The final page of 2015


I am ready for 2016.

I have some goals for the year, but I’m not making resolutions.  Just an intention to do the best I can each and every one of the 366 (it’s a leap year!) days I am given in 2016.

2015 brought a lot of lessons.  I renewed old friendships and reawakened feelings I had forgotten how to feel.  I had my heart beautifully broken and am okay with it.  I both failed and won at being a single mom – every single day.  I started writing this blog, two novels, and several songs.  I was diagnosed with diabetes, and began a journey to a healthier me (30 lbs down, so far!).

I turned 40 and the world didn’t collapse.  In fact, it was one of the best days of my entire life.  Over 40 Random Acts of Kindness were performed on that day and since and the world became a bit brighter.  It was 70 degrees in Indiana in December and I got to hang out on the front porch with my very best friends, my tribe, the island of misfit toys, and just BE.

This past year, I cried a lot, laughed a lot, started singing again and feeling more like myself than I have in a long time.  There were a lot of struggles, and even more lessons, but I realized that I am one lucky lady to be alive and have the opportunity to wake up each day and try again.

Here’s to you on the last page of the final chapter of 2015.





My Heart Keeps Remembering . . .

I have been writing poems, ‘ditties’, and songs since I was very young.  As a young girl, my poems were often about sunshine and rainbows or silly, funny little things that I would write for family members.  I still remember one of the first poems I wrote that I was proud of – and I drew a picture with it, and my mother added it to a collage she made of me that hung on our living room wall.


The View From My Window

The view from my window
is shiny and bright
when I see the view
everything seems all right

The view from my window
after a busy day
when I look out my window
everything seems okay

The view from my window
day in, and day out
leads me to know
without a doubt

That the view from my window
will always be
the sunshine and moonlight
that’s all for me.

I think I was probably about nine years old when I wrote that.  I always believed that no matter what, things were going to turn out all right.  Then I hit the dreaded TWEEN years and my poetry turned darker.  It was often about the emotions I wasn’t sure how to deal with – but USUALLY, it was about some boy I was SURE I was going to marry, or the one who had broken my heart.

I was, am, and probably always will be a hopeless romantic, deep down in my soul.  And even though so many people seem to compare poetry that rhymes with CHEESE and sappy greeting cards – I still cannot help but fall back to my roots when my heart is having trouble dealing with something.

So today – I am allowing you to read something I wrote recently in hopes that someone somewhere will relate and feel better about their own story, knowing someone else feels the same way.

Please be kind.  🙂


PHOTO:  Unrequited Love by Daniela Filipescu

My Heart Remembers What My Mind Tries to Forget

Out of my sight for so many years
Thought I’d forgotten what he made me feel
How my breath caught and heartbeat increased
That very first time he looked back at me

My crazy heart brought it all back again
With his few simple words on that screen
I guess that it’s true, some things never change
Connections remain, sight unseen

He never professed he’d love me in return
Never offered me the world, now or then
He only agreed he would be there as my friend
And never leave without warning, again

He foolishly promised a soul-scorching kiss
If perchance we someday crossed paths
Maybe he knew, that time wouldn’t come
His pledge would have no aftermath

Yet my broken heart felt hope for a beat
Conjured pictures of roads not yet taken
Warm wind in our hair, our only care
To keep dreaming and never awaken

Curled up beside him in silence
We explored what we both dearly love
After a while, we trade words and worlds
And rejoice at these gifts we’re part of

Reveries never once meant to be
Hurt more than I cared to admit
I couldn’t be just his friend anymore
My heart was convinced he was IT

Why would I be given this chance
To love him and lose him again?
If only I’d known all this pain in advance
Oh wait, I did.  Way back then . . .

But what if the first look, a second time
Lasts longer than we meant it to?
What if when our hands touched again
We felt ‘that spark’ and we just knew?

Stubborn, passionate heart of mine
I’m begging you, please, let him be!
I’ll be content seeing him in my dreams
The one place I’m sure he loves me.

Going back to the beginning . . .

When I began this blog, it was about a journey . . . of self-discovery . . . of revisiting my past and seeing what I have learned and what I still need to work on.

After a few weeks, I got derailed.

I became a feedback junkie.  I worried about how many people were reading what I wrote – and not what I or others might learn from my words.  And I lost my passion for the basic reason I write.

So, I’m going back to the beginning.

On one my very first blogs, several  years ago, I shared part of a journal entry from a writing class about why I write.  I’m sharing an updated version here to remind myself why I do this; It isn’t for the reblogs, or the views, or whatever kind of recognition I might be seeking.  At least, it shouldn’t be.



Why do I write? Because if I didn’t, I honestly think I might go insane.

When I’m not writing, things are not right in the world of Izzy. And even when I’m not physically putting things down on paper (or on the computer screen), I am constantly writing things in my head.

Sometimes I get frustrated with myself because I will come up with a brilliant idea while driving down the road, but by the time I get somewhere to do something about it, it has run away with the other thoughts crowding my brain and it feels like a lost opportunity.

I have so many ideas of what I want to write about, learning from my past, being a single mom, music, poetry, and even the never-attainable fairy-tale romance.  I probably have 20+ drafts of things that I have started and not finished.  I get caught up in the reasons why I’m writing it, or what any readers might think of it, or if what I have to say even matters.  Often, I chicken out and don’t go where my heart and my words are leading me.

But I continue to write.

I write because it is born in me.

Writing has been passed down to me through generations of storytellers, poets, and musicians.  It is a part of me that makes me who I am and a part that has never gone away, even when I’ve tried to suppress it.

I always write more than required when it comes to school or work assignments and often get teased or even reprimanded for “writing a book” when only a paragraph is required.  I don’t do it to be an overachiever.  The truth is, I love words.

I do not want to write for recognition and I will not allow myself to follow that path anymore.

I write because I really have no choice.

And it is time to go back to the beginning where I remember that.


“To gain your own voice, you have to forget about having it heard.”
—Allen Ginsberg, WD

Dark River

A collaboration between my good friend, Doug from Gardens, Combines, and Memories and myself.  We hope you enjoy it!

Dark River

by Douglas A. Lafuze & Elizabeth A. Williams


Her childhood spent
Walking her babbling creek
Singing her own imaginative songs
Accompanied by cricket chirps
Serenaded by nature
Bluejays bickering at the cardinals in the crabapple tree

Unafraid, she’d cross her creek
On an old fallen oak
So both sides she could explore
In spring, she dipped her toes into icy cold waters
Come summer, to her waist she would wade
Bare legs caressed by cold dark liquid
Hands like a bowl scooped life-giving water
She drank

It was a part of her
She, part of it

Rains came
Waters swelled, teasing the banks
Rising quickly, ripping at the land
Spilling over, yearning to change its course
“Keep your distance”
“You’ll get in over your head”
“You could drown”
She listened
It subsided
Calm once again

One teenaged summer
It surrounded her home with its power
Submersed her brother’s Mustang in mud
Still unafraid, she watched from her window
Waited, not as long as she should
Walked along the saturated banks
Cold, wet earth squishing between her toes

She was drawn to follow her creek
Through the woods and past fields
Land dipped and descended
Dark water worked into a turbulent frenzy
The earth stopped
Her creek rushed to the edge and disappeared
Intoxicating power
Crashed beneath in a breathtaking cascade
Culminating in a deep, black pool

She resisted
An overwhelming urge
To plunge into the maelstrom below
Breathed in the power
Reveled in beautiful danger
Gave into the warnings
Retreated to safety

He appeared
Beautiful and steadfast
Kind, handsome, and somewhat bewitching
She thirsted for knowledge
Only he could quench
Cold rains came under black and purpled sky
Soaked, she clung to his warmth
Lightning flashed in his eyes
She was curious, yet timid
His intensity, his shadows
His darkness and swift rapids
Difficult to navigate

“Keep your distance ”
“You’ll get in over your head”
“You’ll lose your way”
She pushed the warnings aside
Followed him down her creek
He took her
To the edge of his dark river
She gazed into his eyes
Her heart thundered
She could not deny him
In tempest or calm
She was meant to walk on his banks
Bathe in his pools
Drink from his warmth

I am

Take me
Over the edge

Quench my thirst
Join our souls
Make me yours

I take you over me
Into me
As one

My Dark River