comes in staying in love.  

“What did we just do?” I asked

“The rest of our lives?” He answered in his question.

(Insert belly laughs here again- because that was the only answer we had) 

Our twenty year love is a one with a depth that maybe no one will ever understand. 

But it doesn’t matter – because it’s ours.

And it runs better now then when we first drove away in it. 

Today – Tell your someone you love them.  

Not because the card companies tell you to buy flowers and give gifts this Feb 14.  But because every day you wake up is a gift. 

Even if your tractor looks a little run down and rusted. Or your road seems very long.  Or your shit shovel is broken – again.

This road is yours to live and understand and love despite what comes your way. 

And that alone deserves a prideful belly laugh. Or at the very least a clear path through the manure pile. 

Happy hearts and flowers day. 

Write with passion. Find your inspiration. 

C.