Friday, August 29, 2014

My son

My boy was here for almost a week. We wallowed in family, parties and simple meals, just being together in quiet ways and always listening to music.

I told him, now that he's mostly a grown-up, that his job is to make sure his Mom knows and listens to current music, not just things I first heard in the 70's.

He does a great job of that, often overloading my brain with this new band and "listen to this one Mom".  I love it.

We celebrated my Dad's 88th in fine style, 14 of us on my deck, eating, laughing, telling stories.

And now back to regular programming, dogs, metal, work, household, ack!


Monday, August 11, 2014

Farm to Table

It doesn't get a whole lot better than this! Nevada City, terrazzo lights, gigantic harvest moon, fine food and wonderful company.

This photo I begged from my friend Sheila Cameron, artist extraordinare.


Thursday, August 07, 2014

Mercurial creature...

It mystifies me the things that shake me up and leaves me wondering just what contributes to those dramatic changes in mood.

I don't know if my body moves with the tides anymore, surgery over a decade ago removed the offending organ and its telltale process.  Sometimes still I feel that twinge down deep in my belly and I know that those little ovaries are still trying to create life, even though that sweet seed has no place to go.

I have built a life of serenity, supported by competence, kindness, flashes of brilliance and lots of sturdy soul.

And yet I am woman, through and through, intuitive, nurturing, yielding, demanding and those wants, needs, desires very often overrule my brain and come bursting out in creative but not entirely coherent ways.

Picture me, mouth open, eyes wide, watching the charging rhino of profanity and tears. I'm so astonished, where the hell did that come from?

Often I'll blow a gasket and then it's done, just needed to get that nasty out of there, thank you very much and may I help you brush the ashes of your clothes off, sorry about the singed beard.

And sometimes lifting that lid just reveals the seething mass of sad confusion that's been drowning me. I run to my girlfriends, seeking similar minds to help me interpret the sanskrit. It's not by chance that we resemble chickens, scratching the overlayer, digging around with our beaks until our sharp eyes detect THAT and leap to tear it up, with help from the other girls. It's a brutal process, overlaid with multi experiential input that is often wise and witty but can sometimes be overly negative.

"Don't let him hurt you, it's not worth it." "You choose, not him." "He's a player, stay away."

I listen, I take it all in and do what I do best, hold each piece of wisdom up to my shining truth and sit down to work, bending and shaping with heat and persistence, hoping and knowing that something beautiful will come from the sharp edged pieces.  Often I bleed but willingly, joyful in the knowing that nothing really fine is easily crafted.

For the first time I've got someone who will weather the storm, not discounting but being open to that which needs to be seen and heard and felt.

It's ok that I don't get my way. That I have to learn to grow in another direction, at least having gained the wisdom to know that the new path may be the best yet.  And that the best thing is truly to live in the now, this moment.

Peace to you and yours,
know that I come from a place of great abundance and infinite love.