I found myself having a bit of an anxiety attack in the middle of a Spirit Halloween store, one of those roving, wildly expensive stores with a refund policy designed to fuck you and fuck you and fuck you, forevermore. and not in any positive way, at all. My daughter’s stepmother is now the proud owner of a scary clown costume, complete with sword and black and white striped bike horn. forevermore.

forevermore gets a lot less exciting in these situations.

The anxiety attack was mild, I was able to take deep breaths and get myself under wrap again. The sweeps of ‘Ican’tdothis, Itstoomuch, nobodyaskedme, thekidstakemeforgranted, everyonetakesmeforgranted, ineedtogetout, ineedtogetout, i’mtrapped’… it rises right up to the top of me, like the water in a scary cave-based movie. I am flooded.

The deep breaths spilled me back down onto the ground, and I was fine. I told my daughter that her penance for making me go into the hellhole was that she had to browse TJMaxx with me, for as long as I wanted. She consented. In the slipper section I got a phonecalled request for a ride, to, fro and afterwards, so a kid could watch a movie on a school night, ending past my bedtime. I told them I needed to walk some more because I was having so many reactions. I made it to the towels and the blankets, rubbed some soft things and saw that they’d texted it was allright if they couldn’t go. Sometimes the no is so much easier. And so it was.

I came out with a few things, no towels, no slippers, all for under $50, one of which is a Santa to add to my collection. A Santa on a unicycle, balancing presents on his head. And I’m all set now. Clear air, some unharried browsing, slow breathing, and a renewed appreciation for retail therapy, as well as the power of no, as applies to the ceaseless mom-taxi life. Sometimes the best life of me rates higher than yours, kid, just for an hour or so, and yesterday was that one.

Ever get the feeling that your world is not worthy? What I have to say, the ‘problems’ I encounter, so small, that sharing them just feels …almost inappropriate?

I’ve not been writing, and I’m trying to dive in on this weekday of so few work hours. And it feels weird, and upsetting. And I’m going to push through it because I think of it all the time, and I’m exhausted by the ‘not doing’, if that makes any sense. So here it is.

love to you. hope you are well,


pinball retro
Photo by David Radomysler on

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


Silver or gold. A prompt.

I wrote this in twelve minutes, you try.

Silver or gold? Is it a question, or a statement?

What do you think? Is it the wealth of the boat ladies down by the shore, you’d expect gold but it’s the class, the class of the plain silver, the ‘I’m so wealthy and have been for so long, that I don’t need to do anything ornate. I’m a New England Smith for goodness sakes.’ the gold is for the Italians, the Jews, the flash.

Silver or gold? The friendships, the new ones, the old ones? I don’t know which is which, I think I probably have some of the new England boat lady in me, although I’m sure they’d dispute me, but heavily mixed with the chicken shit and mud of the maine dairy farmer, and my friendships range but none are pure. None.

Silver or gold? On the tree, a mix of both. It’s the sparkle for me, the way in which the light catches and is reflected and yet also stays in place, static and kinetic.

My kids sparkle.the dog does not. He’s a solid peace of lead. Lovely for what you need, but leaden. Don’t put your tongue on him.

Silver or gold? Both. A slurry, that molten mercurial slither. Harry potter on audio. A night alone to make a fire and look at a tree and watch truly terrible but pretty movies.

Silver or gold? snowflakes hang around the kitchen . I think they are the evergreens, despite their whiteness. Did she just call snowflakes the evergreens, despite all evidence to the absolute contrariness of that sentence? Absolutely. (third person self-referencing just temporary, i swear)

Silver or gold? The singing snowman puts them together, no ‘or’, but an ‘and’. Both, inclusive.

Silver or gold? Maude is in here somewhere? The slurry perhaps. The mixing of metals and the melt into a new form.

The visiting room at the facility, the ways in which the lovers of the newcomers cling to their patients, not knowing anything but relief that the crisis is past, that they have survived it, unlike all the people who were not here. Who didn’t make it, who didn’t get found in time.

Silver and gold? The earrings that dangle in the ears of women, the bells, the come see me, the decoration at the heart of womanhood. What is it to refuse them? to not have silver or gold, anywhere, just flesh and fabric covering bones and blood. Nothing more.

Silver or gold? Working? Plaid shirts and Vermont in mind. Mountains and old guys in pickup trucks. Which one is that?

Hey there. Do a prompt. See what you get.

love you, do.


person holding gold and silver round coins
Photo by RODNAE Productions on