Monday, December 13, 2010
December 12, 2010 One Sentence Journal
I am grateful I woke up after feeding the ducks in time to go to the Advent Family Workshop!
Today, December 13, 2010 I am so grateful for...
the peaceful time feeding mallards, coots, Muscovy Ducks, Canadian Geese and some friends still unnamed
the joy on Samuel’s face while on the hayride through downtown last night
the Gingerbread house we collaboratively made
the giggles at the memories of past Gingerbread houses we attempted to make
Skype
time to just relax and reflect
the opportunity every Monday to start a new week, fresh, clean, clear canvas waiting for my “paint”
Wednesday, December 8, 2010
One Sentence Journal: Tuesday, December 7, 2010
I blogged about community as I baked snickerdoodles for Kat to share with her Smithie House compadres 3,000 miles from my kitchen.
Today, December 8, 2010 I am so grateful for...
Samuel’s enthusiasm for his saxophone and for playing basketball
Cmore’s calm demeanor as he went about his night last night and his morning this morning. He is learning my techniques work.
The gorgeous light in the sky this morning: reds and goldens and yellows…. with a touch of pink and mauve
Blog comments, especially the most sincere ones
The time and space to create freely
You, reading this. It is good to be back for two days in a row! Let’s continue this!
Tuesday, December 7, 2010
One Word Journal: December 6, 2010
Cookies
One Sentence Journal: Monday, December 6
The scent of cookies, baking and laughter ruled the day after the relief invocation of Samuel’s IEP.
Grateful on December 7
Today, December 7, I am so grateful for…
the clear air today so that I can see all the craggy, courageous mountains gathered around Bakersfield;
the chance to go to a Comedy show with my children last night and laugh, laugh, laugh
the time baking cookies with Emma and Sam. Emma has never participated in baking so much, so this was exceptionally cool.
the Bakersfield Viking Chorus
the women of the Blue Jean Babes
the writing prompts of Reverb10
Very inexpensive used books at goodwill
doodling…..
Monday, December 6, 2010
I have been doing this
since a very energy filling/draining November. Just thought it would be more effective to do so consciously.
Tuesday, November 9, 2010
One Word Journal: November 8, 2010
longer?
OSJ: November 8,. 2010
I understood why it took so long as a Director, as an actor it was all about wait, wait, wait, wait, wait, WAIT!
Today, November 9, I am so grateful for....
the lovely costumes Kat creates for me; creative flow abounding – almost ridiculously at times; Emma’s Emma-ness; Rick’s Write-In at Starbucks; backstage/dressing room conversations; my camera; collaboration.
Monday, November 8, 2010
OSJ: November 7, 2010
Will I ever catch up with my creative projects?
Today, November 8, 2010
I am grateful for my progress with NaNo even with my busy schedule (and the opportunity to catch up at today’s Write In)
I am grateful for the audience members at La Femme, still humming on a high level from that event…
I am grateful for the sweet snail I photographed this morning, the one with the unusual shell who turned to look at me as I photographed her.
I am grateful for Samuel’s progress, even as he gets rather persnickety.
I am grateful for movement. All movement.
I am grateful to remember love first…. in November.
I am grateful to be a part of the ripple effect of creativity.
I am grateful….
Monday, November 1, 2010
Grateful on November 1 for....
Samuel’s excitement at trick-or-treating last night.
Ongoing support for Katherine in light of her surgery and follow up.
Skype – so I could physically SEE Katherine (and she could see all of us!)
Emma’s beautiful voice as a part of worship
my neighborhood
deep breaths
comfortable pillows
Focusing on Micro Poetry This Month and participating in PAD November Chap Book Challenge
As if I don’t have enough with NaNo, AEDM and five performances.
Scent of jack-o-lanterns
becoming future soup, cookies
and breads rises as
word 1 of 50,000 is born ~
Saturday, October 23, 2010
October 22, 2010 One Sentence Journal
I’m not quite sure what it is that makes me delight this much in styling my hair in an 80’s larger than life ‘do I wear in “Taming” (perhaps its about the title!)
Grateful on October 23, 2010
I am grateful new writers continue joining us in our writing sessions for “And Now You Write” – YAY!
I am grateful for the conversation with Jessica last night.
I am grateful for the new discoveries I made about my femininity last night.
I am grateful for the cinnamon rolls Samuel and I baked this morning.
I am grateful for the comments on my “Chameleon” poem, especially from a man saying “I now know more than I ever thought I would know” and he said he could feel the empty sadness which tells me the poem did its work.
I am grateful I embrace doing things differently (even when I would rather do things “samely” LOL
I am grateful for my windchimes.
I am grateful for stolen shared glances and smiles with friends.
I am grateful.
Friday, October 22, 2010
One Word Journal: October 21, 2010
modpodge
One Sentence Journal: October 21, 2010
I am surprised, no – shocked, at how much fun I am having destroying a book I detest and making art from it. :-)
Today, October 21 I am so grateful
that today’s “And Now You Write” lesson is inspiring the heck out of me…facilitator bonus prize!
Elli
for Marvin’s ability to teach dance
for the way the early morning sun slants, as if it is waving to my front porch
Samuel’s increasing ability to express his emotions constructively
the promise this weekend holds: two performances, a party, a roadtrip with beloveds to a place I have never been, a support group and lots of hugs from my babies! (they don’t like me to call them that!)
Thursday, October 21, 2010
Today, October 21, I am grateful for...
speechlessness
the Art and Spirituality Center
painting in purple
Mary Oliver
Blog comments
giggles with Emma
silent early mornings
painting with water
Spirit Day, 2010
I can not claim to know your pain
I know pain
I can not claim to know your despair
I know despair
And I do know
reaching out, palm of
hand to palm to hand
clear eyes to tearing eyes
hearing the soul song for
together we are able
to nestle in each other’s
necls to come to know your
smell there:
the smell of your hidden sadness
the lurks after a heaving crying session
we can know that of each other
and pray it is enough
Before I Do It
Today I realized I was too familiar
with humdrum mediocrity in the air
Stacked Special K, Trix, Cinnamon Toast Crunch
Vacant eyes scanning for Penne or Linguini
Surprised, each time, by the seductive
smell of the Coffee aisle
Eyes away from other eyes, pushing metal
I count my steps each night when I walk
around the block. I listen for the slap
of each footstep on the pavement and
wonder what it will be like when I no
longer lift my feet up and down
My neighbors all keep their blinds closed
And then last night, I walked through my door
and Ed, my dog, greeted me, a question
hanging from his wagging tail, his
eyes, looking into mine with a dare
I had to reach down, to touch him
Pure intention with skin
The Beginning of the Poetry chairs
Paint flies through the air
and hopefully lands, there
on the to-be poetry chair
It doesn’t seem like
a large act, historically
immense or dense yet
The effect of the wetness,
the slight shimmer, it spells
“Hope” somehow – -
Mary Oliver told me, “You
don’t have to be good,”
I feel my shoulders
release
Just point the paint
push and move and release
and repeat. “You have to become
like a machine,” he said.
This purple I add
starts to turn this
simple one-time-sitting
in-Ikea-warehouse predictable
chair into sculpture
Intention and color morphs it
from “just like all the other
chairs” into a place to sit to
write to read to listen
to enjoy to become
poetry
One Sentence Journal: October 20, 2010
The feeling of my head against the pillow was strange and yet strangely sweet.
Monday, October 18, 2010
Beloved Teresa
Beloved Teresa, you gave the sisters
guidance. I need it, I need you, now
I need to see love taking form
I need to feel your gentle
hand, marble essence, between
my shoulder blades
How may we make this just fine to
make that just fine?
What can I do, with grace and love
who must I be with my children
with my projects just fine with my vision
just fine with my business just fine with
the people who show up just fine, desiring
tending, desiring questions, desiring
that gentle tug and nudge and
oh so gentle leaning just fine
Beloved Teresa, you gave the sisters
guidance. I need it, I need you, now
I need to see love taking form
I need to feel your gentle
hand, marble essence, between
my shoulder blades
I feel your answer in moving beyond
the just fine.
I feel your answer moving my fingers
massaging my forehead,
“You, me, she, we so far
beyond when you, me, she, we
climb into the heart of the one
who created us… and surrender,
allow, open, lean back….
Beloved Teresa, you gave the sisters
guidance. I need it, I need you, now
I need to see love taking form
I need to feel your gentle
hand, marble essence, between
my shoulder blades
Sister, let me lean into you
and yours, love
Feel that descent that sweet
acceptance that weightlessness
that ecstacy that light…
Beloved Teresa…..
Mom and her Pfaff
Mom didn’t wear much
perfume or make up it was
her sewing machine that
adorned her like her
ubiquitous peach lipstick
Mom confessed it was
the cutting out she hated
the destruction before
the creation before the
machine’s whirrrrrrrrr
I sought fancy details
(the very ones she abhorred)
ruffles, tucks, tweaks and slippery
fabric were famous for delaying
the revered final stitch
Later she stiched flowers onto
my wedding gown which I wasn’t
so wild about, I didn’t see her
bowing to my fancy, they were
her love and honor sewed in – -
The time the gong chased
me from my kitchen cabinet Mom
followed Sue’s frightened prsence
sans sewing machint, that time
Only withered windex, comet, Tide…
Post spectrum discovery she
sewed Sam’s shirts in a Motel 6 room
Her voice the foot pedal, “He needs
to learn. He needs to know.
You need to be…...”
On Hawthorne Avenue, only late at night
when her dailiness was past
machine went to table top
her quiet, dutiful, necessary
love: useful, wearable art
sewn stich by stitch
One Word Journal: October 17, 2010
Cat!!!
One Sentence Journal: October 17, 2010
I have gotten to be rather exceptional with being detached and welcoming delight, randomly.
Monday Morning Gratitude, October 18
is so grateful for my new phone which makes my work SOOOO much easier
word stew
coffee
the Poetry Gong
revision
inspiring friends
twangles
intimacy with true desire, true rage, true hunger, true pleasure….
I am so grateful!
Saturday, October 16, 2010
One Sentence Journal: October 15, 2010
I can make it through four more Shrew performances.
Gratitude on October 16
Samuel is helping me today.
I am grateful for Samuel’s four quarters from the tooth fairy, which he is carrying around like a secret treasure… smiles
I am grateful to only have FOUR shows left! YAY!
I am grateful to have a Saturday morning filled with poetry, reading and writing.
I am grateful to have a-ha’s, even when they hurt.
I am grateful for my trusty cup of coffee
I am grateful for the Kern Literary events this week so I may begin my SWAN networking.
I am grateful for the Poetry Gong at Big Tent Poetry.
I am grateful.
The Groan
Not exceptionally cheery and FYI, not autobiographical… yet another of my “fiction-poetry” experiments.
The groan rose from her chest, alien-thought-form
breaking through from the darkness into the
earthquake chasm created by the light, coming, there, from
the open window, open door, open-anything made her
soul skin shout, dried up rose petal word showers
“Don’t even think of making me rise up and out of this bed…”
She’ll more than gladly stay here, safe, dusty and
unexfoliated, under this slightly grey sheet
Her toes unpedicured, my heart unspent, her mind
made up.
“Don’t even think of making me
rise up and out of this bed…”
Here
HERE
Living, we cover vast territories;
imagine your life drawn on a map—
I never imagined it would stop.
Here. My children born.
Here.
My life force, my spark doesn’t fit in
Here. (But it comes close enough so
I stay)
Here.
I returned
Here.
While she stayed
to be educated. There.
I plug myself in.
Here.
Unknowns the unanswered hows. There.
glue my map shut. Here. paste smeared
on the creases between this highway
and that landmark I find myself
Still here.
My life drawn on a map.
Still.
Here.
Friday, October 15, 2010
Friday gratitude:
grateful for rest,
the smell of morning,
open windows,
my new phone,
writing breakthroughs for the writers of “And Now You Write”,
the discovery of new poets,
orange
Thursday, October 14, 2010
October 14 - Just Drive
I would never look into her eyes
and see myself reflected
Never be able to ask her if she
suffered and how it felt to come
face-to-face with death -
I wonder, now, if she has any awareness
of what has come to pass
If she could somehow let me know
what death has taught her
If she was there when my soul
flew forth and was pushed back,
so mightily. Was she one of the
ones who held my head up,
who kept her siblings calm and quiet?
“Just drive” toward light
our only drive alone
a family beginning its ending
Toward a waiting wheelchair
toward a tiny white casket under a
blanket of beautiful flowers
toward a grave I still visit on occasion,
tenderly offering this year’s flowers
since I never was able to have offered
gentle good night rituals
no breakfasts in bed or late night
secret excursions to addresses unknown,
giggling at our sillyness
no conversations about what to do, what
not to do, no big sisterly
advice for Kat or Emma or Sam
I was forty eight when I wrote this poem
still refusing to just drive…...
Wednesday, October 13, 2010
She loves
She loves the way it sounds: absolve
Step back, get a better view:
set free, let go, abandon: add wings
to heaven (or something or someplace
like that)
What would it be like to have
the hisses and ridicule heard
as the twelve-year-old-she evaporate?
The auditory mist would be taken up,
on flying chariots, hazy clouds of glitter
trailing them as love prevails,
finally, in memory, in future – -
She loves the way it sounds: absolve
June 1985, Mesa Arizona
It whispers in my ear when speech evades me.
“I don’t know where it blows from. And in its sources is my power.”
My eyes find the ability to open. I see my feet, standing in canvas shoes.
I see the sidewalk pavement, the phone booth,
The broken down car.
Miles from home, from love, and settling out there, alone.
My voice sounds braver than my slightly shaking hand feels.
My sweaty brow is cooler when
It snakes past me.
Do I kid myself when I insist on
Tuesday, October 12, 2010
October 11, 2010 - Bootcamp Check In
I didn’t make it to Zumba today but I did make it to the gym for a general work out. This is awesome for me because it isn’t all or nothing, it is about being with what is…the world doesn’t stop spinning if I don’t make it to Zumba class AND my body feels better if I work out somehow, every day.
This felt great!!
I also love that after my workouts, whatever form they take, I make time for quiet meditation a la savasana in yoga. Last night I had some marvelous awarenesses. Sometimes they come, sometimes it is pure silence… and whatever it is is just right…
October 11, 2010
I adore writing along the river.
Monday, October 11, 2010
10/11/2010 gratitudes....
is grateful for the sunshiney morning
the writers of “And Now You Write”
poetry
Samuel’s helpfulness during Sunday School yesterday
a several day break from performances
quirky hats
October 10, 2010 One Sentence Journal
I was in bed before 10 and my body rebelled by feeling like an ancient piece of rusty pipe when I woke up.
Sunday, October 10, 2010
October 9, 2010 One Sentence Journal
I got just the right amount of “Hey, look, I am at a party!” in before I climbed under the comforter, content.
10/10/2010 gratitude
is grateful for
deep stretching & the experimentation/conversation with Natalie
my notebooks
haiku as an art form
laughter with friends
hugs
goofy costumes
tonight rest will be available in a nice, long swath.
Saturday, October 9, 2010
October 8 , 2010
I cried almost uncontrollably during yoga.
Friday, October 8, 2010
October 8: Soul's Window Ledge
Sitting on my soul’s window ledge
Tears’ urge, up through my gut
anger bubbling over unheard
moans and shouts, berated by
ephithets undermining stretching,
intellectual physical higher tiered
muscles tight, face, down, not able
tears push, shove, pander
through my gut
down my face, leaving
mineral traces and an ache
sitting on my soul’s window ledge
I see a boy, strumming a guitar
walking down the busy street
that faces my front door, my kitchen
window my writing spaces I can’t
help but smile and wish it was
me (or perhaps my daughter) he
was playing for, an old fashioned
balladeer or 80’s teen angsty movie
maybe lifts me from the tale of
tears, the wondering how weird am I
thinking “I can’t get my heels on the
floor so everything is in my shoulders
my arms my wrists anyone who enjoys
this torture as a means of relaxation doesn’t
speak my body language” instead an awkward
insulting flood of imminent nausea epitaph
“I am the oddest duck in the marsh
the ugliest country, confused state duck
who keeps returning because the
quacking, the swimming, the fluttering
of my tail feels so darned good!” even
when I grimace and almost grunt
and lie on my back, writhing in
unmoaned tears…..
I sit on my soul’s window ledge
and sigh
Thursday, October 7, 2010
October 7, 2010: Leaves Song (A Rondeau)
Yes, another form – -today, some metrical verse…
Leaves sing God’s song, tune cycles of budding, birth, giving, release,
Autumn golds, ambers, flaming red have forgotten April’s sweet peace
Wind rumbles through this drying season, bounding water over rocks
Shorts and sunscreen abandoned in drawers, left for warm wooly socks
She stirs her pumpkin soup dinner and watches the darkness increase – -
The question: When did she last hear the relentless honking of geese?
See the V flying South turn from the grey clouds, pregnant with rain – obese
No need for paper when nature’s calendar clicks and turns the clocks
Leaves sing God’s song
Ali throws open the cellar door, her smile shouts “Cheers for caprice!”
Kitchen air and floor fills with Maple’s and Elm’s orange and cerise
Fight between Bob the Cat and Jack the Jay, bird wins with squawks
She gathers the broom, the trash can, the bags when she hears the knocks
There – stomping morning’s dew from his brawny boots she sees love’s police
Leaves sing God’s song
October 6: Gogyohka #1/#2
Gogyohka #1
Pink corduroy back pack
overflowing with stuff
I can’t see through the
panty house and hoop
instructions leak out
Gogyohka #2
To function as it was meant
it needs to be plugged in
and left alone for a while:
I need to learn pure rest
even from my cell phone
One Sentence Journal: October 6, 2010
Note to self: when thinking of why I am involved in theater, do not remember this week.
Grateful on October 7
I am grateful for:
Emma’s giggles
long sleeves
windshield wipers
intuitive painting
Sister Sherry
yoga classes
tenacious teachers
interesting textures.
Wednesday, October 6, 2010
It is October 6 and I am so grateful for...
the chill in the air… delectable!
having heartful activities to look forward to (today it is Yoga and hanging out at the Art and Spirituality Center)
Photos from the reunion I could not attend but am able to see on Facebook
my castmates
Everyone participating in “And Now You Write”
Only two more days of rehearsal for “TOS”!
Samuel’s excitement for learning this year. Blossoming…
Tuesday, October 5, 2010
October 5: Look Under the Leaves
While this still feels rough drafty, I offer it to you anyway. The opening and closing lines come from a writing prompt at Carry On Tuesday and is a line from one of Shakespeare’s sonnets.
Where art thou, Muse?
Hidden in a haiku line or
woven into a pantoum’s sweater
There, your shadow is showing
underneath the essay’s hook
I read of you in that three
year old letter I thought
I had mailed or lost
I think I heard your call
in the song of the journeying
bird or perhaps on that worn,
leather patch on the bikers back pack
Yesterday I felt your presence
in the graffitti scrawling, slopping
on the women’s room stall
My pencil hesitates to move
to stay this bumpy, nearly
invisiible course
It is easier to claim
it is too dark to see
I wonder was it you
who left? That’s the
song I sing but
a new verse wants to
be written that is saying
it was I who turned
my back on thee.
Where art thou, Muse?
October 4, 2010
Yesterday I worked on a bunch of drafts, was in such a blood sludgy frame of mind, yet I wrote a haiku and didn’t even notice it until I was kicking myself for not writing yesterday when I discovered… oh yes, you did, Julie! oh yes, you did!
Looks like autumn sky
Or is it a Kern decoy?
Wind chime lullaby
Grateful on October 5, 2010
I am so grateful for…
the need of a comforter while I sleep
my children
tomatoes
this laptop I am using to write
living the questions
my notebooks
patience
birdsong
cool air.
One Sentence Journal - October 4, 2010
I had almost forgotten what this sludgy feeling in my blood stream felt like.
Monday, October 4, 2010
October 3, 2010 One Word Journal
Squeezed
October 3, 2010 One Sentence Journal
My giving was wayyyyyy out of balance with my receiving today.
It is Monday Morning and I am grateful....
I am grateful a very hectic yesterday is over
for my camera
for my ability to focus in laser-beams of moments
for my costumes for Taming of the Shrew
that the next five days are finite (reminding myself it is not ‘always’ like this!)
conversations which center on the creative process
Hank
Mondays.
Sunday, October 3, 2010
One Sentence Journal. October 2, 2010
I made it, even if I “lost” the challenge all ready.
October 3: An Inverted Etheree (Breathe Now)
Shoulders lift so high they look like earrings
“Release their tension, Kimosabe”
So I do and they lie, resting
atop the rest of me, still
breath meets breath unfolding
silence slices through
release let go
Yes, you know
More than
was
thought
before
your mind sought
“the” secret, sole
“the” one only
Rightness in plenty
Receive what is given
Open arms, when pulse meets breath
Smile wellspring celebration is
happening now, is happening now
Shoulders release, silence slices: breathe… now.
Saturday, October 2, 2010
Grateful on October 2, 2010
I am grateful:
to be getting back into the swing of dailiness
for Samuel’s partnership in keeping me “on task” lol
the people and words flowing in And Now You Write
my new hoooooop YAY!
dancing in general
the discovery of new poetry forms
air conditioning.
October 2: Saturday Morning, 6:32 AM
An Etheree… Julie on her never ending quest to find and write new forms
Pffffffft
helpless
to assist
solutions
float out of reach
There must be some way…
Pause, as if in prayer
From silence erupts nothing
Here the speed of sound moves slowly
Ten minutes later: gritty ghost work
Still brings empty hands, speechless images
Off to the Gym, too late for Zumba
(My schedule is getting thrown off by other people’s stuff and I am staying centered, anyway.)
Will Zumba on Monday, start hooping tomorrow.
Friday, October 1, 2010
One Sentence Journal - September 30, 2010
Today I nurtured another’s hangover and while hanging over at my waist later at rehearsal remembered how much I love love love to dance.
Frightened - October 1 Poem
I’m frightened
The nine-year-old-me
inside-me watches
blaze untethered
in my mother’s hands
falling to the forest’s
feet, there, fire free
broken through its glass bowl
made to restrict it
I’m frightened
destructive beast
unseparated from
the spaces between
my racing heart beats
My mother is frightened
The surreal becomes
the familiar
Mom throws dirt
the fire succumbs
to my mother
I breathe
sort of
again
Untitled
I am grateful it is October!
for 43things – just waiting here for me to use it again
for 750words (also waiting)
for photos from the past old friends dig up and post
for forgiveness
for incredible sunrises recently
for the ability to read and write poetry
for perseverence
that I was cast in Maggie (hey, even second or fourteenth choice is fine if I got the role) for so many reasons but the dancing is feeling especially great.
Tuesday, September 7, 2010
She is so very happy at Smith College
her dreams are coming true.
One Word Journal: September 6, 2010
tilling
One Sentence Journal: September 6, 2010
How did this McDonald’s on Mt. Vernon and Columbus become my microcosmic version of a Cafe in Hemingway and Stein’s Paris?
Several recent memoirs written:
August 31:
I must agree to this day.
September 5:
Together we touched God last night
September 6;
The schoolbus doors swallow my son.
September 7;
My challenges line up like lemmings.
September 7 Gratitude
It has been a while. Kat is settled into Smith College and I am settling into life at home without her. Time to get back into the routines that nourish and nurture me.
I am grateful for gesso
Denise Levertov
time with my notebook in the sunrise
Samuel’s passion for music
writing prompts
friendships where discussing the profound is blissfully ordinary
a wide open morning.
Saturday, August 21, 2010
Saturday, August 21
You are leaving soon.
Less than seven days.
I am happy-sad delighted-scared
gleeful-grieving.
Mommy
who loved you well
knows the best, final
gift is to let go
Friday, August 20, 2010
Thinking of Prax, who I am gratefully friends with on Facebook so we may continue to Haiku...
Sam’s last Summer day ~
Watching moments click the clock ~
Fourth grade is here, soon
Tuesday, August 17, 2010
Picture to Pull (a blitz poem)
Create a life
Create word pictures
Pictures tell tells
Pictures don’t lie
Lie to me
Lie big monster
Monster to drink
Monster for hire
Hire this servant
Hire this woe
Woe to you
Woe is I
I have fear
I have fear
fear has nothing
fear is powerless
Powerless without me
Powerless all alone
alone is fine
alone welcomes solitude
Solitude bears promise
Solitude holds fear
fear gives in
fear cries gratitude
gratitude sings joy
gratitude opens up
Up look up
Up sky clls
calls Julie Hi
Calls Blue eyes
eyes see light
Eyes see dark
Dark hides facts
Dark brings fear
fear whispers faint
fear urges more
more terror here
More frustration there
there isn’t here
there isn’t now
now breathe slowly
now really hear
Hear dark words
hear tough lessons
lessons arrows find
lesson’s gentle pull
Pull my soul
Pull my pulse
pulse…
soul….
Monday, August 9, 2010
Grateful on August 9, 2010
Grateful for teaching what I know and learning a smidge of what I don’t.
Grateful for the chance to sit in the aftermath of destruction. Smelling the fire. Touching it, holding a speck of it, feeling what remained and more learning.
Grateful for Sequoia National monument and now-familiar tree friends.
Grateful for Sam’s love of hosting and adventuring.
Grateful for VAC and a day off from the Mom Schlep.
Grateful for Sam’s love of textures and his expression of it.
Grateful for my very pretty house
Grateful for Free recycled paint!
Grateful for Writing prompts.
Grateful for 750words!
Grateful for Context, context, context!
Saturday, August 7, 2010
Early writing on a ridiculously busy day: August 7
858 words 104 consecutive days 101,464 total words
Friday, August 6, 2010
Aug 6: Father, for I....
Forgive me, father,
for I have sinned
too many poetic
confessionals with a
slight self indulgent
make that multiple
me me me binges
Forgive me, father,
for I have sinned
Tzck tzck tzck too
many clackety clackety
heard it, pen and paper
no need to ruminate
onomatopoetical sin
Forgive me, father,
for I have sinned
sentient sacred
ceremonial salt
tears tucked tautly
my memory morphs
alliteration, ah!
Forgive me, father,
for I have sinned
August 6, 2010 check in
103 days in a row/ 100,588 total/ 858 words today so far!
Wednesday, August 4, 2010
August 4 Check In for 750 Words.com
1,146 words today// 98,048 words total// 101 consecutive days
August 3, 2010 One Sentence Journal
The birthplace of insults is with the giver of the taunt or tease so when insults fly I now recognize it is more about him than me.
"Love" Left Behind
for my grit and grime series
Improbability to be
Cast aside like this
Invincibility filling
The inner city scene
Never expecting this
Unexpected flash of
Purple to bring an
Unlikely smile
To my face because
This is grungy and
Gross, isn’t it?
A purple condom,
Used and left behind
Had somehow managed
To fold itself into a heart
Irony: not love at all
this “love” left behind
His Picture
From the passing car window a question-shout
“Does he have enough water to drink?”
My new friend affirms, “Yeah, there’s…”
From the car window bills are offered
“Oh, anything helps brother, anything…”
We watch, Samuel and I, from ten feet away
“He is fascinated by water meters” I hear
myself say, feebly, from someplace deep
in my belly between courage and shame
“That’s a skutgafdasniecsd meter,” he explains
I lose the word his expertise offered
Before the drive home to write
This poem. Flittered into and out of
My mind as I made a request that
Embarrassed delighted perplexed –
“May we take your photo, please?”
met silence
He spoke to the ground, “I’m no good
With pictures…” and as I said my,
“ok, that’s ok tumbled over his “pictures”
and Samuel brought our conditional
too small anyway addition to his coffer
He allowed us.
To take it.
His picture.
I didn’t predict
When I set out today
To have my head turned by
An intriguing water meter
Zap think “Photo Op!”
To have my gut turned.
By his picture.
Tuesday, August 3, 2010
August 3 750words.com check in.
859 words so far today
96,902 total
and ofcourse…
100 Day Streak is intact and a reality. And I am not stopping.
August 2, 2010 - On Track with Bootcamp
1. Completion – I have a plan to bring several of my collected works into completion. Am beginning to bring that into reality starting today.
2. Zumba last night was great fun. Ironic, my knees hurt less when they are getting a butt kicking.
3. Conscious eating rules.
August 2, 2010 One Sentence Journal
I felt wobbly last night, all the realities of transition are bearing down on my shoulders and my knees feel as if they are buckling.
PM Examen, August 2, 2010
I could have wrung out towels of tears during/after last night’s examen… and that’s what it is about, right?
Partially, anyway – clearing, cleansing, becoming more intimate with myself and with God. Grateful.
Task for today – make up a worksheet individualized for me… plus I am going to add, at the end, different Saint’s prayers… like Francis and Chiara of Assissi and Juan de la Cruz and Teresa of Avila…
Monday, August 2, 2010
Poem By Text: Headstones Dot a Lawn (August 1)
Or, who says you need a pencil and paper to write poetry?
Right where we
Were today
St. Ignacious
Pre-Fire Eruption
Academy of Science
Somersaults back
Into the Valley
Can’t tell exactly
Where I am except
For right here:
Play center, manufactured
Fun looks through my
Squinted eyes like a prison
Metaphor unfolds
Before me
Wal-mart
Tract homes
Flat, withered
Terrain, once green
Yellowed now
Look for clues
And find nothing
Turn my head
To read backwards
Facing highway
Signs as they are
All I can see next
To the John Deere
And bright Oleander
Old headstones dot
A lawn in Ripon
I wonder what words
Are inscribed and
What people live and
Die in that place,
Right there, where
I drive past, it lies
Untouched by my hands
Small town, proud
Of your history?
Does he or she or
You or them enjoy
Your life here?
I am traveling
Through. I hope
You are well.
Wednesday, July 28, 2010
It started with a poetry prompt
and became something of a call.
Reminds me of my “On the Edge” series.
Am looking forward to where this one takes me…. am beginning today…
(this is not the stuff I normally write of)
My shoulders reach to my ears
muscles cramp at the reality of
hatred, thwarting efforts to focus
on good, right, holy, loved
I prefer bumper stickers
that proclaim “Shift happens”
and “Love wins” to the semi
abusive “My loser student beat
up your honor student”
(this is not the stuff I normally write of)
and why not, for once, stretch into
degradation, filth, chaotic and
flashingly romantic disarray?
wouldn’t it be better to soak
in the stench of maggot laced garbage
than the unbelievable rainbows and
butterflies of blinder wearing ice
skaters who refuse to experience
the all which this life offers?
(this is not the stuff I normally write of)
so this week, I will
(Not the Stuff)
(this is not the stuff I normally write of)
My shoulders reach to my ears
muscles cramp at the reality of
hatred, thwarting efforts to focus
on good, right, holy, loved
I prefer bumper stickers
that proclaim “Shift happens”
and “Love wins” to the semi
abusive “My loser student beat
up your honor student”
(this is not the stuff I normally write of)
and why not, for once, stretch into
degradation, filth, chaotic and
flashingly romantic disarray?
wouldn’t it be better to soak
in the stench of maggot laced garbage
than the unbelievable rainbows and
butterflies of blinder wearing ice
skaters who refuse to experience
the all which this life offers?
(this is not the stuff I normally write of)
so this week, I will
One Sentence Journal - Tuesday, July 27, 2010
I didn’t leave the house at all until after 9 pm due to my gravelly voice which needed rest.
I am grateful on July 28, 2010
Today I am so grateful for….Google books
plentiful resources created by like minds/souls/contemplatives to find women explorers, naturalists, all-around-cool-women
my writing porch
relatively cooler weather
my glasses and my script
my voice being almost back to normal
windchimes
shadow play
Tuesday, July 27, 2010
It is Tuesday evening, June 23 and I am grateful...
my voice is getting better, slowly, and fever seems to be gone
scheduled a sunset writing camp for next Thursday – YAY!
spent time reading just for fun
Katherine and Emma hanging out together for a little bit
Emma’s thorough melt down and quick and thorough recovery
Samuel’s singing voice
93 days in a row at 750words.com
Wednesday, July 21, 2010
Grateful on July 21, 2010
Today I am grateful for…
the will to write
my friends, making funny comments on facebook about my status this morning…
Yoga class: Kama, Kat, Alisha, eager-eyed newbie
Amanda (Kat’s soon to be room mate at Smith’s Hubbard House) and her family
My shoulders
73 degrees in the morning… focus on this. feel happier.
July 20, 2010 - One Sentence Journal
Yoga was the perfect capper for the day: I felt like I was on a different planet when I left than when I started.
Tuesday, July 20, 2010
July 19, 2010 One Sentence Journal
Am I the only mother in the world who abhors schlepping kids hither and yon because I would rather be creating?!
Grateful on July 20, 2010
I am grateful for…
Rehearsal time with Steve going well. We were able to work through new dynamics and points of humor, points of up sweeps and down glides. I appreciate finding moments such as these. It is what I love most.
My morning coffee
The crispness of these last two mornings… as I write on my porch. (I realize many wouldn’t consider these temperatures crisp, but to me – they are like baby bear’s porridge. Perfect.)
The goofy moments chasing down Mr. Green Thumb in order to get a photo of his truck. It reminded me of the commitment of an actor, only this time fueled by an artist. “I need that shot!” Giggles still
Samuel’s companionship
My engagement with the women of the past… keeping their memory and contribution alive.
Writing prompts
Elastic bands to sweep my hair back, into a ponytail
ten seconds or a tenth of a second
Ten seconds of silence or perhaps a tenth
Of a second of silence afforded me all –
An unnamed log my pillow and the red
Soil my mattress
My eyes surveyed
The towering sentient Sequoia, nearly
As old as Christ, I am guessing,
Too tall for me to see its upper rooms
Tears tickled my belly
Tears shuffled their feet under my eye-lids
Plenty of time to tune into
The source this tree provided
I would have loved more time
nestled by its side,
feeling its history meet mine – relating,
somehow, to this tree
This day, though, was about and for
Them. And Me. Not for me alone.
My notebook pages barren this day
No turning to pencil and paper
My notebooks and words would wait
For translation, later. I want to wrap my
Children in experience which spans beyond
My readers right now.
“I’ll be back, be right back…” and
focus on creating memories my children
will carry as I carry my view from the
picture window in the rented cabin
My dad, out on the family canoe,
alone on a lake in the middle of dawn.
Little me labeled this moment “lonely”
Grown me labels this moment delicious
I understand the need for solitude and
Know he was holding his sweet
Moments (slightly more than a tenth
Of a second) before family experience
And making memories alongside us
He didn’t know as he praised the quiet
Water underneath the canoe and the
Blessed smells of a lake offering nothing
and everything he was also
unknowingly making a memory
for me which has lasted this lifetime
and now stretches into yours
Monday, July 19, 2010
yesterday, I didn't exercise
and my body rebelled. I found it hilarious, well, once I realized where the source lived.
I have been so good at working on my fitness, sometimes I forget, “oh, yeah, I am working on my fitness!”
Tonight, another Zumba class – our friend, Alisha, is meeting us.
In fact, Zumba combines all three elements of this bootcamp because I have to focus to get the steps right and it is a blast and I sweat ridiculously so I know I am getting more fit!
One Sentence Journal: July 18, 2010
The day after Kat’s Surprise adventure was such a yummy counterpoint of people and heat and close-with-other-bodies that my body revolted from lack of movement.
Grateful on July 18? Yes. 18. I think
I am grateful I lead a life where dates are not the first thing I think of in the morning!!
I am grateful Kat’s Surprise Adventure went so well on Saturday. She had a blast and so did I, so did each of us.
I am grateful for fluffy pillows.
I am grateful for romantic comedies like “Letters to Juliet” that yes, may be seen as fluff but also have some noticeable artistic qualities attached as well.
I am grateful for meaningful conversation.
I am so grateful for respite from the ordinary.
I am grateful for poetry… mine and others.
I am grateful for Kathleen Norris’ book, “The Cloister Walk.”
I am grateful for intellectual & spiritual conversations with my children.
I am grateful for Samuel’s continued blossoming.
I am grateful.
Friday, July 16, 2010
Today, July 16 I am so grateful for...
I am grateful for My beloved friends, Mel and Tom, and the fact I can simply live Mel an “I love you” comment and she knows I remember… and is grateful that on today, I remember…
I am grateful for ceiling fans
I am grateful for ice cubes
I am grateful for my beloved Hank
I am grateful for Samuel’s sweet request that I buy Gillette for Men’s “all day power” shower gel
I am grateful for poetry collections and the progress I am making on my chap books, so much so that I already have buyers WAITING for them to be finished!
I am grateful…..
One Sentence Journal: July 15, 2010
Sometimes I forget the sweet peace of writing on my porch as the sunsets as well as when the sun rises.
Seeing Through the Code
Faint whispers &
Beret tilts to
Ruffle her golden curls
Only the most
Aware notice
The winking eyes
Through the
Linden leaves –
“Your gift.
A new
Beginning.”
Sunrise
She turns
And her
Footsteps
Sing, “Thank
You for
Taking the
Time to
Unwrap me!”
Tuesday, July 13, 2010
Impulse
Impulses are
Electrical charges, uncontrolled by me.
Managed by the flick of the switch by him or
Her or them or Da Man or His Bitch and wait
am I the one who makes the switch move?
Am I the one who decides, ultimately, on and
off and
I
Must
Say
yes.
It is I.
I am it.
The switcher
The Impulser
The Off On
Up Down
Yes No
Let’s Go
Please Stop
No Really Stop
Poor Impulse control is verbage that used
to be slapped and most likely is still pasted
onto psychological reports and the mélange
of psychotalk words, those long phrases or
stilted equations of this word and that word
and somehow some odd combination of computer
jargon and psychology and poetry births a phrase
which makes the average Joe or Jane say,
“What is Dr. SuchandSo talking about?”
“Oh, self importance, primarily. And showing
how smart he is to use JargonSpeak that we
don’t care to know, thank you very much.”
Until I meet
Another Human
Impulse machine
Who, I, Can, Not,
Stop.
Alone.
Poor Impulse control is verbage that used
to be slapped and most likely is still pasted
onto psychological reports and the mélange
of psychotalk words, those long phrases or
stilted equations of this word and that word
and somehow some odd combination of computer
jargon and psychology and poetry births a phrase
which makes the average Joe or Jane say,
“What is Dr. SuchandSo talking about?”
“Oh, self importance, primarily. And showing
how smart he is to use JargonSpeak that we
don’t care to know, thank you very much.”
Impulse: naughty, crumpled jagged electrical force
that makes the body respond, react, muscles
up and down and in and out.
Impulses are
Electrical charges, uncontrolled by me.
Managed by the flick of the switch by him or
Her or them or Da Man or His Bitch and wait
am I the one who makes the switch move?
Am I the one who decides, ultimately, on and
off and
I
Must
Say
yes.
And a Haiku was written on Friday. YAY!
Silent paper waits
Images tumble through still air
Grey pencil scratches
Beyond Words Beautiful
For whatever reason, I wrote a fairy tale poem a few days ago.
Her name was Acrid
Her coarse red hair sliced her lovers
Before they could feel her skin
“Stand back” her scent ordered
Yet there was something in her pungent
Flavor that aroused those certain
Boys, that caused them to flail,
helplessly, as her lengthy russet
tresses drew blood and her breasts
waited, untouched, wanting, pure
His name was Bane
Acrid was his aim
He brought a scythe and wore a hood
Surprising her he reached deeper
He crushed her shivering mane
and silenced her body’s plea
for touch with a quenching so fine
so artful and frightening and gentle
viscerally wild and unfamiliar that
in those stolen few moments
they felt, together, what bliss is
Until that moment when Bane’s destruction
Partnered with Acrid’s bitter aftertaste
they became tepid, together
just another suburban couple
looking for some form of satisfaction
in SUV’s and little league and bunco
and the occasional Parent-Teacher conference
Or “Who is there?” Cocktail party
Her shorn hair glistened he got rid
Of his signature hood for leather
Sometimes, at night, especially,
they wondered if that brief memory
actually happened
Bane and Acrid –
In that long ago moment
Were beyond words beautiful
Perfect Albeit Perplexing
I had a perfect dream
And sometimes poems are just plain silly
Primed as a posy on the vine, plump
and wanting to be picked
Pouting lips whisper “Pop me off!”
Perfection primed and plucked
I had a perplexing dream of purple
pancakes, dancing on my plate,
skirts rising and pantaloons perking
my son’s prepubescent interest.
Pounce on the alarm. OFF!
Oh, My Percy
I fell in love today and wondered, immediately
Did Mary Oliver name her dog for him?
You know the dog, her Percy?
She writes of walks and reflections
Leaping from his limbs, that Percy -
At first I thought it was just his biography
I wanted. I’m speaking of Shelley, no not Mary
I want a biography – a life line – like Percy’s.
I want people to look at my words and say
“I have drunken deep of joy” here, and sigh…
He was the poet, that poet, the one poet
whose “whose passionate search for personal
love and social justice was gradually channeled
from overt actions into poems that rank with the
greatest in the English language.” those
brilliant folks from ThinkExist.com introduced us
I want to have a biography like him.
I will say it out loud, here, overtly
I will credit those who brought us
into connection – since I never
gave Percy any thought today yet now.
I think I am in love.
I have yet another Dead Man Crush.
I have many of those you know.
My Alberts: Schweitzer and Einstein
My Henry: as in David Thoreau –
pencil factory owner, Walden Pond
dweller his deliberate solitude
would know my alone need
coupled with my fond desire
of time with him, his poetry,
his deep thinking mind
(I worry I would get on his nerves)
Each time I turn it seems another
dead man attempts to woo me
with his Romantic speech and notions
I toss aside all my physical predilections
for just one of Rainer Rilke’s whispers in
my ear, my chin rises toward his voice
I want to learn German so I can touch
his untranslated meaning.
They elevate me, these dead man crushes.
I am open about them – obviously
I don’t hide the fact that I have a long list of
amorous non-suitors separated from
by the impossible to be intimate grave.
I don’t go for dead guys like
James Dean or the typical pretty-boys
Bring me some Whitman smattered with
Some speckles of May Sarton
(My crushes even crush the
gender line for I am more bold when
my lost love crosses death’s boundaries.
For today, my love reaches to Percy.
I look to the page and find “A poet is a nightingale,
who sits in darkness and sings”
I hear the bird song“to cheer its own
solitude with sweet sounds.”
and I know this love is not unrequited
I fall into his outstretched from the
Soil arms and find “Soul meets soul on lovers’ lips.”
And know that in speaking his words
On this page and in your mind –
Percy is still blissfully alive….
July 12, 2010
Singing camp, sandwiches and a missed chance at Zumba made for a break through day… surprise, surprise!
Today, July 13 I am so grateful for....
Emma’s singing camp going well yesterday (she is so positive about the experience, she even went to the gym with Kat and me last night!)
Sam’s sandwich making adventure. Creative in the kitchen, my guy is!
The coolness in the morning
My pencils and paper
Poetry: such fun I have with words!
My knees, which hurt and then don’t. Every day in every way, better and better and better…
Wednesday, July 7, 2010
My chap books
are turning out beautifully. I am adoring them!
July 6 One Sentence Journal
Today was an anti-procrastination in several ways and a “Dig in the heels hell if I am going to do that!” kinda day in other ways.
Tuesday, July 6, 2010
July 6 Daily Poem
Silence allows words to be felt
Rather than heard
Those gathering, walking
Up the green grass covered
Hill felt her words, her voice
Her whispered shouts of
“If I should die think only this of me..
she loved well
her children adored her
she could turn a word a phrase a melody
she was vulnerable, fragile and strong as an ox
she was amusing without even meaning to be
“If I should die think only this of me
she cried as hard as she laughed
she fought injustice
she was an advocate
an activist
she loved this one precious life she was given
she didn’t hesitate
she was bold
she was breathtaking
she didn’t hide or cower, wait for someone else or say
“That’s not my job”
“If I should die think only this of me
she giggled
she hoped
she prayed
she wrote
she wrote
she wrote
she loved to listen to the stories the wind told
she stored a lot of friends in heaven
she laughed at herself
she was generous
“If I should die think only this of me
she was a word swashbuckler
she was a word gourmet
she was a word prima ballerina
she was a word guru
she was a word priestess
she was a word fuss budget
she was a word clown
she was a word sentry
she was a word shepherd
she was a word guide
“If I should die think only this of me
she loved saying yes
she loved Katherine
she loved Emma
she loved Samuel
She dreamed, a lot.
She wished, a lot.
She painted.
She collaged.
She was authentic.
“If I should die think only this of me
She had high expectations and no expectations all at the same time.
She was love incarnate.
She loved to smile.
She loved sharing smiles.
She loved hugs.
She gave a lot of herself in each hug.
She was passionate about resting.
“If I should die think only this of me
She was nuts about chocolate and pesto and coffee in the morning.
She longed for solitude and quiet.
She loved the unstructured and the structured.
She was a leader.
She was a feminist.
She was a light.
“If I should die think only this of me
She sold hope, everyday.
She looked at things, carefully.
She looked at things, mindfully.
She loved making discoveries.
She loved being a Mommy.
She loves.
She is.
She knows.
Silence allows words to be felt
Last night ZUMBA!
I had such a great time and sweat so hard… I worked myself toward ecstacy. I had been so afraid to go, but I just went and WOW!
I cried when we did the cool down, I remembered through this class how much I love to dance. It reminded me of when I took a voice class before I started acting. When it came my turn to sing, I cried. Here I was during the cool down, stretching my arms and legs, crying. Remembering high school dance class, crying.
July 5, 2010
Somehow I had forgotten I could sweat that much during an hour of raucous dancing.
July 6, 2010 - Today I am grateful for...
pure delight in “just hanging out time”
unstructured hours
my writing group: we had such fun yesterday!
long term friendships
the possibilities that arise when helping travelers
laughter
Monday, July 5, 2010
July 5, 2010 Free Writing
I wrote this during my writing group this morning and it is well over 750words but… oh, well!
I have been writing with my friends, now the Blue Jean Babes, for a few years now. No leader, co-leaders – and we move ourselves along, writing, writing, writing, writing some members are almost always absent, others are almost always present and most of all, we all aim to love each other and honor one anothers words.
It works.
Today the Babe who was supposed to lead us was absent, so Jodi stepped in with some words from Janis Joplin which just happened to be on her desk. How fun is that?
Here is what I wrote:
“Freedom’s just another word for nothing left to lose”... Janis Joplin
Maybe that’s it: that’s the thing…. maybe that is this peace I feel, much of the time, that sweet soft patch I settle into when I rest, when I experience a moment fully and relax into the next and the next and the next. Sometimes I label that feeling trust, sometimes I label that feeling home and sometimes I label that feeling ‘simply me.’
Its like this: I’ve lost so much of what I used to label “not losable” that I am adept at both loss and I am adept at hang gliding into the feeling of freedom when my muscles release and I allow myself to sink into the loss and nose dive, free form, into freedom.
What a paradox and what a true place to live.
Maybe that’s what my soul was seeking to communicate to me, that moment John died. My beloved younger brother with whom I shared a language free connection. I was only thirteen-months-old when John was born with Downs syndrome and rocked my family to the core. To me, he was just another brother to love and my special life-mate because of our closeness in age. In the moments after John died, we zoomed out of our bodies, the two of us. I sought freedom from my skin. I had to be with him, I was his protector, no one else knew him like I did.
My soul didn’t give a thought for even my own heartbeat or my own children, my stuff, my projects, my relentless to-do list. I tasted a split second of freedom from all of those finite realities of living in a body before being shoved back into my skin, back into covering my bones, my organs, inhabiting this noise making organism as I heard animal-like sounds bursting from that space that begged to be flying, free-form, toward my brother once again.
I wasn’t prepared for the lurch of freedom’s insistent call. I wasn’t prepared for that level of freedom in the first place. It felt like I was folded back into my body with an experience of the words, “Not yet”, just like they were spoken yet they weren’t heard, they were known. They were agreed to by my heart and lungs, by my crying sobbing voice. My children, who witnessed the entire process and my head almost slamming violently into the steering wheel yet somehow, unscathed, breathed together in relief, in sadness, in trust.
Each layer of my skin vibrated with me being alive.
Each layer of me sank deeply into a more intimate knowing. I knew then that no matter what I most, no matter what I seemed to “not have” whatever I needed would always be there for me exactly when I need it, every time.
Freedom even for a split second amidst what should have been – and indeed, at times still feels like unbearable loss – taught me that and much more is still unfolding and making itself known.
“Nothing don’t mean nothing honey if it ain’t free”
Janis is right. Meaningless surrounds the price tag @least for me. The only thing I am wearing which cost me anything are my panties and my socks yet this blouse fits me perfectly and is oh so flattering. Though I don’t think this is what Janis meant when she wrote those words. No. Not at all.
I think she meant…
==== seeing heaven on Earth on the faces of those immersed in the creative process and each other.
==== feeling the divine (soft) breeze, tapping or perhaps its better said massaging my skin. More like that so-close-hug from behind. That hug that is without a cost, priceless, soul injected goodness.
==== the river’s floor, cradling my feet. Minnows making themselves seen as I stand, patiently still, for a moment beyond the first moment. Canyons as rich and deep as the “grand” one we humans see close up is created overnight on the shallow doorway to the river I stand in, like a giant, barely a foot into this sacred world. Overnight this gigantic canyon will be swept away – before I come back another one may appear and maybe it won’t. Who knows? It is just like these words, coming in and being swept away and maybe not…
==== like those words, ‘splendor’ or ‘majestic’ or ‘grandeur’ will be replaced by a different river doorway of equal… oh, how to describe it adequately? Its not possible. I can’t see it from the minnow view! That moment of disbelief of one’s true insignificance meeting up with “I have something real to contribute! Here! Right here, right now!”
Time leaves. It loses its place of importance.
Light collects in beams of connection.
There is no bow tied at the end of this writing. It simply ends.
“Feeling as nearly faded as my jeans”
I have a favorite pair of jeans, or more accurate would be to say I HAD a favorite pair of jeans. I tore through them in an unfixable space last Winter and I need to replace them. I notice I haven’t rushed back to the store to buy another pair. I am waiting.
There’s something sacred in our relationship to our jeans. They touch us in our most private places, these spots we’re taught as young girls to push roving hands away from, with power and strength and somehow polite insistent grace mixed in as well. Those still stiff and still scratchy new jean-friendships don’t have the same access to our private places as our older, worn jean-friendships. Those denim friends who know what we look like first thing in the morning without make up or hair brushed or flossing/ These friends have seen us sweaty from raking leaves and smelled us, unwashed after horseback rides and hikes, maybe watching sunset perched on boulders or a hillside, or perhaps sat beside us listening to us crying howling, unkempt tears together.
Its no wonder I haven’t rushed off to the store to buy an identical yet not the same pair of jeans yet.
I’m just not ready.
Donated a couple more bags of stuff
I am woefully behind on this one. Perhaps I need to start helping friends organize their stuff and we can take a whole carload, get twelve or twenty bags together all at once! LOL.
PS. One BAG equals one donation, in my mind.
July Bootcamp Check In #5
Fitness: Today I am attending a Zumba class with the irrepressible Miss Katherine, beloved child of mine. So excited.
Focus: I have a writing assignment I must complete. I aim to do so in the next hour. Other than that, my main focus is writing, writing, writing and also doing some chores. Made the list of “must be dones”....
Fun: Today is primarily another “unscheduled” day and it feels GREAT! No kid schlepping, no places I ‘hafta’ be… I did attend my writing group this morning, but what popped was so much fun it didn’t feel like a ‘hafta’... never really is, actually.
Birthdays are meant to be expansive!!!
Which is why I am extending my well wishes for a few days!
Happy dancing, dear RuthG – throughout your year!
July 4, 2010 One Sentence Journal
Watching Samuel’s fear wash over and through him only to see him stand, face it, and celebrate what he once was afraid of… well, it takes my breath away.
It is the embodiment of “I am on the spectrum so this is what I need to integrate to live well while being 100% me.”
Today, July 5, 2010 I am grateful...
for the Bakersfield Couchsurfing community. Such a cool group of people and because of one of our members who “gets it” we may be hosting some early twentysomethings from Kazahkstan for a few days.
for my creative community
for ceiling fans
for yoga
for images which fly from my pencil from who knows where
for writing projects which call to me… and I respond… with love
for purple
for you, reading.