Women Writers

Rock and a Hard Place, You Say?

/ Pam Goode / 6 Comments

Have you ever felt like you’re going nowhere? Doing the things you’ve always done and knowing that not a single one of them is getting you anywhere? I’ve pretty much done this run before — or even a gazillion times.

So yes, I know that feeling too well … but that’s not what I’m here for. What I’m here for is change. And though it isn’t easy, we all need it now and then. In fact I think the older we get, the more important it is.

So tell me, how do you jump into change, and how does it affect you? Scary? Delicious? Much easier than expected? Shoot me now? I think the decision is the hard part, and the jumping is the easy part. And I have ZERO doubt that most of us become so very much happier after the jumping. I know I have.

What’s changed me the most? Without a doubt, travel. Getting out there and seeing, learning, sharing, throwing off your “usual” and jumping into everything that moves you. And you know why?

Because being stuck between two huge rocks is never the answer.

@pamgoodewrites/sophieswildhair
Image taken by Pam Goode, in Ireland.

Easy? What’s Easy?

/ Pam Goode / 5 Comments

Well, we all know the answer to that. Lately it’s been harder and, to be honest, I really don’t understand. Sure, we get old and people change for one reason or another, but overall I just don’t get it. Maybe I never will. And honestly, I’m not okay with that.

And in truth, I really don’t want to be okay with it. I want to be wildly engaged in life. I want to do things, see thing, love life and relish every minute. Is that so hard? I really, really, don’t think that’s too hard for any of us.

It comes along with all those things we’ve always wanted to do with our lives — DO THEM.

It comes along with good days and bad — make it work for now and then make it better.

It comes with love. Real love — the smile you see on the face of everyone you pass.

I can do that.

I want to chat with my girlfriends weekly and make fabulous plans that may or may not come true, and that’s still okay.

I want to try everything, and I’m okay even if I don’t like it after all.

I want to be able to say what I mean — and have someone understand. And care.

I’m worth that much.

We’re ALL worth that much.

@pamgoodewrites.com/sophieswildhair

Ch-Ch-Ch-Changes

/ Pam Goode / 3 Comments

When they say life is short, they mean it.

It doesn’t matter if you’re 13 or 98, It doesn’t matter if you’ve visited every single spot on the globe. It doesn’t matter how wealthy you are. It doesn’t matter if you’ve been bad or good. It doesn’t even matter if you really, REALLY want to live forever. The clock keeps ticking and you can’t stop it.

What we CAN do, is live and love.

And when I say that, I mean LOVE with all your heart. Love the good days and the bad days, but mostly, every single &%@$& day. Love for both the young and the old. Love for what you’ve lost and for what you’ve gained. Love for what you believe, and yes, love even for those you don’t believe.

So love MORE, dance MORE, hug MORE, talk MORE, share MORE, protest MORE, think MORE, imagine MORE, create MORE, help MORE, and jump delightfully into every possible moment you have.

And if you need to, change — and change NOW. You’ll be glad. So glad. I promise.

@pamgoodewrites

Tedium, A Primer

/ Pam Goode / Leave a comment

Tangles and knots and confusion, scraping dried spaghetti from between the tines of my grandmother’s sterling, reading directions, coaxing nits from a toddler’s locks, de-weaving your dreads for tomorrow’s interview at Bank of America, proofreading the company’s “Five Hundred Uses of the Industrial Bolt” newsletter, scrubbing the toilet, bad sex. We’ve all been there; NO ONE needs an example of “tedium” — otherwise known as “bored and weary of it all.”

And why? Plenty of us have pretty much anything we need, and plenty more have even more. We were born in a golden age and many are still doing well. Seriously, can’t we all just be grateful and sharing? How hard is that?

And yet we hate It. We Hate It Intentionally. We Hate It until someone else does it for us. We Hate It almost enough to toss the silver. We chop the hair; we stray; we seek excitement and a Higher Level of Existence — that one just around the corner that allows us to afford maids and gardeners and cooks and a steady revue of hilarious houseguests, studly romancers, and adoring bimbettes. That one where we can . . . lie in a Barcalounger and . . . doze while the television blares. Ah yes, we’ve arrived — bored and weary of it all.

Welcome.

Crumbs

/ Pam Goode / 6 Comments

Some say the purest death
is to be ravaged alive
by beasts —
a final communion with creation
and instinct.
I could give myself to the lions
as red men gave their flesh
with joy to birds of prey, a feast
laid high on offering altars of pine,
their bodies rising
bite by bite to fill
the mouth and longing arms
of god.
And if I should die on African soil
at the pawing of tigers or men,
I pray the ants will piggyback my
sun-pressed crumbs across each undulation
of the ancient and bare breasted earth
and leave me soul to soil,
to nurse the hungry wild
and mingle with the stars.

© Pam Goode, 1995
Adapted, 2025

NOTE: Artist, Writer, Wanderer, Introvert, Philosophical Rambler, Teacher, Worldwide Art Retreat Leader at wildhairadventures.com with LauraMcRaeHitchcock.com and pamgoodewrites.com

Morning Becomes Electric

/ Pam Goode / 8 Comments

This piece was made completely with mosaic glass in various shapes, colors, and sizes. The goal was to create my version of a Colorado Sunrise, including rocky land and tumbling stones.

Pam Goode, Artist

The Days We Never Forget

/ Pam Goode / 12 Comments

“It’s not bad — we think you’ll be fine” and suddenly the words leap from “We’re just not sure why this isn’t working” to “I’m so very sorry, but this is all we can do,” and before we knew it, she was gone.

Today is the day my Mom died. It was 5:30, March 30th, 2006.

I remember every moment of that day, as do my sister and brother. Still. And Forever.

Death is so surreal — and often, so unexpected. Even when you know it’s coming, it jumps at you like a growling hyena, and you wonder if you’ll every understand.

If you’ll ever get past it.

My mother’s death was one of those “wait, WHAT HAPPENED??? sequences that spilled suddenly from “It’s not bad — we think you’ll be fine”, then morphed strangely to “Unfortunately we’re just not sure why this isn’t working” to tears and more tears right up to “I’m so very sorry, but this is all we can do.”

We stayed with her night and day, and still before we knew it, she was gone.

Mom was one of those women who could (and would) do everything. She loved us, fed us, had a fabulously and almost childish laugh, danced, taught us how to sew and create and curtsy, get along with Dad, AND be a bad ass??????

My sister, who gardens like a similar first-class badass in addition to raising sheep (LOTS of them) and growing food for the family, pretty much took on Mom’s role and keeps us together.

Three children — each forging their own path and as different as night and day. It didn’t matter a wink how different we were (and still are). I’m so deeply grateful that we’re all still together and helping each other along the path. Life isn’t always easy, and that’s an understatement, but we love each other.

Thank You Mom
Love Always

Holding Firm

/ Pam Goode / 8 Comments

I saw a house in England —
stones enjoined by mortar
braided into artistry
like kings and queens,

and made my way to study her —
to touch and ape this gorgeousness up close
and OH!

I saw not braids nor fancy icing cake —
designs made plush for those
with fancy fortunes to expend,

but saw instead a simple cache
of rounded river stones, quite niblet-sized —
embedded piece by piece
and skin to skin.

and laughed to see a castle built
so much like me —

pebble by pebble,
and holding firm.

Pam Goode

The Merry Days

/ Pam Goode / 6 Comments

So far I’ve made it through hauling Christmas regalia out of the attic, hanging stockings, and standing by with a ready hand while my husband lifted and settled the tree. We have dinner plans — scratch that — we had dinner plans, but then the bottom fell loose and now I have no idea what the rest of the day holds. And I’m okay with that. Really. When you see your brother once a year, you smile, hug, and take what you can get.

And what’s change really? Life is never set in stone. N E V E R. I learned that lesson at the age of four.

So I pulled out my attic stash, rounded up the pink twinkle lights that keep me happy and sane, and dove in. And yeah, it took hours, even with our small four and a half foot tree. Because, well, you know. We all know, and it just ain’t easy. One side of the living room window is a bit smashed across the glass, and once I limb the ladder, I can’t really lean in far enough to extend the lights from one end to another. I’ve been doing this for years and always took the time to make it perfect. Now I’m just happy to see the lights at all. “I grow old, I grow old … I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled ….” Oops, sorry to run off course.

When I was growing up, we always kept Christmas a secret. I was in my early twenties, my sister 3 years younger, and my brother quite a bit younger when the three of us walked into the living room together — my sister and I in tights and a top and my brother — ever the creator — walked in fully dressed in his own handmade Santa suit. Yes, I said Handmade Santa Suit.

I’ll never forget the awe of it, and I’ll never forget how much we can accomplish if we take a bit of time to drop the everyday and and add a bit of creativity. .

P.S. Apparently Jingle Bells was never intended to be a Christmas song, but hey, it sure worked.

Happy Holidays to all!

Pam Goode

Sleigh Ride, Sleigh Ride, Sleigh Ride …

/ Pam Goode / 2 Comments

YES it’s winter AND that holiday feeling is indeed coming my way. If you’re more or less my age, you may even remember all the lyrics to the opening words posted above. And I have to say that not only are they remembered each December, but yes, I still love Steve Lawrence and Eydie Gorme. Madly.

It all started when I was a young girl and has lasted prolifically as an old(er) girl. And yes, I still have a few of those albums that were sold at Firestone for decades. In fact, one day not long ago, I dragged my husband over to Firestone to ask if the albums were still for sale there. It was a long shot, sure, but I was hopeful and keen for nostalgia. The man heading the shop lifted his head toward the skies, mulled a bit while rubbing his three days of scruffle, then looked at us and said … “Nineteen … Sixty … Seven …. ” We all laughed, but I would surely have loved to hear those old vinyls again.

For me, it will always be “Our cheeks are nice and rosy and comfy cozy are we, We’re snuggled up together like birds of a feather should be. Let’s take that road before us and sing a chorus or two, Come on it’s lovely weather for a sleigh ride together with you!

P.S. In the early 60’s Firestone sold Christmas albums to help tire sales. I’m sure Steve and Eydie helped too.