Posts Tagged ‘mom’

Turn It Around

August 9, 2017

It took almost all day.

But.

My day was completely and totally turned around.

I didn’t have a bad day per se, just a tender and emotional one.

It started off with a phone call that I took this morning, one I almost let ring through to voicemail, but a soft little voice said pick up the phone and check in, get accountable.

Get recovery.

Do it.

So.

Of course, I picked up.

And I hashed out somethings that have been on my mind and in my heart and I got some really good suggestions about those things.

I also was read a mild riot act about not taking on more in my schedule.

Last Friday I said yes to working with a woman who deeply touched me with what she was going through and it resonated so much with me that I said I could work with her.

And.

Of course.

That is in direct opposition to what I had been told to do, no more working with others.

I have two women I work with and I have two people who work me and I have two commitments twice a week that get me involved and maintained in my recovery.

The rest is work and internship and so very soon.

School.

It was foolhardy to take her on, so after a mild dressing down I agreed completely and immediately felt some relief.

The rest of the check in had to do with setting boundaries, and dealing with my anxiety around school.

Which.

Oh therapeutic irony, as soon as I had decided to set that boundary I started to feel less anxious around school.

I got off the phone having already had a good cry and it wasn’t even 9 a.m.

I washed my breakfast dishes, brushed my teeth, put on some makeup and hopped on my scooter, heading over to Noe Valley in a thick, cold fog.

A fog that never lifted, not all day, not in the Mission, not in Glen Park, nowhere, it was cold, foggy, dreary, all day long.

I got to Noe, my helmet awash in moisture, I might as well have been riding in rain, and made the phone call to the woman I said I would work with.

I explained why I couldn’t, I apologized, and I wished her the very best and if she needed support she could reach out.

Then.

Phew.

I felt a lot better.

One more little bit of time for me.

One less thing to schedule.

Ha.

In fact, I just toggled over to my calendar and took her off.

That felt good as well.

And.

Therapy was great, I missed my therapist last week, she was out-of-town on vacation and it felt really good to see her and get into the work.

Of course.

It takes a minute to get there, but I leapt in with the anxiety, the recognition of how it relates to school.

And how it relates to my relationship with my mother and my desire to be above and beyond, to be perfect, to excel, and the level of pressure and stress I put on myself to be the good school girl and what will happen if I don’t and the annihilation of all things good should I not perform.

There are reasons for this, and I’ll let you read between the lines.

I have written about them before, I don’t need to rehash it all right now.

Suffice to say.

I got a lot of crying in today.

It was a relief too, let me be clear, to finally connect a few dots and to see where things were messy and still needed untangling.

And where I needed to set boundaries in my life and what those looked like and how to walk through the school anxiety, and it was just really good to hash it all out.

I had a fantastic session.

Granted I had to go to work right thereafter, so there was a bit of tenderness and sensitivity in my body all day long.

But no.

Wait for it.

No.

Anxiety.

Hallelujah.

Well.

Almost none.

I got tossed a client at the last-minute, a consult add-on and I teared up, I had thought I was going to get away with only seeing one client tonight and then zipping over to school, dropping off my paperwork and getting home “early.”

Nope.

I didn’t burst into tears.

I just sort of melted into them.

Then.

I had a little chat with myself, you normally see two clients on Tuesday, this is just how it is, you’re going to be ok.

I also called the practicum office and found out that I can drop my paperwork after hours to the head of the office and she gave me a very specific spot to put the paperwork and I can go do that tomorrow.

I’m fine.

Everything is fine.

And.

Holy Toledo!

My sessions!

My clients!

Wow.

Two whole fucking hours of actively listening to someone else, not a thought in my head of my own crap, just showing up in the room, in the field, being there, being empathetic, being of service.

Mind blowing.

I left my internship walking on air.

Or fog as the case may be.

But really.

Lifted, elevated, and completely turned around.

Ah.

Therapy you devilish thing.

So good to know you.

Grateful that my day ended on such a high note.

Relieved really.

And having some nice clarity around what I need for myself and how to get it.

That helps too.

Getting through the week.

And grateful so grateful that I am on the path I am on.

I feel graced with so many gifts, its astounding when I stop and enumerated them.

My life is full of this grace and joy and beauty.

Strength and resilience.

Hope.

And.

The most amazing.

Bountiful.

Infinite.

And

Ever expanding.

Love.

Kindness

March 10, 2017

I was blown away by a conversation I had with my boss today.

It started out as a bit of a joke around how I didn’t strike yesterday for International Hooha day yesterday.

That’s Women’s Day for you.

But you know what I mean.

I told her it just didn’t feel right to strike on my job when I work for a mom who runs her own business and has three children.

We joked a bit and the conversation turned to family and I found myself sharing things with her that I have not shared with previous employers.

I found myself sharing as though she were my friend.

Cautiously.

Yes.

I mean I needn’t go into gory details.

But.

I did tell her a bit more about my family.

Specifically my dad.

Which I found myself quietly feeling out the words to explain the relationship and also, and here I was really surprised by my openness, that I was thinking about going and seeing him this July when the family is traveling in Europe.

They will be gone for three weeks.

And.

I was just told tonight as I was leaving that they have the dates for their trip and also the dates for a work trip the dad will be taking at the end of this month.

I am going to help out while he is away for a week.

I’m not sure exactly what that will look like, but I will be helping out more.

I also suspect that I won’t mind at all.

She, the mom, is really becoming my friend and it’s a different relationship with a boss than I have had.

Granted.

I have had some amazing.

AMAZING.

Parents that I have gotten to work with.

Let me repeat that.

Amazing.

I am really lucky to call the majority of them my friends.

But I would also say that it was more after the fact than during the beginning of the work relationship.

I just find myself so at ease with her and I feel like I am a different person than the nanny I was when I first started.

I am also much more sure of myself and I am very aware of how good I am.

Which is not ego, but humility.

It would be false pride to belittle what I do or to downplay it.

“I could not do what you do,” my person told me last Saturday, “you really do astound me with how good you are, I still remember how you just pulled out a bag of snacks that one time I ran into you with the boys.”

She recounted a time years back when I was first began doing recovery work with her and I had a nanny gig at the time in Cole Valley.

I ran into her and some fellows and I had one of my charges with me and I had snacks and diapers and back up clothes and milk and wet wipes and god only knows what else, probably a teething ring or three and bags to put wet clothes in and hand disinfectant and the kitchen sink and…

She remembers, though and recounted it, not for the first time, with awe, and I don’t think anything of it, that’s just how I roll, prepared.

There used to be a time though when I was a lot more uncertain of myself and my worth.

I don’t think I was ever uncertain of my abilities, just not of my worth.

I  remember fondly an “intervention” some friends of mine did at Samovar Tea Lounge after I had just moved back from Paris.

It was a combination welcome home and you’re amazing and should be making more money at your job and we want to help you do that.

Eventually all that peer support sunk in and I got the picture.

I started to advocate more for myself and I started to get better jobs.

And now.

Well.

It may really be the best nanny gig I have.

Health insurance.

Paid vacation.

Sick leave.

Invitations to imbibe of their food, nice food, organic food, really nice procured stuff.

I drink nice tea and have all the coffee I could possibly want.

I get to be out and about with my charges.

I have a credit card in my name.

Of course, I can’t get cash with it and they are fully aware of what I use it for, but it’s so handy, I pick up dry cleaning, I use the card, I run to Whole Foods or Rainbow, ditto, I have it to put extra money on the Clipper card (the MUNI pass for the trains), or to take my charges to Dolores Park Cafe for mini pizza.

I have the dream nanny job.

And.

I LOVE my boss.

I feel appreciated, understood, and we talk.

Like we have conversations about the world, the state of the nation under the current administration, art, Paris, Burning Man, San Francisco, homelessness, the mayor, rent and rent control, health insurance, school stuff.

I mean.

I have shared a lot.

So today it was not new exactly, it was just sharing on a slightly deeper level and twice I found myself tearing up in empathy for her kindness and good heartedness and how she just looked at me with her big blue/green eyes and it seemed as though she got it.

She got me.

In fact.

I felt like I was in the field with her.

The field is a psychology term that I liken to be in a therapy session.

There is intuition there and connection and things are seen from both sides, the therapist and the client.

There is often a kind of subconscious connection and things pop up and out and it happened today.

I thought something as she handed me the baby and then she said exactly what I was thinking.

I have found things like that happen to me when I am in tune with another, but I don’t know that it has ever happened with an employer, although as soon as I write that I have curiosity about that statement.

Regardless

It happened.

We connected.

It was a moment of awe that I got to take in and I was just super grateful for her.

And for the little lady bug who tonight when I was making dinner stopped me, looked up, and said, “Carmen I love you, and Carmen,” she said and paused almost shyly, “Carmen, you’re beautiful.”

I stopped stirring the pot and looked at her, this little fairy elven woods creature with big saucer blue eyes and the fey downy blonde eyebrows on her face rose as her eyes widened, and she looked up at me, “you want to hug me now don’t you?”

“Yes,” I do, F__________.”

“Ok.”

I put the wooden spoon down and gathered her up and hugged her.

“I love you too.”

And I do.

Very.

Very.

Very much.

I am such a lucky girl.

Luckiest girl in the world.

And.

I’m also a school girl.

Tomorrow is my first day back to school.

So.

Off to bed I go.

See you on the flip.

Sweet dreams my loves.

Sweet dreams.

Don’t Mind Me

February 2, 2017

Singing French music slightly off-key at the top of my lungs.

I felt like singing and well.

There you go.

And French music makes me happy, especially when I am listening to a play list that my best French friend made for my on my Spotify.

It’s pretty awesome, a. a friend who makes a play list for you and b. that it’s mostly French music.

Although there’s some English music in there, it feels very apropos as I have been thinking a lot about travel today.

Paris in May.

Ten days.

Ten days.

Oh, let me say it again, ten days in Paris in May.

Paris in Spring.

My heart sings.

My feet tap dance a little, I just did a twirl about my room to the guitars and the vocals of Je t’aime Paris before I sat down to type.

I’m also making some other travel plans.

Puerto Rico.

In, wait for it.

July.

I know.

That sounds nuts.

And it’s actually funny, the only other time I have been to Puerto Rico was actually in July, a friend that I worked with at the Angelic Brewing Company got married there, she and her husband were both from Puerto Rico, what the hell they were doing in Wisconsin, I’m still not sure about.

But.

They wanted to get married in the oldest cathedral in Old San Juan.

Where, apparently, everyone who is Puerto Rican wants to get married.

The wait list was years long.

Unless you got married in the off-season.

Like, um, ha, July.

I think they still had to wait a damn long time for the date they did get, but yeah, it was hot.

But you know where it’s not hot in July?

Yeah.

San Francisco.

The coldest winter I ever spent was summer in San Francisco.

Mark Twain had it pretty spot on.

Last July was colder than last February.

In fact, I remember making out with a guy last February on the beach, barefoot and it was warm, surprisingly warm, one of the few nights where it was warm enough to be down at the beach and bare foot.

I remember him kissing me and the moon was sinking slow behind me, it was the day after Valentines Day and for whatever reason, I think it might have been ski week for the private school kids I was nannying, I had off that week.

I had school that weekend and then I had gotten dressed up on Valentines Day, passed out Valentines Day cards to my classmates and after class let out, I went up to the Castro and did the deal and spoke a big gay men’s gathering.

I met my Puerto Rican fairy godfather at dinner that night before the meeting.

We hit it the fuck off.

Fast forward to my birthday this past year, he brings me a bag of coffee from Puerto Rico, a jar of Adobo spice, and a guidebook to the 100 best places to go to in Puerto Rico.

He had just gotten back from a business trip there and it turns out is there currently and will be back mid-February.

He will be making a few more trips back for business and one of those trips, yes, in July, I will be going with him.

I wasn’t originally planning July, but July just happened to happen for me.

I found out from my family that they will be going on a big family vacation for three weeks.

I will have three weeks off in July.

THREE.

So.

Definitely Puerto Rico.

I have the airline ticket voucher from when I cancelled my trip to Wisconsin at Christmas.

The airline happens to fly to Puerto Rico.

I am thinking a week there.

Then fly back.

And.

Then.

Alaska.

Yeah.

I know.

Big fucking mood swing travel.

But.

I have always wanted to go up to Alaska during the summer and I have friends that live there and the fellowship is great.

And.

Um.

My dad is there.

I haven’t spoken to him since I left him in a coma in Anchorage two years ago.

I do not know where or why the thought popped into my head, but pop it did and it felt so right it gave me shivers.

“Go see your dad.”

That was not my thought.

It was planted there.

And I realized as soon as I had it that yes, I need to do that.

I’ve got his phone number and I figure I’ll contact the recovery center he’s been staying in and just feel it out.

I certainly don’t want to make a huge deal out of it.

Although, it is a huge deal.

I just felt very compelled to go and see him and do it soon, I don’t need to question it and though I had some trepidation about it, it feels very much like what I need to be doing.

It’s more for me than it is for my dad, I think, I need to heal a bit more around the relationship and I feel that a face to face, eye to eye, would do me some good.

Oh.

I’m sure it will be painful too.

But through that, growth, and I long for growth.

I want to heal those spaces and holes in my heart and be fully capable of saying I did everything I could to rectify my relationships with my parents while I can.

I also, really have wanted to go to Alaska during the summer and I have a couple of friends up there who just got married and it would be great to see them and maybe get out into the wilderness a little and take my camera and explore.

Then.

I had another thought.

Well heck.

Why don’t I go to Portland too?

My sister just moved there with my youngest niece and it’s been a couple of years since I have seen them.

I could fly back from Anchorage to Portland, hang out for a long weekend, then fly to San Francisco.

I looked up flights with the estimated dates of travel and I could do one way tickets, SFO->Anchorage->Portland->SFO.

Total cost.

$361.

I can freaking swing that.

I’m not planning anything yet, I have yet to get confirmed dates from my employers, but I did agree to take some of those days as paid vacation time and they agreed to pay me for my time for the other two weeks.

I had already bought my ticket to Paris when I had interviewed for the job, that vacation and those days off are part of my vacation pay.

Which means, that I will actually get another three weeks paid off.

Mind blowing.

And the right thing to do.

I’m contracted to work for them and I get paid a minimum of 35 hours per week.

They don’t use me for those hours, they pay me regardless.

When I find out dates I will go from there.

I know Puerto Rico is happening.

I will sit on Anchorage and Portland, talk to my people, make sure I’m making a spiritual decision and not an ego centric driven one, but rather be coming from a place of humility.

It’s family and I have challenges navigating family.

I’m doing better than I have ever in my life.

There is that.

But it is still vulnerable for me.

And who knows.

I may be in practicum and be tied to the city, so who knows.

No plans yet.

Just slow cooking some travel on the back burner.

And hopefully.

In the back woods, the G.reat O.ut D.oors, sounds damn good.

And a coffee shop or three in Portland.

I could get behind that.

I like coffee

Just a little bit.

Heh.

 

 

 

Finding a Groove

January 5, 2017

Not really.

But I’m just going to pretend that I am.

I did, however, feel like, hey, you got this today.

I mean.

I really just have to show up, that’s the gist of things, that and not freak out about the fact, I almost wrote, fucked of it, of school starting next week.

What the hell.

When did that happen and I have to do all my practicum shit and wasn’t I going to do to that during the break.

What was I doing?

Oh yeah.

I was sick.

I guess I have somewhat of an excuse.

And I have time, I remind myself, I have some time.

Granted, not a lot, I do need to get on the stick, but it will happen.

Some how it always does.

Even when the train won’t come.

Even when I decided to leave my scooter at work.

I actually did that.

I rode to work today and then the rain decided to rain again and it didn’t slack off and it was cold and I just felt funny about the idea of getting on my scooter.

I mean.

Really funny.

I heed stuff like that.

I just do not need to force riding home in the dark, in the cold, with the rainy rain and the slick streets and nope.

Not going to do it.

I figured, I got out of work an hour early, we are still figuring that all out and I don’t doubt that it will be a little wonky for a little while as the mom and dad and new baby get their routine down.

The house guest left today though, one less person in the house, and though I know that she was and is a good family friend, that there was a bit of breathing space that was tangible when I came back from picking up the kids from school.

I have to say, I am getting into that part of the job, going to grab the kids at school.

Getting out of the house, having a little purpose, packing snacks, making plans to do things.

Of course all plans to go do things and stuff at the park were cancelled as soon as the rain started back up, but the forecast looks clear for the next few days.

I should be able to ride my scooter home from work, I’ll just suck it up and take the train in again tomorrow, and Friday as well.

After that, who knows, I keep hearing about a monster storm that is going to dump a load of rain on us over the weekend and it looks like solid rain all next week.

Sigh.

Tomorrow though, no rain, means an outing to the park and hopefully a break in the clouds and some sun on my face.

And perhaps.

A visit with my former charges.

I ran into the mom dashing in during the rain to grab the boys and we had a quick hug and she asked if I had seen the boys, and I had not.

Which did make me momentarily sad, I wish I had, it would have been nice, but the rain being what it was, maybe it was for the better.

“You have been very missed,” the mom said, “there have been a lot of tears, a lot.”

Oh.

Dang it man.

That made me mist up.

But.

I did assure my former employer that I would be doing lots of pick up and that tomorrow and the days following I would look for them.

I would love to give them great big fierce hugs.

I do miss them.

That being said I can see that this current job is going to serve me really well and I am happy that I have made the change.

I really like the mom.

In fact, I think I may have told her more about myself than I have most of my previous employers.

Granted, there are some that definitely know more about me, as they have been in my life past my employment with them, but for the most part, I don’t divulge that much.

I told the mom today that I was sober.

It just sort of came out.

I ran into someone who I do the deal with and he waved and said “happy new year” and I figured, well, here’s a great opportunity and I just told her as we were standing in line at Whole Foods in Noe Valley.

It felt good to divulge and be honest and like I said, just to see that this job is really a good fit for me personality wise and money wise and principle wise and even environmentally wise.

They use all organic products, right down to everything they clean with.

They eat organic, they listen to music together.

The dad put on Leonard Cohen today for the baby to hear.

“It’s really important to get them into music young,” he said.

Hell yes.

I like their art.

I like their house.

I like how it’s clean and cozy, but not super tidy, organized, but not fanatic.

I really like how the mom pulled me aside at the grocery store when I said, “I’ve got the list let me know what you want me to grab.”

“Actually, I don’t need the list and what I want you to grab is food for yourself,” she looked at me very seriously and touched my arm, “we’ve discussed it and I understand your food stuff, but we really want you to have some staples in the house, in case you get hungry in a pinch, or need some food, we want to make sure that you have what you need and aren’t going without.”

Oh my God.

So nice.

And maybe for the first time ever I really embraced that.

I mean.

I didn’t go grab some lobster tail and steak.

But.

I did get a box of my favorite tea and a 1/2 gallon of unsweetened vanilla almond/cashew milk (I can drink milk, but um, it’s not always the best idea for me to, heh, it can be a little hard to digest, I’ll leave it at that), I picked up some carrots and apples and a couple of Japanese sweet potatoes.

Things that I can nibble on, tea that I can sip, I was told very firmly to drink what ever coffee is in the house, they have a friend who is in the coffee business and apparently they have a lot in the house.

Good to know.

Especially since I bring coffee with me.

Should I forget, I’m covered.

And.

I got the “I love you,” tonight from the little girl.

That was unexpected and really lovely.

I also got the “you’re stupid,” a couple of times, but that’s pretty par for the course.

Mom, dad, and the older brother got the “you’re stupid” too, so I didn’t fee too awkward about it.

I also got a rousing walk up the hill from the J-Church with the brother and sister, stomping rain boots, umbrellas, snacks, and a bright and loud version of The Yellow Submarine.

It was pretty awesome.

I laughed a lot today and for that I am grateful.

Yeah.

The rain sucked and I was cold by the time I got home.

But that’s what hot tea is for.

And bunny slippers.

Seriously.

Get a pair.

They are the bomb.

A little more tea and then off to bed.

I am still a bit tired, the new job stress is easing, it’s still a bit exhausting hauling all over and having a new schedule and the cold and the rain.

But I’m making my way through.

So grateful for this experience.

Really grateful.

Getting the fuck out-of-the-way and letting the good stuff in.

Please and thank you.

All day long.

All day.

Let Go

December 14, 2016

Move the fuck on.

“Block his number,” my person said succinctly and to the point.

HOLY FUCK.

I had not thought of that.

Then I thought.

Shit.

That’s the right thing to do.

I just unfriended as well off social media and each small step was a little moving in the right direction.

There’s nothing wrong with the guy, fyi, in case you’re wondering.

What’s wrong or perhaps not quite right, or perhaps better yet, what wasn’t working for me, is that I was falling into the same stupid trap again.

Better to let go the person and move the fuck on.

I don’t do myself or anyone else a service when I’m up in fantasy land.

And it wasn’t that good, I remind myself.

No.

It wasn’t bad either, it just didn’t serve, it wasn’t good for me, it didn’t fulfill my heart, I was left wanting a lot more and wanting more from a person who is not capable of offering more is something that I do and I have often crumpled in the face of change, when oh, that rut is so comfy and I know it so well.

And.

Didn’t you see?

I just redecorated and got a new couch for the space.

Fuck me.

I expressed to my person today that I was actually relieved that the guy I was supposed to spend time with last night cancelled.

But in a twist I wasn’t expecting my person added, you deserve to be respected, block his number.

What?

You mean I deserve the time of day, the respect of my schedule, that my needs are important.

Stop the fucking presses.

Yes.

Of course.

And if I don’t step up to that it’s my own damn fault.

So rather than fall down that hole again, Alice decided to take the elevator up to the top of the hill and look around.

See what she can see.

I see yoga in my future.

Signed up for a class tomorrow.

Went today.

Hella stiff and sore and snaggle toothed and old, man I just felt stupid and old.

Then, as I relaxed a little, I did think to myself, lady pants you sat in a desk chair at school for 29 hours, of course your body is out of whack, and you didn’t get more than five or six, max, and I do mean max, hours of sleep for the last four nights.

Give yourself a break and be happy you showed up to the mat.

Expectations always do take me down.

They just lead to resentment.

And a life lived on resentment is not one I wish to have.

Nope.

This lady is all about happy and fun.

Let me repeat that.

Happy.

And.

Fun.

Fun does not need to be roller coasters.

Fun can be writing Christmas cards or sending packages in the mail.

I got my oldest niece her gift today, I saw it last week at Rainbow and was quite taken with it, granted it was more expensive than I had planned on spending, art supplies, but, fuck, I just knew it when I saw it, had her name written all over it.

So.

I got it.

And then I mailed her card and my mom’s Christmas package and my sister’s too, which included a few things for my youngest niece.

It really felt so sweet and good to put their packages in the mail.

I feel blessed that I can send them gifts.

It wasn’t always that way and there were years and lapses in time that I didn’t send my family gifts.

It feels right to make up for that now and to continue fostering connections.

Even if it’s just a card in the mail.

It means I love you.

I do you know.

So much.

Breaks my heart.

I’m ok with that, heart break, I’ve had my share, I’ll probably have more before my days here on this plane are done.

And that’s ok too.

It means I’m alive.

What a fucking gift, this, to be alive, to be in this skin.

It’s not perfect, but it’s mine and I’m ever so grateful for it.

Yup.

A beautiful gift that I get to treat well and respect and care for and love.

I’m getting better at that all the time.

And I do deserve respect.

It felt good to remind myself of that this afternoon.

I had made the phone call check in to my person this afternoon while I was at the beginning of my work shift, although certainly not the beginning of my day–that had started hours and hours before I even got to work.

But I did not block the phone number until late in the afternoon.

When.

Ha.

I was wondering vaguely in the back of my head if he was going to text me today and what would I say and.

What the fuck, Martines?!

Ugh.

Block the number now.

It’s like a dangerous default, I don’t even know my brain is going there.

This is why I work with people, this is why I make myself accountable to others, their perspectives are so fucking important.

I walk around with god damn blinders on.

“He’s totally interested in you,” my girlfriend said to me years and years ago.

“No he’s not, he’s gay,” I told my friend.

“Gay?  Are you out of your mind, he’s literally beating your face with his penis, Carmen, he’s so not gay,” my friend said with incredulity, then dipped her french fry into the pool of ranch dressing on her plate.  “Seriously, he has a great big boner for you and it’s a not a gay boner.”

Turns out.

He wasn’t gay.

Once in a while.

I think.

Oh, look, a new perspective, I’ve taken off  the blinders.

But.

You know.

I’m always in my way.

I’m the one thing in my way.

So, pray to God, I’m serious, get the fuck out of your own way.

Go have fun.

Go play pinball.

Go to yoga.

Let go.

Move on.

And don’t worry.

You’re on a collision course with what is supposed to happen.

You just can’t see around the corner.

You’re not blind.

But you’re not a mind reader either.

Just saying.

God Damn!

June 6, 2016

She shouted as she got onto the beach.

“It’s fucking freezing out here,” she squealed wrapping her bare arms around herself.

I chuckled inside.

I was wearing leggings, a long sleeve shirt dress, cardigan, and my hoodie, one of the four in my closet, yo.

Yeah.

I was rocking the flip flops, but I don’t like sand in my shoes, I get that enough at work with the boys when we go to the playground.

This is not, of course, the first time I have heard such an exclamation from some one getting off the N-Judah at the end of the line.

Welcome to the Sunset.

It’s fucking cold out here.

My heater is on.

Not on high, but it’s on.

I just got back in from my second, yes, second, bike ride of the day.

Neither one of them was real long, but they both got my heart rate up, and it was quite nice to come home to my cozy, good smelling, little home and turn up the heat a little to warm up the studio.

I was thinking today, why hasn’t some one started a sweatshirt stand out here?

I mean, seriously, I might make a mint.

Or you’d think San Fran Psycho would open a pop up or something at the end of the train line, just would hoodies and hats and probably some scarves.

They’d make bank.

I saw another gaggle of girls, who from the talk sounded like they were coming from the sacred inner city warmth of the Mission district, bleat like small lambs to the slaughter as the minced up the dunes toward the beach in bikinis and cut off shorts.

“It’s so cold!”

And repeat.

I had a nice little day in my neighborhood.

Despite waking up with dread on my chest like a weight of demise and ruin.

What the fuck?

I had a fantastic night last night, why the anxiety, the dread?

Well I know.

I have that thing upstairs that likes to ruin shit for me, my brain, that is.

So.

I just did what I do best.

The next thing in front of me.

And a lot of writing this morning.

I finished up my notebook that I bought in Paris at the Palais de Tokyo over Christmas when I was there visiting.

I opened up my Brooklyn notebook.

Or I suppose, I should say, my New York notebook.

Which I had bought when my friend and I hit the Strand.

A very dangerous place for me to be considering my fondness for the written word.

I did get sucked in, I did, until I realized that I could buy any and all of the books that I had in my hand in San Francisco, and that the weight of the books would not be fun in my suitcase on the way home.

I bought, rather, notebooks, some stickers, a magnet, and today I opened up one of those notebooks.

It was the one I had started when I was staying at the Air BnB in Clinton Hill.

The one that I slapped the Gorilla Coffee sticker on.

I also, happily, glue sticked my Paul Simon ticket from last night’s show in there too.

I have ticket stubs from the Brooklyn Museum, the MOMA, the New Whitney.

A postcard I got at the MOMA of a Warhol Marilyn with a pink background.

Stickers from the Brooklyn Museum.

The business card, which was really a clever word balloon cut from a book, from the art studio I got the private tour of, Doug Beube, as well as the business card from Mat Moreno [sic] which looks like a Metro card, who gave me the tattoo at Three Kings Tattoo in Green Pointe.

I also have their sticker.

There’s a few other things in there and I am always so grateful that I do that, scrap book a little, they are sweet, small tokens of my time.

So.

Yes.

Lots of writing.

Then some phone calls to my people.

It always helps to just drop a message and say, I know I’m being crazy, my brain wants me to have things to do, stuff to ruminate on, all I have to do today is show up to the 7:30 p.m. thing up at St. Gabe’s and just take the rest of the day as it comes.

One moment at at time.

And it all works out.

I think, no, I know, God damn it, I am getting old, that part of my unease was sleeping in as “late” as I did.

Gah.

I remember sleeping until 5p.m. before and rushing to get myself to the bar to work by 6p.m.

Not any more.

10 a.m. is sleeping in.

10:30 a.m.

Fuck.

That’s heresy.

I screwed my whole day.

That was the story, oh fuck off narrative, I was telling myself, I had wasted the day already, even before it had begun.

Might as well just make it a rotten one.

Wait.

Stop.

Pause.

Breathe.

Pray.

Try again.

Call another person.

Ask how they are doing.

Go buy some groceries up the street.

Then.

Oh.

Novel idea.

Cook the food.

Ha.

I actually made a really fucking delicious dish today, I haven’t made it in a long time and I must be craving something, because it was calling.

Basically I made a sort of stew.

Turmeric seasoned brown rice with a little olive oil, garlic, salt and pepper.

And.

Chicken, shrimp, and mussels sauteed in their own juices with a little garlic, chopped onion, Basil, Oregano, Parsley, lots of sea salt, I like things salty, ahem.

Then I threw in four green zucchinis chopped up with a can of black olives and some crushed tomatoes and let it simmer in the pot on the stove.

It was hella good.

I froze some and put up the rest for meals at work this week.

Love taking care of myself.

Although.

There, it snuck in, for just a moment, man I wish I was cooking for someone.

Ok now.

Stop it.

I hate this trope my disease likes to throw out.

It has not been working for me lately though, I’m like, over you, shut up, move on, been there, done that.

I recalled my conversation with my friend last night after the Paul Simon show and how sometimes the solution is just to do some fucking exercise.

Yes.

Hop on the bike.

I took a short bicycle ride and felt much better.

And.

Yes.

There is an afternoon yoga class.

Sign up for it.

Ok.

And fuck it.

So what if it’s grey, take a walk to the beach.

I was on the beach for an hour, talked with the moms for a half hour, did my daughterly duties, and then I collect sand dollars like pennies from heaven.

Seriously.

I have never found so many whole sand dollars on a walk on the beach.

I could set up a sand dollar and sweat shirt shop on the beach if I don’t make it through grad school.

She sells seashells by the seashore.

I found nine or ten and some pretty stones and sea glass.

I picked out the ones that pleased me the most and put the rest back for some one else to happily discover.

I got back here.

Hopped into my yoga clothes.

Got on the mat and got happy.

Then a hot shower, God, I swear, is a hot shower.

And.

Dinner was a repeat of the delicious.

Then, yeah, fuck it, ride the bike up to St. Gabe’s.

And like that.

My day.

Two bike rides, cooking, writing, long walk on the beach, ahem, collecting shells (yeah, I am a girl like that, shut up), yoga, and doing the deal.

Even when my head tells me, lies to me really, that my life is not enough.

It so obviously is.

Happy.

Joyous.

Free.

 

Warm and cozy.

Down by the sea.

Wrapped up in my music and the love of the day.

Nigh y’all.

Happy Sunday.

It was smashing.

Seriously.

Locked And Loaded

April 8, 2016

I made it through the work week.

Now to make it through the school weekend.

Three days of showing up and participating and being the best little student I can be.

Yeah.

I’m a teacher’s pet.

What of it?

I’m also ready.

Food is prepped, lunches and dinners.

I went to the grocery store after work, got a few extra things to have on hand so I don’t have to think about getting groceries or dealing with food stuff.

I also got myself a nice bouquet of flowers.

Because.

Hello.

Buy your own damn flowers.

And.

I’m done with my papers, my readings, and laundry–celebrate with something pretty just for me.

I am on point.

So that I don’t have to do anything but use my brain.

It does get a good work out when I’m in school.

And  have enough to think about then to worry about laundry or cleaning or groceries or bills or any of it.

Phone bill paid, rent paid, fuck, I paid it weeks ago, scooter insurance paid.

I just wish I was able to use it this weekend.

But the weather don’t look good.

So I gassed up my scooter and covered her up.

Fingers crossed I may be able to use it on Sunday, but tomorrow and Saturday, it’s looking like rain.

So.

I’ll take cars.

I was trying to talk myself into using MUNI but it’s doubtful.

I’ll want the extra time for sleeping.

I feel pretty rested, but it was a stressful day at work, hell it’s been a stressful couple of weeks, the family is doing a big spring break travel and there were a lot of extra things to juggle.

But.

As of today I won’t see the boys for a week.

I snuggled them both for a little while tonight before I left.

“I love you and I’m going to miss you and I just want you to know that even though I can’t see you, you are here, right here in my heart,” I told each of the boys.

I got kisses blown to me from the little guy, but the six year old and I had a longer conversation about the trip and the traveling and what was I going to be doing.

I told him that I would be in school and then I would be helping out the family and doing some things at the house to make sure it was prepared for them when they came home next week.

He also asked me to go down to the beach, he knows the whales are migrating, and try and see some whales and take some pictures for him.

“I will, and how about I bring you a souvenir?”  I asked him.  “What about a sand dollar?”

“Oh yes! I would love a sand dollar,” he hugged me and patted my hand and then scurried out of my lap to go play rescue helicopter pilot eskimo pirate santa t-rex trains.

Don’t ask.

Suffice to say, I felt my heart very tugged.

I won’t miss the stress of getting them ready for the trip, but I will miss the boys.

The oldest came running up to me before I headed down the stairs and out the door, and threw himself at me and clambered up into my arms and kissed my face.

My heart broke and then grew bigger and more love, more love, more love.

I squeezed him tight, “I love you bug, have fun.”

Now one ever told her to guard her heart.

I put him down and scurried down the stairs before I could get wrangled into any more last minute work projects or get caught up in saying any more good byes to the boys.

Free!

I rode off into the waning of the day and the encroaching fog and rain clouds.

I see you.

But I still may have time to enjoy a few moments of Doctor Seuss sky before the night falls complete.

The quiet crash of the night, the shimmer of neon on the 76 gas station sign at La Playa and Lincoln and I had a moment, a memory, a shimmering of tender nostalgia flare up inside my chest.

The sea side, the old gas station logo, the smell of wood burning at the fire pits on Ocean Beach.

Did I ever tell you how my favorite smell is woodsmoke?

Bonfires on the edge of the ocean, the dark water, somber and shiny, the smell of salt water drenched driftwood drenched and bleached under the sun, then gathered up in bundles to throw on the bundle of wood bought the market with the styrofoam cooler and the six packs of beer.

My mother and her boyfriend.

My sister, asleep in the back seat of the car.

I didn’t last much longer myself.

But I do remember the fire and the way it smelled and my mother, barefoot, jeans rolled, hair in her eyes, her gulping laugh of intoxication and joy, shimming around the fire.

Then.

I woke up and the sea was calm and I was alone in the morning air and fog and cool sand.

We ate breakfast at some sea side diner with red checked table cloths and booths, a long room with wood floors and un-ironic rope art and wooden ship steering wheels.

I had pancakes.

Thin, round, silver dollars.

They sat smeared with butter and soaked up the syrup that fell from the glass container, the sticky spot on the black handle where the syrup leaked out.

I remember watching the syrup soak into my pancakes.

My sister ate sausages dipped in the syrup and repeatedly stuck her finger in the pool of syrup.

Smart girl, she doused her pancakes and waited until all the syrup had soaked through and then poured even more on top, the crumbs of pancake so super saturated with sweetness they crumbled into balls and stuck to the tines of the thin silver fork.

My egg yolk ran into the syrup and I watched the yellow river snake over the plate.

My mom dipped her toast in the yolk and ate it, she smiled and she was so beautiful.

I forget that sometimes how beautiful my mother, bohemian and wild, was, is really, her white cotton button shirt rolled up at the sleeves, her long neck a gazelle, her green eyes grey and soft with the overhead clouds.

All this.

In just a moment.

The acceleration of my scooter from the stop sign at 45th to the turn at La Playa to get gas in my scooter.

“You’re a native!” he said in the message.

I am and I forget that sometimes in the ellipses of time that happened from years five to twenty-nine when I moved back here, but it will be those moments, the red neon sign, the wind on my face, the smell of bonfires on the beach.

And I am home.

In my heart.

In my person.

In this world.

I belong.

Here.

Now.

Always.

 

 

Once Again

January 5, 2016

I felt like Charlie Brown with the football.

Hey, Lucy, sure, I see that ball, let me kick it and fall on my ass.

But.

At least this time I circumnavigated a little discomfort by making a phone call.

That’s right.

My readers for my next semester of classes are not ready.

Nothing says good times like making plans before you fall asleep at night to have them changed abruptly.

I rolled with it though.

I took care of what I needed to take care of for myself and I also had a little unexpected free time.

I did some extra writing.

That always helps.

I called some people and left some messages and just in the leaving of messages my brain chemistry changed.

When I share the crazy, the crazy, magically, is not so crazy, or at least I can hear it, deal with it and let it go.

Forgive myself and move on.

Sure.

I fell in a pothole, but I got myself out.

Then.

I actually had a nice phone call with my mom.

That lasted more than five minutes.

We must have chatted for twenty minutes and it was light, although some of the subject matter was not, and funny, and connected and it was nice.

I also quizzed my mom a bit on some family history.

One of my classes for this next semester, handily one of the classes that doesn’t have it’s reader ready yet, has something on the syllabus in regards to knowing about ones own family background.

I know zilch.

Well.

Maybe not zero.

But I don’t know much.

I have heard bits and pieces here and there, but nothing really outside the basic facts.

Which are: on my mom’s side I’m German and Scot and on my father’s side I’m Puerto Rican and Polynesian.

I mean I really don’t know much.

But I have always been curious.

I will be reaching out to one of my cousins on my fathers side, if my internet ever comes up, yeah, that’s right, another day where it’s not working.

I need to say something to my house mate, my utilities include a hefty chunk towards internet and it’s usually not that great, but four days in a row is not cool.

I have things I could be doing.

Reading the reader links for one of my classes that the professor put up since the reader is still not available.

Um.

Yeah.

I’ll be right on that.

When and if I can ever get the fuck online.

I am honestly not certain how the hell I was able to post a blog last night.

It was a complete Hail Mary and it went up.

But I wasn’t able to do anything else.

Like e-mail my cousin and ask after the ancestry information he has.

If I recall correctly, there was a conversation I had briefly with my cousin that someone in the family, him? Another cousin? An uncle? I cannot for the life of me remember, had done some research.

I am going to need that for this class.

I don’t know more about what I need since I can’t access the online syllabus.

Like I said, this whole not having internet is like cool for about a day, maybe two, yes, I did do a lot of pleasure reading, but enough already, I have things I need to do.

Damn it.

Ugh.

Anyway.

I did have a talk with my mom, who basically re-iterated to me the German and Scot thing on her side, with the possible Scot side maybe even coming from Iceland and the German side possibly have come from Switzerland?

Ok.

What I found fascinating, however, was the story from my father’s side of the family.

I knew that one of my ancestors had been taken from Puerto Rico to work on the plantations in Hawaii before it was a state of the United States.

What I did not know was that there were two of them, and they were brothers, and they were really young, twelve and fourteen.

She told me there names and that they had been taken to the island of Maui.

They were supposed to be given money to send back to their families in Puerto Rico.

Well.

You probably know how that went.

The brothers both married and one of the women, whom I am apparently biologically related to, was a, wait for it.

Witch.

Fuck yeah.

Which means.

She was probably a healer or a midwife or a doula or some sort of natural path.

Or a witch.

Ha.

My mom said, “healer” after letting the witch part slip.

I found myself fascinated by that and recalled a time in my life were I explored voodoo and witchcraft—Wicca as its traditionally known as, and I was also curious about a lot of other non-traditional spiritual practices.

Hell.

I still am.

According to mom, and by that I mean, second hand through my dad, who is probably not the most reliable source, the brother who married the witch divorced her and remarried.

I do know as well, that my grandmother was born in Paia, on Maui, in 1928.

I also found out that my father was born on Hawaii before it was naturalized as a state, so in some dystopian way, he doesn’t find himself to be a real American, he considers himself a “Hawaiian.”

Now.

I had heard that from him before, when, couldn’t tell you, my conversations with my pops were not always the most factual or honest and so much of the relationship was fantasy in my head anyhow.

My dad was not there after a certain point of my life.

And he’s remained not there.

And that’s ok.

I did my work around that.

I am still doing my work around that.

That sweet little girl, alone, cold, wet, abandoned.

Yeah.

I know her pretty well.

I try to scoop her up and dry her off and tuck her into bed with good stories and hot tea.

Most of the time, it works quite well.

Once in a while, she freaks out, but that is ok too.

Yes.

I am aware I have digressed to speaking not only of my inner four year old, but also in third person to.

I digress.

The conversation with mom was great and piqued a lot of curiosity.

Now.

If I can ever the fuck get online.

I’ll send my cousin and email and get so more stories.

I can always use more stories.

They are the stuff of life.

My life.

Anyway.

Housewife?

December 11, 2015

Uh no.

But then again.

Yeah, kind of.

Ha.

I was just in a Uber coming home trying to describe to my driver, English is his second language, what I do for a living.

He was curious, many drivers are, when they pick me up from work, they make assumptions that I live in the house, but obviously, I am not the account holder, that’s the dad.

It was pretty much decided, unanimously, between the mom, the dad, and I, that I would not be riding my bicycle home.

The storm hit about a half hour before my shift was done.

There appeared to be a window this evening when I might have made it home on my bicycle, but that rapidly closed when I noticed the rain starting to fall, then down pour, then yes, that’s correct.

Hail.

Uh.

Yeah.

Not riding my bicycle home through a hail storm.

Then lighting and thunder.

“You’ll take an Uber,” the dad said, “I’ll call for you.”

Thanks man.

I left my bicycle in the garage.

I’ll figure out how to get to work on Monday, well, on Monday.

Probably a car right back.

Hell.

I might do a car tomorrow or possibly Sunday.

The weather is supposed to clear by tomorrow at 6 a.m.

I’ll be up at at it early, 6:30 a.m.

If the rain passes I will take the scooter.

It will still be slick, so I will have to be very careful, but I won’t have to cross any MUNI tracks on my way into class.

If the weather is still nasty and cold and rainy, I’ll just bite the bullet and call a car.

Taking the MUNI train in is also an option, but it would be morning rush commute down town, I’m not sure how long I would have to budget for it and I am rather more willing to pay the cost of taking in a car than arriving late.

Anyhow.

Minutiae.

I was grateful to get the ride home and the conversation with the driver was funny, although I am not certain he was trying for humor.

Rather just communication.

He asked after a rather long pause what I did for work.

“Private nanny,” I said, “I work for the family that lives at that house.”

He didn’t understand the word for nanny.

“Babysitter, household manager, teacher, governess, play mate, laundress, cleaner, cook, errand runner, girl Friday” I was running out of things to say that made sense.

He interjected.

“Housewife!”

I laughed.

Um.

No.

But yeah, kind of.

It reminded me of my mom coming over to my house in Madison when I lived on E. Dayton Street, and she was helping with with something,  I think I was moving and trying to clean and organize.

I was also in school and working full time the Angelic Brewing Company.

And.

Studying/training to get my black belt in Shaolin Kempo Karate.

Hiya!

Heh.

Busy even then.

Story of my life.

We had pulled out the fridge in the kitchen to clean behind it and my mom made a face, there was years of cat fur accumulated behind the appliance.

“You need a wife!” My mom said with authority.

I don’t know about that, I’m partial to men.

But.

I know my mom’s point.

A busy person can always use a hand with stuff.

So far, however, I’ve been the busy person who is also the busy person’s helper.

I’m organized, efficient, smart, capable.

I get shit done.

Like a friend said a few weeks back, want something done?  Give it to a busy person to do.

True that.

This busy person had a good full day of it too.

I got up early, showered, did the deal, had some breakfast, prepped my bicycle, wrote for a while, then I practiced my final project presentation and timed it.

I’ve got it pretty down.

Happy about that.

Tomorrow I’m going to print it off at school.

I had a friend offer to print it off at her job, but then I found out there’s a computer lab at the school, I will check there first and see if I can handle it without having to lean on my very busy friend.

Who also has her own final project presentation to be concerned about.

I also tidied up the house a bit so I wouldn’t have to worry about it this weekend and then off to work.

Work was busy.

In a very good way, as it made the day pass and I’m always down for that.

Especially when the weather was ick all day long.

The boys stayed in, despite trying to lure them out they wouldn’t budge and I gave up pretty quick, fair enough to stay inside and read and play with magnet tiles and trains and help cook with me.

I have two little sous chefs who love helping in the kitchen.

They are adorable, although sometimes a bit too eager to help, fingers going here and there and messes happening pretty quickly.

At one point I had to take them both outside, a break in the rain luckily happening, and pat them down, poufs of flour fluttering up in the air.

I made homemade pizza.

I did not make the dough, but I did go to the Lucca Ravioli and buy all the stuff to assemble the pizzas–pepperoni, sauce, cheese, pizza dough–and to the corner market for mushrooms and spinach.

I made five pizzas today!

Plus roasted marinated chicken thighs and garlic brown butter roasted brussels sprouts.

And smoothies.

The family just got a new Vitamix.

In the last three days I have made four different kinds of smoothies and one gigantic batch of pureed broccoli soup (the mom loves my broccoli soup), one big container into the freezer for the family when I am away at school this weekend.

I do sound like a housewife!

And in a way, I wouldn’t mind being one.

I like domestic things, especially cooking.

But.

I also would have to be many other things too.

Writer, blogger, poet, lover, world traveler.

And probably many, many, many other things too.

I have many facets to my nature.

Just because I am naturally a caretaker doesn’t mean I don’t get to caretake myself too.

Which to my own credit, I have done well today.

My lunch and dinner are packed for tomorrow, my books, notebooks, and school effluvia are all set aside and ready.

My alarm clock is set.

Here we go!

Last weekend of my first semester of graduate school!

Yeehaw.

And

Maybe some day I’ll have a partner.

In crime.

But this weekend.

Even though I may be up for an offer.

Heh.

I am more than happy to wife for myself.

 

 

It’s Beginning

November 30, 2015

To look a lot like Christmas.

Except.

Well.

No tree this year.

No tree for me.

Although I did, temporarily consider it.

But it doesn’t make sense for me since I’ll be leaving for Paris and there will be plenty of Christmas trees for me to see there.

I just love having a tree in the house at Christmas.

There is that warm feeling and I feel nostalgic and recall past Christmas times and there is always a sweet moment when it’s just me in the dark with the Christmas tree lit and all things seem possible and all things are.

Magic.

Christmas is a dark time.

But it is also a time for magic and when I let the dark and the cold get into me too much I have to shake it off.

This meant getting out of the house tonight and going for a bicycle ride over to St. Gabe’s to get right with God and see my people.

I had been too much stuck in my own head today.

A touch on the isolated side.

Despite meeting with a lady earlier and having a really sweet phone call with my mom.

I felt a bit isolated.

I miss my friend who I see all the time from the neighborhood who has been out of town visiting family in the Midwest.

And I miss my girlfriends from the city who don’t live in the city anymore.

This four day weekend was an epic fail at phone tag with the two of them.

But what is a lady going to do about that.

We are all busy.

A doctor.

A nurse.

A graduate student.

All of us doing the deal and working and family and relationships, and friendships are hard to sustain through the distance, but I still reach out and they reach out and even though contact was not made, in the effort I felt connection.

But I felt a little maudlin today too.

It could just be that it’s Sunday and I didn’t quite get done the work I wanted to get done this weekend.

And then there’s that.

The perfectionist me.

I don’t have to have it all done this weekend.

I just wanted to have as much done as I could.

I did a lot too.

I have to acknowledge that.

I wrote the two papers and I did a ridiculous amount of reading.

In fact.

I finished all the reading for the semester for my Psychodynamics class.

ALL OF IT.

This, despite being an accomplishment of patience and will and just sitting in the same spot for awhile–yesterday at the cafe in Noe Valley, today all day long at my trusty kitchen table/desk–and batting through it, did not feel like enough.

I wanted to write the paper too.

Finish it.

Get it out of the way.

But I realized, after looking over the notes I took from the last lecture, the notes are insufficient.  There is a lot more that needs to be covered and my professor just didn’t get to it last time.

I could possibly write the paper but I may not be doing it any justice if I don’t understand the material and I don’t know that I am going to get the gist of what the teacher wants without hearing her lecture more on the topic.

Technically the paper isn’t even due until December 22nd.

I have time.

I just don’t feel like I do.

Feelings, I remind myself, are not facts, and so, I am going to let myself off the hook on the paper and just attend class and after I hear the two final lectures from the professor I feel like I will be able to put together a coherent and well written paper.

I also did not get to do the work for the final project for my Human Development class.

But.

That I don’t feel as weird about.

And I also did a shit load of reading for that class as well, finishing up the last chapter in the text–which means I officially read every page of that ridiculous text book, 600 pages plus of good, good times.

I read a few articles out of the reader for the class too.

I should have the reading for the semester then complete by tomorrow before work or Tuesday at the latest.

Which means I will devote the time that I normally would be reading to doing work on the final project before I go to my job job.

Yeah.

That thing that pays the bills and stuff.

Which by the end of a weekend where I have put so much time and effort into my school work, actually feels like going on vacation.

All I have to do is fold laundry and make dinner?

(Aside from the plethora of other things)

I don’t have to understand Post-Freudian Kleinian theory on death drives?

SWEET.

There was a little lightness in my day.

I will acknowledge that too.

I did open a gift my mom sent me and was happily surprised by a sweet basket for the beach with a little pillow and folding mat for sitting in the sand dunes accompanied by a book of poems and a card with $50!

Not at all what I was expecting from my mom and I was grateful to open the gift, although my birthday is still a few weeks away.

My mom was so excited to send it to me that I opened it early for her.

Which led to one of my breaks today–a walk around the neighborhood while I chatted with my mom and got some sunshine on my face.

The next time I had thought to go for a walk it was already sunset and I had been reading for another couple of hours.

I made dinner instead, texted a dear friend in my cohort, and prepped my food for the week.

Opening the present had made me a little nostalgic for the holidays and so I opened up my box of Christmas ornaments and pulled out a few.

I may not have a Christmas trees this year, but I do have snowflake ornaments hanging from the antlers in the corner and a bowl that says “Noel” on it filled with glass bulbs and ornaments sequestered in a little corner.

Plus.

A wreath of jingle bells on my door.

That and a few Christmas cards and it will be just the right balance.

I also enjoyed my bicycle ride through the neighborhood and if I feel the need for a tree all I have to do is ride down the block and look in the windows of all the houses.

The holiday house at the corner of Kirkham and 46th has a magnificent one, as does a lovely little house on the corner of Noriega and 46th.

My upstairs housemate has been decorating her’s all day today with the help of her daughter and the drift of Christmas carols down the stairs into my studio is also a sweet, unexpected gift.

Christmas.

By the way.

Is everyday for me.

As I am constantly showered with gifts.

Friends.

Family.

School.

Work.

Recovery.

Community.

So much love.

All the love.

All the things.

Happy Holidays.

Let’s go through them joyfully together.


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