What’s Called Home

In which I discuss places around this place we call home, in various stages of undress.

More Stuff Than I Could Ever Need

I told Colin last night that if I ever, actually, cracked, the cause would be: STUFF. People — namely me and the those concerned with me — spend a ridiculous amount of time fussing over THINGS. I’ll define the limitations of what I am referring to herewith: Stuff: Anything not attached to your naked body,…

Becoming Absorbent

I haven’t been posting as frequently lately. I don’t consider this writer’s block, though I once did. This is because I have been thinking. A Little Story Once I sign up for a pottery class. My friend, Rita, forced me. She berated me until I went. Fine, I said. I am not writing anyway. Might…

Seven Years Since Kansas City

Colin and I met when we both lived in Kansas City. This June we will have lived away from Kansas City for 7 years. We left because we felt the call of life all its opportunities. We wanted to launch our life on a raft of experience we could build together. On Understanding Risk I…

On Home and Horizons

At least three times since I have been back to visit my parents, I have thought: “It’s nice to be home.” Then I remembered that I haven’t lived here since 20 years, half my life. Home comes when I feel my heart Drop its weight in relief At the sight of flat land running Forever…

I’m Not Writing from the Heart

I just stopped by this blog by one of my favorite tweeps, @ArtemisRetreats, and I realized I feel like a fake. That’s right, I am a big, neverending puff of hot air. My blog is supposed to be this place where I can just write from the center of me, where I can change and…

Cassandra Kubinski: Literally, Mindblowing

To further remind me of the random wonderfulness of the universe, I ended up last night at a live “coffeehouse” performance of Cassandra Kubinski, a singer-songwriter I had never heard of previously. Kubinski performed in the initimate and completed unplugged space of The Depot as part of the Milford Fine Arts Council’s 2011 Performance Coffeehouse.…

My Favorite… Poem

Want to torture me? Ask me who my favorite AUTHOR is. Or my favorite film. AAHHH! It’s really like asking the old woman who lived in the shoe which is her favorite child. I mean, can she even remember all of them? But I do have a poem that I love and come back to…

Stress in the Rearview Mirror

This picture reminded me instantly of our summer vacation in Maine and of floating on my back, gazing at the blue sky and hearing only the sound of my own breath. But then, it also reminded me of this new feeling I own… a tight grip on my heart that comes from the constant stress…

Beautiful Details: Greenwich Locksmiths

One of the great things about life, humanity, and America is INGEUNITY: the power of creative imagination. On “Scouting New York” I found the most amazing post about the little locksmith shop, Greenwich Locksmiths. Be sure you click through and see all the photos. I love small business like these. Shopkeepers who exude passion for…

A Poem to Those Who Love Me

Make the day pause, A top all done now the spinning: But not yet toppled. If (for just one day) I am the morning sun, Then You are the luscious hills I peek over; The refracting air dew –In winter, air’s mirror– And that single ecstatic Songbird rambling Her grocery list. And if, At noontime,…

The Beginning of Gone

Larry was diagnosed with early onset Alzheimer’s disease, He’s at the beginning of the journey toward the end. Yeah, I mean, they’ve given him the magical pill, but there aren’t any guarantees. Well, just that one guarantee. Larry’s been making art that evolves from nature for a long time. He’s put the essentially impermanent into…

AROS 6

Montrous Snow peaks, huddled at Road edges, yard edges Crowd the winter in. Barely room for me to slither by In my repressed Town & Country. I remember you, snow, as Individual, unique Flakes, and I feel The same lonely. Related Posts:The Danger of Being QuietThis Orchid and IResidueAnger ComesOn a Hot Day

The Swimming Lesson

Our town has a big indoor pool, circa 1943, that offers the world’s cheapest swimming lessons, for all ages. This is most excellent for us since we have 152 kids living at our house (Note: for those “interested parties,” who print out my blog for so-called legal reasons, please read the definition of hyperbole, as…

To Be a Storyteller

The #reverb10 final prompt from Molly O’Neill asked “What is your core story?” Being a huge fan of The Moth, and Eddie Izzard, and loving to hear people rattle off stories about their hilarious trip here and there —  and being a writer naturally — I am perplexed and in awe of storytellers. I can…