Dear Julia Roberts:

You and I met in 1988 when I saw you as an up-and-coming actress in a film called Mystic Pizza. I didn’t really know you, but I was intrigued by the film’s name; I grew up less than fifty miles from that little pizza place in Mystic, Connecticut. My husband used to ride his bike past the real Mystic Pizza all the time. His grandmother lived near there.
I remember watching that film, seeing a young actress with a certain twinkle in her eye thinking, boy she’s going to go far. And you did.

Pretty Woman is one of my all-time favorite movies. I used to binge watch it repeatedly, watching that Cinderella story end like every young girl thought it should; with the guy getting the girl and the girl getting the guy. Of course, having Richard Gere be the guy didn’t hurt, but that’s another letter.

After that, there was no stopping you. Every film you made, to me, was a hit. Watching you play different women, some strong, some not so strong, helped me believe I could do whatever I wanted with my life. And I did.

I lived vicariously through your characters. Notting Hill and Runaway Bride were two more of my favorites. But when you portrayed Erin Brockovich in 2000, I think that was one of your best films. It allowed me to see a more serious side of you as a strong woman with a passion for the underdog. Talk about perfection; you played it well.

As time went on you continued to impress. Taking time to have and raise a family, immersing yourself in philanthropic ventures, and speaking out about causes that are near and dear to your heart. I’ve really enjoyed watching blossom into a beautiful, passionate and talented woman that I’ve come to admire.

I know we’ve never met, and likely never will. But I wanted to know that you’ve made an impact on my life. And for that I’ll be grateful forever.

Dear Betty Crocker: (My mother’s name is Betty)

I met you at an early age. You were in my mother’s kitchen long before I was born, but you were not there alone. Another woman, Fannie Farmer, graced my mother’s kitchen in her small cookbook collection.

Fannie was much older than you. Her original cookbook was published before 1896 for the Boston Cooking School. The book I inherited from my mother was last copyrighted by Wilma Lord Perkins in 1959. The binding is compromised, the cover torn, but the pages are intact, although stained from years of use.

I remember my mother using both cookbooks often. By nature, she was not a good cook. She stayed in a lane of soups and stews that left a lot of room for error without being inedible. Although, there were times when she concocted creations that left much to be desired. Like the time she “emptied the refrigerator” and decided to put shrimp cocktail sauce into my father’s homemade Sicilian gravy. Horseradish, an ingredient in cocktail sauce, gets hotter when cooked. This made the gravy so spicy it was not fit to eat for young children with delicate palates. Epic fail.

You and Fannie spent years trying to teach my mother to cook. While there were glimmers of success throughout the years, ultimately she would not master the craft.

A tradition in our family, as in many families, was that my mother would cook our favorite meal for our birthday. One of my last birthdays before she died, my mother made one of my favorite meals: galumpkis (polish cabbage rolls). She made them in the crockpot (stew-like meal) and served them over egg noodles. It was one of those comfort foods from my childhood.

The last time she made them something went terribly wrong. They were dry and burnt and not at all what I remembered from my childhood. Turns out she had forgotten to add the liquid ingredients to the crock pot. I think that was the last time she cooked for me. From there I would bring ingredients to my parent’s home on my day off and cook for them. It worked out better that way.

Betty, I gave you a bad wrap for a while. Pictures of a perfectly coiffed woman in a red dress with a white collar was what I remembered. Back in the day, there wasn’t all the information there is today, so I drew my own conclusion of who Betty Crocker was. For me, the stigma of being a stay-at-home mom cooking cobblers and pies was not what I was in for.

When I received my own copy of your cookbook for a bridal gift, I smiled the obligatory smile, feeling like I was pigeonholed into being the perfect wife. But as time went on, I learned that I needed you. My mother was not a great example and taught me little about cooking with fresh ingredients from scratch. Now I’ll admit I’ve had my fair share of mistakes, none of which I can blame on you or Fannie. Like the time I left chicken quarters on the grill unattended on low for over 30 minutes. By the time I got back to them, they were so dry that they were more like chicken dust than chicken quarters.

Or the time I made nacho pasta out of a can of nacho dip I bought to get us through a storm. Those who know me know I don’t eat much canned anything, but I don’t like to waste food either. This was my way of using something instead of throwing it away (boy, wonder where that came from).
My husband and son, who tasted it and refused to eat it, still kid me to this day. When I ask what they want for dinner, their response is anything but nacho pasta.

Betty, I am honored to call you friend, and Fannie too, but now you sit at the table with the likes of Ina Garten, Giada DeLaurentis, Joanna Gaines, and Paula Deen, just to name a few. These ladies are included in my collection of over fifty cookbooks written by various chefs, both men and women. I believe you paved the way for their success.

In closing, I’d like to thank you and Fannie for laying the foundation for woman, and men, to create an entire industry around feeding people delicious food to fill our bodies and our souls. Bon appetite (let us not forget Julia Child).

When I woke up this morning
I didn’t know
What I would come home to.
Where did you go?
There wasn’t a warning
Now we’re all in mourning
Wond’ring if our time was well spent.

Oh brother dearly departed of mine
Why did you leave
Without saying good night?
I was sleeping soundly
When I woke up to a scream
That I swear was you saying goodbye.

As the time passes
We all start to heal.
Except for one brother
Who just couldn’t deal.
Several years later
All that reckless behavior
Just got him a grave next to yours.

Oh brothers dearly departed of mine
Why did you leave
Without saying good night?
I was sleeping soundly
When I woke up to a scream
That I swear was you saying goodbye.

Now there’s only one brother
Left standing with me.
I thought things were fine
Until he tried to leave.
In sharing this truth,
Though closer in youth,
I thought that our time was well spent

Oh brother nearly departed of mine,
Why would you leave
Without saying goodbye?
I thought that only you
Could understand what I’ve been through,
So at least it would be you
To say goodbye.

Author’s Note:
I debated whether or not I wanted to share this with the world. It’s been a part of me for 20 years. It’s one of the most vulnerable parts of me and putting that on the internet for the world to see is intimidating, even as someone who sees vulnerability as strength rather than weakness.

I wrote that second verse when I was 15 trying to make a song out of it, but more words never came no matter how hard I tried. As the inspiration came though me to write the rest this month, I realize now that I had more life to live before it could truly come to life. It needed to be on the back burner all this time to find the full depth of this feeling I will always carry with me.

I don’t know if I’ll ever try to turn this into a song like the original intent. Just writing that last verse, saying it all out loud, and writing this post have brought me to tears more than once. But it felt right to at least bring it to life as is because Jeremiah would be turning 40 tomorrow and that’s the kind of celebration you do big gestures for, right?

25 years without him, 9 years without Adam, 3 years since other things. This kind of healing doesn’t happen without scars. I am the happiest and healthiest I’ve ever been in my life. These feelings still creep in now and again. It doesn’t make me any less happy and healthy, it’s just a small price tag to pay for the love I still carry.

Dear Wynonna Judd:

You and I could be sisters, I would be the older one. I’ve listened to you and your mom for years. Your angelic voices heard on the airwaves of country music. With hits like Why Not Me (1984), Grandpa (1985) and Love Can Build A Bridge (1990), you were always on my radio.

Then when your mom died in 2022, I felt I’d lost something too. But my loss of hearing your mom’s beautiful voice was nothing compared to your loss of a mother and a life long singing partner. I’m sure the whole is deep, and still healing. I lost my mom in 2016 and there are still raw spots in my heart.

In 1993 you released Only Love, your second single. Your voice is so pure and vulnerable. That song moved me. That time in my life with a bit of a fog. My kids were both born and I realized that my marriage was simply my unrealistic fairy tale.

Only Love allowed me sail away from my reality to an island of green and be free. I could feel my feet on solid ground even with the waves coming crashing down. That song was my source of strength during a turbulent time. I hung on your every word.

I must go for now, knowing I can put my trust in just one thing, for me it’s God and his love. I hope you have a blessed day; one filled with only love.

Dear Sara Evans:

In 2005 I went through a nasty divorce after 20+ years of marriage. The man I married, had two children with, turned in a monster, turning my kids against me, lying to close friends causing a wedge that would never be released.

The scars of that marriage ran deep. To naively love someone for over two decades, left raw emotions; some of which may never heal.

Fast forward to 2010, when I heard your song A Little Bit Stronger, the true healing began. God sent you to me through my radio. As I listened for the first time, I sobbed uncontrollably. You wrote my anthem song.

Since that time, you have been by my side like a best friend. Since I first heard it, that song has been part of my music library. When I need a little boost, there you are to remind me that each day I am a little bit stronger.

Last weekend my husband attended your concert in Hiawassee GA. I worked early that day, so I was tired, but I had to stay. I loved listening to your new songs are well as your past hits. But your last song was the one I’d come to here.

Sara, I can tell you that, although I am in a good marriage now, and at a good place in my life. That song brought me to tears, and I could feel your words infusing me with strength.

I’ve got to close for now, I’m busy today, getting stronger. Thank you for being a source of strength even on my weakest days.

My grandfather Dr.Leroy Pike taught me Many things and one was too NEVER GIVE UP, If I ever needed help with a project, he didn’t care he was there, and I ALWAYS WON, with his help,I was in highschool and my grandfather saw my classes I was taking for the following year and he KNEW I was better than that, so he went and challenged me and I was in highschool only 3 years, My senior semester, we got word he had Cancer, WOW, I remember hearing him cry and I knew Real Superheroes cried, he got to see me graduate Highschool and was at my wedding, but sadly 3 years later on that very day, he would pass away, ITS BEEN 16 years and there’s NOT A DAY goes by I don’t think of him.God knew I only needed 1 Grandfather and HE WAS and still is My Superhero

A symbol of love , a reminder of warring bloodshed,
Such is the dichotomy
That lies in the power of the color red.

Red is willpower, the mind of “She”

She who is openly strong
She who is secretly kind.
Cheering from the front
But lingering 2 steps behind.

Red is bold, the exclusivity of “She”
She who is reclusive
A rare treasure to find.

Red is danger, the strength of “She”
Red is this fiery woman
The little girl has dared one day to be.

Red is desire, the passion of “She”
A shade depicting her struggles,
A sign of her unwavering, rebellious thought.
Color of the scars from all the battles she fought.

When she needed to stand out, it was her color of choice,
The color of celebration,
Color of her freedom, her will, her voice.

My shadow looked at me and said:

“Live.
I am gone and there is nothing you can do about that.

No matter how many tears you shed
lingering on pages bleeding in forbidden ink,
you cannot bring me back.

My time here is done and I have ascended
into the graceful arms of the great goddess above

but you…
you are still human,
so act like it.

allow yourself to feel the full spectrum of human emotions
without letting shame and guilt beat the humanity out of you.

you are allowed to be broken
you are allowed to be sad
you are allowed to be happy
you are allowed to feel it all.

you are allowed to be confused
and wonder why the same
patterns keep showing up in
a different hue
(until you’re ready to do something about it.)

You are human.

Abandon your fear of fear
and accept that abandonment
fucking sucks.
But please understand,
that I am so sorry for abandoning you.
it was the last thing I ever wanted
but you know that we are not the ones in control

Accept that more lies in between
the lines than your eyes can see
and that’s okay.

Chase after your dreams of being
a wanderlust,
and getting drunk on a flight
every time your soul attends its own funeral.
Because unlike me,
you are still human.
and you still have so much life to live.

I’ll always be with you.
I’ll always love you.
I’ll always be present in your poetry
cheering you on along the way.
patiently waiting for you
to wake up to everything I’ve
dreamed and set in place
for you to achieve for b o t h of us.

Our string may be invisible,
But it is still intact & attached to the cloud I float upon.
the one you only see in your dreams
where the moon is playing tricks
with the shadows.

Death is nothing but the entity needed to bring us closer.
so place, do not carry sorrow with my name.

Instead let genuine kindness
blossom in my likeness.
Show them that the whims
of performative niceness
are shallow because
kindness has no malice
or hidden intent
it exists because it is.

And I existed until I didn’t.

But guess what,
you still do!!!
So please
continue on
because
I love you.
and you deserve to be truly,
genuinely,
unapologetically
happy, too 🙂

Jae,
Two years came too soon and on this day, I choose to honor you.

I started as a Seed just as those did in the Field before me;
During my time in the Womb of THE GREAT MOTHER-our MOTHER,MOTHER EARTH-I’ve witnessed The Beauty of Spring;

The Field in Bloom with many shades of gold;
Soon I would be a part of The Ballet the Sunflowers did as they danced in The Breeze of The Spring;

And then I came along;
My Roots were well Grounded and yet I struggled to grow;
I thought it would be easy being a Sunflower, but Oh, did it require so much;
But I wanted to Dance, and so I Bloomed;
And I Bloomed;
And I Bloomed some more;
And I Bloomed some more until I finally reached The Sun, it’s Rays shimmering across my Petals;

Wrapped in its embrace, I smiled;
The Sun smiled back at me and said,”We’ve Danced many Dances, and we shall continue to Dance many more. Now, my love, its time that you return to The Fields for the remaining Seasons”;

I returned and continued to Dance during the Summer, my Petals still full of The Essence of Spring;

I began to lose some of my Petals and their golden hue during The Fall, but still I continued to Dance with The Essence of Spring in my heart;

Winter came and I saw less of The Sun;
It felt too cold to Dance, and yet I mustered the strength within me to bring Winter the Essence Of Spring;

With my brownish, withered body, I Danced until my Petals were no more;
I collapsed to the ground;
Mother caught me and said,”You’ve Danced beautifully My Child. Now, you must rest until The Next Spring”;

As I began to close my eyes, a Ray from The sun shone upon my Petals;
I looked to The Sky to see The Sun smiling at Me;
My last breath drawing near, I smiled back at The Sun and said,”I look forward to us Dancing again”

Mr. Rogers,

I wanted to tell you thank you for everything. Thank you for encouraging me to continue writing. Thank you for giving me a safe place to crash when things were chaotic in my life. Thank you for introducing me to your family and friends. But, most of all thank you for just being you.

#loveyoudani

How do you comprehend the incomprehensible?

You were supposed to grow old with us… you weren’t supposed to go at 41. Your light shined too bright to fade out that quickly.

You accomplished so much in your four decades, but damn it, you had so much more to give…

The measure of someone’s life is not in the number of their heartbeats, but how many hearts they touched, and Dani, you touched them all!

Did you leave the world a better place?

Dani, you most certainly did!

You truly conquered life and every challenge it threw your way… you were as I had told you, a badass, a warrior, a fighter!

To paraphrase a famous poem, you did not go gentle into that good night. You raged against the dying of the light!

You were the person who other people admired and aspired to be like…

Your smile truly lit up the room and your laugh was contagious … people gravitated to you for that and your kind soul, which, even though you were a ginger, you definitely had, and it was beautiful! I will make sure your amazing soul lives on in everything I do.

You truly lived the Mrs. Crowther credo…

Be courageous
Care for others
A hero lives in you

With every heartbeat I’ve got left, I will make you proud, so that when we meet again and embrace, you will know that you were never forgotten.

Thank you for being you!

I love you Dani
I will always miss you
I will see you again

“The two important days in your life are the day you are born and the day you find out why”-Mark Twain.
Life’s numerical milestones have changed .
I view 46 as 30+ 16 rather than 50-4 Mathematically and philosophically.
46 was a nameless nobody . Turning 46 just meant a step closer to the golden years and nothing more than that.
But now , this previously insignificant number has a whole glamour quotient of its own. A modern day new kinda big deal .
Feeling “ 45+1” or “almost 46” does sorta have a grounding undertone to it. A settling sense of self assuredness.
Chances are at this juncture, you are where you shall be for the rest of your life..atleast in most aspects of your life.
So it’s best to acknowledge all of it , embrace it, celebrate the done-its and get over the have-nots.
My so-called big birthday beckons me in a few days. And I feel fine. In reality, I feel more than just fine.I feel feisty and fine. Each day bringing with it an epiphany of sorts. The realization that aging gracefully means learning to detach and step back . Ironically, learning the art of detachment is not a lesson in learning to let go.
It actually involves quite the opposite. It involves recognizing and holding on to all that is relevant and enriching. And no , age is not just a number. How we wish it was! It is way more layered than that.
Physically, the 45 year old body is not and organically should not be what it used to be . Aging naturally is the sign of a life well lived. Trying to reverse age, is trying to relive a life that wasn’t done right the first time.
Mentally, growing older is freeing. With my absolute abandon and unapologetic arrogance , I sense and honestly quite like the new me emerging-subtle silver streaks, sagginess, striations , self love et all! I feel old enough to recognize my mistakes but young enough to make some more!
So bring on my birthday baby, let the wisdom grow and show! On my face, on my cake!
My dear age-Add those candles with each passing year as you wish, but you can never blow out the fire that gets fiercer every minute within me!

If “Love is patient”
and “Love is kind”,
then why do I feel
like I’m losing my mind?

It’s not easy to be patient,
when your family is all around.
It’s also hard to be kind,
Or, at least, that’s what I have found.

My mother’s mind wanders,
she never stays on task.
When it comes to what she’s doing,
I always have to ask!

“Where are you going now?”
“How long will it take?”
“Do you have to do that right away?”
“You’re going to make us late!”

Granny’s got a mouth,
and she runs it every day.
When it comes to me and Mom,
she’s always got something to say!

“Go brush your hair,
it looks like a wig!”
“Oh, you’re getting seconds?
Your belly’s getting big!”

Snapping back is in my nature,
sometimes I want to fight!
But I love them both so much,
so, on my tongue, I bite.

I give myself some time,
to process what I heard.
I remember who I’m talking to,
before I speak a word.

Mom might drive me crazy,
but she brought me in this world.
I know I gave her a hard time,
when I was just a girl.

Granny doesn’t mean to hurt us,
when her words come out so sharp.
She just doesn’t have a filter,
but she does have a heart.

We’re all a little crazy,
we’re each a little nuts.
But at the end of the day,
that’s what makes us “US”!

So it may not be easy
to be patient and kind,
but I’ll put in the extra work
for this family of mine.

-Caitlin Jablonsky

“I wrote this poem from my wife’s perspective about her relationship with her mother and grandmother.”
-Matty Jablonsky

I know you didn’t mean to,

I know you didn’t try.

It was just a stupid mistake,

You didn’t want to die…

You were doing so good,

We were so proud of you!

But good emotions, sometimes,

They’re overwhelming too.

Maybe I should’ve called,

Or answered that last text.

But I didn’t see this coming!

I didn’t know you were next!

I know it’s kinda late now,

And maybe weird to say…

But I love you so much,

And I’ll miss you every day.

This is so unfair,

No one knows how to feel.

I keep waiting to wake up,

Or hear that this isn’t real!

What do I tell the people,

When they ask me how you’ve been?

I suppose, I’ll tell the truth…

That addiction never ends.

I’ll tell them if they’re hurting,

They call always call on me.

I couldn’t be there for you…

But for them, maybe I could be.

Maybe I can help someone,

Maybe they will learn,

That drugs aren’t “the fun you can’t have”…

They’re the hell you don’t deserve.

Title: The Boy Named Rhett
Written By: Marli Wright

There is a boy, his name is Rhett, Heaven now his home,
He sings and dances on the clouds, before God’s throne.
He had to leave, reasons unknown, yet on earth his name we cry.
A love so strong, eternal, Rhett’s legacy will stay alive.
Children’s laughter is bright, like in Heaven’s skies,
Angels play and smile, as we remember them with sighs.
And every day, with tearful eyes, another angel friend comes to play,
Welcomed with open arms, may their journey be brightened each day.
In every moment, every breath we take,
Rhett’s spirit shines bright, guiding our way.
Though I held him only briefly, his love now lights my way.

Echoes of Rhett’s Love
By: Marli Wright

In a classroom where dreams unfold,
Where tiny hands reach for stars of gold,
An angel’s spirit softly flies,
Not seen, but felt through loving eyes.
Rhett won’t be here to start first grade,
But with hearts so full of hope and cheer,
We send a part of him each year.
Books and pencils, crayons bright,
To light a young one’s world with light.
Each gift a whisper, soft and neat,
A reminder of Rhett’s love so sweet.
Though our angel’s seat remains empty,
His warmth will touch another deeply.
In these gifts, his love will dwell,
In every book and every tale.
He shares his joy through each small thing,
With every pen and each school swing.
And as the first-grade bell will ring,
Another day is now complete.
Little ones laugh and sing,
Of their days and tales they speak.
As you close the door each day,
Rhett’s love will gladly stay,
Preparing the room for a day anew,
And brightening it with sunshine’s hue.
That is Rhett’s way of saying “I love you.”