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Showing posts from May, 2012

inside our own perspective

Why is it that it is always so much bigger and scarier in my head than it is in realty, and why do I never learn after running around in anxious mental circles again and again that I am probably manufacturing so much of the trouble in my over-active brain? Communication, people.  It never (usually) fails. I've had this feeling since bringing up this whole adoption search thingy with my parents that actually talking to my mom and dad about everything was going to be supremely difficult, that I would probably sob uncontrollably, mumble incoherently about how I feel and then leave feeling misunderstood and even hurt somehow by my botched ramblings.  It's amazing how little faith I have in my own abilities as an intelligent life form.  I always have this frustrating need to justify and explain.  I think it's just about wanting to be understood and seen. So I invited my mom to lunch today.  It had been a while since my dad's ordeal that we've had the chance to

broken wing

  On the way home from my mom's birthday celebration last Saturday, I decided to take my little one to the park in order to run off some of the butter cream high.  The weather was more like a hot, wilting July day rather than the kind of weather that inspires May flowers, so I took him to a local park that I knew had a fountain thinking we might get a little refreshing splash.  Well, the fountain was on, but much to our dismay it was not the kind of water that beckoned ones toes to cool off in as it was an unsettling shade of green and filled with flotsam and jetsam.  Luckily, the twin fountains had the appeal of a little bridge that ran between them and my little one could not resist the urge to stand aloft and plop a few stones down into the murky depths, one of his current faves with any available body of water.  As we stood atop the bridge, I noticed right away this bright, white thing amidst the algae.  It looked like a small broken wing, and it both tugged on my hear

i laughed, i cried ...

As soon as my oldest rolled off the school bus on Friday afternoon, the long weekend was on .  Glorious sun-shiny beach weather with just the right balance of happy plans and open free-time.  It felt like summer here on the Island, and people flocked in proof.  I always forget we live in a place that's sort of a local destination during the warmer months and it always takes me a bit by surprise when that first day comes where the little parking lot at the top of our street is full of visitors and the sidewalks overflow with beach goers carrying armloads of the necessary gear, chairs, coolers, bags stuffed with toys and trashy reads, and fishing rods for some.  Fishing is also my son's latest obsession, waking up at 5am bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, ready to be the early bird catching the worm, or...err, the early worm catching the fish in this case, and rushing Alex out the door at ungodly hours and in any weather.  You've got to admire his tenacity.  It's all abou

the unbearable weight of nothing

Last winter, on the cusp of turning forty, I decided I wanted to create some meaningful project to mark my 40th year.  I turned over many ideas, making a monthly memory quilt, compiling a 365 art journal, setting weekly intentions for better living and writing about integrating them into my life, but nothing really felt right and I didn't want to simply throw myself into a project just for the sake of doing something.  My birthday came and went. Since then I have been watching with humbled awe and inspiration my friend Maya manifest her own life-changing dream to mark her fortieth, feeling the depth and breadth of her undertaking as nothing short of transcendent.  With the year almost halfway gone, in the back of my mind I begun to feel the letting go of my own commemorative opus and began seeing the year materialize as one that would mark more deliberate steps towards my own writing and art, good honest work and progress.  I can't say it was any one thing or another,

eyes wide shut

The name of the game is called distraction .  Photographing these dreamy red poppies, hanging out with my little guy at the park in the hazy sunshine, half-listening to Youtube while my mind wanders and slogs through the mush that is my brain, the result of being up since 1:30am. No joke.  It's a miracle I can even string these words together. I haven't been sleeping well at all over the last several days.  Unusually bad actually.  As a person who needs at least 8 hours of sleep per night to function as a conscious and civil human being, closer to 10 if I need to think clearly and with any kind of creativity and efficiency, you can imagine how this is wreaking havoc on my already wonky biorhythm and energy, not to mention my mood.  A part of my psyche is obviously chewing on something significant, but the rest is stubbornly working very hard to stay blissfully unaware.   This morning my eight year old was left to his own devices and made breakfast for his little brother

waxing nostalgic for the old days (you know, before facebook)

 {May 2006} I made toast this morning for breakfast, plain and simple, with butter and a little jam.  This always makes me think fondly of my mom, and then also of my grandmother who incidentally is turning 90 this summer and is healthier than most 40 year old's I know.  If that's not an endorsement for the daily simplicity of tea (because I'm happily a fully recovered coffee junkie) and toast, the magic combination of love and comfort I learned in my childhood, I don't know what is.  I think I moved back to Blogger because I've been longing a little for the early blogging days, a simpler time.  There was a delicious languorous pace to things then, where you took the time to really delve into the writing and reading of blog posts, wandering for hours on end from one delicious link to the next, gathering and sharing delectable bits along the way.  There was no Inspiration Super Highway (otherwise known as Facebook) where the traffic is zooming by at such a t

a pound of flesh

I think a significant piece of my spirit is metaphysically anchored in a swirling vortex somewhere between Camelback Mountain and Sedona.  I know that sounds a bit woo-woo and crazy, but whatever that says about my constitution, it is undeniably true.  In my early twenties I made a solitary trek from Boston to Arizona, part vision quest, part escape act.  It was the first time I had ever traveled anywhere alone, with no person to visit or anchor me on the receiving end.  The freedom and the unknown felt wild and liberating and I boarded that flight knowing it was just what I needed to rearrange my molecules, which at that particular juncture were about as stagnant as a puddle.  I had never been to Arizona before, or the South West at all for that matter, but staring at all the glossy photos of the red rock and blue sky in the AAA brochures, I was spellbound.  As it turns out, something about it's geography or the time-space continuum there puts me closer in touch with myself

make the light just right for sin

It's not the beginning of the year, the start of a new month or even the top of the week, yet here I am beginning somewhere in the middle.  Beginnings are wily like that, tempting you into believing you need some exact time and circumstance to make a go of it.  I'm not falling for it and unceremoniously deciding to ignore the rule. Really, I've been conceiving of this move to my own for a very long time, turning over in my head (and innumerable journal pages) how to best represent my work, life and passions with just the right mix of sugar and spice, piss and vinegar, all nicely shaken and served as an irresistibly yummy and unique cocktail.  Not easy.  So I am setting up this new venue with very little props and lighting, just a bare spot and a subtle wash for mood.  Ah, the empty space feels so good!  Standing center stage is a big enough leap for me at the moment.  In fact, I had some moments thinking that just being Me somehow wasn't catchy enough an