Sunday Free Flow

Clears throat and channels inner radio personality, "It's 8:00 am, and what a beautiful Sunday morning it is in the Valley of the Sun. We're blowing off the dust and digging deep into the mental crates with DeBarge's 1983 hit, "A Dream". This goes out to all you gettin' old heads in denial and the silly youngsters who think the melody was stolen from the much later, but still great Tupac. Enjoy."

Eight something; surprising given last night's restlessness. It had to be two, or later when I finally shut down and agreed--after some gentle coaxing from the man, that it was time to retire for the day and from the worry.

My little place of peace is looking exceptionally tidy this morning; Yael is pulling out all the stops in exchange for a much coveted piece of Vampire Diaries replica jewelry. She's been so helpful since my surgery that it sorta makes up for the pubescent insanity that we've been struggling with since the separation.

I feel refreshed and ready for something fabulous today...or maybe I'm just ready for someone fabulous; Michael plans to visit soon. We're returning to center for a restorative breath after a few tender weeks. The distance has its advantages logistically as we're both adapting to major life changes, but there's no logic in love or the 2484.97 miles between us. We're pining.

My container garden is a great source of pride for me right now. Who could have known gardening would be so therapeutic. For so many years, I've been a notorious black thumb. I started the garden in December when Jordan moved out. I needed a distraction, and of course, something to nurture. Since then, I've taken on spider mites (and lost), aphids (and won), germinatin', propagatin', and harvesting. I'm sort of a big deal on the balcony. Laughs.

Coffee's tepid, gotta go.

Peace and Sunshine

Happy Returns

Early last week , I partook in a casual, neighborly chat which later manifested itself into an inspirational message. And, not just any inspirational message, but the push, the gentle nudge and the writing help I believe I needed.

During my morning walk, I came upon my neighbor Joe, a lanky older gentleman with a warm smile, an awkward gait and a plethora of knowledge about the goings-on in our complex. (More on the complexities of complex-dwelling for an introvert in posts to come.) As we made our way and routine niceties were out of the way, Joe cleared his throat and sort of randomly says, "Uh...yeah, I made it to church this Sunday." I smiled- in kind, at the sharing of information, in awkward embarrassment because I am not among the faith-filled, and lastly, in fear that the friendly talks that I've become quite fond of might somehow be thwarted if I don't play this right. (It should be known that I die inside a little each time socio politics, religion, race and education are presented for discussion.)

"Oh, did you, I say. How did it go? Excitedly, he tells me, "wonderfully, it was truly awesome". He said he was "moved" by the message and it really made him "feel great". Before I could vocalize my shared happiness at his experience, his tone and demeanor changed, just above a whisper, he leans in and says, "It's been two and a half years since I've been to church." He then winces, retreats, and I- lost for a moment turned slightly over my shoulder before realizing he was awaiting some sort of ...well, I dunno denouncement, admonishment, a verbal flogging? From me? Laughs. "I see", I say whilst nodding with my brows raised in intrigue.

Looking ahead, I mentally compute our speed of travel- which is nil, and the distance home, and proceed cautiously with, "Well, why not?" After a brief back-story about logistics and his own travails with the evil that is Divorce-asaurus Rex, he says "I just got away from it, and then it got to be so long to where I just got to feeling so bad about it that I thought I couldn't go back." I nodded, with the sides of my mouth down-turned, I find ASL has made my facial expressions more pronounced. As I catch myself doing this in lieu of speaking, I-a little past the cue, offer up a validating statement. "I see", I said, in a flat tone. I did see, and with much clarity.

Writing, and of course reading others' writing, is how I receive my message; it's how I make sense of the thoughts and feelings, the experiences, worries and fears that fill the space between my ears. Like my neighbor Joe, I suffered a few setbacks on the road I'd paved with good intentions and drifted woefully away from my place of peace. I too, felt as though I couldn't come back. I've maintained this blog since 2007, and through the years I have made incredible friendships, coming back has been hard, but staying away was harder. Two and a half years, four months...who's counting?

Peace and happy returns

The changing of my voice

"Soul Sister" earrings by Mary Jane Dodd

I've pretty much been in isolation since the collapse of my marriage. It hasn't been a stagnate isolation however, as I've progressed quite a bit throughout the months. I'd say at this point, as I'm settling into my NEW! apartment, it isn't as much isolation as it is rehabilitation. I pulled back when things got noisy, I'm an HSP, so it doesn't take much for well-intended advice and concern to cross over into agitating cacophony.

I have however, kept a little fairy door open and managed to make and keep some very special attachments on my journey to wellness and becoming whole again. The earrings in the photo above were sent to me by a fellow artist and dear, dear friend to remind me that I am "never alone". There are also, my other soul sisters and brethren who keep a song playing in my heart when I'm deaf with despair. Thank you, all.

And then, there is my partner of whom I can not say enough wonderful things, so I won't. What I will say is that for every seemingly hopeless thing I express, I am being replenished. I am being restored and the Universe has rewarded me in kind. I don't do saints, gods and demons, but I do love, and love is being done unto me.

Everyday is not a bad day, and while the intensity of this experience is discomforting, revolutions are seldom peaceful. If pressed to find the good in the worst days, I'd say it was nightfall and the knowledge that I've almost made it through.

The timing and my decision to go public with all that has transpired over the course of this year is largely in part to the discovery of a strength I never knew possible, much less a strength that I possessed. In the past I've shared recipes and movie reviews, and quips about the perils of parenting pubescent children. I thought it only fair to share the stories which lead to the changing of my voice.

Peace and thanks

Another day, another year

When I wrote this post just a few years ago, this post was a hard blink. Y'know the the blink? You do it when you hear of someone else's misfortune; a blink hard enough to will yourself invisible with hopes a similar fate doesn't befall you. These blinks can sometimes be accompanied by brisk shaking of the head to clear your mental slate of the tragic thought.

November 14, 1988 was the day it all began for Joe and I, it was the official start of our courtship. These days however, it rivals for attention on the calendar between dates like the day he moved out, the day I found out about her, his days with the children and ultimately, our day in court.

I shed a few tears of frustration moments past midnight as the "am" light on my iPod dock turned red, the date changed and I realized that today was another one of the things I forgot to grieve. There are just so many of them, those entanglements of together that I must sort through to re-establish healthy ties in a life apart. I'm ambling through a minefield of memories that woefully still have enough force to burst right through the sunshine of days' new.


"Another day, another year", I tell myself. Time is a great healer.

Peace and time

Saturday morning

It is Saturday morning, yes? I never know.

This has long been one of my favorite songs; a true classic. No matter where I've been in my life, it has resonated with me. Ever since I first heard it in the restlessness and rebellion of my youth and even today as I teeter on the precipice of a revolution.

I've got what I believe to be the flu, and what I know to be a carpet that needs vacuuming and a cat box or three that need scooping. I've also got a far more riveting piece of work in my drafts folder and some checks that need writing on my desk. I'm drinking my second mug of coffee, it's poorly pressed and grinds are settling in rings at incremental stages along the innards of my mug. I sip and swirl, sip and swirl and wonder if I should just abandon it for the perfectly brewed beer that sits in the fridge.

I'm missing a partner this morning, I don't have anything particularly profound to say, and I'm not necessarily in need of a hug, but it'd be nice to have someone on the receiving end of my rhythmic keyboard rappings and rather unpleasant cough. No, I'm not lonely, but the oneness of this Saturday morning is jarring.

Peace