Thoughts

...

I could barely believe the beauty of Manhattan Beach. Lemon trees and succulents in nearly every front yard, warm and fragrant breezes, my feet in soft sand after a painfully long winter. I’d never before attended a wedding held outside in the rain, but now I can heartily recommend it: huge smiles peeking out from under dripping raincoat hoods and umbrellas, steam rising from the pavement, the sound of water all around. ...

Lately I’ve wanted to be more creative in the physical realm versus digital. Over the past few months I have made a tangible shift in habits and possessions at home, unloading the unnecessary to […] I started an analog notebook. It’s a fuchsia Moleskine notebook, and I am filling it with pressed flowers, photos taken on instant film, and my words. I have a homely, stately little Smith-Corona typewriter now, purchased from a nice woman who had owned it since high school in the 60’s, and I incorporate its use into my analog journaling. My d[…] ...

I receive an email from my landlord. Our lease here will be renewed for one final year. Two hours later, I plant the first seeds of spring in newspaper pots and set them under the grow light to germinate. I’m so far behind, but I couldn’t bear to start seeds this year, not with a household move looming. But now, this unexpected change of plans. I think I can catch up. ...

https://youtube.com/watch?v=D1bUDS2rwP8 Fitting in is assessing situations and groups of people, then twisting yourself into a human pretzel in order to get them to let you hang out with them. Belonging is something else entirely—it’s showing up and letting yourself be seen and known as you really are. — Brené Brown Being seen and known as you really are…is there anything more terrifying? Or, when it finally happens, more freeing? Or, if lost, more debilitating? This morning the red-winged blackbirds are in full song.

Know, first, who you are; and then adorn yourself accordingly. – Epictetus I’m shedding clothing that I’ve kept for decades, things that I’ve held dear. A race t-shirt from 1990. A tailored, pinstriped suit from 1998. A black backless gown with beading along the hemline, the one that used to turn heads. I pull it all from the closet, sort it into piles for consignment, donation, and cleaning rags. What is left? Only what I really need. Two shirts. Four skirts. A pair of jeans. All are of the dust, and all turn to dust again, does it really matter all that much what we wear on our bodies? I know myself and adorn myself accordingly: I am a caretaker, a breadwinner, obedient to divine ordinance, pushing deeper into the closet toward the back wall and emptiness.

I work with my hands to heal: A pencil roll for my sweet artist. New cotton coasters to protect wood. A Minecraft t-shirt repurposed into a journal for a birthday gift to a friend. Pages of pen and ink mandalas, to quiet my mind.

When I am an old woman, I will be a milkweed seed pod drying in the sun, wrinkled and spotted. You will pull me open on the seam until my silver-white floss pushes through, and you’ll blow my sweet, tender seed to the wind until I am an empty shell.

Three things that remind me of you: the Hillstreet Blues theme song plum eyeshadow seashells You were the first, the first one to push through the membrane between our worlds. I touched the soft stretch marks on your belly after you’d gone, while you were still warm. Hours later in the shower, I stood helpless under the water as your final minutes repeated over and over again in front of my unseeing eyes. ...

I had a lot of time to say goodbye to the places where I’d spent most of my time, but wasn’t able to say goodbye to the people who I’d miss the most. People > places. I was disappointed.