January, ya cold. Winter garden indeed.

The coffee is delicious and so strong my teeth get involved. So I’m sharing my writing group prompt here, and what I wrote, in ten minutes, because . because.

Tell me about a winter garden. 

It feels like the months are unevenly split here, the winter lasts forever and not long enough and then summer rushes by. But i like the winter so much more and so the fall and the buildup to this cold and cozying time is all part and parcel of my favorite. The yard is left undone. I walk about and check on the places where things will grow again. Yesterday i found a cache of chicken eggs in amongst where the daisies grow. It will take a very careful collection, at this point. The shells are bleached white and are sharp against the frozen greens . 

The ground is hard, what is noticed is shape and curve, a torment of the branch. Its beautiful, flat out. I wonder if i like this more than i like the chaos of the growth that happens, even though i do love that too. It starts slow but by the end of the season, this yard is completely beyond human interference, and while that is wild and beautiful, it is daunting, and there is no small part of me that feels i’ve failed somehow, in training, in dominating, in being the apex human. 

The winter garden, the small strong things that have grown anyway, (how damn strong) that cover the raised bed in humps and bumps of green, despite the freeze. Its all cold, the bones ache, I leave the stalks and dry bits for the insects that hide in there, the winter homes of the bees. 

There is no type A in me.

So what? Fear and acknowledgement of the chaos and the tumult to come, and its roots are stark and here, and making up the ground that is so hard. Its not a soft walk, right now, the ground as hard as asphalt, but not smooth, full of whatever makes the millions of pits and valleys.  It does bring to mind poetry, it does. There is a great line that called cut corn stalks … sword hilts and it makes a battleground of my yard, those sword hilts all around. Although maybe more an art installation in my case. Laughing. There is so much in this. 

The winter garden. What lies beneath… the flip side of the coin, the summer of growth and renewal and the winter of our discontent and burden. – oh my. Not burden but secrecy. Growth in secret.


love love,


There are at least a dozen eggs in here. My ladies are unfertilized and so may not know that there are no bebe inside. This is the second stash I have found. Why my ladies, why?


Pfft, January.

i’m a little stuck as to a writing topic today. The grocery store threw me. I had my list, and I kept throwing more things in, like the list was just a baseline and it was full on chaos in my cart, i tell you.

i got chicken wings but no buffalo sauce. what the ever loving hell?

burrito spice but the wrong kind of tortillas. the kids will revolt. i’m trying to get them into corn, as its more lots of things, but its going to be rough rough going.

i bought myself a kombucha to drink but then made a smoothie. with a protein powder that i also bought. hello, i am drinking chocolate-colored chalk. and i’m forcing myself to because HEALTH! I SPENT MONEY ON IT!

i got everything to make a crockpot meal today and i already know i’m not going to like it. What fresh hell is this? Why do i have to eat chicken and black bean spicy chili? Why can’t these kids live on mac and cheese forever and shut the hell up?

if i only make what i like we will all have rickets.

so good goddamnit, already. someone send me a chef. preferably single, of age, with sparkly eyes and a penis.

thank you.

love love,



January claims me, utterly.

These are the things I claim and acknowledge…some of them.

  1. The sorrow that I live with still. The rage that my kid’s dad had a meh-good marriage, and I didn’t, and I think all the time about bad things he probably thought of me and how unfair it is that I lived like that for so long. And the rage that that is not a shared experience, it was just mine. My better part wouldn’t wish it on him, but man, there is still rage. Just one day, if he could have seen what it was like, for just one day.
  2. I need to claim all the days when none of that matters, because there are so many more of them than any other kind. There is so much movement away from that. And I am thrilled and part and parcel of that is how often I don’t even notice.
  3. I claim my boredom and how much I wish more for my kids of this time and how damn conflicted I feel about all of this. What is risk? What is risk of exposure? Is that a category that battles with need for socialization or physical exercise? Indoor soccer practice? Is that a vector that will kill my mother in law? Its too much, I claim this boredom and fanatical perseveration. It is mine.
  4. I claim the nature of mine that will give and give and seek and then hit a wall and be done. The fucking steely cold center of a glowing orb.  Like, I can only go so long without reciprocity, you know? I’m not for everyone and everyone is not for me and I need to get with that more readily.
  5. I need to acknowledge how good I am at sabotaging myself. I’m not eating well and I’m not exercising. I’m worrying about my weight and not doing anything about it. And I’m not job-searching, which is part and parcel of this freelance writer-editor thing. I AM taking my anti-depressants and considering how to better and more often make smoothies. I like to add kale, for my eyes. BUT I hate the mixer, with a passion. Its super bulky and I don’t believe I get it clean. It makes me pissy when I take it off the fridge. Are you so thrilled I am sharing today? It was a wedding present, believe it or not. Maybe its time.
  6. I claim that I am super-charged when it comes to feeling loved when people affirm me. It’s a way to show me love and I feel it best. I had a friend from 14! years ago tell me she liked to read my stuff this morning and honestly, my head feels like it will pop off with joy. Just to know someone reads it? And likes it? I am honestly over the moon. Its so simple. I need affirmations, but it does not make me needy. It fills me up and makes me feel loved and ehem, affirmed.
  7. I claim that this is a long-ass writing and I’m getting bored with it, as I type. This is the kind of thing I’m not supposed to share. Will this stop me? Not today Satan, not today.
  8. I claim a deep deep restless ness and because of #5, I am stuck. I have been thinking a lot about moving out all the furniture that is not used or broken… but I don’t have a truck, I don’t have a dump sticker, I don’t have…. And so I just sit in my juices of stuck. And of course those are all solvable, for chrissakes. What the hell.
  9. I admit to a certain addictive element to my personality. This week’s obsession, besides the fucking phone? Cinnamon bears. There is always a sugar element to my problematic behavior- the phone handles the dopamine. I ate a whole bag on Friday and I swear to god, it is still sitting in my stomach. Should I get some more?
  10. I admit to being a little lost sometimes. I’m handling it.
Eddie the black dog, looking right at me.


Joy bubbles, January

Its time for a joy list… joys and some dips, because that’s how it is.

  1. When I put down the dish soap and a little bubble escapes to float around the sink. I love that.
  2. Sparkling eyes. I love that. (In these days of masks? Sometimes its all I get. But you really can see the sparkle, even if that’s all you see.)
  3. I love the possibilities that I am coming up with when I think about overhauling this house. Two bureaus on the curb. At least. Purge. Purge. Purge. (and I am daunted, amongst the joys, too. There is so much overwhelm here. And in life. So much.)
  4. I’m writing a story called fight crab. I kind of adore the ridiculousness. (I started well but finishing? Ah. The rub, the dip.)
  5. As much as I love color, I am sitting in greys, grey pajama pants with stars, grey sweater and I feel like a Swedish hug. Like, come see me in my Nordic tiny house glowing under the aurora, I am here. I will make you a fire and a magical drink.
  6. Geraniums, by god. The smell of them clarifies the whole damn thing. Last summer I bought five babies after the season was done, a dollar each! And I have so much. Take a walk in my nook. (3 steps.)
  7. Non-sequiturs. I love the way my mind can jump ship and swim for a minute and still catch the boat before its gone, or not. It might be hard to follow, but not for me.
  8. The piles of books around me are maddening, but I’m filled up by looking at them. The chaos brings the possibility that one of them will be a great love. Or take me off to dreamscape #4258. And I haven’t been there yet.
  9. My kids when they sneeze. It makes me see their youth and remember their sneezes as babies. Is there anything cuter than a sneezing baby? (I am such a mom. And so proud of it. And its not going anywhere. And oh my god, babies.)
  10. I appreciate already, how much laughter I bring into the world. My kids are better for it, and I am better for it, and I’ve gifted it to them, and they to me.

*by the way, on my night of restorative sleep, the dog decided to wake me THREE times. THRICE. motherfucker. So, i was up early. I make a joy list in retaliation. Is that questionable? I do not know. but it is Saturday, and as you know, we have no plans. so i will nap. i will.

brown cottage under aurora borealis
EXACTLY. Photo by Stefan Stefancik on


What prompts? January

The prompts are prompting too much private thought.

(apologies for this whole post, because i am rambling and there is feast, and there is famine.)

and so i’ve got nothing from them to share here. believe it or not, there is a level that i do not share here. Isn’t that wild?

I’ve just finished my big project and i’ve got these three days to do ‘nothing’ and so yesterday i turned on the tv mid-day. this is not progress and nope, it wasn’t satisfying.

i am going to try and read today, and put more plastic on windows and try to make this place a bubble of plastic and blankets.

the sun is out hard today and i love it. it is doing its damnedest from millions of miles away, to unfurl the leaf of the rhododendron. the birds are happy for it, and i’m rueing the day i put on cotton socks.

i’m sitting in my kitchen wrapped in a flannel blanket my grandmother made for one of her great grandchildren. these are footsteps i like to look at, but can only limp towards.

the last two days i’ve woken up in the range of 4 am. i’m going to lay my mood at the feet of the gods, and tomorrow with no one to wake up and no one to ferry, i will make up for it.

the kids are with me this weekend and i heard my middle on the phone with his dad and his gf (as an aside: why? i do not know. generally one is enough on the phone, but you know? whatever. i try to envision every having a man on the phone with me, to talk to my children, and cannot. it upset me but its probably totally normal, i don’t know. )

so anyhow, the dad asked what was on the plan for this weekend and so my son asked me and so i thought these things:

we’re in a pandemic. it is likely to be under 30 degrees outside. we’re not going anywhere. we’re not doing anything.

and then i felt bad, i did, i do, even. like, maybe i’m not a good enough mom because i’m not taking them fucking skiing or something.

and then i thought, i don’t want to take them fucking skiing. its a pandemic. it is likely to be under 30 degrees outside. we’re not going anywhere. we’re not doing anything.

so. any big plans this weekend? If you’re going fucking skiing, my kids would like a ride.

love love,


so there.

The art box. Marbles in paint. It was magic. It was.