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Slowly it dawns on me that writing is not easy, that all of the voices that say this is not real work deserve to be put to rest.

I’m not the first to say this, but it is my dawning. A mechanism turning inside of me, a key, letting me know what this is, my writing.

I can’t remember the last time I wrote a new poem.

I jotted down a dream a couple of weeks ago, a vivid dream of a thin emerald-green book of unusual size, leather-bound, the cover rich in color and texture.

But no poems per se and not much desire to share my thoughts here of late.

Sometimes the time quickens, sometimes it drags.

What is this calling? I appreciate silliness and I love to write nonsense. But I only want to write down the most important of my thoughts just now.

Yesterday, we drove from Massachusetts to Northeast Ohio. It had been a very long time since I’ve made this trip in the car—the last time was the summer of 2009. It is close to 600 miles.

I have never read Watership Down, but we have been listening to it in the car for long stretches on this trip. The narration is excellent and I am reminded of how much I love to be read to, how much of a pleasure to all humans this gift of stories being told aloud is. I feel thirsty for it now and I have decided that I will read at open mics even when I don’t have my own work to read.

Such is the thanks I would like to give. I love reading out loud as much as I like singing out loud. It is a great pleasure to me, like the emerald-green book from my dream. The richness of the color I can summon in my mind’s eye. How I would like you to know it, too, to take it from me. I will hand you the book so you can feel its richness, the animal skin, the creamy parchment of the pages, crisp and soft at the same time.

I want to leave politics behind, the truth of war and rape, the way humans have of tearing down what cannot be shared.

I want to take and drink and give back.

Thanks Giving and Thanks Taking

Peace

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Indeed it snowed

Indeed my teenage daughters built a snow fort (the second of winter! after many years of no forts!)

Indeed it is spring

Indeed my m key is sticking

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Cat Walk

black ice boot tracks

footprints in the snow

sidewalk running

[now a line that rhymes, but I HATED and therefore deleted it. You can figure it out because you are so smart!]

ipsilateral/contralateral

cat gait trot pace

howling at the moon

crust snow, rust snow

pink blue

glow

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I would title the post Love, but it looked and felt wrong. My next thought for a title? LOVE. Then, love. You can see what I finally chose.

Love is a kind of choosing, isn’t it? Even when we’ve been taken by love without our consent. Like the photos of adoptable dogs I pore over or the way I feel when I see my friend’s 3-year old son. That love comes without effort, question, or want.

I suppose Valentine’s Day is the most fun of all holidays if it is not taken too seriously. For if you take it too seriously, you will find something in which to be disappointed: I have no boyfriend/girlfriend; my beau didn’t get me flowers, or enough or the right color; my beau didn’t propose to me today; my love didn’t give me chocolate, a dinner out, a blowjob. Single people could be bummed out and feel less than; paired off people could find fault; so why not take it with a grain of salt? There is enough love of many kinds to go around.

All the years with children have made it fun indeed. Decorating cards to hand out in school when they were little, decorating the breakfast table, cutting food into heart-shapes. Chocolates and flowers some years, some not.

I finally got excited for Valentine’s Day at about 4 in the afternoon yesterday and went on a chocolate-buying spree and made plans in my head for the girls’ breakfast. At 4 am, I woke and paper-punched some tiny hearts all over the table, crawled back into bed and at 8:30 am (one day a month is late start day for the school), I made batter for waffles.

In the past, I would have used some sort of cut-out heart to sprinkle a heart pattern on top of their waffles, but I could not summon more motherly love than I already had. Sigh.

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I’ve always loved Rickie Lee Jones doing this, but Chet Baker comes in a close second. Be still my beating heart.

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I’ll prolly miss Hubby a lot when he is out of the country next week.

Prolly if I were a good Buddhist, I wouldn’t anticipate this state of affairs because I’d be living in the now.

I’ll prolly never use prolly in speech, that is orally.

Prolly, you think orally is a funny word. I sure do. Aurally? not as funny.

It makes me feel young, as in like a child young, when I think about the word prolly.

I lay awake with excitement the other night when I was thinking about writing about the word prolly and how many ways I could use it.

This whole post makes me feel giddy.

Have you noticed that many of the words I’m using have double consonants? Just look at that first sentence up top. Prolly you noticed because you are smart and observant. I expect nothing less from my stalwart readers.

Prolly I’m about done and don’t have as much for singing the praises of prolly as I first thought.

I know you’ve all seen this if you’ve been anywhere near Facebook in the last couple of years, but this post made me think of it. Prolly you thought of it, too.

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Happy Thanksgiving to all of my loves!

 

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This is a photo of me on Tuesday morning. I was not thinking of jumping.

The world flies by. We forget.

I am glad, gladder than glad (Glatter than glad) that Obama will remain president for the next 4 years. But I am also almost as glad that the most cynical election in history is over. I think it speaks to a very sad time in our country. The money; the waste. Forgive us all our folly. Now let’s get Citizen’s United overturned. Power to the people.

(it is barely sunny out here. this image is bullshit, but the sentiment is not)

I’ve been having a bang-up time out here on the West Coast. Many good things. A friend we hadn’t yet met in-the-flesh came out to see us on Tuesday. Someone both Hubby and I have known only via blogging and the internet. This is the world in which we live, in which great things can happen, in which our best selves can come to light.

We did not take a photo of Katharine, as per her request, but you know she was here by the photo she took of us. We are in a cave; not an underground cave, a sea cave.

What else? Rock carvings in front of oceanfront mansions

I love this bird

it is a marbled godwit, not a whimbrel or a dowitcher, but I wonder what the birds would make of our names for them, our folly, our need

ART

private

public

and rogue

These are my 2 songs of choice for the reelection of Obama, the same ones I listened to over and over last time around

(Sorry for the cheesy visuals on this next one. They’ve pulled all the well-recorded live versions from back in the day)

Shout it from the rooftops. GLORY GLORY HALLELUJAH!!!

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