Tag Archives: writing

Today is February 4, 2015. I am alive and well.

I have nine minutes to write something with weight. After that, it is time to get ready for work at the library.

Maybe I will write something light, something that can enter my ear, leave an imprint of sound, and then wander to the next room which is silent. The carpet needs the large sound of a vacuum cleaner. Today, I will not vacuum. Today, I will not invite anyone over. A person would sneeze and have to leave, the bottom of their soles thick with cat hair.

My soul settles on my head like a large soft summer hat. My long black hair remains visible. I am thinking of cutting my hair like one thinks to remove flowers from the top of the cake, making it lighter. My curls might have an easier time curling if they weren’t left with extra weight–the weight of long hair.

My soft summer hat is sweet in color, a pale purple. I will wear jeans and a white t-shirt with Converse sneakers after I get off work. To work, I will wear jeans and a black t-shirt with no hat and    boots. My heavy boots keep me in the library. I cannot float amidst the stack of books. I don’t want to float. I want to put the meditation book in its spot–294.34435, C4518h. There is a right spot for everything. I have learned to find the right spot in the library.

Outside the library, I drift at times, missing the chance to sit and dream from a spot that guarantees me purple skies with streaks of red; guarantees me the sight of an elephant on a leash, being pulled by a young girl with a black Mohawk, her smile as wide as my open door.

Today is January 8, 2015. I am alive and well.

I bought a light bulb for the hall. A very specific light bulb. It cost me $16 from the neighboring grocery store. I thought, well maybe the hall can stay dark like Barbara who tans in the tanning booth. But then the booth has multiple lights that make Barbara dark.

Is that how it works? Multiple lights farm darkness? Blink and the light is gone. I’m left to find the kitty litter scoop in the dark, the light quiet.

The whole grocery trip was $88. Paper products, paper towels and toilet paper, are expensive  as they should be. The trees in the forest have value. Their value is changed once the lumber jack takes his saw and gives the tree a short hair cut which will remain until death. Never again will the tree provide shade for the hiker or a home for the squirrel. Back to the value of the dollar; $15 bucks will buy you paper towels and toilet paper.

The additional $58 bought yogurt and almond butter. Almond butter is a luxury; it is double the price of peanut butter. The money also covered lettuce, ham off the bone, sponges, and hand soap. I successfully followed my list.

Without a list I get lost in the granola aisle; I get lost in the cereal aisle. The boxes call to me. It is loud chatter as there are many different boxes. The last time I bought cereal was at age ten. I remember Bruce Jenner, the Olympic gold medalist in the triathlon, on the Wheaties box. Now, forty years later, Bruce Jenner is fading into womanhood. Who would have  thought a gold medalist would change genders? Not many. I think it caught plenty of people by surprise. To Bruce I say, “be who you know you should be.”

Be who you know you should be, I tell myself. I am a writer with a boyfriend and the boyfriend has been coming first, that’s why it has been so long since I blogged. So today, I am first a writer so happy to be back on track, the dusty track there to decipher.

Today is December 17, 2014. I am alive and well.

Before I begin, I want to say happy Chanukah to all those that celebrate this holiday.

As a young girl, I use to climb trees and dream that I was orphaned and being raised by monkeys. A thick branch of tree held my small body. The tree was in the front yard of my Grandparent’s home. Grass coated the lawn. I watched my sisters play in a side bar of the lawn that was muddy. They were making dishes. Shape the mud and let it dry. Viola, you have a bowl. I had no desire to play with them.

The craving of alone-ness would follow me into adulthood. My friends understand that I have to drift away from conversation and coffees to spend time alone in my room for hours with Grams and Annie my only company.

During this time, I read, write, and dream. I will admit that some of my dreams are of posterity. It is tiring to live paycheck by paycheck. I was in Macy’s the other day, and got depressed. Not being able to shop is like a cat wanting catnip from a ball that has no holes; the best they can do is bat it around and wish. The most I can do is try on clothes, admire them,wish, then return the shirts to the hangers from which they came.

I just spent all the money I was going to spend on Andrew, my new beau, on Annie. Annie had an upper respiratory infection. Cat visit plus $66 for the antibiotic. I nearly sat down and tapped the floor as if summoning a genie with a pocket full of gold. Chanukah is here. I am armed with a card for Andrew. I give him time, which I hope is a gift.

Happy holidays to all. May the New Year bring everything you dreamed of creating or having.

Today is October 24, 2014. I am alive and well.

Excerpt from my work in progress. I have not come up with a title yet.

I believe I experience meditation when I write or make art. These two things take me out of myself, which is a good place to be to meditate. I refer to it as active meditation, as getting into the zone. When writing, all that exists are letters weaved to gather to create something that wasn’t there five minutes ago. Words become the wings of God, paragraphs, the feet, the page the mind, and the chapter the heart. I have given God a human persona. I believe God can take any form. God can be a mass of electrons at rest. God can exist in a handshake.

The soul of God shows up if I write authentically. I feel like a vessel of something I don’t understand, but care to know.

“I pray for knowledge of His will for me and the power to carry it out.” I know when I’m on track because there is a certain peace that washes through me. A calm that I can’t manifest on my own.

Today is October 20, 2014. I am alive and well.

I have four cookbooks from the library that I keep renewing with the hope that I will indeed prepare something. Cooking with Avocados, Sensational Salads, The Naked Veggie Burger, and The Skinny Slow Cooker.

I read them like I do poems, a few at a time. Poems impassion me. Cookbooks cause me to salivate. I think to write the ingredients down so I can shop. It’s like thinking to bring a dollar bill with me to work so I have something to put into the candy machine. How can I justify spending fifteen dollars on a particular spice that I will only use for this one recipe? That’s fifteen candy bars. It seems a much better pay off than actually making something to bring to work. If the recipe calls for thirty dollars worth of ingredients, isn’t Subway the better option?

Mostly, I think I don’t want to spend the time cooking. I’d rather linger over the keyboard, type the word “the” and wonder what the “the” proceeds. The goat coughed up the golf ball on the green, allowing it to roll for a hole in one. That is more interesting than tossing a salad for five minutes, later commenting “I ate the mushrooms, pushing the croutons to the side.

The library books are checked out for three weeks and can be renewed six times. They become something I have to dust when dusting the house. The intention is to cook. The intention is to not waste time. Maybe I’ll start with eggs in the morning. No recipe required and it takes one minute to fry. But then I need to consider the dishes I’ll have to wash. Time. Probably, I will stick with my bagel smeared with butter and orange marmalade. The only thing to wash would be a butter knife.

Today is October 17, 2014. I am alive and well.

I have been working on my second book. Still no title for it. I am 260 pages in. It feels good to be writing agin. After my break with Guy, I found myself unable to concentrate. What does it mean to find oneself, able or not able? Is it like finding oneself in the dark, trying to count change? My height at six feet allows me to see over a crowd. I find it freeing to have my head raised and visibility good. I am finding myself with sight and my ass in the chair, ready to write.

Loosing Guy was devastating. 14 years is a long time to be with someone, at least a long time for me. A quote from Marianne Williamson speaks to how I involve myself with Guy today; “Dear God, I place my past in Your hands. Please purify my thoughts about it. May I only remember the love I gave and the love that I received. May all else burn away in the alchemy of forgiveness.”

I have forgiven Guy because it was necessary for my spiritual development and relationship to God. I have also forgiven Guy because, much to the chagrin of many of my friends, I continue to want Guy in my life. We are friends. I believe our connection is something other worldly. Truly.

Having Guy in my life brings me peace. It’s like having an extra towel when stepping out of the bath. The smell of fresh soap clings to my skin in a good way. An unobtrusive way. I will see Mark later today. I know my love for Mark is possible because I learned to love Guy with absolutely all of me. Cliche to say. But cliches are good for some things, aren’t they? I remain blessed by love. I am like my kitten on the windowsill looking out at the world, knowing there is a place for everything. And as Grams does, I feel alive in my own skin, ready to walk a new path I imagine. The imaginings are good, are strong, are freeing.

Today is October 13, 2014. I am alive and well.

Just having some fun…..

The Evolution of a Closed Mind

She is a female figure driven by a moral generator. A goat makes known its presence by chewing on everything while the lawn mower thinks it is doing the right thing by cutting the grass, nicking the flower beds, leaving the hats of pansies to wrinkle in the cool morning air.

She thinks her fierce opinions ennoble her to others not realizing she is a strong wind blowing itself  against an umbrella, turning it inside out, rendering the umbrella useless against the rain. Generally speaking, people do not make friends with blizzards. Her loneliness is tearing a hole through the knee in her pants.

She keeps her presence in her feet even when her ideas are tackled by someone of another religion, who maintains the crease in his pants and parts his hair with a straight line. The knot of his tie always in place.

The nature of a moral generator is harsh. It doesn’t allow for human error. It takes a long time for the teeth of a chain saw to wear down.

Footprints are important. Their forward motion moves us into experience. What is a soul without experience?

She decides to bend a bit. Her generator is still intact but requires gasoline of a different sort. The higher grade of gas costs more. She is willing to allow for possibilities other than her won. Sometimes truth shows itself in a new blouse given to her by another.

Today is October 9, 2014. I am alive and well.

This poem was inspired by my aunt who is battling cancer right now and doing a good job of it.

One Last Croissant

My partner is missing from her desk that is joined to mine in a flourish of redwood. She is having chemo. The slow poison to catch cancer leaves her tired like a sprinter done with a mile, or a mother with twin babies. Her eyes are hard like peppermint candy, determined to toss this illness like she would a silk blanket.

Stacks of movie magazines tousle the floor. I am left to plank the distance between us as one does when walking the edge of a boat, wanting to catch the next raft with a whistle.

Beer is a buck a glass at the local brewery and for a minute I forget I don’t drink any longer.

I held her hair in my hands. Two pig tails and I teared. She threw a cap on and called it a day. Later I would catch her in the mirror, sullen, still, the breath of her paisley.

The coffee came to a grind. I finished the last croissant with plum jelly. My shoes slouched when I tried to walk away. All  I see today is dismissed light. Let tomorrow bring a flock of birds asking bread.

Today is October 2, 2014. I am alive and well.

There is a box of crayons dumped across my redwood table. Fifty choices of color. I choose magenta because I can make the word magnet out of its name. I need a magnet this morning to keep me in my desk chair and keep me honest. Honest looks like the two quarters it takes to wash my clothes, and then the two quarters it takes to dry my clothes. Honest is me loving my kittens by scratching their bellies, and me thanking Grams for bringing me a dead cockroach. Yes, I have a cockroach in my house that is now deceased. Disgusting.

I didn’t wake up and do cardio this morning at the gym. I wanted to wake up and write…two hours ago. I hit the snooze way too many times. Morning is always thick. Like wading through mud, forgetting the fact that the mud can be rejuvenating. I have never had a mud bath. I think of it as being too messy rather than life giving. Love can be messy, but I do invite it into my life.

Love is not messy today. It is a jingle in my head that repeats over and over again. It is the magenta crayon. I can color in a circle, deep color. A square is more formal, as is a rectangle. A triangle, though nicely pointed, does not suit me today. It is the circle in all its endlessness that catches my eye. Today, I remember that love is not a minimum of two glasses of water but rather a faucet turned on indefinitely. I have no water bill. There is no cost. I will not iron my pants today, but will revel in the design of wrinkles. A friend tells me I use too many metaphors. I can’t help myself today. Just like a glass of chocolate milk is sweeter than a regular glass of milk, I seek that perfect moment in writing where all is love.

Today is September 24, 2014. I am alive and well.

I have not say at my computer for several days. Life is busy, but mostly I feel wordless. Not writer’s block, of which I don’t believe in, but wordless. I am the woman in the ruffled skirt who forgot to put her shoes on before stepping outside. She was so excited about attending the lecture on using GPS to wheel around town that she forgot this tiny matter. The heat of the pavement brought her to attention. Knowing she’d be late, she went inside and buckled on her boots. What is a couple of minutes late to an hour and a half lecture?

What is a couple minutes staring at  a computer screen wanting to maneuver periods? I love that sentences end on a dot. And the pause of a comma leaves me lingering sweetly, and gives me the opportunity to dash to the kitchen for a glass of water.

Every time I leave my lap top computer, I have to close it for fear Grams or Annie will step in and dance on the keys. Have you ever really watched how a cat moves? They dance, don’t you think? I believe the saying “twinkle toes” was inspired by cats. Please correct me if I’m wrong

So begins another day. I am looking forward to what is new. I will walk out the door, shoes on, and sniff the air…no sign of rain, for which I am glad. I do know that Arizona needs rain, but I dislike getting wet especially when I’m carrying books. I almost always am carrying books.

Grams just turned my light off by pulling on the hassle. She hints that I am done because she wants my full attention. Farewell.