I write during a soccer practice.

I’ve been jonesing to do something I’m proud of. My kids are putting a pressure on me to write, for myself. Not a real pressure because they don’t know what they are talking about. but still. Lately, I am able to get my daughter to her soccer practice and she wants me to sit there while she practices. I think it is inane to do that, but whatever. Seems I am one of very few who likes to drop and run. So, I sat down with a neil gaiman book, Neverwhere, which is good. He has a lovely style which manages to be clean and clear while covering dark and fantastical things. the details are astonishing. I enjoy.

But my attention span is not what it used to be, and sometimes I check my phone or look at my kid, and once, i had some thoughts that were so intriguing I thought to write them down. SO i hunted through my pocketbook *(what a dumb word. no book involved, and no pocket either) for a pen and a blank scrap and by the time I got that all settled, I couldn’t remember what I’d been thinking. So, I wrote this instead:

The way other people write; slow, thought-filled, raising images of tall trees in clusters, the dips in green shadow and oaken thrills. Deepened thoughts, greens mixed with blues of deepest unseen oceans, softness beyond despair but knowing it, having passed it by.

Handwriting swirls and curves. Steam from the hot mug, adding to the air, and realizing that I do too, steam, and add, even though I am not those other people.

The steps of a sun-blast grecian stone, heading upwards, fingers trailing along the wall, thousands before me, all of humanity it feels.

Oh, how I wonder when I will travel again, if i will.

caves and shadows, cold stone and damp. fire. whispers. nudges. heat making curls,

the drawl of ink.

sports sign in red and white paint
Photo by cottonbro studio on


love you. do.



Morovia. Morewoevia.

I’ve been ‘feeling’ a lot lately. its not my favorite.

No, nothing is really wrong. I’ve got no woe.

I’m aware that what I romanticize is distinctly untrue, and, that I do not need to be the one who provides my children with a lifelong grandmotherly estate. I’m just always going to be the mom, wherever I am, forever and ever. Its freeing, in many ways, and irrelevant in others, and a mixed bag of bulbs in the end.

I’m trying to laugh off some of the things I’ve heard this week, and I’m not doing especially well at it. Some of it, I can’t ignore, and I can’t figure out what to do about it.

I’ve purchased new chicks to raise, trying yet again to have a flock of my own. and this time, they will not be free range. poor babies. free range is not for the faint of heart, not with the coyotes, foxes, and other miscreants around here. i saw a coyote yesterday up close and it was much bigger than they look from afar. (He won the psych out, 100 percent.) I even got very cool chicks, that will lay very cool and colorful eggs. so i’m psyched. now all i have to do is keep them alive. no biggie.

I’m going to have to build shit, Dean. fuck.

I also ordered a bunch of peony roots. I am into investing in the ground lately. base level basic. They can live and recycle themselves for hundreds of years. I’m feeling the need for longevity I suppose, while at the same time longing for a life of much simpler means. Can I really runaway? Is that a thing? Like, after the last one leaves for college, can i just do a year abroad? And not even carry a phone? well, maybe just for them, so they can call if they need me. If I sell this house, I can live in a trailer and not worry about money. It could be anywhere, it could even be on wheels. Good, right?

or: Someone give me a ton of money, okay? I’d like to make an apartment at the back of the house so they can pay the mortgage and I can just be a flower farmer. Can we please do that? Please?

Sigh. No? Okay then.

I got this new job, and I’ve spent the money of my first paycheck (unreceived as of yet) already. Little bit twitchy about that. I’m now actually working to pay for impulse purchases. Will they make me happy? Yes, they will.

Yes, they will.

The weather has been fucking brilliant here. but fairly inappropriate for January and we’ll all be crying when we start our spring already in a drought. no snow man, no snow.

I’ve lost my lazy contemplative mornings with this new job, and its really messing with my days. I get home and still feel like the day is unformed, that I haven’t done anything, and should probably make some kind of list, but I’m wiped out, so I just sit down, and then it is all over. OVER.

I haven’t figured stuff out yet.

I should make that a bumper sticker. Someone else do it, I’ve already sat down.

love you. really, i do.


cash coins money pattern
Photo by Pixabay on


Things are jacked up over here, guys. I’m running around like a chicken after a worm, with all the hounds at my back, or, other chickens, as the case may be.

I’m not working with my old gent anymore as he’s HEALTHY AND WELL! Isn’t that just freaking great!? It stinks. I miss him.

AND I’m doing chicken chores three times a week which is making me have to take naps. I am feeling my age, friends. I need to start doing bicep curls so that I’m stronger when I’m hauling buckets of feed. I thought they’d just grow, you know, because I need them. but no.

well, not yet anyhow.

I’m starting a new job next week at a before-school program. I’m very much looking forward to it, but the management of the ten-year-old in my life is adding some complication. It’ll work out, and yes, she can come with me if necessary, so the problem is mild. but it will definitely be a change to the household’s morning routine. Mom leaves the house first, imagine the problems and risks. Hmm.

These are the pesky realizations I’ve had this week. I’m not a fan.

  • I have a very hard time saying no. The job was originally supposed to be just mornings, which allowed me to get the nugget off the bus, which we both really like. Now, it is turning into something else. It is both an inability to say no, and a compulsion to work, because I’ve been struggling with not making enough money.
  • I have a hard time when I realize I’m annoyed with a person. I almost panic on the inside, as if my annoyance means that I must run into the woods naked for the next segment of my life. (this does not include annoyance at my own children, i’m immune now) I don’t know exactly how to work through this one.
  • I have always loved winter, for the hibernation, the reading, the fires. It is so fantastic. AND, this year? all i want is for it to be spring, so i can plant stuff. WHO AM I? my god. COME ON ALREADY. let me plant something. please. i am begging you. and, i already have six amaryllis growing, so evidently,it has to be real, outside dirt and nothing else is satisfying.
  • I’m really and truly pissed off that I don’t know how to build shit. I HATE asking someone else for anything. It is pathological and I hope I grow into being better at it. GODDAMNIT though.

Thats it, folks. Sighs, lots of them, as I try to walk the work, do the work and come out the other side.

love love,


close up photo of person holding sand
Photo by Muffin Creatives on


Love stories

I’m reading Perelandra, one of C.S. Lewis’ trilogy of science fiction novels. It is a slow go, never you fear, in between action sequences there is a slog (don’t tell him or his ghost that i said that) of words. Every sentence could be one that you get hung up on thinking about. really.

NASA’s Hubble Finds Universe Is Expanding Faster Than Expected
NASA’s Hubble Finds Universe Is Expanding Faster Than Expected by NASA’s Marshall Space Flight Center is licensed under CC-BY-NC 2.0

I’m already devoted to Lewis, and so this is no problem for me, and i love getting hung up on things, generally speaking, so this is a glorious time to be alive.

first thing first: he doesn’t use the word greed to describe anything in this bit, so this is my paraphrasing lunacy. but greed is not the point anyhow.

  1. So, the main character is good, working on it. and has a native ability to stop himself from eating ALL the good things, he stops at one, for instance, because something in himself tells him to. a native knowledge of scarcity? a sense of sharing with the unseen? a sense of appreciation for the one? he does talk about the people who shout encore, wanting the same song AGAIN, and how to hear it again would actually ruin it. the joy and beauty is in the moment, not in the repetition on demand.
  2. let us think more about number one. Some of this, Lewis discusses, and some is mine. you do the parsing. (anything brilliant is his.) Money is the root of all evil, lets say it is foundationally true. Money just provides us with guarantees for repetition. You like the macaron? You can have it again! Every day if you want! You like the beach? You can live on one! Visit one every day, whatever. Money is all about repetition.
    The notion of a self-limiting action being goodness, being a humanity-propeller? I love it. I’m lucky enough to have that ability about some things and it borders on pride. (which is complex, and ugly, and so may be another post on another day). If more people did, and acted, and were that way, we’d have less cabbage patch kids in the landfills, and fewer waterbottles in the ocean, and fewer super-sized things. and probably no hummers, because, for chrissakes, who needs a tank?
  3. Just because words in a line make sense, does not mean that they are sensible.
  4. Sweet talk is not always sweet.

Thats my take on Perelandra today. Please come back next week when I make it through paragraph three.

-love love,



Skip this one. No, really.

I kind of feel like whining today. I’m not sure what it is, things are mostly going fine. I’m waiting for a phone call about a job, and I’m home and mostly cozy and I did my chicken chores this morning with very minimal heavy breathing or grotesquerie. So, what is my complaint?

My kids are good, I’m good. So what is up with the desire to whine and criticize? I’m giving snark to what I read, giving snark to what I see…

I’ve been missing my old instagram which used to just have pretty pictures that made me happy, and now it’s all ads and I want to spend money but don’t have those extras, so there and bite me, marketers.

I have to shut it off and put the phone down when I get like that. It does me no good to be snarky at the algorithm. Do they hear me somehow? Yes, they do. They’ve even robbed me of my belief in freakish coincidences. Yes, they have.

I’ve already taken all the games off the phone. I find myself picking it up and just staring at it, willing the game to appear, so i can fill my empty void up. So whats that about?! What empty void? Seriously? I find that incredible.

What empty void?

I’m pretty damn busy and content with many things, so what’s the ceaseless motion needed for? the ceaseless motion of a swappit game or a glass pickup? (not me but some people)…

I used to smoke so maybe its that same urge, to blank out, to sit alone and just stare out at stuff while breathing deeply and making other people leave you alone.

whine whine nudge. My dissatisfaction is high. and yet, isn’t. gah. I’m feeling antsy. The little red ones.

what about if I’m just bored with the life right now? Am I secretly a drama queen, underneath all this practicality? I cannot believe it to be so. I cannot.

I do love to skip contractions sometimes, I do.

How can a dork like me ever be bored? I like to talk about contractions, for chrissakes.

The fire is crackling and snapping. Loud enough that even I can hear. This is pretty wonderful.

Generally, I think that my periods of frustration, exasperation, antsyness, are followed by a period of gloom and then of action. Maybe I’m just following the seasons, I don’t know. I used to love my season of hibernation. Maybe now that the kids are all gone all day, my role shift has me feeling like i have too much time? and yet.

I’m a person who deeply needs my alone time. and while i wish it were more lucrative, my ghostwriting and editing provide me with pay and the alone time that i crave. They’ve also been fantastic practice at recognizing the beats of a good story. I would say also that they’ve allowed me to say that I have written books. And I have. And people buy them. I cannot tell you who, or what the author’s name is who sells my writing, but people buy them!

So wah, wah. Sisboombah.

I don’t know what to tell you. I bet you wish you’d listened, when I told you to skip this one.

love you, do.