Friday, December 21, 2012

The gift

The Gift

You have lit a candle
in me,
a tiny flame that shimmers
and though no one else sees it,
inside, I shine.

~ Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

Thursday, November 8, 2012

There Should Be

There should be a term

For that triangle of skirt

Revealed between coat openings

When you’re seated.

There should be a name

For the bird that lags behind

The rest of the flock

On cloud-filled fall days.

There should be a word

For the feeling in my stomach

As I wait on your front porch

For the door to open.

There should be something

That properly describes

The weight of your hand in mine. 

Tuesday, July 3, 2012


the moment
i saw you
my love,
it was as if
had never seen
another woman
in all
of all women
into one blur
and slipped
out the back door
of my memory.
when you
kissed me,
i swear
had never felt
another’s lips
nor would
ever again. 

Sunday, June 10, 2012

Plugged In

I spend a lot of time reading blogs, following tumblrs, checking in on flipboard, perusing the well-curated style files, fashion must-haves, design trends…pinterest, pocket, cool-hunter…all full of posts titled "must Have" or "Currently Coveting".  Olivia Palermo has lots of advice for me.  But the mountains of shiny things that I simply cannot do with out are starting to feel like a burden I cannot bear.  I search through the blogs to find the best and repost on my Facebook, use so you will think I am cool, how does she find all these cool things? you ask? then repost, giving me a credit, so my coolness spreads to your friends, then their friends, and so on, and so on, and so on…I decided to live a minimalist lifestyle, attempt a zero waste or at least small amount of waste home, but pinterest has become virtual hoarding…my list of saved items on my reading list is over 60 pages long, waiting to be pinned, so that I can share them with my followers, who can repin as proof that I find the greatest stuff.  But how does all this beautiful stuff serve me?  Why on earth do I spend so much time looking at homes and dresses and making lists f things that I will someday wish to own?  Isn't the point to love what you have, and live free from all this crap? I am about to move into a house much larger than the one I occupy now.  In order to fill its many rooms I will need to buy a new bed, and other bedroom furniture, a new sectional sofa, and other living room furniture, and that is just the beginning.  I have created an entire pinboard for this house, with ideas on how to fill it up.  Part of the reason we are moving is so that LIFE can fill us up, instead of us filling up our lives with crap. If I fail to look through my blogs every day, they pile up like the DVR.  It takes hours to go through them all, and most of the time I just click them all as read and move on.  There is that tiny moment in which I fear I am missing something, that some amazing idea will vanish into the "no new Posts" department, but of course if I click over to Pinterest, there it will be, since I follow everyone's Facebook, tumblr, instagram, interest account….

a friend recently visited who had no idea what a meme was, had never seen Texts from Hillary, had not hear of Flipboard, in fact barely used the web…yet she was well dressed, and is, in fact, working as a graphic and interior designer.  She seemed genuinely happy with herself and her surroundings.

the more I do this, the less I like my life.  The more I poke around in other people's houses, other people's closets, the less I have, the less I like that which I do have…and for what.  We covet what we see every day…

It has to stop.  The madness has to stop.  Seceretly I want to abandon it all, Facebook, tumblr, all of it…walk away and live the actual life, not the virtual one…but my fear of separation, of isolation…the thing that was once supposed to help me, has trapped me.  I am obliged to find these great things…to be more than I am, to present an image…for the grand pr machine.

Friday, June 1, 2012

Coming home

I am thinking of you, making your way home to me, miles and miles to travel, things to carry, connections to make, greetings, good byes, check in's, hours to pass, time to kill. I am waiting, always waiting, heart in my throat, in the pause, in the moment, in the hope. I am making myself ready, tidying the house, watching the clock. An expanse of time reaching out in front of me, wanting to contract the time away, expand the time together. Ain't no sunshine when she's gone, and she's always gone too I am reaching out through the miles, and the hours, from here to wherever you are, extending my hand to hold yours, all the way home. Come home to me my love, I am here, waiting...

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

Location:Hillcrest Dr,Los Angeles,United States

Wednesday, May 30, 2012

A few inspirational Quotes

"Don't ask yourself what the world needs. Ask yourself what makes you come alive, and go do that, because what the world needs is people who have come alive." Howard Thurman

“We do not believe in ourselves until someone reveals that deep inside us something is valuable, worth listening to, worthy of our trust, sacred to our touch. Once we believe in ourselves we can risk curiosity, wonder, spontaneous delight or any experience that reveals the human spirit.” - e. e. Cummings

"The truth is that our finest moments are most likely to occur when we are feeling deeply uncomfortable, unhappy, or unfulfilled. For it is only in such moments, propelled by our discomfort, that we are likely to step out of our ruts and start searching for different ways or truer answers." M. Scott Peck

Life is not the way it's supposed to be, it's the way it is. The way you cope with it is what makes the difference. Virginia Satir

Monday, May 28, 2012

The true love

Two years ago, in front of the grave of Martin Luther King, Jr., my heart founds its mate, my anam cara, soul friend.  I have never loved so fiercely, so completely, so delicately.  This is for you C.

There is a faith in loving fiercely,
the one who is rightfully yours,
especially if you have
waited years and especially
if part of you never believed
you could deserve this
loved and beckoning hand
held out to you this way.
I am thinking of faith now
and the testaments of loneliness
and what we feel we are
worthy of in this world.
Years ago in the Hebrides,
I remember an old man
who walked every morning on the grey stones
to the shore of baying seals,
who would press his hat
to his chest in the blustering
salt wind and say his prayer
to the turbulent Jesus
hidden in the water,
and I think of the story
of the storm and everyone
waking and seeing
the distant
yet familiar figure
far across the water calling to them,
and how we are all
preparing for that
abrupt waking,
and that calling,
and that moment
we have to say yes,
except it will
not come so grandly,
so Biblically,
but more subtly
and intimately in the face
of the one you know
you have to love,
so that when we finally step out of the boat
toward them, we find
everything holds
us, and everything confirms
our courage, and if you wanted
to drown you could,
but you don't
because finally
after all this struggle
and all these years,
you don't want to any more,
you've simply had enough
of drowning,
and you want to live and you
want to love and you will
walk across any territory
and any darkness,
however fluid and however
dangerous, to take the
one hand you know
belongs in yours.

Friday, May 25, 2012

The One Woman Sweat Shop

 I discovered my mother's knitting needles in a box in the garage.  That was 4 months ago….I picked them up and haven't stopped knitting since…

Just finished this for Stella

Bought all this for various scarves and cowls

Did this one for the gorgeous Celeste

and now am working on this one….

Thursday, April 12, 2012

Joy 9 year-old style

 I bought two fun passes…I hope to visit him soon.  East LA is very close and I think he will just about make my year when I meet him!

Friendly Feral

You never really know what its going to be like.  I mean you can expect, or predict, or surmise, but really, you are never going to know, until you are there.  I live in a land of cats.  Solitary, sleeping, languid, sultry cats.  I have much to learn from them, with their hours of gazing, sleeping, stalking, claw extending and curling while dreaming of, well, gazing, sleeping and stalking.  I have been at this game for more than 2 years now, this game of school, not working, thinking, running, yoga classing, chore-doing, blogging, not blogging, cooking, loving.  I have not amounted to much.  I have made a home.  I have started a new life, but there is little to show for it.  Except sleeping, lazy cats.  These cats are not my cats.  They belong to no one.  But here they are, on my deck, each morning, bounding onto the bed each night, purring, not purring, killing mice, scurrying away, pretending to be frightened of me, rubbing my legs, chortling at me, lining up for breakfast, treats, snacks, dinner.  There is a lot of action in the garden now, flocks of finches, sparrows, hummingbirds, residents, migrants, jays, mockingbirds, phoebes, doves, invasive species and welcome domestics.  THere are veggies and citrus trees and ferns and houseplants.  My stamp is everywhere.  And yet I feel so incredibly small, so incredibly useless.  Karen Miller has convinced me that my practice is in the details.  That my bed making, floor sweeping, dish washing, laundry folding is all part of my mantra, my zen, my love for this life.  Lately, it just feels like chores.  Most of it feels so incredibly boring, without meaning, without measure.  After the Ecstasy, the Laundry, indeed….

So now what? The path in front of me is long.  The joblessness, the chores, the plans, they are the same.  Where do I find meaning in what seems to mundane?  There was no creature, now he is here.  There was no being and he came into being.  THere was no food, or safety, no place to sleep, warm blankets, dry huddling spot.  I made that.  Their bodies have relaxed, no longer living in a crouch.  And this one, he seeks me out for love, affection, pets, snuggles, body slams even.  This boy that belongs to no one.  Where there was no life, now there is his life.  He even comes when I call him.  What on earth can I learn from these not so feral cats? That I read to much Mary Oliver? That I fret too much about missing out? That I haven't seen enough classic movies, or lived in a big enough house, or travelled to enough places? Or that I spend way too much time on Pinterest, Facebook, Tumblr, Reddit? That yes the list is long, and that life is short.  But perhaps my one wild and precious life doesn't have to be so wild, so precious? I spend a lot of energy yearning, searching, trying to find the meaning.  Where is the meaning?

He is right here. Asleep on my couch.  Dreaming of who knows what.

Tuesday, April 10, 2012

That it will never come again

That it will never come again, Is what makes life so sweet. Emily Dickenson

I have spent almost two years in the company of Jack. I did not know he was to become part of my life. I had not expected to love him. He was the cherry on my sundae, the fortune in my cookie, the free gift with purchase. Jack is 1000 years old, and I am keenly aware of this. As I did not know I was acquiring a cat, when I found this new life, with my new love, his acceptance, nay love, of me, has been a sweet and welcome bonus. He is not a busy or demanding cat, preferring to find a "spot" and occupy it for days, stirring only for meals and bathroom breaks. But he does have two demands, my lap, every morning, during the coffee ritual, and my lap, all other times of the day, if I happen to open up a laptop or iPad....There was a period of time when he helped me make the bed every morning, dancing beneath the top sheet and correcting my pillow fluffing by jumping on top of each newly poofed perch and flattening it "just so". Then there was his idyll as "laundry cat" when fluff and fold was the game of the century, with bookies and side bets being made in response to his mad drawstring swiping skills. But these days, now retired from the action, Jack prefers the soft spots on the couch, the bed, my thighs, a box, and the toy swiping is a rare but well-celebrated event. Like me, like all of us, his days are numbered. While mine, hopefully, still number in the thousands, many thousands, his are in the hundreds, maybe only dozens. And every time he insists on my lap, however inconvenient, I offer it up gladly. Because next year, next month, sadly even, next week, he may not be here to insist, and my lap, and I, will be forever missing him. There are and most likely will be, other cats for my lap to enjoy, but not this one, not this fantastic and unimaginable combination of atoms and mystery, that found their way to create him, and then found their way to me. He didn't have to like me, he didn't have to love me, he didn't have to become the most glorious boy that he is, but in the supremely wonderful randomness that is this life, he did, and here we are, luckily, for this day, in each others company. He, purring, with his head on my thigh, I, smiling, with my hand in his fur and we, enjoying this fleeting and sublimely transient moment, together. I am fully aware of how few these moments are, and I intend to observe and celebrate each one. For they will never come again.

The last time I saw my dogs, I lied to them.  I told them I would see them again.  I told them I was not leaving forever, I told them I would be back for them.  I didn't know if it was true, but I could not bring myself to imagine that I would not see their faces again.  I had 10 years with them, annoyed, undone, smitten, smothered and in love, but I never once thought it would end, and I did not celebrate, or relish the moments as I should have.  I still have no idea if I will ever, ever see their faces again.  I regret every lost moment, every reverie I ignored.  For they will never come again.

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

Saturday, February 18, 2012

I miss you like Hell

Where you used to be, there's is a hole in the world, which I find myself constantly walking around in the daytime, and falling in at night. I miss you like hell.
~Edna St. Vincent Milllay