Stand Here by Guest Storyteller Stan Stewart

Dear Fred: I hear that you are using again. I’m not going to judge you for that. I know how difficult it is to keep addiction out of the driver’s seat.

I’m visiting your Dad. He tells me that your emails say that you don’t feel supported by him or the rest of your family. That’s what leads me to share this story with you.

Your Dad and I went for a walk yesterday morning, shared lots of stories from our lives, enjoyed the scenic trails, and had sweet silences. As we neared his place, I pointed out a chalk drawing on the street. He stepped on it without hesitation and said your name in a clear, quiet voice three times: “Frederick. Frederick. Frederick!"

The chalk drawing was a multi-colored sunburst with these words in the middle:

"STAND HERE AND THINK ABOUT SOMEONE YOU LOVE"

Since you were the literal loved-one in this story, I wanted you to know about it. I want to hear from you soon and know that I may not get what I want.

Sending love & blessings, George

Stan Stewart is also known as Muz4Now – with good reason: this multi-talented musician is a sort of “Jack of All Trades” when it comes to providing music for his clients.

Some words that matter more than words

The afternoon is heavy with the perfect kind of April damp that invites you to play outside for a while and then rush inside for popcorn and a movie in front of a blazing fire. The kids are tucked onto the couch with their grandparents and we're watching Inside Out. I wish I didn't have to have the laptop out, but I'm doing good work and everyone is safe and warm and feeling all the feelings. I have the room to hold space for this moment, the project at hand, and this...

Earlier today while I was on a quest for blog posts that combine story and the authors insights, I stopped over at Momastery.

There are blog posts that shine brilliantly as they tear up every script. They transcend mere bloggery and just... speak. To the heart and to the soul and to all the things that matter.

Read this one.

It breaks every form because it's written according to the laws of love and sorrow, connection and death. It's about the things we're most afraid of and the places we are most brave. It is about everything that quiet, non-eventful Saturdays seek to keep at bay because, as much as we want don't want to let the dark stuff in, "the hard" still part of our greater reality.

Valentine's Day With All the Hearts and None of the Flowers, #365StrongStories 45

The forecast was bad. Boston didn’t know it yet, but it was halfway through the snowiest winter on record and Valentine’s Day was bringing more than roses and the chocolate. We were hurtling along the MassPike right into the not-so-candy heart of a blizzard. A sane woman would have looked at her husband’s red nose and the trail of tissues left in his wake and said “I know how you're feeling, honey. It’s crazy to go. I’ll call them and tell them we just can’t make it.”

But I wasn’t going to make that call and he wasn’t going to ask me to. So we packed a car with gifts and a shovel and a couple kids and headed out to host a party.

I had no interest in weather or good sense or spousal compassion. My sister was home from the west coast and this was our one chance to throw her baby shower. I was inspired by sisterly devotion, of course, but I admit it: this upstate New York mama needed a night in a hotel in the heart of the city that she used to call home like a wino needs a merlot.

Now, Valentine’s Day stories are tricky. They depend so much on what the reader brings to February’s floweriest moment. Happy endings will either bolster your belief in the day’s inherent sweetness or nauseate you if you refuse to be one of Cupid’s minions. By the same token, if our story concluded with us sleeping at a Motel 6 in Worcester, you could see it as great tragedy or a poetic end to a day that needs to be reclaimed from Hallmark’s devilish expectations.

In reality, the party was lovely and being snowed in at the Prudential Center was great fun. The kids lying between us, we fell asleep watching Titanic and woke to marvel at the drifts of snow twenty feet high.

The next day, we cruised home on bright black pavement just as the last flakes were falling. I didn’t get a bouquet and I doubt I got a card, but it was the best Valentine’s Day in memory.