Touch the past. No? Me neither. But then sometimes, there is no choice.

Cynthia Lee, at it again, as my prompt-ess. Sigh. I’ve got bones to pick, and i’m no hoodoovoodoo goddess. (although i can see myself that way at any given moment.)

She said this: Today, let us touch the past. Let us allow our moving through our what is now to connect to our what was. (my italics there.)

I feel like there are bubbles of the past around my house that I walk into by accident, and am transported. Or maybe they are spiderwebs, and i’m caught off guard by memory in a way that has me swinging wildly at the air around me. It is not just a bad marriage or what I did to myself during that time, its more than that. it’s the ability to fall down a hole of recrimination, negativity, hopelessness.  I am asked to straddle the past and present and I do, but it’s a horse, and it takes me places that it wants to go. I do not feel in control. No fencing here, not stable, immobile straddling.

And not pleasurable. Let it be known. I do not like horses, animals that big scare me. Don’t even get me going about cows. (almost terror)

So what is it I can touch? that is just calmly faced, recognizing and not reacting or reliving? I see cardinals and think of my dad and that is a good feeling, sad but I don’t linger there, just miss him and wish him well and thank him for the bird. Touched, I guess, is how I feel. And I live in a place where there are a pair living, so it happens not rarely.

Another part of cynthia’s prompt says that she sits at the end of the day and writes her noticings, and I think I’m incredulous that there is an ‘end of the day’ that holds that space, and I look at my life and how I’m just thrown around by the lives of my kids, and that’s fine, its what I’m in, but I wonder if I can massage it into something different.

I’m just finally this month, sleeping by myself, guys. Really. The 8 year old is in her own bed every night. Last night, I had a thirteen year old with me, who had a massive headache and needed medicine. the medicine of snuggling with him mom after ibuprofen. But alone is the new normal.

And since I’m choosing to go cold turkey on men, again, alone is the new normal there too. No fiddling, no faddling, just sitting. reading books.

soon, in this next 30 days at least, i’m going to make fires again.

and while i’m there, i’m going to think about the end of the day, and how i can make it mine.

thats the plan, man.

love love,


Someone went thrift shopping, and didn’t buy this. For shame.


Football is Romantic

Really. Keep the faith. Anything is possible.

Try hard. Work as a team. Cheer each other on.

I may not like Tom Brady very much (which is very inexplicable to all people who live within a hundred miles of me) but I do love the Patriots, and I love to watch them and its insane and i know that you and i are shocked that i’m typing about football.

So there. That is my post.

Go out there and give it the old college try.

Throw something. Catch something. Try hard.

Love love,


selective focus close up photo of brown wilson pigskin football on green grass
Photo by Jean-Daniel Francoeur on

Ying yang yoyo

My pendulum swings are looking a little erratic these days, guys.

i’m still taking a break from men, but i’m on a dating app. I think my two weeks of break just broke a habit, and now I’m not checking it like a crazy person anymore. and so thats good, very good.

But I’m still on this break. I feel pretty weird about it, really. I have men friends that I can talk to if I want to feel frustrated and overwrought. but I’m drawing a pretty firm line in the sand, and its strange because its happening without much thought on my part. I just need it.

but I’m looking longingly through the window too. its that hope in the church thing.

so i also signed up for a spiritual advisor.

because there have been three different occasions in which the subject has come up lately and i’ve poo-poo’d it, and then today, my friend directly messaged me, asking me if i wanted some advising.

when the universe punches you in the mouth, you listen.

also, it is soccer season. and that just is nuts, guys. the only, well, one of the lovely things about soccer is that there is no such thing as a double-header, and the games are really kept to 90 minutes, and that mostly means you can plan your life around them. but only if you don’t work on the weekends, when at least one, if not two games happens. maybe three.

so the farm saturdays will stop soon, and i’m glad, and i’m sad. its a natural coincidence as we move into the darker days.

maybe that is where my mood is of late, in the coming of the darker days. the walk along the beach yesterday where i kept my head down and just cranked it out. the water only vaguely tempting me out of my shadow. i’m on full day two of no cigarettes and some of my rage is becoming wet sand.

so that is good. good.

its a jumble. i’m working it. winter is coming.

(insert jaws music)

love you. feeling weird over here,


balance macro ocean pebbles
So, this is a way too balanced pile of rocks, right? WAAY. Photo by Pixabay on


Turns out a lot of women remember that feeling, that long summer night of possibility, moms or not moms, we women have a lot that we carry.

Lets assign ourselves time to put it down. Can we do that? Can I? (besides cancer sticks, and alcohol, can i transport myself?)

I’m not talking about escape. I don’t want to escape the life I have, I love it. Its hard sometimes, but I love it. I’m talking about adding. Not some deluded self-care regimen that is really for someone else- anti-aging serum? nah, thanks, i’m good. (i have spent money, i’m not going to lie, but there are several bottles lying around that have been used for about a week and then forgotten. looks like i’m just going to age.)

Maybe I need to take a walk at midnight (uhm, with a big stick, around here there are big varmints).

If sitting on the porch this morning hadn’t had a cigarette in it, it would’ve been perfect. The air was so still. I’m deaf basically, but I think the birds were still asleep. Sleeping birds is an amazing thing to be part of.

I do pine for company, I’ll admit it. A man as joyous as I am, I think, who sees the beauty in the details. Someone to dance in the kitchen now and again. And hold hands with.

But baby, I can dance on my own.

Maybe we all need a firepit by the kitchen. We can call on our witchy women ancestors and spin.

unknown person standing indoors
Photo by Inga Seliverstova on


I’m not proud. The bestie was here and we smoked ’em while we had ’em.

And today I’m stopping. Its been about three weeks? at least two full weeks. And i’d love to tell you I was just dabbling, but no. I had to tell my kids and everything, because I was whole hog and I couldn’t stand the idea of sneaking around. That’s not my bag.

Its not okay. And I’m going to be a full-on bitch while I try to kick it again. FULL ON.

There is this though. I found pieces of myself that I thought were gone when she (the bestie) was here. And then another old friend visited, and I found some more. I don’t know where the hell they were, but I certainly hadn’t seen them for a decade or so. And part of that was the person that I am, the woman who puts herself first, before the kids, before the overwhelming responsibility of parenting.

If you don’t have kids, thats allright, take my word for it. It is all-consuming for me. I work at home, I love my kids, I do everything in my power for them, all the time, even if it is just availability. They are the sun and the moon, and I still manage to not be a helicopter mom. I watch them with delight and I have time to listen when they actually decide to speak. Two teenager boys and a girl who might as well be. The times are big here, the issues enormous. Driving, military interests, girls, boys, friends, fear, first rejections, bravery.

The cigarette meant that I was that person before all of that. A person who could just walk out the door and sit without caring for anyone else. Free. In three minute intervals.

It got my dander UP, lets just say. (as if anyone but me would ever type a weirdass thing like that.)

I’m shook up. I need to figure out how to feel like that person again. If I chase that feeling, without giving myself lung cancer, what will it look like?

I had joy. I had a best friend. I had a life, a history, opinions, and laughter. So much laughter. A healthy dose of sexuality. An independence from my children and my obligations and love for them.

Maybe its a midlife crisis. I’d prefer to think of it as an awakening.

I went sailing for chrissakes. The kids were left to fend for themselves for dinner. Can you even believe that? Guess what? They were totally fine. And I was even better than that.

So that is where I am at. FULL ON BITCH. and trying to chase a drift of smoke.


love love.