Sunday, April 21, 2013


1. a tiny bouquet from Hayden.
2. the ever-changing windowsill installation.
3. a surprise while watering plants.
4. a date with Picasso.
5. Hayden's smoothie of choice: blueberry and banana.
6. the Batman.

Tuesday, April 16, 2013

pair of flowers.

wild tulip and sun rose; pencil and watercolor on cold-pressed paper

I've abandoned the typical chores today, favoring instead pulling weeds and painting. My mind is full of frustration and questions that can't be answered due to the events in Boston. When everything else is a terrible mess, we can choose to create something beautiful. We're given that much power.

Tuesday, April 9, 2013

healing in the sunlight.

I spent most of today, my birthday, out in the sun with my husband. It was enough for me.

Monday, April 1, 2013

breathing underwater.

I promised I'd write a little about my recent life, only now I sit here not knowing what to say. This happens to me a lot. I keep stumbling over myself, realizing that nothing much new ever happens to me, and so then feeling like I have nothing to talk to people about. I suppose--really--I'm feeling bleak and insecure. I am also searching for the light like a woman possessed, anywhere I can find it, to combat the bleak and the insecure. Music, food, poetry, painting, exercise, blogs, my family, my friends.

I guess this is the business of life, isn't it? To keep all your invisible pathways and windows flung open so that the light can get in. I know this and still I shut them, shut down. I go to bed. I sit and stare out the window, not-seeing what I could see and un-knowing what I know.

Could I talk to you about my health problems? I could, maybe even should, but I don't want to. They bore me. I'm getting really fed up with this trend in my life, that the only "events" are terrible ones involving my ridiculous excuse for a body. I am fed up with myself. I almost--and I know it's melodramatic, but bear with me--feel like this, the me that all can see, is not really me. Like I've been reincarnated into this defective husk as punishment for previous sins in previous lives. I feel there is so much left inside of me and worry that it will never, ever be allowed to show.

Right now there is a lot of doing what needs done. I feed my family and get on the elliptical and take my bath. I write out my meager budget and try to paint or scribble a poem. I go outside and look at birds. I pray. I feel all the pain and the aching of my body throughout and in between and I lock myself in the bathroom and cry, sobbing the silent sobs of a person so filled with grief that they can't make a sound. And then I wash my face and reapply my mascara and go on to the next thing that needs done.

I can't think about the future anymore.