Author Archives: Jaclynn Loibl

As I type, chip after chip with scoops of dip sends flavor sensations skyrocketing over my taste buds. With a bowl full of freshly mashed avocado, minced garlic, chopped cilantro, and a teaspoon of salt—aka guacamole—I’m simply noticing. These bites are so freaking good, and in this breezy space on the deck allows me toContinue reading “Communication: An Idea Exchange”

From our living room’s large bay window, I’m fond of nightly observing the festivities in the pasture. A frosted brown, easily camouflaged bunny and a black one that sticks out like a firework against the night sky plays. I’m of two minds. Either their romp and dance around the yard together is the sweetest, mostContinue reading “Fact From Fiction”

I’m stretching myself, molding myself like cold clay into warm gooiness in moments throughout the day. It’s the feeling of slipping from a too-stiff shoe into a memory foam slipper. That’s the goal, anyway. The iron-hot tension in my chest seems to have other plans, strong-arming, saying, you have your work cut out for you.Continue reading “Stretching into the Hard”

I’m a creator, the maker, the happenin’ kind. The sure-footed rock hound, clearly bound, by nothing. Ain’t that something? I take two steps to your three, then calmly—scratch that, tranquilly—bow out for beauty sleep. Not a peep. Let’s not play, pretend you’re not a puppet on my string. If you need a hug, that’ll beContinue reading “The Dark: A Poem”

One expectation for therapists is that they’re put together, have things figured out, and are ordered. I denounce that. For someone who falls apart daily, and enjoys doing so, I will always rage against the machine that tries to tell me otherwise. I’m impressed with U-Haul. For $4,000, they’ll drop off two pods in ourContinue reading “Future Dreaming”

Writing is an accountability. It’s like homework that often feels good after you do it, never before. That’s not altogether true. Often during the day, I think fondly about what I want to write, especially after seeing something fun. Like the 80-plus-year-old man playing the accordion with his band mates. It was Pride Fest inContinue reading “Catching Moments”

Even though the uphill walk was 17 minutes from where the Kenmore float plane dropped us, I believe I’m vacationing well. Seated on a faded red nylon chair in a parking lot spot at the Ora Inn, amidst a slight breeze and robin calls, I write. Here’s a photo of the smallest bedroom hotel roomContinue reading “Island Hopping”

This is me taking the night off of writing. But I want you to know I’m both leery and excited about my first-ever float plane ride tomorrow. Dave’s long-standing dream will come true, and I’ll be his co-person. We’ll stay two nights in Friday Harbor, eat out yummy food, and see spectacular sights. I’ll fillContinue reading “Float Flight Eve”