Tuesday, April 4, 2017

Coffee in the Car. And rain.

Been doing a lot of waiting today.  Sort of a disorganization on my part... arrived before a store opened, had no practical choice but to wait.. arrived at school a half hour early... have no other practical choice but to wait... can't multitask, no book and the radio is too jangling today.  Just sit.

In general my patience has been lengthening... there is so much that I am waiting for, that no 'action' on my part will effect... i have no practical choice but to wait.  And I've been overwhelmed by how much my clothing has gone grey... I'm almost always in grey or black and i think its somehow symptomatic of the waiting.. the midlands of the psyche.

And it is pouring rain here and every straight line is puddling.
And it is astonishing how comforting the sound of the rain is.  I could nap while walking, talking, waiting... a lull and in this spring?  A hope for wildly effusive blooms in the next weeks...

I'm still painting and while I've made my first grey painting, I am still constantly #coloroverwhelmed and I paint myself like armor when I need the fortitude.  Not where you can see it... :)

In New England we've been having serious drought, though less publicized than California because we've done almost nothing to address it. ...  Isn't that funny?  We've done nothing, so its like it doesn't exist.
.Ha. Brilliant.
How'd we all get so gifted at self-delusion? Why are we making these choices?

The grey, the color, the slick, the curve. What are you doing while you wait?

Tuesday, March 28, 2017


I'm sorry that I haven't been writing lately. There is just always a lot going on... I have chunks of time free from 9-12 in the morning and then I spend the rest of the time driving here and there and shuffling kids and errands and there is a flurry of in between.... but... compartment. . .

I love this word... puts me in mind of ikea cabinets, tiny Swiss cubbies of organizing madness.  Symbols of cleanliness and godliness in a very distanced, respectful fashion.
It must be a truly satisfying arrangement, cleaning up, putting everything in its place, seeing how segmented life can be when you just have enough compartments.

Its not a real satisfaction, for me, because it would be entirely delusional.  I appreciate it in other women/mother's lives, I suppose, if it fits for them.

I've sort of given up on them.  ITs all messy.  I myself don't fit into one, my kids don't really care what goes where and we all, in our non-OCD ways contribute to an enormous house-wide compartment that truly, has no sides and spills into the roadway once the weather changes...

Currently my house is full of crowded corners. There are the things I am trying to clear out of J's. Yes, still.

It is a situation that makes sense, but I dread the 'day' when he comes to 'clear out' and so am really trying to take care of packing that up and getting as much of it out of my space as I can.  My grand plans, too, are on hold until he and his things are cleared out and I can take action on yard sales and burnings of things left behind.

Is the past in a compartment? It is so changeable and fluid, I don't see how it could be... but it certainly has no present day play, so it should be dead.  Packed up and stored.  But it isn't, is it?

I'm working hard these days on making it not matter so much to me.  It is a thing I have carried on my skin for a long time, making meaning where there isn't any present day play.  And it is time and has been time to shed that particular skin.    

Naked, baby. Naked.

Is there a naked compartment?  Oh, IKEA, I think you may have failed me.

Monday, March 6, 2017


I'm well on my way to quitting, finally, mostly.  I've had three in the past month. And because the three have been in the past week, i am quibbling and adding the 'mostly'... I started by having a sickness, a fevered inability to walk outdoors or imagine drawing a deep breath that wasn't for sleep... and it just rolled from there.  The kids have noticed, I have noticed.

I think about it a lot and the three that I've had in the past week have been wonderful, unfortunately.  I know that, if you haven't smoked at any point in your life, you just don't understand.  And i'm here to take a stab at helping you with that. (Because? Man, get out of here with your practicality. Get the hell out.)

Its possible you scorn the smokers, that you make that face when you smell that smell, that you feel a righteous indignation when you see the mom on the front stoop smoking while the littles play... but man... man...

My friends and I smoked cigarettes in high school when we could get a pack with the spare change we found on the floor of the car.  If you don't think that taxes have done anything, I am going to put a large glowing arrow on the beginning of my paragraph here... packs are ten to eleven dollars now and  we never could have started if that was the case when i was sixteen...

I smoked with alcohol and in bars when I was in my twenties, and it was cool. Bad girl stuff.... toughening up a suburban middle-class, okay family white girl, I suppose.  But the key point in that sentence was the DESIRE to be toughened up... because here it is... when i step out of the kitchen, the house and sit down and have a cigarette, I feel like a badass, I feel separate and distinct from the work of the home, the work of the mother, I feel my spirit RISE and get ready to do battle... and its surprising and not surprising how all the work of the home can really deaden that feeling of RISE.

Its like a sparkle light... (if you can manage to take Cancer out of it, and really, who the hell can?! I mean, come on ... this shit will actually KILL you.)...a tiny ember of The Who i used to be when i really was a badass.

But its on its way out of my life, like so many things this year.. and I don't quite know what to do to get in touch with my badass... i suppose i could start drinking whiskey but really I've had enough of that for awhile...
What do you do to feel your strength? Your badass?

Wednesday, February 22, 2017

Resistance was Futile

In the far distant pages of this blog you can read so many many references to repetition and ruts and problems that just seem to lurk ..... one of the problems of repetition and looming presences that won't dissipate is that you slowly start lurching and tensing and changing your own behavior in such subtle and small ways that you aren't even aware that it is going on until you find yourself to be a zombie entire.
( i just finished reading a zombie book, my first ever, and i won't jump into the genre but it was good... The Girl With all the Gifts... M.R.Carey)

Anyhow... one of the things I did in my fifteen years of lurch is to become the resistor.  Instead of being a full player in the game, I was the reactor, the crazed attempt at balancing became an instantaneous NO... a 'hold on, lets think about it' which turned into and was seen as a solid negativity, a rejection of spontaneity or something like that... its all past now and so some of it fades...when you are trying to keep things safe, you can really lock yourself down and keep whole families in boxes from the fear.

It is lovely and true to say that it is mostly gone now, and I can freely roll my shoulders and have literally NO desire to eat brains.
But J is a big trigger, and I can find myself envisioning punching him in the head, even while deep in grief about his choices, and this past week he took the kids to an exciting event and while he was describing it, i cut him off at the knees with a 'i'd think it was boring'... conversation over, thank you.

So much fun.

I've thought about that for a week because it was so primal and so unplanned and so kneejerk and literally untrue and thoughtless. I've been working really hard to step away from all of that and its upsetting to see how ingrained and patterned I still am when it comes to the original source material of the contagion.

And while the title of this post was done quickly, it becomes more and more apt as I type along... all that resistance i did, the attempts at balancing, trying to keep things safe for the kids and me, all of it was 'good at the time' and maybe preserved something for longer than it would have otherwise, but the damage that I did to myself during all that time, spending all that time focusing on other people? To the absolute and utter squash of my true nature, which i am still uncovering, now, at 42...?
That ain't right, my friends. That ain't right.

So I'm grabbing my shovel and my pickax or whatever you fight zombies with these days and I'm getting off the bus and going out into the night to fight a good fight. And i'm very certain I will prevail... very certain.

Thursday, February 16, 2017

Kitchen Table Truths

Well, its not entirely true that i don't care about valentine's... but i don't care about the way J has done it with me, or that I don't have a love right now to celebrate it.  I spent the evening with a hot bath, a sushi roll and a stroll through a bookstore and was smiling at strangers with ease and sincerity.  The world is a beautiful place, and it is actually easy to be happy with it.

This past two weeks have really been a trip, on the internal horizon and the depths i was able to reach out, share some of what was going on ...  and I am so thankful for all the wild varieties of friends that I have that respond to the call in text, thought bubbles and speech. It has the lushness of pink to it, and i'll take it gladly.

My four year old has discovered glitter and is fully capable of decorating tables and kitchens in their entirety, in gold and green... and its another part of a kitchen truth that i would not ever trade for expensive underwear or a box of chocolate... and so my comfort level slouches above sea level like in the first of days...

I find that my house is more consistently messy, I blame the dog but realize that the problem of the larger house and the woman who is not a 'neatnick' in any way is that some corners are just lost entirely...
And again I feel it part of my identity, part of something that will change as I get farther along this path... as the kids grow, as I downsize or upsize as the case may be.  The housemaking, homemaking mystery that is so strong with me... can you freely include the mess in that? There is no 'set up' that exists here... no perfectly clean spot wherein the cherished wooden toys reside.. i am a place, my house is a place of all of it, from the first trilobite to the smart phone.. and all the dust bunnies of the world... o yes.

Again, i ask you... can you catch any of that drift?  Oh, I hope so.