Posts Tagged ‘nesting’

Today I Ate

December 25, 2018

An entire book.

I mean.

I consumed it.

I chopped it up and snorted it down like it was some sort of happy drug.

I haven’t read fiction in so long it was an aphrodisiac.

I still feel a little high.

I did just like I said I would and I slept in this morning.

I woke up at 9:45 a.m.!

Holy Toledo.

I cannot remember the last time I slept that late.  I mean, maybe the ARTumnal Airpusher after party silent dance rave I went to in November, but even the day after coming home from a night of carousing and dancing I was still up by 8:30a.m.

I think.

So this morning was nuts.

I believe it was partially, at least this is my excuse, not that I need one, that it was so clouded over.

Dark and stormy.

Grey and misty and wet.

True San Francisco winter weather, not exactly rain, but mist and wind and rainy and all-pervasive.

San Francisco rain doesn’t really always come straight down, it seems to enwrap you and get everything soaked.

Without directly raining all that much.

So I slept in.

I might have even slept longer were it not for the siren song of my bladder yelling out about the big mug of tea I had before I went to bed last night.

I got up and was leisurely.

Like in a major way.

I think it was 11:30a.m. before I actually sat down for breakfast.

A phone call from my best friend was partially the reason, but mostly, I was just going slow and easy.

I enjoyed my late breakfast and wrote a ton.

A lot.

It was lovely.

And though I didn’t know exactly what I wanted to do, I did know I was going to need to make a run to the grocery store and maybe see what was playing at the Balboa Theater, which is just up the road from me.

Unfortunately I’d already seen one of the movies and the other I am planning on seeing tomorrow.

But.

La Promenade Cafe was open and so I took my book and settled into a big leather arm-chair by the front window and sank into my story.

I bought this book last summer, a few weeks before I was to start my fall intensive for school.

A day before I got my first text-book in the mail for said intensive.

I only read a few of the stories, it’s a collection of shorts from A.M. Holmes called Days of Awe.

I really like her work, I’ve only read her novels and was happy to find that the shorts were just as compelling and in a way very interwoven, so it felt like I was reading a novel in a way.

I read at the cafe and listened to music and people watched and thought how nice it was to actually be in a cafe in my new neighborhood.

The first time since I’ve moved here since mid-September that I actually did something other than laundry in the neighborhood.

It felt a little like getting settled.

I did another first today too, this one may surprise you, although it shouldn’t considering how busy I keep myself.

I went for a walk around my neighborhood!

Yeah.

I know.

I really haven’t done any walking, unless it was from my car to the house or from the house to my car.

I had gotten back from the cafe, unloaded my groceries, roasted a chicken, made a late lunch, sat on my couch, watched the rain, ate brown butter brussels sprouts and hot roast chicken and listened to Coleman Hawkins.

It was delicious.

The food.

The music.

The rain on the windows.

It felt outside of time, I couldn’t remember what day of the week it was, Sunday, Monday, it all blended together.

My tree looked pretty, I lit candles, it was so cozy.

Then the sun burst out for a few minutes and I thought I should go for a sunset walk.

I quickly bundled up, there was only a few minutes before the sun was going to set, and I walked out the door on 48th and down Balboa towards the sea.

As I got closer, I realized that there was a path that I hadn’t seen before and what do you know, it’s actually a little park!

Sutro Dunes!

I had no idea.

Sweet little wood slat path along the base of the grass and flower covered dunes.

In the twilight it was deeply moving and full of divinity.

It felt really good to just do a little stretch around the neighborhood, to see the Cliff House hanging like an ornament over the ocean, to smell the fresh washed air, to just be.

I am pretty lucky when I think about it.

I live by the ocean.

It is literally a block away from my house.

Although I don’t get down to it as much as I would like, it is always a solace to me and I see it every day when I leave in the morning.

I always say hello.

I am in perpetual awe of its beauty.

And I am not often home at sunset to ponder it.

It was a really lovely little gift to me.

I got back to the house right before the rain began again and settled back on my couch, my first day of really sitting on my couch too!

My first day really using my coffee table like a coffee table.

I drank a second homemade cafe au lait, so decadent to have two in one day at my house, and I read more of the book until I left to go do the deal up at 7th and Irving.

Which was also just marvelous.

Ran into some much-loved fellows and heard exactly what I needed to hear.

Came home, heated up dinner.

And yes.

Yes I did.

I ate the rest of the book.

I read 288 pages today.

It was not a chore.

It was the best feeling.

And guess what?

One of my text books for the next semester did come in the mail today.

I did not read it.

I was tempted.

But I realized, did I want to leave the A.M. Holmes until next summer?

Or was it actually ok to let myself have Christmas Eve without homework?

It was ok.

And it was so lovely.

Exactly the kind of day off that will sustain me for many weeks as I marshal my way forward towards this next milestone of learning and life.

Gratitude this Christmas for all the gifts in my life.

There are so many.

The best, I dare say, may be my relationship with myself and the life I have been given.

Grace.

That’s what it is.

Grace.

I have been blessed.

And may you be as well.

Merry Christmas to all.

And to all.

A.

Very.

Good.

Night.

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So Very Pleased

September 23, 2018

I got a lot done today.

I hung all my artwork in my new home.

I got my new couch delivered and my new chair and they were quickly assembled and they got here ahead of schedule, which was so awesome as it made it possible for me to not only attend a Zoom session for school, but also get to my group supervision on time.

Effectively making it possible for me to even take enough time to do some much-needed personal grooming and pampering, I went and got a mani/pedi and my eyebrows waxed.

And no, I didn’t glaze out with some trash magazines but actually did homework reading.

My books go where ever I go.

That has become mandatory.

Even if I don’t think I will have time, I’m bringing them along.

One at a time I will get through the reading.

There is so very much.

And though a part of me really wanted to do more homework tonight when I got home from doing the deal, I realized that I needed to finish as much of my unpacking as I could.

I just needed to feel settled completely in my home.

I am pretty damn close.

Hanging all my artwork really felt good.

So too blasting some French House music.

My place is sound proofed, plus the landlord is away camping this weekend.

So I didn’t have any compunctions about using a hammer at 9p.m. at night and hanging up my art.

It feels so nice to look at my space.

My couch is freaking perfect, so to the chair and the pillows I got really work nicely, I almost didn’t get them when I was at the store and I even had a moment when I packed them up and I was going to return them, but something made me stop and I am so glad I did, they work really well and look hella cool.

I’m very happy with my couch.

And tomorrow I will get my coffee table, end tables, and bedside tables set up.

I actually hired a woman from Task Rabbit to do it.

I figured it was worth it to not frustrate myself for hours.

I will instead spend a great deal of time tomorrow studying and doing homework.

I have to.

My work week will be full on again as the mom is back from her work travels and I will have the baby full-time again, I may have some time to do readings, but I won’t have time to do writing, which is what I was doing a lot of in the early afternoons before I headed out to pick up the big kids from school.

So tomorrow is definitely a full day of study.

I have one ladybug coming over to do work for an hour and I’ll get out and do the deal, but other than that, I can’t do anything but the work.

Well.

Probably some laundry.

I will want to do that, but I’ll bring homework with me for sure.

It will be my first time going to a laundry mat in years and though I am not excited about that, I am quite happy with how my home has come together and it feels very good to be here.

There are still some things that need to happen for me to entirely settle in, I haven’t gotten a dresser yet and I still have some clothes in a big garment box, but for the most part the space is nicely curated and it feels like me and it feels fun and polished and warm and sweet.

Once it’s all set up I’ll post a few photos.

I really do love the fact that I got myself a pink velvet couch.

Pink is not my favorite color, but I do like it and the couch is just so very me.

A sort of vintage 1970s Paris couch.

It’s the best.

Yeah.

I am very happy in my new home.

It’s also quite a space of reflection for me, to see how far I have come in the last few years.

When I think about how I moved back from Paris with $10 and what I have now, it’s really astounding how much can change in five years.

I got my Master’s degree, I’m working on my PhD,  I went through a buyout (a San Francisco rite of passage now it seems), I found a wonderful new place to live, I have had the most intense romantic love of my life happen, I have traveled back to Paris three times since I moved back, as well as going to New York three times, New Orleans, Burning Man five times, D.C., Atlanta, and L.A.  I bought a scooter, sold the scooter, bought a new car.

I never thought I would actually buy a new car, and holy shit, I did.

I’m starting a private practice internship.

I am fucking living life.

And yeah.

It does get overwhelming at times, but I have a primary purpose and I’m sticking to that.

The PhD is an amazing gift to get to do, but ultimately, it is not the endpoint for my life, although I know it’s going to consume a good bit of my life for a while, it is not my omega point.

Love is.

Deep love.

Loving myself to the best of my abilities and spreading that love as far out into the world as I can.

And now that my home base is almost secure and safe and settled.

I feel that I will be able to do so with even more veracity and courage.

I am in a good place.

It is a challenge.

There are challenges.

No lie.

But I am in a good place.

And I vow to love as hard as I can from this place as I can.

I promise.

Really.

I do.

Honor That Love

December 28, 2015

He said to me on the phone.

I hold deep capacities for love.

Sometimes that feels utterly overwhelming.

I sat here, in my chair, home and felt a wave of sadness go over me and said, “self, just have the feeling.”

And.

So I did.

I can lift my face up to the love, I can grow towards it, I can bask in it, I can honor it.

I can love.

And not be loved back.

I can love and not feel that I have to be compensated for that love.

I can see.

I can be seen.

I can be authentic and lovely and lovelorn all at the same time.

I believe.

I do.

That we all have this deep capacity for love.

Not everyone allows themselves to feel it, however, or it gets buried under afraid and not getting enough, not being in control, in the need for validation, approval, acceptance.

I accept, validate, and approve myself.

And I let the love shine like a light above me, something I can grow towards and through.

Not something that I have to fall into and drown.

These are new ideas for me.

To hold love and not expect a return.

I realize too, that I have expected returns from the earliest of ages, and that it is a constant letting go of that expectation.

I am the romance of a lifetime and I get to have these intense, beautiful, full, astonishing feelings.

Sometimes.

I really don’t want them.

But I also know that I have the capacity to hold it, the heart breaks, the heart breaks open, the heart grows in its ability to hold more.

At least mine does.

As I look about my small, but so beautifully appointed space I am ever so grateful that I have this nest of love to nestle in.

I was quite grateful for the space my friend and I stayed in while we were visiting Paris, but it’s not home, and home, oh, she is a lovely place.

I got back mid/late afternoon and like a good camper, unpacked, organized, and put away all my things.

Including doing a load of laundry, going through the mail, and writing out the rent check for January.

A quick run to the grocery store to get a few supplies.

I didn’t have it in me to cook today.

In fact, it feels like I don’t have it in me to do a whole hell of a lot.

So, the feelings leak out and instead of drowning in them, I let them happen.

Such a relief to already have seen them go past and to wave to them from the opposite shore.

I am sure that they will be back, but in this moment I am, as it was suggested honoring the love I grow towards and honoring myself and my abilities to try new things and go and have experiences.

Paris.

What an experience.

It is a little mind bending to think that yesterday I wandered the Marais, and today I am in the Outer Sunset of San Francisco.

I got to have one more last fabulous meal with my dear friend at Cantine du Troquet in the 15th.

I ordered with confidence and even made substitutions.

Ha.

I have to admit my French is not the best in the world, but it felt grand to be understood and to be able to ask for what I needed.

Of course.

I can forget.

Case in point.

The meal today on the plane.

Nothing I could eat.

Like.

Nothing.

And I sighed, accepted, drank some water and adjusted myself to what was happening.

A few minutes later, while I was watching a movie, my friend plunks down next to me and hands me three clementines.

That is love.

I grow toward it.

I smiled.

That small kindness.

Three small clementines, cold from the flight, but warming to my heart, and I am full, replete, and soothed.

And here.

In my space.

Feeling that same warmth.

Surrounded by beautiful things, small reminders of my trip, of my travels, now and previous, the lights around me warm, the candles lit, the bed made.

Oh.

How I am looking forward to sleeping in my own bed tonight.

So very much.

I actually slept quite a lot on the plane.

I set my watch when the time was noted and moved than hands on the face forward ten hours and saw that it was early morning here, that I would be asleep if I was in San Francisco and vowed at the moment to try to let myself drift away into the sleep so that I could reset my own body clock without too harsh a contradiction.

I dozed in and out and I actually believe I got in a few good hours here and there and passed much of the time in sleep on the plane.

A good way to travel.

Then.

Home.

Customs.

Waiting for luggage.

This was my first trip in a very, very, very long time that I checked baggage.

In fact, I can’t recollect a time previous in the last ten years that I checked, so waiting at Charles de Gaulle for my bag and again at SFO was a different experience.

It took longer than I expected, but I got through and got a ride home from the airport, hugged my friend, and came inside.

To be greeted by my sweet, dear home.

Ah.

Home.

Then the feelings came as I unpacked and though I tried to hold them at bay for awhile, doing the laundry, running to the market, sorting and situating, the feelings had to get out.

And.

They did.

And I am grateful for that.

Grateful I can feel so many things.

Grateful I know love to the depth of my being and even beyond.

That I have so much to give and feel.

Yes.

I love hard.

And.

I wouldn’t have it any other way.

I really wouldn’t.

My life is better for it.

I am better for it.

The white velvet light of it.

The richness of it, the swelter and glow.

The sweetness of a clementine in my mouth.

And.

The capacity to dream.

Dream.

Love.

Grow.

Shine.

Let me be that beacon.

I am honored in it.

I lean into it.

I accept it.

And I forgive myself for ever looking outside of myself for it.

I have all the love I need in the world.

And.

Probably.

Quite a bit.

More.

Done And Done

October 19, 2015

And done.

But.

Not done in.

So thankful to have had this day of working on all that is love and home and work and homework and heart work and everything that life entails and encapsulates.

I had a full day.

One that I wasn’t exactly sure how it was going to go off.

I insisted on letting myself sleep in an hour longer than I normally would.

Well.

I don’t know if insist is the right word, it felt almost like work, just lie here and let yourself go back to sleep.

The machine in my brain wanted me up and about and get on it girl, there are things to do, people to meet with, breakfast to cook, writing to be done, you have papers to write and so much reading, do you have any idea how much reading you have to do?

Not as much as I did this morning, but I get a head of myself.

I was able to combat the thoughts by acknowledging them and saying, might have been mumbled into my pillow as I turned over in my bed, my delicious, delightful, pinch me I’m so happy I get to sleep on it, bed, “thanks for sharing,” and go back to sleep.

It worked for a little while, I got another 45 minutes in.

Of course the next time I woke up, I was up and going.

And really.

I haven’t stopped since.

Although there have been reprieves and moments of down time today, moments when I look about me with such gratitude that I am overcome by what I have and the abundance, nay, the super abundance, of love in my life.

I have been all around the world and I have this home that has become such a home to me that I am in literal awe of what I have.

There is art and beauty everywhere.

The last piece finally coming together as a friend came over this morning to help me hang the Diebenkorn he gave me months ago.

When I look at that piece, the way it sings on the wall, the heralding of love, the colors replete and yes, matching, complimenting, extending around my room, I am reminded in subtle, and not so subtle ways, of the journey of the last few months.

Had someone said, you are going to cry this much, and feel this much pain, and yes, laugh this much, so much that you think you might pee your pants or vomit out sushi, or good forbid snort (all of which have happened in one degree or another) or that I might feel so much joy that I felt I was to burst, that I was going to see so much art, have access to it, get to bring it home and make my home even more my home, well, I would not have believed it.

Which is funny.

Since I have big feelings and the above sentence does not seem at all irrational to me when I re-read it.

Of course I changed.

My home becoming my unexpected crucible and I am replete with happiness, content in a way that I had not thought possible, though knew, really knew, was out there for me.

I have everything I need.

I have so much that I want, that the wanting is almost supplemental.

But I will tell you a secret.

Shhhh.

I am thinking again about a scooter.

I have been saving.

And I have not touched the financial aid disbursement that I have received for school.

I have gotten help, I won’t say that I haven’t, I have been gifted generously and taken care of and that has allowed me to throw a little more in my savings than I typically do.

I am feeling it out again, the scooter topic, as my knees also bugged me a bunch today and over the last week.

They buckled a little trying to help lift my bed out-of-the-way to hang the Diebenkorn and I found myself bursting into tears.

Although I valiantly tried to hide them, my friend looked at me in alarm and told me to sit down.

I was humbled.

My body, a token of constant humility.

I can dress her up, but sometimes I can’t get her to walk from here to there.

Anyway.

The scooter has been on my mind again and part of that, I won’t lie, is for efficiency as well.

How much more reading could I get in if I weren’t riding my bike to and from work and school?

What places I would be able to go to, doing the deal especially can be hard some days and I feel that a mode of transportation at night that is faster than my bicycle will be helpful.

I am hoping the little Buddy Italia in cream and avocado is still at Scooter Centre.

If it’s not.

It wasn’t meant to be.

If it is.

Heh.

Maybe I can get a better price on it than the one he offered me when I looked at it a few months ago.

Plus.

I am expecting a bonus at the holidays.

If I can hold off on spending the loan money and get a nice bonus, I maybe riding a scooter into the new year.

This is all speculation and pulls me away from the moment and the further acknowledgement that I need to give, to myself, really, I just want to acknowledge how much work I put into those sonnets–the ones from last nights blog.

I sent them off just before logging on here to write my blog.

I went through them three more times today and edited them, read them out loud, tightened them up, and then sat and dreamed on them while I wrote my Psychoanalytic Paper on Freud’s theories of Mourning and Melancholia.

Ayup.

And I used them in my paper.

Which was fantastic and outside the box and I was hesitant, but my friend said go for it, and when I consider how much work I did on them it didn’t feel like I was cheating to include them in my paper.  If anything, it felt like an acknowledgement to the professor of how much the Freudian work actually found its way into the sonnets as I was writing them against the back drop of analysis and dreamscapes.

I re-titled the work, tightened it up, and sent it out.

The collaborator poet has officially sent her poems out into the world for the photographer artist to use.

Part of me hopes he likes it.

The majority of me doesn’t give a flying rat’s ass.

I did a damn good job.

I love them.

They brought me joy.

I spent a lot more time with them then I thought I would, but I received so much in return, including a lot of insight that I extrapolated later in my paper when I wrote it.

That was my day: poetry, reading, writing, repeat.

Take small breaks, meet with ladybug, cook food for the week, do laundry, go with friends over the bridge to do the deal in Mill Valley, hang out, catch up with folks, then come home and finish all my Freud reading for class on Friday.

Thank God.

It’s done.

Oh.

Hahaha.

Don’t worry, I still have reading to do before Friday, but I don’t have any more papers due.

A reprieve.

I’m done for now.

Just now.

And with that.

Time to put up my feet.

Curl up in my bed.

Sip a cup of tea and look in astonishment at the prosperity and abundance in my life.

I am a very lucky girl.

I am.

So.

Very.

Very.

Lucky.

I Lose Track

September 13, 2015

Of days.

Of hours.

Time.

It slips past and suddenly.

I am here.

Again.

In front of this keyboard sorting out the effluvia of the day, the flotsam and jetsam, the dust and the gold, the indifferent, the libidinous, and the words that strike me in my heart.

I am in graduate school.

I am taking classes from morning til night.

I am not caught up on the reading, but I am a lot closer than I was a few days ago.

For despite wanting to check out into my own little home and nest and socialize with my things, I come home from class and I do more work.

The work.

It never stops.

I am at a place of contentment with this, not complacency or procrastination, just more a space of being alright with what I have done and where I have gotten to in this day, in this place, in this program.

I am doing alright.

I am neither greater than or less than anyone.

Everyone has their own story, their own place, and as I float through the day, sometimes tired, sometimes angry–really, another fucking lunch I cannot eat? I find space to let my hair down and moments to check messages and to take phone calls that seem miraculously placed.

I got to check in with one of my people during a tender time of self-reflection and see how the stress of financial insecurity tries to follow me.

Up the stairs, past the security guard at the desk, into my class room.

To sit on my shoulder.

Quoth the dark bird.

“Nevermore.”

Croaking out a kind of fear that is twisted, misogynistic, and misplaced.

I am alright.

I am ok.

The stress is self-created misery to stir up the bones of anxiety in my graduate school soup.

I am not the only one who is concerned with their finances and how to make it all go and no one, no mattered how privileged, comes without their own bag of problems to unpack during class, in the hallways, on the phone, quiet and desperate in the bathroom.

We all have insecurity.

It is what I decided to do with it that is important.

I acknowledged it today in my T-Group.

I allowed someone else the space to be authentic as well.

I got relief.

Funny that.

How sharing my troubles actually allows someone else to do the same and we become comrades, “brothers in arms,” a dear hearted friend shared today.

I like that analogy.

We are at a kind of war.

But not an ideological war, no, I could see it shaped like that, an incessant desire to wage a siege on ideology, politics, reform, to stratify and dissent.

No.

Rather.

I see this as a way to surrender to that ever illusive idea of love.

Where am I holding onto things that don’t work for me?

Where do I repress?

How does it come out, in my self, in my enactments with others, how do I self-sabotage, do I self-sabotage?

Of course I do.

Don’t be a silly rabbit.

And I am just as attached to these notions as anything else in my life.

What I am finding though, is that I am smarter than I let myself know or acknowledge.

I found myself on the edge of my seat in my last class of the day, keeping up with the professor, understanding the implications of desire and Psyche in Freud, and what the hell?

I’m keeping up, I am understanding it, I am enjoying it, and I am making rapid connections in my brain, despite not having finished the readings for the class.

I will.

There is no doubt that I will.

I am giving myself the time and the space to do so.

Despite other competing desires.

This forum allows me to see that.

I am grateful for my little blog, for my little insights, for the ability to open up and love and be rambling or discordant at times, but underneath it all there is a loveliness, a suturing song that sings to me, a dark wild place in my heart, the smell of wet cedar, the evergreen bloom in the deep black hollow of the night, the moist passionate smell of the ocean.

All my senses alive and here and attuned.

The bicycle ride, you may have surmised, home was good tonight.

I was not so distracted by the length of the day and just having gotten through a second day in the three-day weekend process brought me relief.

Two down.

One to go.

It won’t be easy.

But it also, the day tomorrow, won’t be as hard as today or yesterday.

There is already a sort of habit-forming for me and a way of managing the time and effort needed to get from here to there.

The getting from here to there is not so bad either.

I do feel the need to take care of some more things here on the home front, but I can get away from it for one more day.

The laundry got done today, the bed stripped, a shower taken, morning pages written, the bicycle ride to and from campus–13 miles, thank you very much legs, give or take a few feet, the blog is being taken care of, the reading, the most reading I can do, has been done, and the music is on, a winding down.

A loss of time.

A travel into the here and now.

The ephemeral light and music on my soul.

The reminder of love requisitioned and sought.

To be so busy that I swim in this constant sea of negotiating and time management that the present moment becomes a precious thing of great beauty.

Even when I find it fleeting.

Even when I lose track of it.

It stops there again.

At the door to my heart.

Knocks.

Pushes open.

Crosses the threshold.

And settles itself down by the fire.

A warm glow of love that I surround myself with.

A place of resting I created for myself.

A sound scape of love, desire, and action on the lunar face of my soul.

The plush kissed lip of Psyche on my psyche.

The wife of Eros.

And.

Of the divine.

And in the midst of this wide quietness

A rosy sanctuary will I dress

With the wreathed trellis of a working brain,

With buds, and bells, and stars without a name,

With all the gardener Fancy e’er could feign,

Who breeding flowers, will never breed the same:

And there shall be for thee all soft delight

That shadowy thought can win,

A bright torch, and a casement ope at night,

To let the warm Love in!

Excerpt from “The Ode to Psyche”

John Keats

When You Wish Upon A Star

January 7, 2015

A falling star at that.

I saw the glowing ember descending heavens above me as I rode my bicycle home through the cold air of the park, I immediately wished.

Love and sobriety.

I wish for love.

I wish to stay sober.

Those have pretty much been my wishes for over the last few years and as I sneak closer to a decade of time I am again overcome by a feeling of wonder and awe at where my life has taken me and the things that I have gotten to do.

I suspect that there is more to come.

I used to wish with obsessive habit on the first star of the evening.

Or the new moon, as seen over my left shoulder.

I almost always would look up, up, up, scanning the still glowing horizon after the sun had set over Twin Peaks, searching for that first evening star upon which I would wish.

I wish for sobriety.

It’s a wish that has been granted every day now for a little bit of time.

It’s not the wish I thought I would be making when I was a little girl and heard about wishing on the first star of the evening.

Star light.

Star bright.

First star I see tonight.

I wish I may.

I wish I might.

Make the wish.

I wish tonight.

I wish to stay sober.

The wish is a good wish to make.

For with it come all manner of good things.

I would not have the life that I live or the principles I live by without having been granted this wish.

I used to wish for money, fame, notoriety (I mean, perhaps not consciously, but I like the idea, even still of being notorious), love, but not the kind of love that I get in spades every day, I was fantasizing about a type of romantic love, someone who would sweep in and save me from myself and my crazy life.

I like my crazy life today.

It’s much more sane than one would think.

Jam packed with stuff too.

I was sitting in a room, listening to wisdom and experience and solution and my eyes closed and I could have just drifted right off.

Today was a full day.

Lots of cooking and laundry, parks, three different park outings, one run to Lucca Ravioli, two runs to the Whole Foods Market on Valencia Street (which is not a Whole Food Market at all, but a little mom and pop where the owner and the clerks know me and the boys by name), cooking for the house–today I made turkey meatballs and spaghetti, a big salad, and steamed cauliflower with olive oil and garlic, picking up some tailoring from the laundrette, a trip to the Eco Center on 17th, and the normal nap time, snack time, lunch time, dinner time, bath time routine of the boys.

Let’s add to my day an hour and a half bicycle commute.

Aka my urban gym routine.

I always get a good giggle when I see ladies at the park doing the boot camps.

Listen, I want to tell them, get a job that is a half hour to 45 minute commute on bicycle, there’s your cardio, then add hauling around a 2 and a half-year old for legs and upper arms, and finish with pushing a double stroller about the Mission with a four and a half-year old in tow for stamina and strength training.

You’ll tighten up real quick.

I promise.

In addition to the commute, I got up early and yes, I wrote.

I mean, I always write and I am writing now and I am happy to be making a concerted effort to be doing the writing, but I really am seeing how important it is to keep me balanced and in good harmony with the world about me.

How it lets me observe things that I would not necessarily see if I was buried in social media or surfing the internet all day.

I would miss out on observing the life about me.

Like the sun reflecting off the back windows of the house behind my in-law in the morning.

I don’t have much morning light, but the western facing windows of the neighbors at a certain time each morning, reflect into my studio a blaze of warm golden sunlight.

This morning I was sitting, eating my oatmeal with pink lady apple chopped up into it and wild blue berries, sipping my pour over Stumptown coffee (no Holler Mountain today, the store was sold out, but I tried a new blend that might make a run for the money shot–Indonesia Bies Penantan–clove, white pepper, cola, prune, and brown sugar accents) and the light blew up the spider plant I have hanging in the corner with the most beautiful light.

The plant was glowing and shimmering and almost transcendental with light.

That’s God, I thought.

I mean, everything is God, in my opinion, but that was a special God shot indeed.

Every home I have had, since I have had a home in which I have consciously chosen to decorate and nest in, since I was a sophomore in high school and took over the big room in the house in Windsor, has had a spider plant in it.

I have changed and I continue to change, but there is an epicenter of myself, a core being that has a lot of little tiny nuisances that have stayed with me down the years.

I still wish upon stars.

I still sing along to the lyrics on the radio.

And sometimes I actually know the lyrics to said songs.

I still dance like, mostly, no one is looking.

I still like to write.

Hopefully the writing has gotten better, but I do know that there is voice, a persona, a verbosity, or tendency toward, that I have always had, I can see it here and there and it speckles my writing like the stars in the warm summer sky over the orchard when I used to walk back there in the grass at night, longing for something that I knew not what it was.

Love.

And sobriety.

They are both the same thing.

I couldn’t have one without the other.

I’ve been wishing on stars for a very long time.

It was only recently, though, that I realized.

I have been given my wish from the very first time I wished upon a star.

Falling or otherwise.

My wish has always been heard.

I am loved.

 

Get Into The Spirit

December 8, 2013

I made some room today.

I am getting  a tree tomorrow.

I wasn’t going to.

I will be house sitting in the Mission from December 19th through the 26th.

Which means I won’t be at my home during the holiday, I will be elsewhere, although still in San Francisco and still with friends, I will do some service and help out where there is a need and not worry too much about what happens on the actual date.

I have some holiday parties to go to, so I won’t feel left out of the holiday mix, as well as my birthday to celebrate.

Yet, I did feel that I was not letting myself partake because of said house sitting gig and I do want to have some holiday cheer in my life.

So, in an effort to get into the mood, I took out the box of Christmas ornaments I had shoved back into the closet and pulled out the boxes of cards I had got recently and got on my way to making some merry and bright.

I wrote out 17 Christmas cards and a congrats on your new baby, as well as one happy anniversary card, and a happy birthday card too.

I have to go buy more stamps.

And actually, a few more cards, I realized that I had not gotten all the folks on my mental check list and I want to make sure that my grandmother, for instance, gets a Christmas card from me.

She’s the last of my grandparents and it means the world to me that we stay in touch.

I unwrapped my box of ornaments and knew by the time I had unfolded two pieces of tissue paper away from glass bulbs that I was on the right track.

I could feel my heart open and lift and I immediately decided I was going to get a tree.

A Charlie Brown tree, most likely, and I will get it tomorrow.

My housemate has offered to take me and since it’s much easier to get a tree back to my house via car than bicycle I leapt at the offer.

I need some lights, but other than that, I do have enough little ornaments to decorate a small evergreen.

I can’t wait to have one glowing softly in my room.

Just for me.

A sweet little token of the holiday season, a small gift to myself, a treasure.

Writing out my holiday cards felt much the same.

A gift.

The satisfaction I get from hand writing and stamping a series of cards is something that I cannot explain, but look forward to every year.

Something about the sweet acknowledgement of addressing friends near and far and thinking back to how and where we met and where our lives have gone since lights me up.

I found myself nesting and cozy in my home all day long, not even realizing it was as late as it was, the sun fading off into the cold night air, blazing and clear in the sharp bite of it, puttering around the studio, filling a white serving bowl with glass bulbs, finding a place for a small silver wreath made of jingle bells, digging out ribbons from my stash, fanning out the red and white cards with stamps on my table.

I sent out cards to friends and family from San Francisco to Maine, Wisconsin to Florida, Georgia, and Maryland.

I looked up addresses in my old Filofax–the original back up–I still have to add the updated address to a few of the cards, I am not the only one who has moved around in the past year and reflected on each time I had sent said person a Christmas card.

I still need to pick up a card or two and there’s always someone who slips through the cracks, but it does give me great pleasure to do this small task.

Sometimes I have gone to a coffee shop or a cafe to write my holiday cards, but sitting here in my small snug home felt like the exact place I needed to be.

Last year I went to Paris to write my cards.

Heh.

Ah.

Life, it is something else, isn’t it?

Continuing to work on the surrender to it and to the forgiveness of self and the constant stretching of my heart.

I sat in quiet meditation today before the morning got off and running with cards and holiday decorating and simply asked where should I direct my attention, what can I do?

How may I be of service?

I had some things float through.

Some things I fondled and held onto, some I let drift right on by.

The one thing that seemed to stick out was to open up more and let myself be loved, however that looks, and accept that what I think is best for me is probably deceptive.

Do the opposite, lady, don’t do what the thoughts say, do what the heart says.

And that sometimes is hard.

“Boy, you’re sure in a hurry to get out of my car,” he said as I unfastened my seat belt and prepared to bolt from the car to the N-Judah stop on the way back to the Sunset.

I was and I didn’t realize until he said it, I guess I am not quite ready to just going back to being a friend, my heart was not having it and I was mad to be running for the train, too tired to do anything but run.

Only to miss the train connection anyhow.

Moral of the story?

Sit still a little longer.

Wade through the discomfort and see what else can be seen.

Take the box of ornaments back out of the closet, you do want to have holiday, don’t deny yourself the love.

Get a Christmas tree.

Do what makes you happy.

And if you have to run for the train don’t be mad if you miss it.

The cold is cold, but it isn’t that cold and it makes for a warm welcome to step in from the frosty air and the long train ride through the avenues to this sweet nest perched by the roaring ocean, spiced with warm candles and spilling over with music and the wide open space waiting to be filled with a fresh evergreen sapling.

Holding the space.

Knowing that the love will rush in.

It’s just waiting for me to get out-of-the-way.

A Kinder, Gentler, Carmen

June 17, 2013

I am done with the beating up of myself.

So what if I did not find a pair of jeans today?

Who the fuck cares?

I am clothed just fine.

And I have some Basement Jaxx blasting in the background and a very large cup of Chocolate Coconut tea steeping on the counter as I type.

I am a happy girl.

Plus I got to see my ladies Joan and Molly tonight.

Fuck yes.

And I have been dancing around since I got back to the house sitting.

If I got to house sit I am going to make some sunshine happen for myself.  I am not isolating, I got my ass out there today and did shit.  I have access to the car and I used it.

I also have filled the tank up and I am being a responsible egg about it.  Hyper aware of traffic and parking, thank you to my dear friend again, Stephi, for having taught me how to parallel park years and years ago in Madison, WI.

She would have been so proud of me as I tucked into a space today.

I did thank her out loud as I cut the tires and with two smooth turns of the steering wheel I had navigated right into the spot, slick and clean as a whistle.

I decided to do all the things I would not get to do if I had just my bicycle and my BART pass.

I went to the Berkeley Flea Market, the San Pablo Flea Market (which should just be called a junk yard, seriously, do people actually find stuff to take home from there?), the Resource Depot (I think that’s what it’s called), the Pallet Store, Berkeley Bowl, and Bay Street for some clothes shopping, oh shit, yes, I also went to Target.

I am a little blown out with the commerce.

I don’t have plans to do that again any time soon.

It was a lot.

I found nothing at any of the flea market or re-purposed stores.

I found very little at Target, some leggings and a cheap pair of silver hoops–got to represent.

I found almost nada at Bay Street and was happy to get out of there with my life, that is an experience I will pass on doing ever again.  I felt that it was good information to have gotten, but I don’t believe I need to down load more of it.

Bay Street is sort of like an outdoor mall.

I blew past Ikea.

I don’t like Ikea, no I do not.

The only time I have liked Ikea is when I have gone with my friend Calvin in the middle of the week when there is no one, well, for Ikea, no one, and we went to the cafeteria and got the Swedish meatball children’s meal with diet Cokes then went and “played” house in the stage set ups of the furniture.

I got into a bunk bed at one point and pulled the comforter up over my head and laid my head down on a pillow and waited to scare the shit out of Cal, but instead was mistaken for a sleeping mannequin by some shopping mom, who commented on how restful the bed was.

I had an idea today that I might find a few things for the place I am going to move into when I get back from Burning Man.

Yes, that’s right, I am already nesting.

Just the thought of having my own space to settle myself into sent me off into a tizzy of decorating in me head that I could not fall asleep right away last night despite being tired and ready for bed.  My head buzzed with ideas for the space and I thought I might find a thing or two at the flea markets.

I know I need to wait until I am actually in the space before I decorate, but it’s an old habit from years past when I would mentally re-decorate the house I grew up in, in Windsor, Wisconsin.

It never failed to put me to sleep.

I also will admit that I was trolling the internet for a new bed.

I got rid of all my stuff when I went to Paris.

I have nary a thing.

I know the stuff will all come together, not too worried about that, and I was surprised that the frames that called out my name were more affordable than I would have thought.  It’s still going to be a little investment.  I have not also bought a new mattress and box spring ever.

I mean, ever.

I believe at the ripe age of 40 that it may be time to get a nice mattress.

Sleep is important and being well rested is not something that I can shirk any longer.

I do get a head of myself though, I don’t have to think about that stuff for a while yet.

Though I did realize that two months from today I leave for playa.

That’s eight weeks!

Which of course influenced one of the few purchases clothing wise that I did make today, and what is even more funny about it is that I bought it at Berkeley Bowl, not really where you think about buying clothing.

I did not need to do a hit at Berkeley Bowl for groceries, I had a very successful trip at Rainbow earlier this weekend, I went to get supplies for Graceland–laundry detergent and a jumbo sized pack of toilet paper.

Stuff that is near impossible to get into my messenger bag and on my bike back through the hood.

I also stocked up on some extra tea and some bottled water, because I was being nice to myself and there was a sale.

Then I saw it–the sparkle scarf!

And I had to have it.

It was twelve bucks and well worth it.

I will wear it to Burning Man, I will wear it tomorrow.

It sparkles, of course I will wear it.

Today what my life looks like is nice healthy salads with organic fruit for dessert, pushing the pause button when I was overwhelmed at the stores and getting out without buying stupid shit (here’s where my head goes, oh if it doesn’t work, you can just swap it out at the clothing swap you’re going to next week.  Uh, no, if it don’t fit, don’t buy it.), and making plans to see my girl friends.

Now, pardon me, while I go hit my snack and some True Blood.


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