Let’s Get Basic.

It’s time to confess that my relationship with my kitchen table is not platonic. (I am not basic, damnit)

I love it.

(If there was a fire, and my children and animals were safe, and I had a crew of young strong people at my disposal and the fire was unstoppable but at the other end of the building, then I would save this table. -all caveats necessary.)

Its immediately similar to the one I grew up with, but was in fact in the kitchen of my mother-in-law during her young mother-hood. My dog spent his young puppy-hood chewing on the base of it, so it is utterly corrupted from the ‘sell it for money’ point of view.

PLUS. i would never.

I’m going to leave my study right now, to go work at my lover’s lap. (um, wasn’t meant to be so damn sexual, but I’m literally going to bring my laptop into the kitchen now. Gutter-people, gutter.)

So its the basics, here. lightbulbs I bought this morning in a rush that I have figured out I don’t really need. Somehow every lightbulb in the kitchen got knocked loose, and all that flicker is just a matter of a tighter screw. (again. JAYSUS already.)

There’s an alphabet by Russell Maret, which my kids were figuring out today. Its been on the wall for six months or so but today, two of the three were deeply puzzled by a well-wishing new year’s alphabet card without the letters DJT… smirk encouraged.

They got it. Even the 8 year old. I’m definitely successful at the indoctrination of my children.

Money from the busdriver for the eggs I give him weekly. I really should pay him, my kids are so sick of eggs. So sick of eggs.

A baseball schedule, a book someone picks up every three months and leaves on the table so it ‘won’t get lost’.

Scratch tickets for big big money equaling the egg money, easily.

An art project, a pocketbook, waterglass and list of prompts. A joker, an M, a yo-yo and some trouble besides. . . What can you see? What can you find? None of it’s basic, my friends. What’s on Your mind?

Can we just let it lie, that nothing is basic? I’m deeply in love with the ephemera in my life. Would I still pay a lot of money to have someone clean my home? Yes, yes I would.

See? Not BASIC.

I’m laughing and sighing.

Yes, I love love you.



Taxes and Laughter

My taxes have been significantly delayed because, somehow, the form I needed from xyz was sent to georgia, where I have never lived, and not to me, here in fabled Massachusetts. Now that the form has arrived, complete with georgian address still, I can complete the package. (Extension was filed, and etc, for those who worry.)

But why I laugh? Firstly, since a book arrived in the mail today… I am deeply curious, if my job is writer and editor… can I claim a tax deduction for my book purchases? Because, if anything is a tool for a writer, it is a book that someone else has written. It is the very education and training that one finds at the library, if one is that sort.

if one refers to oneself as one, for instance.

that is the sort I am, these days. The girl who keeps buying books, or borrowing books, in the hopes that her brain will click back in and run wild through the secret gardens and find Dickon, who is my dream guy, albeit 34 years ago.

I’m being forced to go through and figure out how much I made this year on my writing (close to nothing, yes, not livable, no.) and then how much I paid for the privilege of trying to get one of those jobs. (more than I made? almost! hows that for fun learning?!)

It is better to laugh than to have to reassess one’s whole life because of taxes. Motherfuck though.

I think this might be therapy laughing. Or psychosis.

I’m not at all sure.

love love,


collage photo of woman
Photo by Andrea Piacquadio on



I wrote in my group this morning about how tough I find it to finish things.

I clean the sink and leave one mug behind. I always leave a part of the lawn unmowed (unmown?), after my interpretive mowing session.

I nod at my personality that does this, it has been a long time I’ve known myself after all. the enjoyment of an entirely empty sink, so far, delayed eternally. I know it is not for everyone and some people are actually crying at the thought of it, right now, as I type.

Its NOT avoidance, believe it or not. I have come to think its a recognition of the futility of ever finishing the job. There is no finishing of the dishes, there is no ‘well, look now, that job is DONE’. There will be a plate, a mug, a cup, within minutes.

The toaster will continue making crumbs, because that is its JOB. I’ve long held a suspicion that the inanimate objects around me are not in fact, insensate.

This might be the final moment for me, when you, dear reader, realize I am a nutbag. I have long tried to keep this from you. long.

I have a relationship with my toaster. I love it. It brings me toasted things so happily. I love my kitchen table. It gathers my children to me, and holds the stains of a million art projects. I am not that friendly with my stupid dryer, because he’s a bitch, and won’t dry my clothes fast. (definitely male-all that heat and exhaust)

(it is of further interest to me, that i do NOT personalize my phone. for all the time i spend with it, it is nothing but a tool, and not a good one, and I know it.)

There is very little in life that finishes. –It just morphs. Relationships live on in memory, in my case, not always happily, but sometimes. Love and loss and grief just stay, in various forms. Says I.

Kitchen table, in all its glory.


I love the word ‘willowy’. I immediately see a woman in a long white gown. the woman herself can be any color, but the gown is pure, she might be heading to a picnic. she might be wearing a hat, but there will be a stream and an actual willow. there is no other way, for me.

I am too short to have been willowy at any point in my life. It is also not the province of the overly busomy, I say. We can debate that at leisure, if you are so inclined.

Its the green in the background that completes the willowy woman. I wonder, dearly, what it is that completes me lately.

I’ve been noting the difference between maintenance and pleasure, I’ve uncovered some avoided things, I’ve recognized my penchant for obsessing over a friend’s health. (Someone somewhere needs me, is what that one boiled down to. I MUST SAVE THEM.)

I want to be willowy in the face of my needs. Graceful, sloped. Flowy. I want to be draped on the chaise of my discontent, swooning in my matcha milk bath.


I want to be willowy, damnit.


crop woman in bath in forest
ME! YES! SO LONG!! Photo by Rafaela Lima on

Today, worry, fritter, work.

I’m avoiding my to-do list by adding tons of shit to it. Like ‘mop floors’ added to the top, lefthand side, just so i could cross something off.

A friend of mine went into the clinic because he thought he was having a reaction to his second shot. turns out he’s having a heart episode. So I’m doing a lot of stuff I don’t know that I need to do. I’m not that important that I’ll be kept up to date, just happened to be texting when he went to get checked out. So now I’ll just fritter away in anxious energy with no way of finding out what is happening.

I superduper cleaned the rugs in the living room that is proof that I don’t need this big a house. Its almost completely unused, and yet stanks. I hauled the wet rugs outside and broke any fingernails I might have had. Rugs.

I cancelled two subscriptions.

I will do the homework for my Story class, which I’ll tell you about at a later date. Unless I turn the tv on, which is a soul-killer and sucks the life out of me. But I keep having to walk past it.

I mailed off the beach pass application, at the post office even. I love me some post office. Convince me not to.

I got a ridiculous splurge in the mail. Matcha milk bath. (it really wasn’t ridiculous. its just money spent only on me that makes is feel ridiculous) and Yarrow and Lavender hydrosols. I had to look up hydrosols, too, its a spritz basically, with flower essences inside. (birchstone apothecary, here in my town)

If I can chill the fuck out, I will get in the bath and tell you all about it. I think I’m so worried about him because it gives me an outlet for all my frittered emotions of the past year. I certainly want my friend to be okay but I’m bazonkers right now, way beyond what should be.

I called my mother-in-law whom I love to bits, and who has no short term memory and multiple cancers. She asked how I was (un-fucking believeable) and I told her I was not very happy really, while mopping the stupid kitchen floor. She told me to hang up and go for a walk, not to miss a single minute of this beautiful day. She described the clouds outside her window and told me I needed to go find mine.

So I did. And all the music on my walk were ballads from the 80s and 90s and I was home in a good way. and I walked, and felt sexy as I did. Filled with the vitality of the living-right-now kind.

Shit man, life is a topsy turvy thing. Here one minute…

I love you babes, and I’m out here if you need me.

  • kate