Saturday, November 12, 2016

She writes 
She writes 
She writes words  and I forget how to use them 

9:42 am
a Thursday morning
in March
after too much coffee

Sunday, June 14, 2015


It amazes me how photos tell stories. Maybe not fully detailed stories or maybe stories without endings or characters or names..but thats what makes them interesting. Sometimes I look at photos and can't help but daydream about those little details. 

I look at these pictures and think about the love shared between the man in the photos and the woman holding the camera. She must have been mesmerized by the way he loved his car. I can see her sitting outside with him for long hours just watching him work on the engine, taking moments to smoke his cigarette or wipe the sweat from his forehead. I imagine her thinking he was crazy--her kind of crazy. Probably laughing when he threw out curse words over burnt valves. Then he catches her laughing and loosens up a little.

 His favorite thing about this car must have been the memories they shared in it. Trips to the coast, johnny cash playing, both of them singing along like crazy fools. I bet like a queen riding shotgun beside him.

I don't why these photos were in an antique shop and not in a book somewhere with the people who they belonged to. I can only wonder. Even without names, purpose, or details... vintage photos are little treasures to me. They inspire me to keep capturing moments in photographs so that maybe one day..someone will wonder what our story is all about. 


Tuesday, April 7, 2015

Meanwhile back at Mama's

There's this itty bitty piece of land and an old white house that calls me home from time to time. A house full of dreams that was once a jivin' Bed&Breakfast...the best place in town for french toast and bacon. I have too many memories here. Memories that give me heartaches and smiles at the same time. My family has moved away. They take pacific coast highway to get home now. But not me. I get on these old back roads with my windows down, Johnny Cash playing. No traffic, only a few tractors slowing me down. Pass by Paul Ed Dail road and I think about what a fine man my grandfather must have been. I think about all the times Mama let me drive that red pick up truck out past that road to haul off our trash. We had a lot. We had extra people in our house we had to take care of. I wonder what happened to that old Chevy I used to drive around. I sure loved that thing. 


Thursday, March 26, 2015

Suitcase Girl

There was nothing wrong with being wild. She wore old jean shorts and never brushed her hair and ran around singing songs about being out West. She was a suitcase girl and she was used to leaving things behind. He was no different. She took his smile and their memories and she packed them up in the top left corner of her suitcase. The place she never had to go to pull things out. They just stayed there. And for all of her life, she wandered around and people fell in love with her smile and wondered how she walked around with that suitcase and never got tired of it. She laughed and said, "Those things that made me tired? I left those behind." and she kept be-bopping around with that suitcase and somehow I knew she'd never let me carry that bag. 



Thursday, March 5, 2015

Night and Day

Night and Day, I can be your muse. I can dress up and use my charm to make you forget about all those ugly things you've seen.  I can dance and you can watch the way I let it all go. I can wear lipstick and lace and show you the woman in me.   

 I can walk around with messy hair and sleepy eyes after I've stayed up all night and you can admire my absent mind. I can write words and you can get lost in them. I can sit with you in silence and deliver a presence that makes you feel understood.

I can eat chocolates when I've been denied something I really wanted and you can laugh at me. I can chase after stray cats and call for them in my little voice and you can appreciate how I still care for things that run away from me.   

I can talk passionately about the things I love and you can feel inspired. I can stay up late, writing prose from my bath tub and still wake up early just to have coffee with you.

I can talk about my successes and never mention my losses - and you can feel like you can be anybody you want to around me.. because, I too, have been through things.  

Night and Day,
I can be your muse.


Mary Proia 

Sunday, February 22, 2015

Coffee & Lipstick Stained Pages

I've been writing things down lately. Coffee & lipstick stained pages fill my desk like the thoughts fill my heart. I'm looking at one page that makes me laugh. My thoughts are all over the place. Messy sometimes. But I like it that way. 

Monday Feb. 25 
*coffee stain begins*
- strecth/do yoga at home 
-11 days until California 
-fold clothes 
*coffee stain ends*
-work 4-8
-try to talk less
-Call Grandma
-make a playlist for the beach 
-internships, internships
"I've painted you in my mind a million times but I'm staring at a blank canvas" 
*doodles of waves* 
-wear lipstick
-look at pajamas on free people
-eyeflirt with that one boy 
-find out that one boy's name 
-two days until Johnny Cash's birthday!!!
-order a new bra online 
-Paul's birthday present 

I'm falling in love with my mind. You should too. You are art. 



Sunday, February 8, 2015


The Murray House Bed & Breakfast

There's a part of me that still believes there are answers written on these walls. In a moment that I may question myself or anything dear to me, I run here for comfort. The creaking floor boards know my flat-feet and every place they've been when I come walking through the door. They still remember all of the times we overbooked reservations and my sister and I moved all of the things out of our rooms and gave them to strangers for a couple nights. They haven't forgotten how I loved to feed the guests breakfast and refill their coffee cups. They probably remember all the times we moved furniture to make more room for people to stay. They know about all the times I snuck back into the house at 3 am successfully and unsuccessfully. 

I've realized that there may never be a person in this world who understands me the way this house does. Not everyone will understand your journey. That's fine. It's not theirs to make sense of. Its yours. 

Lots of love and hugs your way. 



Trust in the Lord with all of your heart and lean not on your own understanding; in all your ways acknowledge him, and he will make your paths straight. 
Proverbs 3:5-6