Sometimes one hits boundaries. I used to be terrible at seeing others, I suppose. I was told that I was by someone who was supposed to know. I don't think that's true, now. But have no way of knowing. That being said, my latest attempt to expand artistically hit quite a few boundaries of innocent people, who will remain nameless here, since I didn't give them that opportunity at my last, manic episode of "performance" Facebook Art.
I will not repeat names who should remain nameless. I have amends to make. I make no excuses, except asking for forgiveness ahead of time. Have mercy. I need so much more sometimes.
Today, I am calmer, and more centered. The dog Max, my little Tater, sleeps on his kennel, that's my new couch to you and me. Georgia is asleep at my head, and Rattie roams the wilds of the apartment that is so sunny.
Scarlett O'Hara once observed that tomorrow is another day, right before her story ended. But I am part of the semicolon project; I have no intention of going anywhere. Here I stand.
*Neil Young
Wednesday, December 23, 2015
Saturday, December 5, 2015
Sandy Hook
I am the destroyer of worlds. Bhagavad Gita.
Sometimes, when I listen to NPR in the morning, it's too much, so I listen to music. I eat, dance in my living room to K92, and enjoy myself. After all that excitement, I am ready to walk Max, the dog. The light filters into the room of the apartment like new leaves in spring.
I always plant flowers where I go. If I can, and I cannot in this apt. I paint the floors a new green.
The problem with me is: I can't listen to music and write at the same time. Too much for this artist brain to handle.
And I think of all this...and what to press in the hand of the father that I love, when he is dressed, in his very best.
.................................................................................................................................................................
Scent of Smoke
stand waist deep.
the grass moves
slow over plains. my
thoughts move with
you. Always.
I turn to see you.
the fire is coming.
We should have listened.
Shema, Shema.
Sometimes, when I listen to NPR in the morning, it's too much, so I listen to music. I eat, dance in my living room to K92, and enjoy myself. After all that excitement, I am ready to walk Max, the dog. The light filters into the room of the apartment like new leaves in spring.
I always plant flowers where I go. If I can, and I cannot in this apt. I paint the floors a new green.
The problem with me is: I can't listen to music and write at the same time. Too much for this artist brain to handle.
And I think of all this...and what to press in the hand of the father that I love, when he is dressed, in his very best.
.................................................................................................................................................................
Scent of Smoke
stand waist deep.
the grass moves
slow over plains. my
thoughts move with
you. Always.
I turn to see you.
the fire is coming.
We should have listened.
Shema, Shema.
Tuesday, November 10, 2015
Rainy Tuesday
Is there anything in life better than a rainy Tuesday morning? The dogs roll at the foot of the bed. The cats have disappeared to cuddle a heater. I have baseboard heat at this home, and the cats tend to congregate in the bathroom, where the combination of heat and tile seduces.
I have a roof over my head this morning. I have heat in my apartment, and running water. I have hot water to bathe with. I have 2 dogs and 2 cats who love me. I live in an ethnically diverse neighborhood, and I love it. The man I love, loves me.
I have concluded that, at this stage of my life, I need very little except love.
I have a roof over my head this morning. I have heat in my apartment, and running water. I have hot water to bathe with. I have 2 dogs and 2 cats who love me. I live in an ethnically diverse neighborhood, and I love it. The man I love, loves me.
I have concluded that, at this stage of my life, I need very little except love.
Sunday, November 8, 2015
Whisper of Fields: Every Day But Sunday
Whisper of Fields: Every Day But Sunday: The dogs wait on me to walk them. I have extended their hours of torture, time inside, to adjust to the time change. I did it over the cours...
Every Day But Sunday
The dogs wait on me to walk them. I have extended their hours of torture, time inside, to adjust to the time change. I did it over the course of a month, so the little darlings don't suffer too much. The cats tell me that they are unnerved in long howls from the bathroom at night. I keep the heater on in there, and they console themselves by sitting near it and singing me the long, hot yowl that all unfortunate cat companions know. The, " 'I am lost and lonely and need my pillows fluffed...' " dialogue that all felines engage in at 3 in the morning.
The sun burns off the clouds left over from the misty day, yesterday. I can always tell the weather by Max, the dog. He will not walk in the rain. But yesterday, there was a small break in the cool mist and he got hold of his harness, and down the road he went. I needed the walk.
The trees are losing their leaves, all orange and gold and yellow, and this year, red. They make a shuffling sound as we walk, and Max's nose plows through them, like an arctic ship breaking the ice. Katie, bred as a companion dog to Chinese concubines, lowers her tiny nose to the ground and follows his lead...
The coffee is fine this morning. Katie, the black foster pug, is a year old, and has never seen a fall before. Max is training her to be a hunting dog. She would be good at agility trials, but this morning she cuddles up to my leg. She is a year old, and her black fur is sleek as silk. She is warm, and smells, faintly, of puppy breath.
Max is my service dog. We are bonded, and he knows how to make me take him for a walk. He knows how to ground me. He is not perfect on the leash. When we go out, he understands that he is "off leash" and it's playtime. He is entirely predictable. He is a good service dog. By breed, he is a mix of farm dog (Corgi) and hunter (Beagle). Max is steady and slow in the harness. Katie is a butterfly on the leash and only my hand on the lime green loop of the handle keeps her on the ground.
The sun burns off the clouds left over from the misty day, yesterday. I can always tell the weather by Max, the dog. He will not walk in the rain. But yesterday, there was a small break in the cool mist and he got hold of his harness, and down the road he went. I needed the walk.
The trees are losing their leaves, all orange and gold and yellow, and this year, red. They make a shuffling sound as we walk, and Max's nose plows through them, like an arctic ship breaking the ice. Katie, bred as a companion dog to Chinese concubines, lowers her tiny nose to the ground and follows his lead...
The coffee is fine this morning. Katie, the black foster pug, is a year old, and has never seen a fall before. Max is training her to be a hunting dog. She would be good at agility trials, but this morning she cuddles up to my leg. She is a year old, and her black fur is sleek as silk. She is warm, and smells, faintly, of puppy breath.
Max is my service dog. We are bonded, and he knows how to make me take him for a walk. He knows how to ground me. He is not perfect on the leash. When we go out, he understands that he is "off leash" and it's playtime. He is entirely predictable. He is a good service dog. By breed, he is a mix of farm dog (Corgi) and hunter (Beagle). Max is steady and slow in the harness. Katie is a butterfly on the leash and only my hand on the lime green loop of the handle keeps her on the ground.
Friday, November 6, 2015
Some More Stars
I have moved. Not far, just across the hall to the sunny apartment. It faces south east, and the light comes in like one of Vermeer's paintings. The old, scarred wood floors are scattered with piles of things...clothes, cat beds, and pillows. A random chair faces the wall. The dogs are asleep on the bed. One at the foot, Max, and one on the pillow next to my head. Her name is Katie, and she is a black pug foster, up for adoption.
The unicorn meat eating cats slowly wind from room to room, to find and settle into the sunny spots. They love the new dog bed: memory foam with a bumper all around. The dogs will sit on it, but the cats sleep on it. My possessions are scattered everywhere.
I became badly depressed this year. The death of Barry "Wayne" Reed, the kindly Stepfather, hit me hard. I took him into my home for hospice care, after his house burned down, and then he was diagnosed with cancer. That was January. During his care, I contracted pneumonia with MRSA. That was March, and physically, I am recovering slowly.
The dogs walk me in the sunshine every day, and the cats curl up to me at night. I eat well and often. Some days I wake exhausted, sometimes not.
The man who loves me, still loves me.
The unicorn meat eating cats slowly wind from room to room, to find and settle into the sunny spots. They love the new dog bed: memory foam with a bumper all around. The dogs will sit on it, but the cats sleep on it. My possessions are scattered everywhere.
I became badly depressed this year. The death of Barry "Wayne" Reed, the kindly Stepfather, hit me hard. I took him into my home for hospice care, after his house burned down, and then he was diagnosed with cancer. That was January. During his care, I contracted pneumonia with MRSA. That was March, and physically, I am recovering slowly.
The dogs walk me in the sunshine every day, and the cats curl up to me at night. I eat well and often. Some days I wake exhausted, sometimes not.
The man who loves me, still loves me.
Thursday, July 2, 2015
Just For Today
I had nightmares last night, about the man I love, but some kitten cuddles, and a dog that increasingly wants to spend more time glued to my hip, helped get me over it. Oh, and I called my friend, Dark Star this morning. She was properly upbeat, despite a sick kitty of her own. Life does go on, doesn't it?
But I don't want to be gloomy. I am much better off alone right now, without painful complications. The morning is still beautiful when I walk the dog, Max. There are lilacs on our walk, and crepe myrtles, maples and holly. The grass is green, and my dog is young...
My Higher Power arranges my days to be pleasant, with many voices in it. And despite Facebook's flaws, I depend on it for company, sometimes.
I am going to Topsail Beach, NC in August with some friends, and I am thinking about going to Florida to visit a friend in September. Amy, you know who you are...
My therapist is on vacation this week, so I will lean on my AA group, and my animals and friends to keep me company.
Just for Today.
But I don't want to be gloomy. I am much better off alone right now, without painful complications. The morning is still beautiful when I walk the dog, Max. There are lilacs on our walk, and crepe myrtles, maples and holly. The grass is green, and my dog is young...
My Higher Power arranges my days to be pleasant, with many voices in it. And despite Facebook's flaws, I depend on it for company, sometimes.
I am going to Topsail Beach, NC in August with some friends, and I am thinking about going to Florida to visit a friend in September. Amy, you know who you are...
My therapist is on vacation this week, so I will lean on my AA group, and my animals and friends to keep me company.
Just for Today.
Wednesday, July 1, 2015
There Is That
The man I love doesn't love me anymore. It's too bad. But I am in search of my own health, and my own spiritual life, and the relationship didn't foster those things. He has his own demons to face.
Max, the dog, doesn't understand why we don't go over there anymore. I don't know how to explain, so I play with him more, and walk him more. He got chicken for breakfast. The unicorn meat eating cats don't care. They only want love, which is easy enough for me to give to them.
But I don't need a romantic relationship at this point in my life. I need to love myself, cuddle myself, take care of me. It sounds selfish I know, but I am being forced to be selfish because of my health, mental, emotional and physical.
Meanwhile, Blue is safely in Northern Virginia, living it up at a foster home. Although there is a baby pitbull girl at the RCACP in Roanoke, VA that needs love and rescue. She is going to be put down because she has a cold.
She is all love. There is that.
Max, the dog, doesn't understand why we don't go over there anymore. I don't know how to explain, so I play with him more, and walk him more. He got chicken for breakfast. The unicorn meat eating cats don't care. They only want love, which is easy enough for me to give to them.
But I don't need a romantic relationship at this point in my life. I need to love myself, cuddle myself, take care of me. It sounds selfish I know, but I am being forced to be selfish because of my health, mental, emotional and physical.
Meanwhile, Blue is safely in Northern Virginia, living it up at a foster home. Although there is a baby pitbull girl at the RCACP in Roanoke, VA that needs love and rescue. She is going to be put down because she has a cold.
She is all love. There is that.
Friday, June 26, 2015
The Quiet Rain
It's raining today, one of my favorite things. Although Max, the dog, was disappointed at our morning walk. He doesn't like being wet. It has been a week of auroral storms, rain, record heat, and kitten. El Nino brings strange things, sometimes.
The kitten, Blue, has never experienced a thunderstorm before. He was laying in the window when I went in about 3 this morning. We watched the thunder roll and the rain fall. I told him he would see this many times in his life. I told him I would think about him when the next storm rolled through. And every storm after.
It's not easy to foster. I want to keep him, but he is destined for some exotic life in Northern Virginia. Maybe they will have all white furnishings, and have the Nanny feed him. It's more than I can give. He get cans of food in a bowl I have had for a long time. He loves the stuffed lion I have and cuddles it when I pet him. Will he have a stuffed toy waiting?
The dog Max, and the unicorn meat eating cats, Georgia and Ratty, howl at me when I 'visit' the kitten. He is in isolation, because of his upper respiratory infection. They want to be near me. They want their room back.
But outside is beautiful this morning. The sun won't rise today. But it's there. There are beautiful cats and kittens and dogs at the local shelter. Like this Siamese, they only want love and some food. Please visit the shelter today. You don't know what you're missing.
The kitten, Blue, has never experienced a thunderstorm before. He was laying in the window when I went in about 3 this morning. We watched the thunder roll and the rain fall. I told him he would see this many times in his life. I told him I would think about him when the next storm rolled through. And every storm after.
It's not easy to foster. I want to keep him, but he is destined for some exotic life in Northern Virginia. Maybe they will have all white furnishings, and have the Nanny feed him. It's more than I can give. He get cans of food in a bowl I have had for a long time. He loves the stuffed lion I have and cuddles it when I pet him. Will he have a stuffed toy waiting?
The dog Max, and the unicorn meat eating cats, Georgia and Ratty, howl at me when I 'visit' the kitten. He is in isolation, because of his upper respiratory infection. They want to be near me. They want their room back.
But outside is beautiful this morning. The sun won't rise today. But it's there. There are beautiful cats and kittens and dogs at the local shelter. Like this Siamese, they only want love and some food. Please visit the shelter today. You don't know what you're missing.
Wednesday, June 24, 2015
Holy Cow
I have been so busy this morning, that I didn't realize I hadn't written my blog. Forgive me. After all this long time, I never want you to leave me again...
But I have a new foster. Only one month old, Siamese, with the bluest eyes I have ever seen on a cat. He is only here for four days, but it's been an orgy of petting. He also happens to be the most laid back kitten I have ever met. How can a cat be regal at only one month of age?
That's a toy lion behind him...
I woke at 5 a.m. to look for him. He manages to blend in quite well to furniture, or a wood floor.
Don't worry. I did remember to walk the dog this morning. I know I did.
But I have a new foster. Only one month old, Siamese, with the bluest eyes I have ever seen on a cat. He is only here for four days, but it's been an orgy of petting. He also happens to be the most laid back kitten I have ever met. How can a cat be regal at only one month of age?
I woke at 5 a.m. to look for him. He manages to blend in quite well to furniture, or a wood floor.
Don't worry. I did remember to walk the dog this morning. I know I did.
Tuesday, June 23, 2015
Still Morning Heat
The sky was pink last night, with clouds of a darker pink. I have been reliably informed that a large electromagnetic streamer hit the Earth yesterday about 3 PM EST. We have a chance to see the aurora borealis sometime this week. I wait, breathlessly.
My coffee is especially fine this morning, although chilled. It's too hot, even at dawn, to have hot coffee now. Except espresso. My apartment was built before electricity hit the mainstream, so I make do with one window unit and a shit load of fans. The floors are wood, and stay cool.
The finches and starlings that nest above the beams of the porch roof create a breeze in the mornings that the cats enjoy.
My blog is late today, because my lovely dog, Max, let me sleep late. I don't know why. Just his own sense of mercy, I suppose. My only regret at this apartment is his lack of yard to lie in. We have to go to the man I love's house for that.
I am happy to hear from all of you that responded to my post yesterday. Like a visit to the endless ocean after a long time away, writing has captivated me again. I feel pulled to the page, and I scan the trees on my walks with Max to bring you morning news.
Not one baby bird has fallen out of the nests yet. Life is good.
My coffee is especially fine this morning, although chilled. It's too hot, even at dawn, to have hot coffee now. Except espresso. My apartment was built before electricity hit the mainstream, so I make do with one window unit and a shit load of fans. The floors are wood, and stay cool.
The finches and starlings that nest above the beams of the porch roof create a breeze in the mornings that the cats enjoy.
My blog is late today, because my lovely dog, Max, let me sleep late. I don't know why. Just his own sense of mercy, I suppose. My only regret at this apartment is his lack of yard to lie in. We have to go to the man I love's house for that.
I am happy to hear from all of you that responded to my post yesterday. Like a visit to the endless ocean after a long time away, writing has captivated me again. I feel pulled to the page, and I scan the trees on my walks with Max to bring you morning news.
Not one baby bird has fallen out of the nests yet. Life is good.
Monday, June 22, 2015
Thanks To You
I recover from a death and pneumonia.
I am so sorry I have been away for so long. I have missed all of you. Max and the unicorn meat eating cats are tres desolee, and have been for months, now. The kindly stepfather is gone. I took him into my home in December of last year, the day after Christmas, when he was released from the hospital with terminal lung cancer. We had Good Samaritan Hospice, and a kinder group I have never met. On January 3, 2015, Barry "Wayne" Reed went to meet his Maker.
I was holding his hand at the time. You know all of those early mornings you and I have spent together? I got up for one and Wayne was calling me. I don't remember much of what we talked about for the next several hours, but I know we discussed his son, long dead, and the happy reunion that was coming.
I don't know about anyone else, but the moment Death took Wayne, there was a trembling in the room that I was afraid of. May Wayne rest in peace, beside his beloved Brian.
In my grief, I got pneumonia. I drank. I recover slowly, stopping to breathe when I take Max, the dog, out. They changed my psych meds, with horrible withdrawals. I stopped eating processed foods and eliminated soda. The man I love, who loves me, had another operation. It's still hurts him. I rest and eat slowly and walk slowly. I don't drink.
The unicorn meat eating cats weren't confused. They have a secure grasp of all that works in the Universe. But poor Max, the good dog, no longer an "asshole", has been very patient. He has a special rug on the floor he watches me from.
It is easier to spot the trees and flowers in this city I live in. I look past the sidewalks for the grass, and search the sky for clouds and birds. My brother put in a screen door, and every morning, I open it and set a chair there for the cats to climb up on. They watch the birds fly out from under the eaves, as they search for food for their chicks. There is always a breeze.
I haven't planted my porch garden this year, yet. I was too tired. But there, on my deck, is a peace lily, with 5 big blooms, I brought home from Wayne's funeral. My perennials, the "Chicks and Hens", sit by one post of the roof.
It's enough for now.
I am so sorry I have been away for so long. I have missed all of you. Max and the unicorn meat eating cats are tres desolee, and have been for months, now. The kindly stepfather is gone. I took him into my home in December of last year, the day after Christmas, when he was released from the hospital with terminal lung cancer. We had Good Samaritan Hospice, and a kinder group I have never met. On January 3, 2015, Barry "Wayne" Reed went to meet his Maker.
I was holding his hand at the time. You know all of those early mornings you and I have spent together? I got up for one and Wayne was calling me. I don't remember much of what we talked about for the next several hours, but I know we discussed his son, long dead, and the happy reunion that was coming.
I don't know about anyone else, but the moment Death took Wayne, there was a trembling in the room that I was afraid of. May Wayne rest in peace, beside his beloved Brian.
In my grief, I got pneumonia. I drank. I recover slowly, stopping to breathe when I take Max, the dog, out. They changed my psych meds, with horrible withdrawals. I stopped eating processed foods and eliminated soda. The man I love, who loves me, had another operation. It's still hurts him. I rest and eat slowly and walk slowly. I don't drink.
The unicorn meat eating cats weren't confused. They have a secure grasp of all that works in the Universe. But poor Max, the good dog, no longer an "asshole", has been very patient. He has a special rug on the floor he watches me from.
It is easier to spot the trees and flowers in this city I live in. I look past the sidewalks for the grass, and search the sky for clouds and birds. My brother put in a screen door, and every morning, I open it and set a chair there for the cats to climb up on. They watch the birds fly out from under the eaves, as they search for food for their chicks. There is always a breeze.
I haven't planted my porch garden this year, yet. I was too tired. But there, on my deck, is a peace lily, with 5 big blooms, I brought home from Wayne's funeral. My perennials, the "Chicks and Hens", sit by one post of the roof.
It's enough for now.
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