I know that I am not the only person to share a name with a famous person. I have a friend named Micheal Jackson, and there is a Paul Newman in my community circle. But the majority of you folks haven't had the experience of pausing every time you state your name, preparing for a joke, a giggle, or the question, "THEEE Sharon Stone?" This happens when making appointments over the phone, when introducing myself to strangers, and even once at the US/Canadian border crossing. Approaching the booth housing the border agent, I reached out my car window to flash my NEXXUS card at the electronic reader - then the American border agent sauntered out with a goofy grin and said, "Well, if it isn't SHARON STONE!!" with an exaggerated, humor-laden tone. Like I'd never heard that before...
A Full Life is Full of Life
Anecdotes from a Life Filled with Children and Creatures
Sunday, March 9, 2025
Not THAT Sharon Stone
Monday, February 24, 2025
Reading the Waves
Our creaky 100 year old house with one shower for 8 people was located smack in the middle of Caledonia Cove - a rocky, barnacled beach around the corner from the Port of Tacoma. Summers were the best. We spent so much time on the beach and in the water - floaty toys, wet suits, rubber rafts and a rowboat - all central to my childhood memories.
Often we would watch the shipping traffic, keeping an eye out for a good wake on which to play. A big ship loaded high with shipping containers coming into port might create a row of waves that, when we floated on the surface of the water on an inflatable toy, make our stomach jump into our throats over and over and over again - bobbing out of control until the ripples petered out and the water was smooth again. On one occasion I remember losing sight of my sister as we both dropped into the valleys between two waves and I could only see the wall of water around me…until we both rode to the top of our respective wave and squealed to one another. Not all wakes were the same. Some tugboats pulling a log-boom were too slow to carve a path deep enough and by the time the waves reached the shore they were little more than disappointing ripples on the surface of the water. But others with a faster pace and deeper load could carve huge, high swells that would eventually roll into our bulkhead with thunderous crashes and sprays of white foam. Those were the waves we watched and waited for.
Today, many decades after those childhood memories were carved into my brain, I returned to the cove to send the last remnants of some loved ones back to that place we loved so much. My mother passed 3 years ago, my dad 6 years, and we lost my big brother to meningitis 19 years ago. As a family, we had ceremoniously scattered some of their ashes together, but we also divvied them up for each of us to deal with in our own, personal way. I had felt the need to hold onto my portion, although I’m still trying to figure out why - maybe the dread of letting go? I do know that now I have come to realize that it’s the memories that matter and not the things, the physical things that increasingly feel like they are weighing me down.
There was a light fog and the water was so glassy and still. We navigated the rounded, wave-
smoothed rocks and pebbles down to the shore, stopping to pick up the perfect skipping rocks, rounded and flat, to see how many splashes we could get with one skilled toss. As we walked I noticed a fast moving tug, with no load, heading around the lighthouse into the port. We found a spot and pulled out the ashes, mixing my mom and dad and brother together, right at the lip of the lapping water. But I was worried that as the tide went out, they would be left there in a soggy heap, instead of washing out to sea.
I said that we should wait until that wake comes to wash them away. Mark asked me, “What wake?” I pointed out the line of churning water-ribbon far out in the shipping lane that appeared to be following the long-gone tug boat. Then he saw it. We paused and just a couple of minutes after I said how fun it would be to see a sea lion or otter, a huge dark sea lion, not more than 15 meters from us, appeared seemingly out of nowhere from the water with a big exhale, and then took a deep breath as he gracefully disappeared under the surface. Thank you, sea lion, for that gift.
We waited a few minutes until the waves came - little bumps in the water at first, then growing - crashing on the rocks of the lighthouse first as they worked their way down the beach to the ashes. The perfect waves. After ten or fifteen rolling crashes, the dust of my family members disappeared and completely integrated back into the nature we all loved so much. It turned out to be the perfectly perfect day - not dreadful or sad - just peaceful and reflective - much like the calm, silvery surface of the Salish Sea.
Wednesday, January 15, 2025
Going Backward
Every day my pups and I head out for an hour or so to release the poops and the Ya-Yas before I head to work and they laze about at home. Depending on the time of year, we may revel in the sunrise or enjoy the chorus of birds looking for love, or like today - view the path through a cylinder of foggy light shining from my headlamp.
Friday, January 3, 2025
Happy New Year from the Stone-Kerrs
Ella turned 24 on February 24th 2024, which makes it not only her golden birthday, but she was born in the auspicious Year of the Golden Dragon in 2000, which only happens once every 60 years. But the Dragon year comes every 12 trips around the sun, so this makes it her own personal Golden Dragon year, making it, like, a double-goldenamazing year! That must have worked, because she landed a job she loves, starting as the Assistant Manager at Claire's (we called her the A** Man for short) and then quickly promoted to Store Manager (now we call her Boss B*tch for short...and for fun). She is just as sweet and sparkly as ever and spreads joy to many little girls!
Thursday, February 3, 2022
Just a Pebble
As always, the morning run starts my day on the right foot, and not just literally. Just me and my dogs, no podcasts or music to interrupt the swirling thoughts of the coming day. Simply the pre-dawn quiet padding of our feet down the road or trail with an unfettered brain allowed to wander farther and deeper than my feet can take me. This morning, on a quiet residential alley that winds its way up to the trail, we paused as Meg squatted to relieve herself of last night's digested dinner. As always I diligently pulled a bag over my hand to retrieve her deposit. Once I made the grab and began to invert the bag, I noticed a pretty little pebble embedded in one of the soft, steaming logs. I felt a twinge of guilt as I tied off the knot and sealed the fate of this lonely bit of stone.
fingers some day?
Sunday, January 3, 2021
Tortured Ted
NOTE: On this day (Jan. 3) I used a writing prompt (in bold below) and found myself in a certain senator's head in this moment in time. It's not a pleasant place to be and I hope it never happens again!
Staring at his reflection felt like looking at a stranger. What had he become? He used to be the guy with an easy smile, always with a joke at the ready to put people at ease. He was the one that friends would go to for advice or to share big news. But now he was alone. Those same friends and colleagues would not return calls, and acquaintances pretended not to know him.
He tried to smile at himself in the mirror, tried to look like the jovial man he once was. But something was missing - his lips turned up at the ends like they were supposed to, and he even managed to make a dimple appear in his cheek ever-so-briefly. But the problem was his eyes. When his mouth smiled, his eyes didn’t smile. There was no shine, no lines radiating out from the corners of his eyes to match his lips. Eyes don’t lie like lips can tell lies.
He had noticed that Heidi seemed to be holding back with him. She was quiet and avoided meaningful conversation. She moved in ways to avoid his touch, even stepping to the side when passing him in the hallway. Sure, she was used to his ambition. As the good wife she had vowed to be so many years ago, she had always supported his decisions unconditionally, but this time it was too much. Around their girls she would create normalcy - family meals, small talk - but when the kids went to bed her silence became unbearably loud. “This stranger in the mirror…is this what she now sees when she looks at my face?” he wondered.
“She’ll get over it”, he murmured to his reflection. When his devoted wife questioned him on the decision to go ahead with this, he had reassured her that this was just another important step in his goal of winning the presidency in four years. From their very first date, years ago, he was honest with her about his ambition to become the leader of the free world. When she agreed to marry him, she agreed to support him the whole way, through the good AND the bad.
As he groomed his beard, he continued to rationalize his defiance, “When he made fun of your looks,” referring to his wife in the next room, “Remember that I defended you!” He and the president had a complicated relationship that had evolved over time. Even though POTUS had called him ‘Lyin’ Ted’ and accused his father of involvement in JFKs assassination, he knew that was just politics. Or at least the new politics he had embraced. And now, he needed the president, or at least he needed his fanatical followers that slurped up every lie and conspiracy their dear leader spewed.
This was just a strategy. He thought that if he repeated the president's lies about voter fraud, pushed them in Congress and put on a big show for the big boss, the president’s minions would vote for him in the next round. He knew that the effort to keep POTUS in office wouldn’t succeed, and honestly, he didn’t want it to work. Life would be easier with the loudmouth out of office. This was merely his attempt to win the affection of the 45’s base.
“It’s not lying,” he reassured his frothy face in the mirror, grumbling. “It’s just doing what I have to do, to get what I want. Calling this anti-democratic is such an exaggeration. She doesn’t know what she’s talking about.”
After plucking some rogue nose hairs, his grooming was to his satisfaction. He once again tried to put on a friendly face. This time he chose an open-mouth smile to showcase his white teeth. His mouth widened and his lips again turned up at the corners. But the eyes, rather than showing a twinkle of optimism, revealed a dull deadness. He remembered that old saying about how the eyes are the window to the soul. For a brief moment, he felt the hair raise on the back of his neck and his shoulders trembled in an involuntary shiver.
He shrugged it off, inhaled deeply and exclaimed to his reflection loud enough for his wife to hear the in next room, “You’ll see. I’m not being foolish. This will all be worth it when we’re in the White House. You’ll see…”
Wednesday, February 20, 2019
A Good Man
I know I lost the Dad that most people knew a few years ago, bit by bit. Dementia had slowly robbed him of his memories, his passions, talents and social warmth over the last couple of decades. Although he did maintain an ability to banter with silly jokes that weren’t connected to a place or time. The hospice nurses and social workers laughed and were charmed by his wit and wise cracks during their weekly visits