A Change will do you good.

Yesterday I tried something very different for me. I spent the day, or the better part of it, letting everything mean what it could, letting every word sink in (the best I knew how to) and every gesture be pure. The day lasted only in the present. I can't explain it any other way because time felt as though it stood still, but yet there was movement in time. I felt moments occur and expire. Yet the weight of them gave them a quality of endurance. It was an amazing experiment. I told myself at the beginning of the day and again throughout (because I am an old dog, and these are new tricks) that I would really hear things, and really see things and really feel things. I never do that for more than an instant. It's always been scary. To feel for a moment the truth of someone else terrifies me of all the moments after. All the other truths. All the connection.

So, in doing this...I had a great day. It felt authentic. I really got that I was cared for. And I really heard what my friends were saying. I felt what their hearts held. I still haven't learned to expect them to be there tomorrow...but that's a milestone I may be just a bit closer to reaching.

My blog of 27 February wigged most of my friends out. I sent it as my birthday email, and they translated it to be "heavy" and "sad". And for me, it wasn't sad. And I am just a heavy person. I don't do light in real life. I do light in work life, but the reality is that my mind lives in what some consider heavy places. And a birthday for me is a milestone. I wanted to make my mark on the door...I am now 6'3" in handling my history, and 5'4" in being able to label a few boxes that make up my past and my now. It wasn't meant to be sad...it was meant to cross over, build another bridge, and be off for the next year of my life.

(Ahh, Italy.)

Birthday Shoes

I bought these two years ago, when my friend Angie and I were in a Pay Less and these shoes were like $3. They have 4inch heels and being so very far from a Victoria's Secret or Playboy...I thought "I'll never wear those!" But, I loved them and they were THREE dollars! So developed the idea of birthday shoes. They are more blue turquoise than green (look green in my photo) and they have sparkles ALL OVER! I can't stop staring at them every time I wear them...which has been thrice. My birthday last year, Josh's birthday last year, and tonight for the big 39. When I put them on...I am all about being festive. Like Wonder Woman's blue shorts, Batman's cape, or Jeminy Cricket's tie...these shoes transport me into someone who would be fabulous enough to wear them. So, they are keepers, and I recommend that everyone have a pair of birthday shoes. If you can get sparkles, they are so totally worth it. :)

a Birth day.

365 days and we are back to this one. Well, almost. Tomorrow. And I am not at that age when I dread it. I'm at that age when I begin to get that I am growing in ways now that actually aid me in happiness. Knowing more, seeing more and experiencing more, less intimately. More generically at times. Things aren't as personalized. And that's a relief really, because personal hurts a heckuva lot more.

I wonder what God meant for me. Wonder what She thought when she pushed my soul into that tiny frame. I still don't know it. And I imagine that I'll only ever get glimpses. And it probably resembles recognition. God hoped that one day I would recognize myself, and recognize Her in me. That's definitely my goal.

I wonder if nurses thought I was a sweet baby. Or was I terrible, crying and red-faced and hairless. Although, I did hear my mama say once that I had plenty of hair...and seeing myself now, I can totally believe that.

I think I finally know what my mama thought of me. I was overwhelming. She might have realized she wasn't ready for a baby. She felt a wall between us. And she would never learn to see past it, or tear it down. I often think that she wanted me once...when I was a pretty little idea in her head. And ever after, I was real and less erasible. She may have loved me in moments, but I can't give her that. If I allow her to love me, then love becomes something terrible, twisted and agonizing. No, she doesn't get to love me. She might have dreamt of loving me, but that is all I can give to her.

My father worshipped me. He was the poor country boy, grown up to make a decent living, buy me race tracks that wound over our entire basement floor. Model cars that I never touched, but loved watching him handle. He thought I was wonderful like a dream. And I came to disappoint him. But, love allows that. I know it now...well, sortof.

Their poodle Fidel wanted me gone...I was taking up too much of his attention. And DAddy always said they had to keep a close eye on him and me. Being a dog lover now, I cannot imagine being hurt by one. He got hit when I was still a baby, so the worry ceased, partnered by much sadness.

I'm still rolling down the road of life. I have some pretty fantastic friends. I love my job. And I live on a dirt road with a landlord who is as precious as they come.

I want to go to Italy next year for my 40th birthday. My friend Leslie says that your 40's are your very best years. And to be honest, I'm looking forward to that.

A "Dish-y" Review

Because I have definitely screamed loudly in my life about bad service, I intend to inform you here of good customer service. I moved 6+ months ago, and just before I did, I put my dish network on "pause" (which is the wonderful ability to hold service for up to 6months and then have it turned back on at no charge). It's winter and I am broke as usual, so when I got the notification that dish was turning service back on (my 6 months were up), I called to cancel my service. I didn't want to have to pay to have it hooked up at a new house, I didn't want to have to pay the big bill every month, and I get a couple channels fuzzy...so I can make do. I called, and of course, I got put on hold while I waited to speak to a supervisor to cancel my account (of 6 years with "pauses"). It did take a while (but this was more like 4-5 minutes and less like 20+ which I have waited in other situations). Finally, I am greeted by supervisor "398" who I tell that I want to cancel service for right now. And she offers to "pause" me again...but I tell her that I am in a lean year, so it wouldn't really help, but thanks. She then offers several local channels, no "fuzz" for $6.03 per month...and I say 'that sounds interesting...I might actually see what Gary Sinese looks like these days'. So, then I tell her the sad story that I have moved, my remote no longer works...and I am CERTAIN that she doesn't want to help me when I am only sending her $6.03 per month. But, alas, I am surprised. She says, "Let's try to turn it on there" and we do for a long time, but it's not working. Meanwhile, I ask her about the remote and she says, "I'll send you one" and I say 'how much for that?' and she says, "we'll waive it" (which probably means it was free anyway...but I am coming from the days when you had to buy the basic package before you could get anything else and that was $29.99). Next she realizes that I must be missing vital parts on the dish, because all our efforts aren't working. She says that she'll have to schedule a technician to come and replace the part and I say "ewww..how much?" and she says, "I'll waive it"...which I know this doesn't usually get waived because when i spoke with them last summer...there was a charge...and now I'm only giving them $6.03 a month...which didn't used to be something they would even let you do! I thanked her for her patience and good will efforts...and felt, just for a few moments, that sometimes the world is working in your sandbox, adding a new balcony to your castle, or extra drawbridge to your moat.

I had to share it...these instances are far too few!

Day One of Birthday Week

It's my birthday week, and that time of year when friends come out of the woodwork to offer dinner, or drinks or gifts or remembrances. I like birthdays for the reason that they make everyone poke their nose out of everyday life and make you feel special.

I think of people as transient. Even friends that I have had for a lifetime, seem like a passing connection that will go away at any moment. I can never grasp the meaning of true friendship because I never learn to count on it to be there. This is not to say that I don't honor it, feel loyal towards it, or adore every minute. Just to say that I have issues trusting people to stick around. I don't like them too close, but I love knowing they are out there and will stop by when I want them to, or on birthdays they will remember me in some standing fashion. I think that even when you are a loner by nature, you set up traditions with people. They become there in your space now and then, and you love them for it. I am not the easiest person to know, and probably we all aren't, I guess? But, I know me...and I am somewhat of a pill. I need to have the hardest types of conversations (one friend revealed to me a couple years ago) but I need to have distance at times from everyone, and most of the time from most everyone. So I zoom in to close places, but need to zoom out spatially on a pretty consistent basis. I love email, love the written word...that type of closeness with distance is almost the perfect relationship for me. I do like face to face interaction, but dislike phones and lengthy calls. So, see...I'm not the easiest one to know.

Anyway, I spent tonight with my Monday night dinner crew. A tiny idea I had that has become a tradition. And I love that. I always sit down with them in the beginning with idle chatter, and I think "this is it...this is the night when we don't get each other anymore...this is the night when it's all over and we go our seperate ways." And each time, 20 minutes in, I realize that we are all still invested, and we are all still probably coming next week, and we are all still friends. It makes me redefine friendship for myself anyway, as something like this: frienship is a place where birthdays belong, silence is honored, and banter is allowed. It helps of course, if you truly like them. Which I do. Thank you, Monday night birthday crew...it was wonderful throughout the bright red apron, outdoor thermometer, beautiful day book and SAra Lee Cheesecake. I am most thankful for you. I hope you know.

Magic

I believe it to be centered in the heart. Not the pulsing organ that pumps our blood. But, the middle of each one of us. That part so sheltered that we, some of us, never quite get it. And for some of us, it would be too unbridled and consuming. While others of us might enjoy being consumed, might choose to run without moderation in the direction that energy takes us. For a very few of us, it is the essence of who we are, and when we turn away from it, we become lost. I guess that for those of us who suffer that particular ill, if one could call it that, we should hope that living gives us options. That the movement forward will provide substantial companionship. It is difficult though, to have faith and to believe in what so few are able to even sense. Yet, there are those who do it. Those who were born to do it. And failingly, I believe I am of that sort. My tool box is only yet beginning to be filled. I waited a very long time to be like everyone else. I still see such greatness in others, that I do not see in myself. Yet, I am not them. I do not have the power to be. I am not weak enough to follow the herd.
Sometimes I imagine that the real depths of humanity exist even as humans deny them. That we are all the same deep down. And in some ways, I still believe that. But, denial is such a powerful force. And this world becomes so easily jaded.
What I have forgotten to say for a long time is "what if?" And the answer is.... Well, quite blessedly, there is no answer, only possibility.

I'm wagging a finger at you, Billboard Magazine.

Billboard Magazine left Michael Jackson and Thriller off of the bestseller list last week for the 25th anniversary of Thriller the album. It was, during that week, the top selling album again. And I wonder if its genius is discredited by its maker? Is that fair? I am not a fan now of Michael Jackson, but I was way back then. And I think that album was amazing, and still is amazing. But, Billboard bounced it. One of my favorite writers was Edgar Allen Poe. This man was no angel, and if memory serves me he died in the street. Was found dead in the street after having lived a life riddled with drugs and alcohol. Yet, to me, he was quite brilliant in his study of the darker side of humanity. The areas that most of us don't want to admit to or ponder. In NO WAY do I condone pedophilia, but I am asking if what we become late in life will decide what we were first? If life is indeed this long suffering moment (and for some of us, it is or sometimes can be), what we become may have very little to do with who we were in the beginning. If children are pure and young adults troubled and middle age stressed and elderly excused, then the journey seems to pass from enchantment to turbulence to anxiety to end in neglect. I have definitely been more enchanting than I am today, and I struggle with a desire to be that way again. Yet, I do not know that life can allow me that. Again, I don't excuse criminal activity, but why destroy the gifts one soul leaves behind on its journey to the end? Why ignore them, when you have the opportunity to say here was this amazing offering. This happened once and we loved it. Thriller was joyful, and put Vincent Price back on the rock star map.

I guess I just want the truth out there. The truth that what is truly fabulous can live in someone who is truly tortured. That in all of us, there is some good, some bad and some WTF? And that the more good tunes you have to dance with in life, the better chance you have of making the enchantment last. So, shame on you Billboard for leaving out a groovy legacy.

"And whosoever shall be found
Without the soul for getting down
Must stand and face the hounds of hell
And rot inside a corpses shell
The foulest stench is in the air
The funk of forty thousand years
And grizzy ghouls from every tomb
Are closing in to seal your doom
And though you fight to stay alive
Your body starts to shiver
For no mere mortal can resist
The evil of the thriller"

Baby Showers

Ugh...it's over.

Why did we have to talk about cloth diaper cleaning?

A lot about being fat?

And birth processes?

How do you eat at the same time this is happening?

I'm not meant to be a good friend to anyone who needs showers. I can throw a house-warming party. I'll take you out for your birthday. But, this bridal shower (let's save all the bows and make a bouquet!) and then baby shower (let's have cake while we talk about diaper contents) stuff is beyond my capacity. That is, my capacity to endure. I love my friends, but find friends with husbands and babie to do this for you. I am the single friend. I am the one that you can complain to about the husband, the babies (once they are old and dating the wrong guy). I am the shopping friend. We could see a concert, take a weekend trip.

I'm not your girl for gruesome. Even if it's cute gruesome, or cuddly gruesome. It all ends up making me want to lose my lunch in the end.

(I told you I was in a bad mojo place...now, do you believe me? I'm beating up on babies for God's sake!)

Pilgrims & Refugees

I am struggling with some bad mojo lately, and poetry always brings me a little peace of mind. This is one that my friend Johnathan plays on his guitar.


Gathering coquinas
she lines them in the sand,
lavender and scarlet
yellow and tan-
gerine. She is magic
in the firefly universe.
She knows to release them
means they'll always be hers.

Pilgrims and refugees,
Immigrants and angels,
Weary of flying
and longing for home.
Pilgrims and refugees
mercenary sailors,
reluctantly willing
to go on alone.

Search the horizon
for the land in your dream.
The farther I travel
the farther it seems.
Savor the mango
and the handful of rice.
This wild game of chance,
God, it rolls us like dice.

Pilgrims and refugees
Immigrants and angels,
Weary of flying
and longing for home.
Pilgrims and refugees
aliens and strangers,
reluctantly willing
to travel alone.

She speaks of a shepherd
who sleeps in the hills,
who has no possessions
nor telephone bills.
A pilgrim, a refugee,
betrayed with a kiss,
who knows to release her
means she'll always be his.

Pilgrims and refugees,
Immigrants and angels,
Weary of flying
and longing for home.
Pilgrims and refugees
aliens and strangers
reluctantly willing
to travel alone.

God, how long must I travel alone?

Banjo

Flowerpot sleeper
While March day
Lengthens
You snooze on pink steps.

Elegant interchange
Between carbon and sustenance
Light reflects
Your image in the door.

Do they see you?
Driving by on pavement
Rushing through the day
And think, how sweet?

What will grow beneath you?
Push against your purr…
And become green
Or even ripened?

In my best guess
It would have been a mole
Who discouraged the seeds
That April planted.

Instead it is you
Like feline destiny
Who foils the flower
And steals the afternoon.

There, however, is a sweetness
About the tiny heart
That beats against
The fertilized soil.

I imagine grass
That grows around you
Catnip to riddle you
With its fragrance.

Kitty siestas
Quietly hidden
By summer’s fruits
And clay walls.

the Spoken word

I just have one thing to say.

My dad said I looked "beautiful" tonight. Which has never EVER happened before in my life from him.

I know you're wondering...and I just had on blue jeans, a black top, black shoes and hair and makeup that had suffered through a hard day (and been quickly touched up). I have not lost weight. My face did not get lifted and re-done. My ass is still huge. In other words, nothing has changed from all the times he's told me how terrible I looked.

Anyway...it completely baffled me and I thought I had to write it down before I totally discounted the whole thing.

I should probably also say that I treated him to a big dinner and vino...so he could have just been appreciative.

Nonetheless, i am completely at a loss. But, sorta in a good way. For a change.

Disgruntled

My friend Kari called me yesterday at work. We are same age, same single. She has five best friends who are always trying to fix her up. Kari's one strict requirement is that the man must be tall. She says yesterday that her friend called to tell her she had found someone to fix her up with. And Kari, gets a tiny bit excited because we all do...but her friend says, "he was married twice, two kids, (and here's the humdinger) he lives with his mom." To say the least, Kari was disappointed...telling me that her friend explained herself by saying, "he's tall....?"

I guess the resources are drying up.

So, here I am with another Valentine's day behind me. It kills me that I am always so hopeful, so believing in the potential of the universe to through me a curve ball. And it never happens. I can take responsibility for this in a zillion ways (I am a wretched human bean after all) but I won't. I did get a wonderful heart box of candy from my boss and friend, sweet Nora. Angelina sent me an e-card. And so, I was remembered in loving ways. I am thankful for that...because without it, I would feel truly sad. Instead, I kinda want to kick Cupid's ass. What is that little guy doing? Why doesn't he ever come my way? Maybe it's the disguise...he knows I'm not into babies. Therefore babies with wings and arrows might be that much less appealing. He could be rational about it, but nothing of his demeanor would make me think it. I mean, he flys around shooting arrows at people and making them fall in love with each other. There's nothing rational about that occupation whatsoever. So, I have to think that he's ignoring me...for whatever reason. And therefore, I meet every holiday with a joyful hope and get let down each time.
So, as far as I'm concerned...Cupid should be laid off his position until he can get some real work done.

Try again next year, buddy...with a little more enthusiasm!

A Valentine Wish List

Being a true romantic...I have to say something about today. I'm not going to go into all the gory history. But, I want to share my secret wishes for Valentine's day here because it's my space and I can do what I want with it!
1. I wish for mysterious flowers in various places for me and for everyone I know.
2. I wish for a little chocolate here and there.
3. I wish for hearts to become unburdened, love to be revealed.
4. I wish for hearts to be mended, love to restitch hearts.
5. I wish that my friend Nora has a fabulous dinner with her husband tonight. She deserves a sweet break.
6. I wish that another friend gets flowers from someone he wouldn't expect (because that person hates flowers).
7. I wish that folks would look more fondly on one another, seeing fragile hearts rather than reptilian skin.
8. I wish that Dan the winemaker does something crazy, like try to polka with all of us or some of us. It's just so gay, and he's lovely at it.
9. I wish that everyone in my life can feel for just a moment how much I love them.
10. I wish that cupid would get off his lazy a$$ and start looking for me and that other guy he's supposed to shoot some arrows for. (Sorry Cupid, but I've got a birthday in 14 days!)
I hope (very much) that love finds all of us today. (and tomorrow too!)

Not a couple.

Here's the thing that I love about Marc Chagall. He dreamed wildly. Not only do people fly, but there are goats at fifth story windows, blue men who play instruments on a cloud...and my favorite...a cake on a slanted table. The painting I stare at right now (not an original...good God, man!) is called "Birthday" and it features a man flying through a small apartment, gently folding his head back (here, I romanticize, because truly no neck could do this without a demon's aid) to kiss his girl, who holds a sweet wildflower bouquet. This is one of Chagall's less crazy works....no farm animals or blue musicians. Her cake does sit precariously on a table that is slanted towards a red floor. It wouldn't dream of falling off, not in Chagall's world. It could fly away, or feed itself to passersby. But, crashing to the red carpet would never happen. And that is what I love about Chagall. He's hopeful in the power, the magnitude of magic.
Does it happen for all of us...this floating lover? I'm not sure. Once upon a time...I thought yes. And now, I think it's more about what you really want, deep down in places that not even you know about. I am a romantic...it's hard to say that maybe lover's love doesn't happen for all of us just because it can. Just because it strolls casually through the world full of confidence, full of faith that it won't be turned away. I see love this way. Like a big rolling force of nature.
I don't want to say this...but sometimes I think that I might be immune to it. Could that be so? Little T-cells built to ward off love's virus? I'm just not sure. And I don't want to end on a note of despair on Valentine's day, so let me say this.
Anything can happen, and usually does.

A Little Neruda for Valentine's Day--I do love him so.

Drunk as drunk on turpentine

From your open kisses,

Your wet body wedged

Between my wet body and the strake

Of our boat that is made of flowers,

Feasted, we guide it - our fingers

Like tallows adorned with yellow metal -

Over the sky's hot rim,

The day's last breath in our sails.

Pinned by the sun between solstice

And equinox, drowsy and tangled together

We drifted for months and woke

With the bitter taste of land on our lips,

Eyelids all sticky, and we longed for lime

And the sound of a rope

Lowering a bucket down its well.

Then,

We came by night to the Fortunate Isles,

And lay like fish

Under the net of our kisses.

Pablo Neruda

Musings on a Trap door

It's funny how when you feel like you are getting to a better place in life...there's always that eerie feeling in your stomach that it's just not true. I guess that most of us are fatalists by nature. Not to sound morose, but society seems to educate us in expecting the worse. First there was Eve, who made the wrong choice and doomed us all for eternity...or that's what they say. Then, Jesus walking around trying to convince everyone to cool it, love one another and just "be"...but he was hanged, well and not even that...nailed to a tree that became a cross. Holding significant meaning for those of us since because well, we use them to remember what happened to a really decent guy a long time ago. Since then, we've loved Kennedy who didn't live through a bullet, Diana who never had a prayer, and odd others that just couldn't make the cut. So, it's probably normal that just when I begin to feel good about things...that eerie shift inside me gets active. This not to say that I believe I will die....I'm not that important. I'll probably live endlessly. There's a dog cat and rabbit who seem to love me...but other than that, I would hardly be missed. It's that I do fear the bottom will fall out. And then what happens? Well, things go back to where they were, or they get worse. And I suspect that I should just be hopeful that things will continue to be better. I have done a lot of bad time. I'm just not sure I've done my share. Some people have a huge dose, while others get by with way less. I don't know what's fair? Or when I'm even? And of course, worrying about it is useless because what will that do?

I guess I feel like if I worry over it, God will know that I am so appreciative of a good run that I am already fearing its demise. But, being all-knowing, God gets this already. I listened to Wayne Dyer on the way back from DC...the power of intention. And dangit, he's right...I just know it. But, it's really hard for me to believe the best about me. I watch other folks do it just fine (well, they seem to do it with ease...but we're all actors). I cannot seem to grasp the concept. And I know that faith is not about seeing to believe. And I am faithful. But, I think I am faithful about the wrong things. Not the "wrong things", but just not all the right ones. I am faithful that I won't get more than I can handle. I am faithful that I can endure hardship and that I can learn from it. I am faithful that things happen for a reason. But, I am not faithful that my life has purpose and I am not faithful that my life is loved, and I am not faithful that the world needs me in it. All those positives are really difficult for me to swallow.

I wonder if other people struggle with this and I wonder how they get past it. I wonder if they become content with the suspicion (that the bottom will fall out) or if they learn to be faithful about hope and a good outcome. I wonder how intention forms in a soul that has not harbored it before. It's probably something that sounds hard, like discipline. It's probably something that seems impossible, like meditation. It's probably something that I can't imagine, like harmony with the options. But, if anybody has found an answer for themselves, I'd welcome the sound of it.

A list of sorts

I like the segments of my life. Walking out to Hannah's big cage with hay and pellets. The way the dog sits on the top stair and reaches his front paws to a lower stair so that his face can be level with mine as I come up the stairs. The short sentences that it sometimes takes to communicate with those close to you. And the long paragraphs it takes to begin to know someone new. I like that at times, when I get still...I can actually feel the silence around me. I enjoy so much the stub of a non-tail that Bently has and watching it to see what mood he is in, or how he has gauged mine. I like that work finally seems to be settling into a pace that feels positive. And I like that it is soon my birthday. I try to think what wishes I will put in front of me...better yet, what intentions. Some of them will be about simplicity, while others will be about new sources for fun, for living a better life and loving more. I secretly am wishing for new walking shoes. I need them...these that I have are so worn out. I am making a commitment to massage or something chiropractic for my aching neck. And another intention to find people to do fun things with more often. I love my work...but it can be all of me. I don't think I want that anymore.

I feel like I'll turn a page this February 28. Anything just might happen. And the thought of that seems absolutely sublime.

Well, squeak!

Inevitably someone pees in your porridge. It's almost as if it cannot be helped. I wonder if Goldilocks experienced this in all her porridge days? And it doesn't help one bit that Mitt Romney has forsaken the race against McCain, or that the Rolling Stones have jumped on board to do a Scorsese film this summer, or that it's Thursday and I have to pack, or that I still haven't done laundry to pack. It all boils down to this, it didn't have to happen and I never liked porridge much anyways. I'm not upset about whatever the pathetic Republican party wants to do...and maybe this will cause McCain to truly show his scaley skin (my argument to those who aren't listening is that, HE ALREADY HAS!). And I liked the Stones, even the big lips-especially the big lips, but I think the band movies are so last year, or last hundred years. I have to do laundry, and I need to pack now. That's all I have to say about the matter.

A dark day in my short history

I opened my daily motivation book today and realized that it is February 6. Two years ago on this day, I watched my precious girl dog, Roxy be carried away to be put to sleep. I remember what she looked like held in someone else's arms. I remember that she looked back at me, trusting me to have made the right decision. I remember running out of the building, laying on the gravel beside the car sobbing and unable to leave, feeling like I'd just done a terrible and right thing for my friend, but not for me. It was cancer, and it formed a balloon in her lungs and she couldn't breathe for the fluid that lived there. She was my best friend, and I still miss her. I remember so clearly letting her go. And every day I wanted to go back there, lay my hands on the cold table where she died, feel the warmth of her spirit as it travelled to the next place. I wanted to visit every place she had been just in case something of her remained.
The writing in my book for today was about losing someone...which makes me believe that just once more, she is reaching out to soothe me on a day that is so painful. I believe that I will meet her again someday, but she is not here now. And that still breaks my heart.

Juniper

I am feeling quietly frayed. It's an odd feeling really and I don't think I've come across it before. Not necessary a bad thing...just strange. There are many things to love about chaos. Rubble in general can be quite entertaining. But, I'm not sure that I haven't fallen through some maturity vortex and landed in a place where the undone feels negotiable. The jittery incomplete feels all sewn up. The unchartered voyage seems navigated by some unseen force. And while all that sounds quite fine...underneath I feel a current of uncertainty. Running through me like a calm tsunami, or a silent volcanoe. I feel like someone hit the mute button inside of me, and while I was sick and tired of the chatter...it might have been what kept me on track. Anyway, it's all a bit disjointed.

The reality could be that I have to "perform" this weekend in Chantilly for a wine festival. And that always gets me into a new persona. I have to lose myself and become the fine actor. So, I could be in that transition.

The Juniper was one of Georgia O'Keefe's favorite trees. Close up it looks like a mangled explosion of movement. The growth seems tortured, the limbs seem cruelly twisted. The greenery is so short and somewhat prickly that I felt like it fought the whole way out of that branch...piercing and slashing to get through to the sky. What is beautiful to me is that everything about it seems to tell a story. Every turn and twist seems to relay some information about the earth it knows, about the climate it struggles to grow in. This tree was old, one of the oldest in the area where we found it near Tularosa. But, even the babys have this weathered air about them. Like they know life and hardship, and yet they choose to dig their roots into the red brown earth and make it home. I guess there are times when I am envious of them and what they know about themselves and their environment.

I think I loved New Mexico. I really think I do.

The Love of a Spotted Dog

Here's the great thing about having a dog...well, there are many. But, one of them is that you can dress him up with beautiful sweaters made by your friend Leslie. And although, he ADORES wearing a sweater, he hates having his picture made (see human family genetic code). So, this is a perfect expression for him...it says, "damnit, I said no the first time...now leave me alone!", well to me anyway. And it's not a great shot of the sweater, which is what we were shooting for. Leslie would like one (so we'll keep trying). But, he is such a funny little fella. We went out into the ice storm this morning and a huge branch fell to the ground maybe 150 feet in front of us...which made Bently run to me as if the sky were falling. I'll tell you...it's just like the beauty of a child without half the work of one. I recommend a dog to everyone, and encourage adoption. There are so many that need homes. And this dog, my Bently, he is just so eager to please (except when it comes to photos) and has learned quickly to be a wonderful house mate to all my needs for quiet and being just plain left alone sometimes. It's funny how they pick up on things like that. He is tremendously loving, but just not a dog that keeps bothering you to pet him. If you have a space, give a dog a home. If you have lots of space, give three dogs homes (thanks, Leslie). And kitties too. (oh! and sorry for my finger in the photo...I'm no Adams or Stieglitz you know :)