Thanksgiving was an interesting day. Mom ruined the stuffing by laying out the bread on Downy soaked kitchen towels. The strong scent and taste of fabric softener permeated the entire stuffing and after just one bite, my appetite was destroyed and the dinner was a total bust. The bright side is that I ate way less than I normally would and saved a ton of calories.

One of my best friends went home for the holiday. She enjoyed a festive 50 person Thanksgiving! Wow, I'm so envious of that. Since I've lived on the west coast and most of my family is on the east coast, my holidays tend to be a meager gathering of orphaned friends and my mother.

My best guy friend told me that his family experienced a bit of drama when his grandmother left in a huff because her dog wasn't allowed to roam freely throughout the house. His parents just got new furniture so his mother set up an area for the little dog to hang out but the dog was miserable, hence so was his grandmother, so they made an early angry exit.

Now, my friends are planning Christmas. Who knows where we'll end up or how many there will actually be. Holidays are a tricky affair and never seem to go as planned whether they are had in the usual places or during a trip.

The Christmas after my dad died, mom and I decided to go to Vegas (of all places) for Christmas. We wanted to be as far away from tradition as we possibly could. That plan was foiled when every hotel was gilded in gold and decorated with towering trees, lit up for all to see. Families were there with generations following in toe. We were faced with our reality of spending the holiday, just the two of us, alone in Vegas. We vowed never to do that again!

This year was filled with many, many changes. Old and new relationships rekindled, a few false starts and one delicately balanced in the process of ending, most likely. It is always my intention to tie up the end of the year and evaluate any served purposes. I like to start the new year fresh. No sense in dragging along a corpse (or two) into a new beginning. Besides, you can't move very fast when carrying the dead.

My cousins are facing the painful and inevitable loss of their father who's been battling cancer for a couple of years. First it was bladder cancer, then lung. Now my uncle Bob has a brain tumor and the doctors have officially given him 2 months to live. My heart aches over his suffering and the sad process of letting him go. I curse this world when the inescapable sorrow beats relentlessly at the door. It is out of our control.

His cancer brought their family back together again, which was a great, unexpected by-product of such a horrible situation. I just hope their strength can withstand the next agonizing weeks as they watch him deteriorate slowly. My whole being cries for them today.

As October is slipping away, I must honor my commitment of posting at least one new post a month. So, this is it. It is astounding how much writing I do and yet I can't seem to squeeze this in more often. However, the incredible fatigue and blurry eyes remind me that there is only so much that one can accomplish in a day.

Do you ever wonder how certain people seem to have boundless streams of undying energy? I wish I knew their secret. Today during my midday beach walk, I had to seriously push through the aching legs and the wind drag. I'm blaming part of it on the Santa Anas that suddenly raised our temperature and skyrocketed the pressure. Part of it also belongs to my hormones this week and part is just sheer fatigue.

My latest assignment is to try to keep up with a whirling dervish. A very lovable dervish, but a whirlwind, nonetheless. Well, actually that's only part of the story. My actual job is to write copy and develop content for a website launch. The whirling dervish is the guy in charge who is one of those boundless energy types I was referring to earlier. I don't know how he does it. And some nights he doesn't even sleep! Yet he manages to carry on with a smile on his face. In fact, he's so charismatic and playful you'd never know he's been running at 100 mph. I know he must be exhausted; I wonder how he does it?

As my eyelids grow heavy and a yawn crawls across my face I wish I was one of them. I'm doing my best to keep up with all the exciting events as they unfold and still manage to fit in the stuff I need for me. If I can keep up my yoga practice and continue to produce great work, then I'll consider that a victory. And if my blog suffers for a little while, well...

I just read the most interesting short story by Midge Raymond titled Two Lies and a Truth. In it, two friends consistently play a game where each has to guess which of the three statements is true. The interesting turn of events occurs when one friend discovers the other is cheating with her boyfriend. One break-up leads to the original friend cheating on the other friend with the same boyfriend. What a dark and delicious turn of events.

What strikes me most occurs at the end when the previous girlfriend, who is now the "other woman," admits that she has no illusions about what she's doing and no longer believes in "fantasies, in loyalty, in happily ever after." She continues, "What I believe now changes and morphs, the truth fluid and malleable, ebbing and flowing the way friendships bend and stretch but rarely break."

Boy this passage has my mind reeling. Is this the ultimate destination for us women? Do we eventually arrive at the realization that there really is no absolute truth? Do we have to make peace with the fact that everything we thought we knew and believed actually turns out to be false? Like, loyalty in friendships and partnerships and the happily ever after mythology. The other end of this existential dilemma resides in the acceptance of the disillusionment and the twisted revenge. I mean, the previous "cheatee" is now the cheater. She boldly embraces her ex's improved treatment of her, now that she's the other woman.

What does this say about relationships? How many are based on a lie or a series of lies?

Years ago, I ended a friendship. I couldn't stomach being drawn into my friend's web of lies. She was lying to her husband about her huge financial mismanagement and expected me to lie with her. I couldn't do it. I wouldn't do it. I had to walk away from that friendship because I couldn't accept that my friend could be so cold and calculating with her supposed beloved. Naive, yes, but crooked no, that's just not me.

I knew my friend married him because he as a doctor and would be a good provider. He was a good provider and never expected or required her to work. That, however, was not good enough for her, she wanted more. She not only wanted more, she took more than he could possibly make in order to keep her in the lifestyle she wanted. Due to her unbelievable expectations, she got them both into tremendous debt - and he was clueless.

Years have passed and I no longer know what happened to that couple. I always thought that when the shit hits the fan, it was going to be one hell of a mess. But, you know, I wonder if he still isn't living in some form of denial. Even after he realized he had married someone a little different than he thought, he was loyal to her. I wonder if he still is?

My question now, today, is: Are there any genuine relationships based on total trust and absolute honesty? Or is that too just another fantasy I have to outgrow?

Remember back in grade school when all you had to do to become best friends with someone was to basically declare it? "You're my new best friend." And your friend would agree and it was settled. BFF's forever, or until you got in a big fight and found a new besty.

In romance, a boy would ask a girl to "go with him," where exactly usually meant to his bedroom, when his parents weren't home, to make-out. Or to the movies, or roller skating and it always included lots of hand holding and the wearing of his jacket. The girl would say, yes, and it was a done deal. You were a couple. Remember those days? Today, things are very different and I'm not really sure why.

At this moment, I have several sets of friends in uncomfortably ambiguous relationships fraught with entirely too much hidden, unspoken realities. It seems like we've become a "go with the flow" people, to our own detriment I suggest. Don't bring it up, don't rock the boat or he/she will disappear, seems to be our mantra.

But, my question is this: Why be engaged in a delicately balanced relationship where you must constantly stifle your needs for the sake of the relationship? How can that be happy or satisfying? Well, it can't in my opinion. So many people rush into relationships merely because they don't want to be alone, to then later find they are in a very unhealthy and unfulfilling situation.

Right now, I have several friends going through a separation or a divorce. I know the emotional toil they are experiencing as they try to find themselves again after the damage is done. My heart really goes out to them. We've talked about how much the fantasy never matches the reality and how we are fed visions of fairy tale endings that never seem to work out.

My friend, who's been married for 30 years, encourages me to find someone to be miserable with and just be miserable together. He says, if you can find someone who makes you laugh, then that's the best you should expect. After all, as the years go by, the other stuff fades anyway. At least, according to him.

I read a recent poll that asked women what made them most happy and they responded with: sleep, rest, eating, sex and a few more things that may surprise you. But not one of the items on the list included marriage.

I can't help wonder, is marriage just broken? Have times changed too much, too rapidly, to keep pace with an institution based on the ideals of yesterday? Were people really happy then or did they just not know any different? And if marriage is outdated, can a solitary life be a happy one?

Any thoughts? I'd love you to share some.

This week, I found out someone I went to school with died suddenly from a heart attack. She was 56 years old. The news is very sad, not because I knew her well, but because she just graduated from college and was looking forward to getting her teaching credential and starting a new chapter in her life. Everyone who knew her in school was shocked and deeply saddened by her passing.

Earlier, the same day I got the news about Joni's death, another friend posted on her Facebook status this question: If you died suddenly, what would you miss most? Pretty ironic, no? It was fascinating to read people's responses. One woman posted that she would miss lobster, apple pie and blueberry pancakes. Another one posted that he would miss his cats and ganga. And of course the list went on.

I asked someone close to me the same question, and this is what he said:

I’d miss the cool breeze after a rain when the world is fresh and shiny and clean.

I’d miss chocolate chip cookie dough sweet and grainy as it melts in my mouth.

I’d miss staying up till 2AM to finish a really good book.

I’d miss watching a new movie both thought provoking and tear jerking, salty popcorn by my side.

I’d miss the butterflies I get when your warm lips touch mine.

I’d miss the feel of my lover, spooning in bed, sated and content.

This had me thinking about the things I would miss most. I originally said that I would miss:

I'd miss the perfume the sun makes when it warms fragrant Eucalyptus trees

I'd miss pink buttercream roses atop a delicious chocolate cake

I'd miss the feel and smell of puppies, with their warm bellies and happy faces

I'd miss the scent and sound of the turbulent ocean, undulating ever so steadily

I'd miss my lover's hands gliding along my skin.

I'd also miss:

-floating in a warm pool, and swimming

-really silky clean sheets after a relaxing salt bath

-a perfect latte

-Italian food, including: spaghetti with meat sauce, pepperoni pizza, mushroom risotto, etc...

-a pampering spa day

-making a difference in someone's life

My list could go on and on...

As I read it, it occurs to me how simple and sensory the items are. I also recognize what's missing from my list. Some omissions now appear blatantly obvious. For example, the people I love, poetry, seeing and exploring new or exotic places, etc...

Okay, I have to come back to this because after all this talk of food, I need to go for a walk before I eat something else.

TBC.

Yesterday, was a great day. I met up with three friends, at three different times, and enjoyed great conversations, brainstorms and general merriment. As a writer, I often spend the majority of my day alone, in front of this computer. So when I have dates planned with some of my favorite folks, it's truly a refreshing change.

One of my friend's from college is a fellow writer and we discussed the balancing act between our writing lives and the rest of our other personas. It's reassuring to hear that she suffers from what most other artists/writers are plagued with, and that is the need to have time and space for our brains to focus solely on creative pursuits. When I am in creative writing mode, the real world ceases to exist. In other words, it is inevitable that other "real life" stuff will suffer and slip through the cracks.

Being torn in multiple directions is our modern dilemma, I realize that, but for writers it's especially challenging. And, because we are by nature relatively antisocial, it's even more challenging to keep our relationships alive and thriving when we have a cast of characters living in our own heads, begging for attention. Add on top of that, growing up as an only child, where my imagination was my only friend and you'll know why I am single.

Another friend of mine and former boss, discussed the challenges of motherhood and professional success. At the pinnacle of her corporate career, she suffered a brain aneurysm and nearly died. She admitted to a high level of stress colliding into an uncomfortable, impossible sandwich feeling. She also mentioned that recently she's had a lot of friends, between their 40's-50's, die unexpectedly. Stress from the balancing act perhaps?

Add to that the stress of raising young children or teenagers who are continually bombarded with sexually explicit images that reinforce their value as merely sexual beings. I can't imagine raising young girls today, with the threat of sex-traffickers lurking around every corner, looking for easy targets. And what about the wide-spread objectification and commodification of female bodies? How can we conquer that?And how does any mother sleep?

So, what's on my mind today is how to manage the mess! The mess that is life. Life is a very complex, messy, unrelenting series of decisions, troubles and genuine heartaches - and that's on an average day. On really bad days the damage can run the gamut from job loss to cancer diagnosis', to death. Fortunately, we get truly wonderful days too. Ones filled with friends, great food, creative inspiration and unexpected surprises. Those are the days I try to multiply. It is my theory that if we all had more of those days, there would a lot less of the other ones, including the ones where young girls and boys are the victims of abuse.

Care to weigh in on how you balance it all? I'd love to hear what you have to say.

The raspberry-spinach salad is made and chilling in the fridge. The shrimp is marinating in olive oil, lemon zest and garlic and is waiting to be seared. The pasta water's coming up to a slow simmer, waiting for the farfalle to dive on in, and I am waiting for my lunch date to arrive. I'm looking forward to the lemon, garlic-shrimp pasta for many reasons, but particularly because I know the price of shellfish is going to skyrocket after the disastrous oil spill in the gulf.

Today, I heard one of those morning talk show commentators mention that it took Obama a month before he met with the president of BP. People seem outraged that our President hasn't done enough, soon enough, regarding this disaster. This makes me wonder about our expectations in the media and with our leadership in general. In our ever increasing, highly visible society, where everyone announces everything from what they're having for dinner to which candidate wears the most fashionable hairstyle on their facebook page or twitter updates, it only makes sense that we, as a nation, feel outraged over Obama's less than visible attention to such an important matter. But, my question is, is it true?

This makes me wonder, are we so used to hearing about useless daily details that the more important stuff doesn't float to the surface anymore? Or, perhaps it's that the important discussions are held behind closed doors and are not discussed unless there's a big push from a strong arm to do so. I am just as perplexed as everyone as to why this disaster has gone on so long and why our leaders didn't react right away to this crisis. I'm doubly perplexed as to why a dangerous practice like transport & drilling doesn't come with a safeguard or action plan already in place, well in advance of an incident occurring. Who regulates this industry? More importantly, who benefits from this disaster? Surely, it isn't us.

Well, since I obviously have more questions than answers, I'll get back to my lunch preparation. I'll savor my fresh shrimp pasta and hope it won't be my last taste of fresh seafood from the gulf in a long while. If this doesn't raise glaring awareness about conservation, what will?

You're probably asking yourself where I've been. Well, let me tell you, the past month has been a whirlwind of activities, local travel, commencement ceremonies, many stresses and a couple illnesses thrown in for even more fun to add to the plate. Today, thankfully, I am well, I am happy and all is right with the world. (Big sigh)

First, I should brag that I graduated cum laude with a B.A. in Literature and Writing. The commencement ceremony was this past Saturday in Del Mar, and it was wonderful. I was giddy nearly the entire time. Relief and joy radiated from me like the scent of eucalyptus from sun warmed leaves. The day was utterly satisfying. Even more so because I felt so loved by the turn out of my friends who suffered through a 2.5 hour ceremony!

Afterwards, my mother hosted a lovely outdoor luncheon at a private cabana at L'Auberge, in Del Mar. My gang and I dined on incredible food, drank delicious wine and savored a sweet buttercream cake to finish the meal. I felt so loved and fortunate to have people close to enjoy and celebrate one of my accomplishments.

This day came on the heels of a nasty case of bronchitis followed by pneumonia, so needless to say I was doubly glad to be there. Getting sick really taxes not only your body but also your emotions. I felt so vulnerable and fragile while I hacked and coughed and sweated with fever. I kept wondering if I would even live to walk on graduation day. I know that sounds dramatic, but I honestly don't remember ever being so sick.

Besides being emotional, I also found myself becoming very clear about what I want and need in life. All the extraneous stuff fell aside, revealing the bare essence of what is truly important to me. Upon that epiphany, I felt peaceful and resolutely clear, in spite of my lackluster energy. As I quieted my mind, rested my body and did only what I needed to in order to survive, I somehow found my center, so to speak.

Interesting how my body was sick, sore and slowly healing, yet at the same time my spirits were high and resolute. It was as if my body needed a time-out in order to tap into that reservoir that holds the wisdom that dwells deep inside. Cup after cup, sip by sip, I listened and I heard. This kind of magic always seems to happen when I'm at a crisis point or a major crossroads.

I'm sharing this with you because comfort can be found. So if you find yourself in an unbearable, overwhelming, or overtaxing situation and you want to run away and hide or pull the covers over your head until all the oxygen is sucked out of the room, take heart. Or a more accurate way to say this might be, take heed. If you stop and take some time to listen, your answer will come. It's already there inside your body. Things will get sorted out if you listen to what needs to be done or not done, and if you follow that inner wisdom. You can rely on this and you can depend on this. This I know.

The Denver writer's conference (AWP) was an incredible collection of scholars, writers, publishers, editors and nearly everything in between that deals with the business of writing. Three full days of meetings and three nights of readings meant a very full headspace when I returned back to my quieter world in San Diego, CA.

Yesterday, I was exhausted from post travel activities, which included: unpacking, laundry, catching up on endless emails, and preparing for the week ahead. Whew! The past week has been a whirlwind and an eye opener. I did manage to sneak in a DVD to rest a bit and really enjoyed the 2009 film, Adam. A romantic comedy about a young man with Asperger's Syndrome and a beautiful teacher/writer and their evolving romance.

What struck me most about the film was the way in which communication is delivered or mishandled in relationships and the many challenges that come from trying to get inside another's mind. Even without any neuro-deficiencies, it's tough. The film beautifully illustrates the complexity, difficulty or inability to read another's intentions, body language or sarcasm. I don't think anyone needs to have a "syndrome" to be challenged by any of these, social cues or not.

Today, I feel like one of those challenged folks as I scratch my head in utter bewilderment. I heard, what should be joyful news in any other context, that a local poet just won the Pulitzer Prize for one of (their) books. Let me first clarify that I am not up for such an award and am not jealous of anyone winning an award, in fact, to the contrary. I am delighted when someone (worthy) is recognized by such an esteemed bunch. I mean what writer wouldn't be thrilled to win the Pulitzer, right? (And also thrilled for their contemporaries, especially when not competing with them.) So, why does this news irritate me so much?

What causes me confusion is the climate of what is esteemed at this particular point in time in literature. One of the goals of language, I thought, is to make meaning. To communicate your thoughts, feelings, preferences, etc...to another human being. Language was created because we can't read each other's minds, at least not yet ;). However, in the world of poetry, in particular, the opposite seems true. What is celebrated today is often obtuse, disconnected, sparce and utterly void of any meaning making. Often impersonal, overly clever, creepy and highly cerebral, contemporary poetry is often void of any realness, humanness, softness, or heart and soul. I know, I know, some of you intellectuals are already rolling your eyes right now at my use of the words "heart" and "soul," well pardon me. I do not live merely in my head and can't stomach those who do.

What happened to the poets who emoted? When did real feelings and personal experiences go out of style? Are we moving toward an even more impersonal, flarful world? I thought it was the poets who helped us see beyond the material landscape? We are supposed to be the brave ones, the ones others turn to when they can't find the words or make meaning for themselves. Poets are the ones that are not afraid to say what we feel and allow others to really peer inside, right? If poets don't serve this purpose, who will?

One of the interesting, and by interesting, I mean disappointing things I noticed about most of the live readings I went to in Denver, was that for a group of "sensitive" types, their work was sorely lacking any sensitivity. Most performed overly clever, glib, let me impress you with some random nonsense style, that I managed to be superficially moved to only occasional laughter. A small fraction, maybe 2 or 3, moved me in a deeper way, Jill Alexander Essbaum was one of them. This I did not expect. It makes me wonder if we have given up on the idea of making meaning, or is anything meaningful to us anymore? Is the job just too daunting, or are we just too lazy or fearful to go there?

If you have any thoughts on this topic, I'd love to hear from you. Please clue me in on what I'm missing. Shed some light on this for me, please. I'm obviously out here in the dark.

A Book Review…………………………………………………Jeannine Clark

Chelsey Minnis is BAD BAD

just ask her -

or as I like to say,

here’s a little book to find some punishment in –

both personally, academically and professionally.

Pow - Pow, are you ready?

PREFACE 1

Chelsey says in preface 54: the force of poetry is freely said truth…

She also claims in preface 2: Poetry careers are a bad business…(ut oh).

PREFACE 2

This is supposed to be a good poem placed very gently upon the desk…according to preface 37.

PREFACE 6

I had to agree with preface 36: “Poetry writing” is a hardship…

An image of a hungry homeless person standing on the corner with cardboard sign in hand reading – Will Write for Water, or Poetry for Pennies, or Hungry Poet Begs for Anything you can spare, comes to mind when I read this one.

PREFACE 9

In preface 20: I am a poet so I can say things…

AND

Preface 3 asserts: If you are a poet then it should be foremost on your mind to say something and not conceal it……………………………pretty much sums up this book.

PREFACE 13

Now, preface 1 is filled with goodies like: If you try to write a good poem again and again for years and years and receive no awards, no money, no nothing…then you’re happy…

And, all these blurbs are for s---. Like if I were to carry around a turd and pretend it is my baby…

(Where does she come up with these things?)

PREFACE 17

Poetry is crap since there’s no money or fast cars in it…………………….another glorious………………….revelation………………..from preface 1.

PREFACE 20

At one point I picked up her book and thought it was upside down, but then I realized it was right side up but felt upside down, and sideways, even though the writing was perfectly horizontal, if that makes any sense.

PREFACE 24

You may be wondering by now why I am including so many prefaces to this book review, if Chelsey can include 68 in her book BAD BAD, then I figure a few in here won’t hurt.

PREFACE 29

Critics rave about her elliptical style……..there’s much left out………..some oddness…….irreverent references……………..mocking………….cunning……………poking holes………………….bang, bang……………………………..shot, until you’re bleeding pink and white stripes……………………..who says you need to be paid to be taken seriously?

PREFACE 33

Incongruent emotions.

PREFACE 37

Loathing………………..you can guess at what, right?

PREFACE 46

Punchy, provocative, smart and fresh, in places……………….sometimes too dramatic for my taste………………other times, simply sublime.

PREFACE 51

You get to read between the lines.

PREFACE 53

She’s a bit obsessed with death and her death wishes.

PREFACE 55

Ooops, there’s a break in the text I’m not sure what’s missing . See what I mean?

PREFACE 56

Symbols used throughout the book: stars, hearts, crosses, two-headed dear, swords, skulls, birds, diamonds, coffins, crescent moon, money, magic 8 ball, coffin, rainbow, rose, cloud, gemstone, whip, the number 13, and of course, the dot……………………….hmmmm.

PREFACE 58

SAD, sadness too, questionable mental health, good times for her, so it seems.

PREFACE 61

FENCE BOOKS is her publisher. On the back cover the words Decadent! Childish! Are in bubbles - to be ironic I’m thinkin’…….along with a dollar sign. Mocking perhaps?

PREFACE 67

Underpants……..Mildred……..F Lute………Man-Thing……….Don’t do it some more………………………..Double Black Tulip….Truck….P-IRATE………..(I love that last one, the word, not the section as much)…..Foxina…….Men Cry Because of the Heat…Clown……FiFi, NO….NO………P.Chelsey…..Friendship…….C-Passion…….and the two……………….best of the bunch: Anti Vitae………………….-5 Negative…..to name most of her works inside the covers, after the 68 prefaces.

PREFACE 68

Before you read the actual book review, I’d like you to try an exercise or two based on one of her amusing sections. You are invited to write down all the things you think you’ve had points deducted for - that you feel were unfair or just plain wrong. It is called the -5 (Negative 5). For example, if you were scolded as a kid for chewing gum too loud, or for dropping something, or if you accidentally ran over your neighbor’s cat, you would write down:

-5 for chewing gum too loud

-5 for dumping eggs all over my mother’s lap even though I cooked them for Mother’s Day.

-5 for accidentally running over the neighbors cat…

-5 for excessive yawning…etc….etc….get the idea?

Keep going until you create a list of things you’ve had 5 points deducted for. It’s fun, I promise.

The other fantastic, original, insightful exercise you’ll want to try is titled: Anti Vitae, which is the chronology of what she didn’t do well in each year or span of time. For example:

1977-1984 Nothing of Interest

1984 Performed poorly in math. Taken aside by math teacher.

Receded into mediocrity of math.

D+ in conduct.

1985-1988 College application rejected by Cornell, Tufts, Northwester, Dartmouth etc…

45% in math.

You get the idea. Go on, it’s fun to remember all your disasters, failures and overall disappointments. Think of it as the anti-resume.

*If you’re looking for the actual review, well it’s left out silly….that’s what ellipses do. (Duh!)

A stomach ache has been annoying me for days now and is still hassling me as I write this. A case of nerves is the diagnosis - with no cure in sight. This irritating way in which I deal with stress is a real drag, to say the least.

I keep reminding myself of John Keats' theory of Negative Capability and how successful people are able to reside in the unknown or unresolved without tossing their cookies. Then, of course, I berate myself for not being one those successful sorts who can allow conflict and uncertainty to wash off their backs like yesterday's morning shower suds. Be in the mystery, I remind myself, throw away the need to find rational explanations for everything. My mantra is: move into receptive intuition, open up to all possibilities...yeah, easier said then done.

I could give you a list of what is gripping me at the moment, but I won't do that to you; it's a long list. I'd rather just say, if you are squeezed by the grip of doubt, uncertainty, fear, or if someone you care about has upset you, take heart, you're not alone. Many, many souls that have come before us have lived in the great mystery and some even wrote about it. Sometimes just knowing others struggle with the same things makes the struggle a little easier to bear.

untitled found poem - wordy exercise might surprise

melodies marauding messages

applauding man- hiding

behind mirrored awnings

manly voices, violent vices

masculine music, masks like a lion

canoes are colliding

roars in your elbow

bows at the choir

reeks and perspires -

masked deceptions, played like a pirate

packed in a suitcase, led to an island

maniacal hobbit trapped like a pigeon

caged in a door jam

pounced from a dungeon

Hearsay -

I say

he said that I’ll pay

heretic

predicates

as he insinuates

pretense is self-hate

perpetuates, manipulates

twists his fatal

choices can’t quite liberate that

itchy nose irritates

take back that angry day

no longer in a trance

he sank his only chance

fat chance he’ll understand

how I can take a stand

put him in that exiled place

I will not, cannot oscillate

who needs to populate?

allow others to manipulate!?

fuck that!

not willing to smile and wait!!

clings to his tribal ship –

plank – splat, he fell from it

scratched from decaying waste

landfill of mashy taskmasters

slip past the wolf’s fierce claws

untangle mired laws

stick to that band of mine

tear off the scab to

heal, dry the crying eyes

drink some wine

take some time

Proverbs 13:20 - He who walks with wise men will be wise, but the companion of fools will suffer harm.

I've been thinking a lot about the quote, "show me your friends and I'll tell you who you are." I wonder if it's always true? I believe it's usually true, but I know there are many friendships that are geared around companionship or shared activities that only reflect a small part of your personality. For example, at my gym, everyday around lunch time a diverse group of men meet to play basketball. They definitely have the love of basketball in common, but not necessarily anything else. Some may be married, some single. Some educated, some tradesmen. Some are younger, some older. There are many differences that can be observed on the surface that negate that notion of birds of a feather, flock together. Can a statement like that be definitive?

If you want to raise your tennis game, play with better players. The same holds true in other areas of life. Intellectuals discuss different things than laborers. But, what perplexes me most is the question: how do you know when all the common denominators that once held your friendship together are completely gone? What about the friends you once knew and enjoyed and have been loyal too, aren't they worth holding onto, even when you have grown in separate directions? Do you just drift into 'once in a while' friends? Stay connected for continuity sake? What is the ultimate cost of that?

I ended a friendship recently for many reasons, but the most important reason was because I knew this friend was deliberately trying to hurt me. The mean streak reared its ugly head and I nipped it before it showed up again. There are a lot of things in life we can't control, but allowing someone to beat you up is not one of them. No amount of meanness, verbal abuse or otherwise will be tolerated or allowed to continue, ever. I've put up with a lot of annoyances in order to keep some friendships alive, but I absolutely will not put up with intentional harm, even if it's merely a by-product of someone else's insecurity. I'll get secure friends.

Talking with a friend the other day I mentioned, if we only looked for perfect friends we'd never have any. However, as I grow older and become more discerning, the line between bearable and optimal is growing that much wider. Optimal friendships allow for honest communication, enjoyment and a feeling that you've been lifted up after you're with them. There is a sense of calm and ease and usually laughter when your with the right people, or "your people." Bearable friendships are forced, inauthentic and filled with far too much compromise and tongue biting. They are draining, more work than their worth, and end up costing you way too much on every level.

So the next logical question is this: What do you do when you are in between that wide gap of having some or none, but what you do have is definitely not what you want? Embrace the loneliness until a new one comes along? Tolerate an old one? The one thing I've learned for sure is, you can't change someone, no matter how much you want to, try to, or how much they acknowledge that they want and need to change. Change truly comes from within - though pressure from without can encourage it along.

I'm still in a dreamy state from my ultra relaxing yoga class today. I swear the entire class fell asleep during Savasana, including me. I could tell from the dazed and confused looks on all their faces, as if woken from a delicious dream.

I'm listening to a medley of New Orleans Jazz in anticipation of a friend's visit at the end of the month when we'll be dining at Ralph Brennan's Jazz Kitchen. There is something dreamy, romantic and festive about those horns that seem to seep into your soul and elevate your mood even when it's already in a peaceful state. Part party, part entertainment mixed with adventure and danger, just like the friend I'm seeing. My imagination conjures up hot southern nights, weeping willows glowing under misty lantern light, bourbon, silver shakers full of potent punch and men smoking cigars in black blazers.

My friend asked me what inspires me and the words irony, tragedy, and genuine heroics came to mind. Strange for a romantic poet I'm thinking. Then again, perhaps not. Many great things have been written with those three at the center. The harder thing to figure out is: the more we clamor after the answers, trying to grasp a piece of one, even when we know our attempts are going to be futile, the further away they slip. It's the mysteries that boggle the brain. The more we want to connect the dots the more the whole thing looks like an unending ink blot bleeding into endless forms. If only we could make sense of the light surrounding the dark spots.

I am procrastinating, again. There are tons of projects I need to tackle and finish and here I sit noodling around on my blog. I want to excuse myself by saying that every creative person hims and haws before getting down to business, that it's natural to avoid things that require a little more energy than we wish to expend; and the classic excuse...I always end up finishing what needs to be done so I shouldn't worry. Those statements are all true, but when it comes to writing, it requires time for rewriting and rewriting, which means I don't have time to waste.

Okay, note to self:

1. carve out time to write about my new cowgirl boots and the implication of owning them

2. finish the two poems I started this weekend

3. rewrite the Rhino piece for Erin before she fires me

4. respond to Sandra's comments and do all the writing she's expecting by Wednesday

5. prepare your weekly calendar for the hectic tasks ahead

5.5. stop worrying about the filming on Tuesday

6. stop thinking about men and kisses

7. stop eating all those damned carbs, just stop

8. remember to dust your room once in a while

9. start on the paper that's due in a couple weeks

10. write down everything you've been forgetting to do

Okay, now I think I can/should get back to work so I can blog again, someday.

girls on the boulevard

aglow under the neon

fatherless girls

walk and wait

unprotected

swish, swish

he’ll do it

he’ll fill her with

his DNA and a few bills

then vanish

she’ll remain

vacant

hungry

homeless

sold

we won't see it

we don't watch that

we refuse to go there

our lives don't intersect

hers

but she's there

everyday.

I know that 'Black Place' Georgia O’Keefe painted - not the one in New Mexico. I’ve been there. That day, at the Whitney, was a flashback to the scariest place I've ever been. Georgia painted canvas after canvas of haunting dark images of her nervous breakdown. Where once she embodied vibrant happy flowers, now in that room, on that day, she's filled with dark canyons. On that day, I saw a familiar friend. Georgia had nearly fallen into that endless cavern beneath valleys of coal and grays. She had seen it firsthand, I know. What once delighted her senses vanished. She slipped, barely able to hold onto a crumbling shale face with flimsy fingernails, exhausted in that treacherous terrain. Sliding down deeper, cut up, unable to find a place to hold onto, terrified; no signs pointing the way home. Suspended, black isolation.

That room, on that day, held out a life preserver - where the seas once threatened to drown me. Along the streets of Manhattan, a shadow loomed in the distance. He was there. He tried to push me down like a schoolyard bully. He stalked me, tried to rob me, bam, bam- beat me down into a soppy puddle. Ha! This bully underestimated me. You are nothing more than a grain of sand between my toes, easily washed away and barely bothersome. What a fool. Poor, sad dragon. I pity you dragon. Your flames are nothing more than a whisper of smoke. You are small and pathetic now. You are nothing more than a lizard I can crush with just one brush of my foot. You should fear me dragon!

A little bout of insomnia has me up way later than normal, and as a result, I happen to catch some tasteless, late-night TV that I wouldn't usually watch. Well, last night I'm embarrassed to admit that I watched an episode of Howard Stern, yes I know, ick. He was playing a version of the dating game and had three women (aged 23-35) on that wanted to win a date with Artie Lange, a 300+ pound comedian/sidekick of Howard's. Okay, so he's a little on the heavy set side, everyone deserves love, right?

One by one, each girl was asked a series of questions, like: How many sexual partners have you had? What kind of sexual acts do you like to perform on men? What's your favorite sex act? Are you shaved down there? And the list goes on. One by one, each girl answered the barrage of questions - so intimate and personal I'm sure their Grandmothers were passing out right and left or rolling over in their graves. I'm sure their admission of enjoying being pounded hard from behind made their mothers and fathers so proud!

As I watched this spectacle, I couldn't help wonder why in the world any woman would go on Howard Stern in the first place and furthermore, why on earth would they answer any of those questions willingly and sober? Is Artie Lange, a fat, vulgar, obsessive-compulsive drug addict & drunk such a catch that women have to stoop to such low levels to snag that prize? It was so clear that not only Artie lacked self-esteem and human decency and looked like a depressed mess, but these women had to lack any amount of self-worth to compete for him! What does that say about them? What does that say about women in our culture? If you're fuckable and willing to do anything to prove it, you're a good little obedient girl. (Pat pat) Thank you, thank you! Please, yes, pick me. I'll do anything! Come on!!!

Women need to wake up! There is no man on earth worth disrespecting yourself over. Grow up! Grow a backbone! Stand up and shout, I'm not going to take it anymore and mean it! Be a self-respecting woman willing to walk away from anyone and anything that wants to tear you down and chip away at your self-esteem. Trust me, they aren't worth it. The cost is too high. If you don't end up feeling like a used and discarded object, then you might end up with a nice case of Hep C or the clap! You would be better off staying home, painting your toenails or cleaning your bathroom or reading, dare I say a book, than spend a hot second with a self loathing, male chauvinist pig whose only interest in you is whether or not you're going to suck his dick.

Artie said that his perfect date would be watching the game with his buddies, playing a little poker, drinking beers and at the END of the night, his woman would come over to fuck him. Really? Now ladies, that's a real winner! I can see why you would line up to capture that gem.

Answer me this: What is wrong with our culture and how did we get here? Worse yet, how is it these women don't see how degraded and exploited they are?

At a birthday party recently, a 38-year old, admitted playboy, bragged that he is such a frequent patron of the nine-ten bar in La Jolla that he can consume $100 dollars in liquor and end up paying only $20. I’m assuming he shared this bit of information to somehow impress me – it didn’t.

A friend, whose income is 1/5 of her boyfriend’s, was fed up with his continual bragging of the surf trip he is taking to Indonesia, she spoke up and finally said how much she wanted to go to Indonesia, someday. He replied, “Then go.” She clarified by saying she couldn’t afford a trip like that, hoping he would understand and perhaps even suggest that someday he would take her. He missed it and replied again, “why don’t you just go if you want to go.”

Last night, a group of my friends were meeting for Happy Hour (HH) at Pacifica in Del Mar. A friend and I arrived early to scout out a table because the bar gets packed every night of the week there. While we were waiting for a table to open up, a young server came over and suggested we get a drink, assuring us that a table should be available shortly. Our group prefers to go out for HH because we are all budget conscious. Also, by starting the evening early we can be sobered up before driving back to our perspective homes.

The server showed us the menu and said there were drink specials for HH, we asked about prices, she said we could get well drinks for $5-6. Great! By the time our drinks arrived we had snagged a table and our other friends arrived. At the end of the evening our bill came, but the story had changed. We were charged $9 each for our drinks, almost double what was told us.

My artist friend and I spoke up about the bill in defiance of our visibly embarrassed friend who would rather die than dispute a check. I tried to explain that it just wasn’t fair that we were told one price and then charged nearly double. It was as much principle as dollars and cents. Ignoring her stink eye, we fought for what was right and had the check adjusted. I’m not sure if it was more necessity or justice that provoked our action, but it was clear that we were not bothered by how we appeared to the server, we were bothered by the injustice. This event highlighted the difference in how different people can/do care about very different things, fundamental things. My mortified friend was more concerned over her reputation and appearances, so much so in fact, she was willing to pay the difference in order to shut us up. She overpaid and over-tipped in an attempt to counteract our “ill manners.” (Not her words, her thoughts I presumed from the look on her horrified face.)

This has me thinking a lot about the haves and the have-nots and how socio-economics plays a large role in who you spend time with. People with above average incomes take for granted their dispensable spending money. My friends who are artists, writers, students or office workers, all have to watch every penny that leaves their hands. We don’t have a surplus, every dollar counts. Each weekly, or monthly in some cases, entertainment spending decision must be weighed carefully against the practical concerns of living expenses. Some manage the juggling act better than others, some fail miserably. As someone who went from the corporate world with steady paychecks, benefit plans and subsided health care, I am acutely aware of how much I didn’t think about those things until they were gone. An extra drink at a bar or an overly generous tip didn’t concern me in the least. I had more than enough to experience most things I chose to do.

It’s easy to forget where another person’s coming from when you’re so wrapped up in yourself. This is what’s fundamentally wrong with our culture in Southern California. I won’t overstate it by moving beyond my sunshine borders, but I would guess this epidemic is far more expansive than my corner of the world.

Today I worked with words, not in the way I usually do, but in an experimental series of word associations. It struck me that an issue that I thought was tapering off kept showing up in my word choices. It reminded me of the word association game that psychiatrists use on their patients, (at least from what I've seen in the movies) the one where the doctor asks the patient to say the first word that comes to their mind. As I worked through about six different exercises, I noticed the trend. I also noticed that my words were blameful. I was honest and called it like I saw it, but I felt myself get angry as this theme developed. It occurred to me that I am (still) equally angry with myself, just as much as I am angry with him. What do I do with it? I, metaphorically speaking, put the period at the end of that sentence, heck, I punctuated that whole chapter; but, why then is it coming up so fresh in my writing? Perhaps it's too soon to dismiss the whole thing, even though I certainly have tried.

When you close the door on a life you don't want, how long before you're ready to open up a new one? I know there is no concrete answer to this. It surely varies from person to person, from situation to situation, and each time is different, I suppose. I'd love to be able to see, really see, how others deal with endings and beginnings in their lives? Wouldn't it be enlightening to really peer inside of another and see if there's peace in their soul? And if not, how long does it take for their peace to return?

Poetry at least provides me peace and is my consistent resource for cathartic release. Elegy is my familiar friend in times of existential angst. The best way I can put an ending behind me is by putting pen to paper. It's done more for me than any therapist could. One day though, I would love to write something other than elegies, and I'm certain I will.

During a recent reading of Clarissa, by Samuel Richardson, the question of duty to oneself versus duty to family is raised, as well as whether a woman has to marry and become a man's possession. Women were commodities, back then. The other question raised was whether women possess virtue. Lovelace, the casanova in the book, believes no woman is virtuous; hmmm, that's the pot calling the kettle. Many other issues came up for women in the 18th Century; and it occurred to me that all of the issues in that early novel are still present today in the 21st Century. Nearly 300 years later and we human beings haven't managed to figure out how to be completely true to oneself while relating harmoniously to others, especially love and family relationships. Three Hundred Years. I understand that is a relatively short period of history if we map the entire evolution of man, but, I would think that we would've had a few more things worked out by now.

The tragic ending to Clarissa is a sobering analogy, only in death can she be free: free to remain unmarried, free from being a commodity traded by her family, and free from the power struggles and abuses she faced in life. After facing deception, exile, and ultimately ill health, Clarissa's only peace was found in her trust that life would be better after death. This ending, be it much more dramatic than my recent "ending," parallels my refusal to be dominated, controlled or over powered by a manipulative man. Like Clarissa, I'd rather live without possessions than be possessed by another whose thirst for power only highlights their deep insecurity and internal rage; and just like Clarissa, I too had to draw the line in the sand, speak my truth, and say that I would not continue down that road any longer.

As I wonder why I don't feel any better after having asserted my independence, I realize what I am feeling now is just fear of the unknown. Fear about the future is creeping in, which is a good sign, because it points to the fact that I am not tethered to a past dream, I am open and looking forward to what comes next. The next obvious question is, what comes next? This too, I do not know.

Some days I just want to be left alone, especially if I'm feeling grumpy or physically tired or when my muscles ache from an overly ambitious back bend. I often worry that as I get older I want/need more alone time. Some days turn into most days when I just don't want to be bothered by another person's need for small talk or clever repartee. Some days my vocal cords are in hibernation and refuse to leave the cave, no matter how insistent the plea may be. At the bagel shop, the book store, the market, it's just enough sometimes to say "yes, thank you, you too," and I always honor those polite social interactions, but some days it's minimal at best. I thought for a while that something was wrong with me, after all, the rest of the world seems perfectly cordial and willing to engage in idle chitchat. Why can't I? An old movie actress (Greta Garbo?) was known for her famous expression, "I just want to be left alone." If you're a movie star it seems acceptable to be reclusive and standoffish, but if you're an "ordinary" human being, it's just plain strange. I mean, God forbid if anyone goes against the grain in our homogenized culture. We are socialized to be group/community sensitive whether you feel like it or not. And I like people who are, I really do. I admire their ability to be cordial, if not annoying at times, in spite of my irritating rebellion. Thankfully, most days I can be one of "them," just not today. Today is one of those days...

Hello Blog World!

At the moment my belly is full of homemade Penne Bolognese, Caesar Salad, and Pinot Grigio, so I'm pretty happy if not slightly lethargic. I was inspired to make something completely different than the Tom Kha Soup and Jasmine rice that I had last night or the Sweet and Sour Pork with brown rice I had the night prior to that. You see, I've been on a cooking kick since I've had some time off and each night has been an excursion to some exotic land via my kitchen. I should add that at the beginning of every year I attempt to detox my system by eating only the basics like fruits and veggie soup, so after a week or so of that I needed to delve into some exotic/ethnic favorites.

For the past two years I've been on a mission to change my life. I had reached the end of my rope (career wise) and was back in school full-time, completing my Literature and Writing degree. At the onset of that decision I really believed I would end up teaching poetry at a college somewhere, but now, as I enter my final semester, I'm not so sure. I've discovered many things I know for certain I don't want to do or will never do again, but I've yet to find the "thing" I know for certain I want to do, except write.

Okay, some basics might help at this point. I am a poet, writer and foodie. I adore all three and the order changes according to my mood or the condition of my life. The name of this blog came to me the other day when I was walking or cleaning something, I can't quite remember. I kept thinking of the phrase, "the lives we find ourselves in," and it stuck and was developed into this blogspace, where I can ponder, rant, analyze and experiment with my writing life. I hope, if you're reading this, you find some nuggets of wisdom, a mountain of truth and a transparent spirit, willing to put it out there for you to (hopefully) relate to.

There are many things I hope to accomplish by keeping this blog, but you'll have to stay tuned for the entire (wish) list. I haven't quite decided if I will try to tackle each individually or post a grouping of items that are on the radar at the moment. What I do know is I will be faithful to this endeavor and attempt to revitalize this life I find myself in.

So with that, I shall end this one here by sending you many blessings and I thank you, my thoughtful reader, for stopping by.