Over the last 30 years, trying to unveil grace where there was grit, I buried myself in my faith while also studying various alternative health modalities to heal my body, mind, emotions & soul holistically. This led me to hold numerous certifications: hypnotherapist, neuro-linguistic practitioner (NLP), yoga teacher, reiki master, meditation facilitator, and others…that has to do with art, music & believing there is God and good in the world.

For the past decade, I solely operated my business www.spiritualitee.com™ (pronounced: spirituality) designing and selling inspirational clothing, jewelry, print art, and media, online, and at conventions. This company was inspired during the eleven days story [now a memoir] provides wholesale and designs lines of merchandise for other authors, businesses, churches and speakers.

Today, I house all inspirational work(s), merchandise and tools under my new company:


My written work(s):

eleven days – memoir

TEMPORARILY CLOSED for Self Care & Spiritual Maintenance

As an author, I poured my heart and soul into the writing of eleven days, I wasn’t sure if it would resonate with anybody out there. Once I knew it was well-received, I began having trouble addressing the many private messages and emails, so I wrote the guidebook to help support others’ journeys through this land of plenty of ours. Things stepped up another level, and I decided to re-launch my website where I could continuously create platforms to connect with my readers to remind them of their own power and start offering the GOOD(S) for the good of all concerned. And so it is.


SCREENPLAY – The eleven days memoir is currently being adapted to a screenplay, written by Judy.

CARRY ON – The secret language, lessons and heart-wrenching love a family experiences when a child endures addiction – a memoir

scroll down to see prologue

(copyright 2015) .

YOU CRACK ME UP – seeing the light in every crack…from broken bones to broken homes, monsters, bullies & stuff – a children’s guide* (copyright 2015)

*This is one of eleven in a children’s series called Oakie Doakie.(copyright 2015)


I am looking to build this platform with inspirational non- fiction memoirs/screenplays, poetry, music, and art.

For literary works: I am available to be your Book Coach from start to end.

Written to our oldest child – Marcus Cochrane – Jan 2014



Dear Marcus,

Jan 2014. I’m sitting at the kitchen table in the middle of our busy house. It’s the craziest time of the year, and I decide, it’s time. Time to write the book about the 11 days in Santa Barbara.

I created some kind of energetic balloon around me because once I started looking at everything within the box; I dropped into an intense tunnel vision. The chaos in the house drifted away as I sat in clear focus of my recent past. After years of postponement, I knew today was the day. I was ready to write 11 Days, but, more importantly, with a decade of patience on the universe’s part, it was ready to right me. I felt manic as I scribbled details of the 11 days with a dry erase marker, covering every sliding glass door and window on the first floor, including a large decorative mirror.

Thinking of you, Marcus, I went through the box for more notes and one by one, I studied each item and read each page of my journal. I thumbed through the spirals partially used by you from past classes. So I read all your notes, reminding me of your early beginnings of curiosity, innocence, and pure heart. Wow, has time whipped by.

I found sticky notes and magazine clippings of pictures that either came from or reminded me of the events that happened in Santa Barbara along with receipts, quotes and even the original map printed with red marker highlighting the places to stop for gas, which, as you know, your Dad created, not me. HA

Thoughts of my new friends flood my heart and I feel so grateful for them. The lessons of those 11 days have proved to carry on in this last decade. Thank God. Vision boards I created before and after the trip lined the interior walls of the box. I studied my hopes and dreams on those pages and I see how they follow me. Maybe this is why they aren’t realized because they’ve been tucked away in a box, waiting for me to “open” to them. It just seems they are a part of a plan that is not meant to be resisted. One I just have to fearlessly keep going for.

In that box, are attorneys’ names, numbers, tax forms, bankruptcy dates, mortgage letters, job interviews, declined job applications with attached resumes, credit card and banking statements – all holding negative messages with more bad news or flat-out declines. (my note to self – release these items ASAP.) I uncovered our food stamp and state health insurance card that had been tucked away. The dates of things started drawing me in, and I noticed that it had been exactly 11 years since the 11- day trip. Dad was on his 11th job. We were in our 11th house. You turned 11, the week before the 11- day trip. I can safely say, it could not be clearer that I’m supposed to be spending time on this now.

When I got to the bottom of the second box, I saw a pack of Newport cigarettes. I could tell by the weight that it wasn’t a full pack. Up until now, I remembered everything I’d been pulling out, but this. I shook it and felt its contents. Then opened to find three small folded pieces of paper with $ amounts and quantity amounts next to each name.

Behind the paper were three tiny zip lock baggies, each filled with one gram of cocaine. All the bags had little red hearts on them.

And then it all came back… I’d completely forgotten that these were the first drugs I’d confiscated from your Mazda RX8. It was like finding an old friend. The friend that boldly told me the truth about what was really happening to you. Warning me that your foot was on the pedal, full throttle. Our family was vulnerable and I worried about not being ready for something like this. I recalled that early morning sitting in your front seat with the smell of cigarettes lingering in the air. You had just rolled in at 6 a.m. The relief that you were safely home was always tainted with the silent question… How do we fix this? But on the flip side, I also recalled wondering, What kind of an addict would keep cocaine in baggies with tiny red hearts? A part of me smiled inside because I could still recognize my kind & gentle Marcus, and that gave me some hope.

It was the beginning of my search and rescue for you. And for myself, who felt I had failed you.

Taking this all in while standing at the kitchen table, I felt my knees unlock, and I uncontrollably slammed down onto the chair behind me, drawing the attention of Clint and Nicole, who were watching TV just a few feet away. I was grateful you weren’t there to see me recover these drugs, as I know it’s still an open wound for you… for us. I know now, though, that I can’t really shield you anymore.

I was surprised that it hit me like a bag of bricks again. Had I not processed enough? I quickly slipped the cocaine back into the box and threw some things over it to keep it hidden from the world. Hidden from me. Definitely hidden from you. Even though, things are not the same in our lives, this memory reminded me of the ripped-to-the-core feelings of this time period. The battlefield, I recall, is one that practically slayed us all while we painfully waited to see if we would have to bury you.

My dear son, the reason I share this now is because I have clarity that this book wants to be written, as well. Not sure why, cause I don’t think we have this all figured out, and so I’m not sure we have a platform to even help others yet. You can’t say AA is your answer. You can’t say RR–Rational Recovery is your answer. I don’t think any of us were exceptionally brave or courageous or even unlucky or plain stupid, so there’s not much of a story there. We just got caught up in the slippery shit, just like any other family does.

We can probably say something about the love and trust that grew while learning to understand addiction and also each other, in a deeper way. But I’m not sure people will care to hear about that. So, with your permission, I’m going to write it for you and me, Dad, Clint and Nicole. Cause, if nothing else, I want to document, the best that I can, my love, my sometimes crazy-ass-mad-insane devotion, intention, guilt, blame, fear and mistakes through it all. And, in the end, the one thing that can be clear, is that I’m grateful, so deeply grateful, for how it served us right in the growth and lessons it brought our family in the search, rescue and the excruciating, but mandatory release of you. With your permission, this will be the prologue of:

“Carry On …

the secret language, lessons and heart-wrenching love a family experiences when a child endures addiction.”