The Orchid Journal

( Photo also by Laelia Watt ) The "L" Word Mother tongue fails in the deepest of sentiments. Poets and linguists agonize likening the Indiscriminate phrase to a red, red rose which dies not in essence except to serve never in strength but to fortify naught in object unless to imbue with breath to speak the word

"The truly creative mind in any field is no more than this: A human creature born abnormally, inhumanly sensitive. To him... a touch is a blow, a sound is a noise, a misfortune is a tragedy, a joy is an ecstasy, a friend is a lover, a lover is a god, and failure is death. Add to this cruelly delicate organism the overpowering necessity to create, create, create - - - so that without the creating of music or poetry or books or buildings or something of meaning, his very breath is cut off from him. He must create, must pour out creation. By some strange, unknown, inward urgency he is not really alive unless he is creating." -Pearl Buck-

The year I turned 21 was when everything changed. It was a slow change surely and my decision became final only six years later, but 2005 was definitely the turning point. Ten years old is young to start baby-sitting. My first 'clients' were the twins across the street. They were in a family of seven, the youngest at almost two years old. I sang them to sleep with a lullaby I had composed when I was eight years old. For days later, the twins 'talked' about me, affectionately pointing to the lady on the red raisin box and saying, "Lala" because apparently, they thought I looked like her. Their mom was surprised by the twins' obvious affection for me. My little brother was born when I was 11 and 1/2. January 14th, 1996. I held him, helped my mom change his diapers, babysat him as soon as he was old enough to be weaned. A friend recently asked me, "You were not nervous about holding a newborn when you were that young?" It had never even crossed...