We had a beautiful birth yesterday and as we were leaving the building, we ran into another client who admits to struggles with an enormous sweet tooth. She told us she dreams about giant bowls of whipped cream. Giant bowls of creamy goodness. We reminded her she could go indulge and grow a nice belly and a massive butt. She prefers to dream about swimming through frothy sweet dairy products with her mouth open rather than the alternative.

We all want our mommas when we're pregnant, hence the sweet creamy dessert situation. Even if our mothers were kinda crappy.

I wanted tapioca pudding when I was pregnant. And occasionally I made some. And ate the entire bowl in one sitting.

Today I stood on the roof of my house with a nice man named Rob, Jim's cohort and design person. He showed me the awesome view of the lake and the mountains and the trees. But permits and more $$ and so forth. Maybe he'll build me a loft bed in the back so I can sleep in the stars. As long as I don't break my neck getting up and down. When I'm too geriatric, I'll use the space for storage. And if Milo comes to visit, he can sleep high in the rafters.

Rob is an idea man, a dream big man. It's really gonna start around here. Hot diggety dog.

Hey Betsy-

Right back at you:

You know how I feel about Benedict Cumberbatch but Jeremy Brett is quite excellent. Um, then there's Basil Rathbone and Nigel Bruce (as Watson) in the old black and whites.

I'll take any of their Sherlocks.

And that's it for tonight. 

Holly and I (and Felix) are going to the ocean next week for two days. We're gonna eat in our room even tho we're not supposed to and we're gonna walk on the beach forever while the dog runs back and forth with a ball.

Last year I went to the beach with an (ex)girlfriend. We were sitting on the sand watching the waves and the dog and she said, 'I'm bored'. That's when I knew it was over. Really over. Bored? At the ocean?

My friends came for dinner tonight and we barbecued salmon and corm and I made chocolate dipped strawberries and shortbread with pecans and cold veggie soba noodles with roasted sesame seed oil and five spice. And ginger beer. And wine.

After, we did dishes and danced to Prince and the Temptations and Peter Gabriel. Pushed the couch out of the way. Threw dog toys out the back door for Felix so he could feel part of the merriment.

This morning, a guy came over and loaded up my old kayak on top of his car. The end of an era. I paddled in Glacier Bay in that boat. And in the Gulf Islands. I saw icebergs and bears and seals and sea lions and eagles and tidewater glaciers hundreds of feet tall. At night, in the freezing cold, I stood under the Northern lights and marveled at my life so far. Thank you, Sam, for taking me there.

Tomorrow is dance day and then writing day. I get to spend the afternoon with Betsy, who is funny and wise and apparently, an ariel yogini. She does flying yoga or some shit.

I mostly demo-ed the bathroom and now the firefighter-electrician woman (sigh) is up in the rafters doing things with the wiring. It is SO cathartic to throw bad shit down the back stairs. And build up a pile. My future husband Jim (kidding, I'm a homo) is coming over next week with Ron, a guy who can draw, to discuss what exactly we're talking about.

Tra la. And la la. 

The worst problem is impatience. Very impatient for people to come over here and beautify. 

Weird yard pavers-GONE

Ugly bathroom and 'bedroom'-GONE

I can see it all except for the um, execution. No, not a guillotine, silly.

Wainscoting, don't forget the wainscoting.

Watch this!!!!

That's my child in the middle

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Gd-2WOyl9W0

BTW

Felix went twice as far as we did yesterday because he ran back and forth the entire time.

Holly and I hiked Mount Washington yesterday. It was about 1540 miles, steep, rocky and socked in so we didn't even have a view at the top. We did have Rainier cherries and chocolate chip cookies however so it was worth it. Just so you know, hiking great distances over rugged terrain and killing your thighs is so you can eat whatever the fuck you want afterwards. Holly had pizza. I ate a bowl of broccoli and a slice of homemade bread. Hey, it's what was in the house.

Holly told me we couldn't dance this morning because we're supposed to rest our muscles. Last night I thought that was hooey but this morning when I staggered out of bed and limped to the bathroom, her advice made perfect sense. And then she texted me to say she WAS going dancing. Sheesh.

Of course I went too. Then I went to the hot tub place and soaked my poor body.

Tomorrow {{{{{{{{}}}}}} is the day the bank gives me massive amounts of $$$ so I can give it back to them. Hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha. Buying and selling, the world of high finance. That's me.

My CPA won't 'manage' my retirement account because it's too small. Hahahahahahahahahaha.

My mortgage lender sent me a bamboo pizza plate and a pizza cutter. Um, because I'm a college student who eats pizza??? I don't even know who to give to to.

I finally met the rooster who lives across the street. He's very pretty with black tail feathers. He's a little guy too but don't even look funny at his hens.

Walked through the beautiful rainy woods today with the dog. There is nothing more extravagant than a rain wet NW woods. O there I would gladly die. So I could become a Douglas fir or a patch of nettles.

The back yard is wild with trees.

Tonight I'm trying a new dharma group. It's a people of color and allies group. I've heard about it for years but you need to be invited. Which I have. Over these last 20-odd years of sitting practice (and now dancing practice),Ii've studied with Zen, Tibetan and Vipassana teachers. I've met remarkable people. And I've been through many sitting groups. Still looking for my 'home' group. So maybe this one will be the one. We'll see. It always helps to sit with others, inspiring and encouraging. Mostly we help each other to be good people. to remember certain values of generosity and kindness and patience. And that we meet boddhisatvas in our daily lives. I know several boddhisatva trees.

I signed my closing documents on my old house yesterday. An alarming amount of $$ will be dropped into my bank account on Monday. Then it will magically disappear again ((poof)).

I discovered that a birth worker friend is living somewhere in my new neighborhood as an urban farmer. She has chickens and raised beds and a green house. I wrote to her to see if I can be a 'farmworker' person and help her with her projects. I'm so frustrated right now, having no garden to tend beyond watering the roses and pruning them. O, and mowing the grass.

I'm having a piece of homemade bread for breakfast. Bread is sooo easy to make and so delicious.  I think I'll have another piece.

Cannot STAND artificial scents.and got a whole box of them in the mail. Cleaning supplies for the new house, complete with cheery coupons for products I would never use, ever.

Sun dried sheets and stiff towels on my shelves. Sun warmth is free.

The final rose bush is starting to bloom. None of the roses smell like, well, roses. Hybrids don't carry their scent with them, apparently.

Final week of dual home ownership. Not that I'm counting the days, hours, minutes, etc.

The doc said I have plantar fasciitis and she kindly gave me stretches to do. I am beginning to feel like my hypochondria is getting serious. While I was there I mentioned the insomnia and baby aspirin for stroke prevention, which she said I wasn't at risk for. And she showed me the ratios and percentages with my cholesterol levels which, again, puts me in a low risk category.

Regardless, I was feeling a mite nutty and pathetic when I was there.

Felix has absolutely no concerns beyond worrying about walking by the Hugo, the big cat, who will promptly bop him on the nose. He was so excited to get in the door at daycare this morning, he pushed open the door and caught his foot with yelps of surprise. Foolish hound.

Off to be pulverized by Noel, the aerobics person down the hill at the Community Center. I know, I'm supposed to rest my foot. Well, ok, tomorrow I will.

Hugo has murdered again, a sparrow chick and what's left of a mouse. No, not a rat baby, a mouse. I refuse to have rats in this here neighborhood.

Then he proceeded to barf up bits and pieces of rodent/bird.

Yuck.

Felix is having a sleep over at Randy's because I worked too many hours today.

Betsy and I spent time in Ace Hardware. Gas grills, crowbars, extension cords and a veggie grater. It didn't feel like a real hardware store. It was too clean and organized. And there were art supplies. I don't think hardware stores are supposed to have art supplies. Cans of paint, yes. ladders and chainsaws, sure. but glitter and a wood burning kit and wee paint pots with wee brushes, nope.

I didn't feel like I could drywall my bathroom when I left. Confidence, that's what was missing. Jude and I did dismantle the giant killer mirror however. We cantilevered the pieces out over the outlets without breaking too much glass or fatally cutting ourselves. Behind the mirror was a truly hideous wall but you already knew there would be. No dead body or treasure, alas.

Next, out comes the countertop with the red ring of tile around the perimeter. I know, you think I should keep it. I can't, it's too dreadful. After that, the floor.

Unless I'm whisked outa here during the rapture. Although we couldn't figure out if we didn't have a sun roof, how we'd rapture out of the car. Leave all the windows down? Betsy says she's staying here. Along with all the people at Third Place Books. I'd rather stay here too with all my friends.

Hugo is definitely not floating off. He's taken too many lives, the bastard.

Oh god oh god there was a shooting at Seattle Pacific University. One kid is dead, there are three others who are injured. I was going to go see a new baby but the roads are all effed up.

Oh lord why o why o why?

My new house has roses. Aw, you might say, roses. Perfect for a white-haired lady. Well, but. Roses bite you, I mean, really bite you. They have nasty wicked thorns and as I always go out there without gloves, I suffer.

I have at least 15 rose bushes. And the plant part isn't so pretty. And these roses are all hybrids so they have no scent.

Complain, complain. I am dismantling the bathroom, very satisfying. The giant mirror over the sink has a huge crack in it so now I'm afraid it'll fall on me and slice my jugular and I won't be found for two weeks after the katz have eaten off my fingers and licked up all the blood. I'd like to think Felix would go for help but Lassie wasn't a real dog, come on. And Felix has way too much self-esteem to do Lassie type things.

My crew fed homeless kids last Friday. We mixed salad with our (gloved) hands, served corn bread and vegan chocolate coconut bars and offered baked yams mixed with orange juice and olive oil. It felt SO GOOD to be doing a little bit.

One boy asked us to heat up his whole plate of food because his teeth are cold sensitive. He haunts me. A child with dental problems is so wrong. And heartbreaking. I figured out how to get dental care for my children. I was on medicaid for so many years, making minimum wage. But I knew the university dental school had free clinics and I could take my kids. I think it's harder now. I was so pushy as a mom, so driven. You have to be in this country when you don't have the resources. But a child who is homeless, who is advocating for him?

This is making me too upset.

Our next  teen feed gig is in August. I can't wait. I wish I could do more.

So my old house closes next week. This means I will get an alarming amount of money dropped into my wee bank account and immediately thereafter, the BIG BANK will come and take most of it. To pay off mortgages and painters and floor finishers and so forth.

Then Jim works his magic and a cement foundation guy will come (after a permit is granted, of course) and pour a foundation so Jim can make a few rooms where there is ugly dankness at the moment.

I began removing the gigantic mirror in the bathroom and it cracked in half. The former owners believed mightily in plastic wood and double stick tape to affix glass, wood, walls, what have you, to any and all surfaces. And if it doesn't quite fit, well, shore it up with a lot of spackle.

Tricia Lockwood, fine and wonderful poet, made it to the magazine section of my beloved NYT. Holy smokes.


Here she is, after the brouhaha about the questionable humor of rape jokes in comedy circles.

Rape Joke

The rape joke is that you were 19 years old.

The rape joke is that he was your boyfriend.

The rape joke it wore a goatee. A goatee.

Imagine the rape joke looking in the mirror, perfectly reflecting back itself, and grooming itself to look more like a rape joke. “Ahhhh,” it thinks. “Yes. A goatee.”

No offense.

The rape joke is that he was seven years older. The rape joke is that you had known him for years, since you were too young to be interesting to him. You liked that use of the word interesting, as if you were a piece of knowledge that someone could be desperate to acquire, to assimilate, and to spit back out in different form through his goateed mouth.

Then suddenly you were older, but not very old at all.

The rape joke is that you had been drinking wine coolers. Wine coolers! Who drinks wine coolers? People who get raped, according to the rape joke.

The rape joke is he was a bouncer, and kept people out for a living.

Not you!

The rape joke is that he carried a knife, and would show it to you, and would turn it over and over in his hands as if it were a book.

He wasn’t threatening you, you understood. He just really liked his knife.

The rape joke is he once almost murdered a dude by throwing him through a plate-glass window. The next day he told you and he was trembling, which you took as evidence of his sensitivity.

How can a piece of knowledge be stupid? But of course you were so stupid.

The rape joke is that sometimes he would tell you you were going on a date and then take you over to his best friend Peewee’s house and make you watch wrestling while they all got high.

The rape joke is that his best friend was named Peewee.

OK, the rape joke is that he worshiped The Rock.

Like the dude was completely in love with The Rock. He thought it was so great what he could do with his eyebrow.

The rape joke is he called wrestling “a soap opera for men.” Men love drama too, he assured you.

The rape joke is that his bookshelf was just a row of paperbacks about serial killers. You mistook this for an interest in history, and laboring under this misapprehension you once gave him a copy of Günter Grass’s My Century, which he never even tried to read.

It gets funnier.

The rape joke is that he kept a diary. I wonder if he wrote about the rape in it.

The rape joke is that you read it once, and he talked about another girl. He called her Miss Geography, and said “he didn’t have those urges when he looked at her anymore,” not since he met you. Close call, Miss Geography!

The rape joke is that he was your father’s high-school student—your father taught World Religion. You helped him clean out his classroom at the end of the year, and he let you take home the most beat-up textbooks.

The rape joke is that he knew you when you were 12 years old. He once helped your family move two states over, and you drove from Cincinnati to St. Louis with him, all by yourselves, and he was kind to you, and you talked the whole way. He had chaw in his mouth the entire time, and you told him he was disgusting and he laughed, and spat the juice through his goatee into a Mountain Dew bottle.

The rape joke is that come on, you should have seen it coming. This rape joke is practically writing itself.

The rape joke is that you were facedown. The rape joke is you were wearing a pretty green necklace that your sister had made for you. Later you cut that necklace up. The mattress felt a specific way, and your mouth felt a specific way open against it, as if you were speaking, but you know you were not. As if your mouth were open ten years into the future, reciting a poem called Rape Joke.

The rape joke is that time is different, becomes more horrible and more habitable, and accommodates your need to go deeper into it.

Just like the body, which more than a concrete form is a capacity.

You know the body of time is elastic, can take almost anything you give it, and heals quickly.

The rape joke is that of course there was blood, which in human beings is so close to the surface.

The rape joke is you went home like nothing happened, and laughed about it the next day and the day after that, and when you told people you laughed, and that was the rape joke.

It was a year before you told your parents, because he was like a son to them. The rape joke is that when you told your father, he made the sign of the cross over you and said, “I absolve you of your sins, in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit,” which even in its total wrongheadedness, was so completely sweet.

The rape joke is that you were crazy for the next five years, and had to move cities, and had to move states, and whole days went down into the sinkhole of thinking about why it happened. Like you went to look at your backyard and suddenly it wasn’t there, and you were looking down into the center of the earth, which played the same red event perpetually.

The rape joke is that after a while you weren’t crazy anymore, but close call, Miss Geography.

The rape joke is that for the next five years all you did was write, and never about yourself, about anything else, about apples on the tree, about islands, dead poets and the worms that aerated them, and there was no warm body in what you wrote, it was elsewhere.

The rape joke is that this is finally artless. The rape joke is that you do not write artlessly.

The rape joke is if you write a poem called Rape Joke, you’re asking for it to become the only thing people remember about you.

The rape joke is that you asked why he did it. The rape joke is he said he didn’t know, like what else would a rape joke say? The rape joke said YOU were the one who was drunk, and the rape joke said you remembered it wrong, which made you laugh out loud for one long split-open second. The wine coolers weren’t Bartles & Jaymes, but it would be funnier for the rape joke if they were. It was some pussy flavor, like Passionate Mango or Destroyed Strawberry, which you drank down without question and trustingly in the heart of Cincinnati Ohio.

Can rape jokes be funny at all, is the question.

Can any part of the rape joke be funny. The part where it ends—haha, just kidding! Though you did dream of killing the rape joke for years, spilling all of its blood out, and telling it that way.

The rape joke cries out for the right to be told.

The rape joke is that this is just how it happened.

The rape joke is that the next day he gave you Pet Sounds. No really. Pet Sounds. He said he was sorry and then he gave you Pet Sounds. Come on, that’s a little bit funny.

Admit it.

I'm sorry but Angelina Jolie can't act. Even with pointy cheekbones, glittery eyes and giant wings. I wouldn't mind a pair of giant wings. And the ability to conjure up dragons and thorny hedges and fire. Still. I went to the new movie and ate popcorn and red vines and put my feet on the bar in front of me. There were a lot of kids and their parents.

Angelina looked good. Really, she did. Just not fierce.

Felix and I hiked Tiger yesterday and we went farther than ever. I think I was almost to the top of a little used trail when I turned around. And staggered back to the car. Who cares about a view when you might have to crawl all four miles back. In the dark. And bears and cougars are watching, contemplating eating you and your dog and scattering your bones so you're never found but become a true life mystery on the mystery channel. She disappeared without a trace and there would be speculation for years.

Next time.

It was, as usual, gorgeous. The forest never has a bad day. Streams, light shafting through the trees, a few old grown Doug firs among the second growth cedars. Ferns and the remnants of trillium. I wish I were back there now.

Today I'm still in my jammies. Felix wants a walk and I have to go get the NYT before it's gone.

The end.

Today is the day we feed homeless kids. I think we'll have plenty of people to cook and serve and clean up. My fridge is bursting with vegetables and James and I have a run to Costco planned as soon as I get back from work. I've got clinic to do, drat, but only half a day.

The days are sunny, one after the other. I worry about my garden at my old house and think I should go water it. The strawberries are ripe and no one is picking them. The lettuce is probably bolting. Soon enough, the new owners will be walking around the yard, contemplating the plants and trees and enjoying the hummingbirds who visit the flowers. Two more weeks perhaps, and the deal will be complete and I'll have $$ from the sale to pay off two mortgages and start fixing mi casa on the greenbelt.

Jim came over yesterday and I gave him my very crude drawing of my ideas; a new kitchen with cabinets that match (!) that we'll find on Craig's list for free or at Second Use, the used building supply place, a bigger bedroom with recycled windows and tra-la, a studio place with lots of storage that opens onto a deck.

Pouring a foundation is the first thing after the demolition {{{{excitement}}}}} and expensive. And we need a permit from the city. If we don't have one, there's hell to pay, apparently.

I've begun an aerobics class down the street that my neighbor goes to. An hour of hell. In front of mirrors. Gawd. I need a bra that really straps the girls down. Otherwise, they go bouncing around like deer in the field. The instructor is a wiry gal with boundless energy and torture ideas. All to very loud gospel music. Twice a week.

I didn't know that Maya Angelou was once a cabaret singer. She wept when Obama gave her the Congressional Metal of Honor even though she said she didn't cry in public. She got a lot done.

Holly and I tried to find the trailhead for Mt Washington and as is usual for us, couldn't. We're map and trail description-impaired.  We barged up one trail and another and decided that Iron Horse Trail was just fine, thank you very much. Iron Horse is an old train bed that stretches for 18 miles up in the Cascades. It's near the highway but so high up in the mountains, cut across by many rushing streams and the wildflowers are all about and Felix the dog chased the ball so much he is having a lie down as we speak. The only other travelers we saw were   mountain bikers so we're inspired to bring our bikes next time.

It rained and the sun came out and it rained again. We talked about dancing and going to Cuba versus Cambodia, food, death, our mothers, our therapists, Buddhism and books. Always books. And the film festival.

I love Holly. She swooned when she saw a potty on the trail that was pristine. It even had toilet paper and hand sanitizer.

Coming home along the I-90 corridor, surely one of the most beautiful drives in the world, giant peaks rising up all around and snow capped and streams and waterfalls off in the distance, we saw five eagles, three adults and two juveniles playing in the high winds, tumbling and rolling in the sky above us.

Today I feel gratitude for it all.

Just sobbed my way through the third season of Call The Midwife.

Sheesh.

I signed the papers so we're 'in contract' with the buyers. For over 7 hundred thou. Yeah! I can pay off the old mortgage, pay down the new mortgage to a miniscule amount and have $$ for the remodel, yeah!!! Can't wait to begin the tear-off, replace the sinks, redo the kitchen, rid the bathroom of some red tile and horrid floor.

Next year if I can hold out, in comes the new garden, o joy, my favorite part. Dirt under my nails, dirt in my hair and a home for the hummingbird I saw in the treetops.

It will be worth it.

Another baby yesterday, that's two in three days. This one was way outside the city but we made it. Eden and Mel are here and we were at Pike Market about to order oyster po'boys when I got the call. Whaaaaaaaa. But Rosemary had a party last night and I got there (late) but in time for a drink and Vietnamese spring rolls. So very delicious.

Today is the second open house. Apparently there were about 30 people through yesterday and four interested couples. And there is one couple who are doing a 'pre-inspection' on Monday and the woman was at the house yesterday with a measuring tape to see if her stuff would fit. Good sign.

Stay tuned. Tuesday afternoon Rose and I review offers and pick one. Lordy.

Eden and Mel are talking in my bedroom. I happily gave up my bed to them so I'm sleeping on the couch with the katz.

The Book of Mormon is coming to Seattle again and I ordered two tickets. maybe Clark will go with me. I deserve to see it again.

It's a whirlwind around here. Eden wants to do everything in four days. Not possible but we can try...

I come home and sit in my wee weird kitchen and look at the trees and feel peace. They breathe their green beauty right into me.

And I left my wallet on the seat of my car last night and IT WAS STILL THERE THIS MORNING. Is this the city where I live???

Me and and the Asian ladies, walking the ridge line in our bonnets and parasols. Oh yeah.

This child is coming to visit this week.

My old house goes on the market this weekend. Gulp. It   looks so beautiful after painting,  gardening, staging, weird wide angle photos etc. http://rmpham.com/test-post/2014/5/13/3959-s-ferdinand-st-seattle

Take a look. Thirteen years of remodeling, gardening, fussing and there you have it.

In the meantime, that house is my assurance that I can live in my new house very cheaply and even think about retirement or something.

I'm at my kitchen table watching the light fade over the mountains and the greenbelt. I love it. I do.

Oh and um, Lynn is leaving tomorrow and there are 10 ladies on the brink of delivery. Wish me luck.

Um,  I weed wacked my leg and foot. Ouch. And my washer and dryer washed and dried my clothes, unlike the previous pair. There are miracles in this world even with some interesting whipped leg/foot action. Ouch really.

Don't ask. Seven babies in six days. O and a midwifery conference Lynn organized and I spoke at. Hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha (breathe)hahahahahahahahahahahah.

And Lynn leaves for 4 days on Wednesday and there are a lot of babies yet to appear.

My student and I are delirious. After we forgot to bring the baby scale with us to a home visit, she said, "I feel so sad..." and that was the funniest thing I had ever heard. I almost crashed the car I was laughing so hard.

Pathetic really.

I have a new bed with a new mattress that is the most comfortable and beautiful piece of furniture I have ever seen/felt/experienced etc. I want to marry my bed. Even if all I can do is lie on top with all my clothes on.

Today is mother's day so of course a mom is in labor. Lynn is at the birth and I'm in the aforementioned bed. But. There are home visits to do and today is dance day. I'm going even though I might only have the strength to lie down.

The beautiful men from Burkina Faso moved in a new ie used washer and dryer into my new basement. As they were fiddling away with plugs and hoses and the like, I got a call to a birth. Trying to explain to them that I had to leave urgently, I said, I'm a midwife, I catch babies, what do you call I midwife in your country. The taller beautiful man Isaac said "sage femme". So yay! This sage femme has gotta jet!!! and I barely made it. I think they thought I was a crazy American. We are, by the way, rushing around like we do.

Off to see a new baby, walk the dog and go to hippy dance church.

Happy Mother's Day, one and all.

modern maternity

today she glued eyelashes on
an errant lash here and there
impossible to pay attention

force yourself

look at her look at her
not a hair on her vulva
whisked clean
as an eleven-year-old
but pregnant

her eyelashes point up
down
sideways
a film starlet from the 50s

she spills from her bra
a peony tattoo climbs up her leg
her eyelashes are made of mink

Today it is warm, so warm and I believe I am going to live. Moving really sucks. I was sick for a while and crawled around the house putting away clothes, books, food; attempting to pacify the katz and entertain the dog.

I've actually made curtains for one window in the living room (there are 4), well, I haven't hemmed it yet but it's a start. And I've managed to get rid of most of the hideous cabinets in the kitchen by pushing them down the back stairs where they land on concrete with satisfying crashes and breakage. The electrician is coming tomorrow to replace the awful light fixtures in kitchen and bedroom, hoorah and the plumber is coming on Friday to hook up the gas stove, oh joy. For now, I'm using the toaster oven to cook with. Well, heat up toast. And soup.

The neighbors are surprisingly good. Cliff, across the street, has a car collection including an old red Ford truck and a '56 T-Bird that is pristine and creamy. Carol and Richard are next door and she sold me the stove now in my kitchen. His brother is interesting; very loud voice, sings to himself and covers his face with his hands when he talks to you. Other side of me an elderly Filipino man who wrote in the dirt with his finger as we talked, not too much English.

I met the former owner of my house with his twin girls. He's three houses away. Down the block is a young woman whose parents and sister all live in the 'hood.

I walked to the end of the road and discovered a trail through the greenbelt, at least the beginnings of one! The city organizes volunteers to clean out invasive stuff and plant trees once a month. You bet I'll be there. The day I went I found two people who I thought were homeless...but were more neighbors that live around the corner. They reported on the Cooper's hawk who is building a nest above their heads.

Tonight there is a writer's group after many months. I've combed through old poems and scratched away at a few new ones. And I submitted to a journal that asked for more work.

Now I'm going down the hill to the pool. I'm much closer to the pool than I used to be. Tra-la.
Then if there's no babies, I'll have to take the Felix out and work on poems. Maybe another curtain.

Did I say? I am going to love living here. It feels more private and it's all mine. Little by little, I'm remaking it as I want. Getting rid of the ugly, bringing in the beauty. And my old house goes on the market in a few weeks. When it will sell for lots and I can get rid of my rather intimidating debt and begin a remodel that will be a wonder to behold.

When you move, you find old photos

Dear Everyone in my wee universe-

I moved. And promptly got sick. Of course. And the internet guys are butt heads but my lovely and cheerful neighbor lady is letting me use her WiFi, thanks be to the baby jesus and all his angles, as Dina Martina would say.

So I've been living in piles of boxes, whining katz and wads of kleenex. And no computer. Which, when you own a small business with payroll coming up, is a disaster.

And ( never start a sentence with 'and') I woke this morning to the most gawd-awful noise, like a helicopter landed in my back yard. The bottles in the bathroom were rattling. I walked around in my bathrobe, trying to figure out if it was inside or outside. Lo, and an angel of de 'lawd appeared and said, look no further than your sump pump. Having never lived with a, er, sump pump before, I was horrified, but there you have it. It apparently rained gallons last night and there must be a stream under the house so, sump pump action. I'm investigating a noiseless one, dear gawd.

Plus, I tried the bathtub last night, a hot bath for the illness, right? It was tepid. I took my book and my tea and feh! Terrible. So Jim, muy future husband, came over and turned up the dial because I couldn't figure it out. Before you chastise be for not doing it myself-I was feverish and it's a gas powered hot water heater with big red warning signs all over it reminding me I could probably blow myself into the next world if I wasn't careful and didn't do it the RIGHT WAY. KERBLAM!

Jim handily unscrewed a few screws and cranked up the heat. So wish me luck with an actual hot bath.

Rebecca the wonderful has sent two  postcards to my new address :-). Thank you dearest one. Just what I needed.

Does anyone know how to eradicate the smell from those damn air freshener plug-ins? I took out four of them. Ewwwww. I mean, did the last family really smell that bad?? I'm burning incense and opening all the windows.

Now I'm going to the store to buy laundry detergent. I know I have some, somewhere.

For the record. I am an atheist. I don't believe in gawd as some guy sitting in judgment in his bathrobe. Jesus was terribly misunderstood. Saint Francis didn't want anyone to start a church because of him and he didn't want followers and he really didn't want sainthood but he got stuck with all those things. There are lots of fantastic stories about creation and how we got here and what it all means and so forth. Spiderwoman, Kali, Quan Yin, etc. Stories are important because we like to amuse ourselves around the campfire. Without stories, we're left with picking plants and chasing animals and deciding if we can eat them or not. Stories help us calm down a bit. And poems, don't forget poems. Songs too. Beating rocks in time.

Where am I going with all of this? I have no idea. I'm moving in 3 days and the katz need a new kat door at my new house so I'm gonna go over there and see if I can figure out how to put one in. Clark and Andy are coming with their truck to move plants and art. I went to my new house with my new keys last night and took stock. The previous owner seemed to have had a math problem so when measuring frames for o windows and counters, there are, um, gaps.

There were those air fresheners all over the place, the plug-in kind. Yetch. I took them all out and threw them away. Someone actually invented those things. I'd prefer opening a window.

I'm still an atheist, by the way. If I can be a moral and righteous person while I'm here and I can help out a bit, that's why I'm here.

And I'll take good care of Felix and the felines. And do my best with all other sentient life.

I closed on my new house today. Which means I gave the escrow company a large check and the nice lady ran her nice finger down rows of pages where I initialed and signed and she explained taxes and mortgage insurance and homeowner's insurance and earnest money and many more, no doubt, important fees. Gulp.

Then Felix and I went for a walk in the rain. I think I am mostly packed. No, really. The animals are perching on the few remaining perches. They are unperturbed.

Meanwhile I think I'll go dancing in order to get the gremlins out. The inner gremlins. Tomorrow is a clinic day and I'm sure I'll be able to find some suitable clothes to wear.

PS. I washed a pillow and it came apart in the dryer. Uh-huh, I even have feathers in my nose. And you should have seen the basement. General merriment was had by all.

I just came home from Whidbey Island where we played on the beach all day for three days. Felix ran around and in the water and on the sand and he was covered with sand and seaweed. Now he's too tired to eat. At least that's what I think is up with him. He's wiped, seriously wiped. Hw wouldn't even eat a bone, his favorite food.

We're back home in the mess and squalor of moving out. A week from tomorrow. Then I start unpacking. Which is another small mountain to climb.

I'm making granola. I had oatmeal, coconut, vanilla, coconut oil, maple syrup, almonds and pumpkin seeds. And a bit of salt.

Some things I have learned while all my belongings are in boxes and I move in two weeks

If you know where these items are, you will be ok. If you misplace any of them, you will fall into a dark pit of despair and you will run screaming through the house, tearing at your clothes and swearing. The dog will look at you inquiringly and think you want to play. You will feel like killing the dog and then yourself.

In no particular order, the items are:

Wallet
Keys
Cell phone
Night guard
Glasses
Corkscrew (naturally)

I misplaced my phone twice today and had a nervous breakdown. I'm supposed to work tomorrow. We'll see how it goes. I think the car is in the garage. I sure hope it is because otherwise I have no idea where it is.

My local station played Nirvana and the artists who inspired Kurt and then more Nirvana so I cranked up the radio loud so loud o sorrow that he is gone sweet young man his music capturing us and riling  us and shaking us out of our dreams.

I miss him. I miss him.

I don't want to admit any of this but it is unfortunately all true.

Heidi, my intrepid tenant for 4 1/2 years, moved out two days ago. That last night, we opened a bottle of champagne and even though there were no real glasses around, we shared the bottle. Meanwhile Joel, Heidi's BF, moved and packed while we sat on the deck cackling. Um, then we opened another bottle and polished it off. Heidi found some long sparklers and I burned the shit out of my thumb as we waved them around. Then Heidi started weeping as they said goodbye. Bye bye.

After that I fell into the bushes in my yard and went to work the next day with a scratch on my face and twigs in my hair. Oh, and two hours of hiccups.

Moral: Drugs and alcohol are not good for you. Just say no.

The air smells so good with blooms everywhere. I hung out with Gladys, an 89 year old, at my pool. We were in the hot tub of course. We talked flowers.

My house is a mess o' boxes, really scary. I put something down (watch, night guard, checkbook, wallet, keys and then spend time wandering around stubbing my toe on box edges trying to find the lost item. I really am a creature of habit. Rosemary came over and talked me through what to bring, what to leave, what to send to the dump, what to take to Goodwill.

Randall is outside painting. There was a bumblebee in here, staggering around and banging into windows. I love bumblebees. They are so fat and beautiful.

I will miss my garden. I can't post any pictures, don't want to. The trillium are all in their glory. I will be sure to plant more at my new place. The lilacs are budding out and the tulips are about to open.

I'm almost done paying for last year's paint job :-/ while I blithely hire movers, gardeners, cleaners, painters, electricians etc. And I will pay them. With all my $$. Ha!

I found an electrician who is a firefighter and works as an electrician on the side. Apparently cops and firefighters do this for extra cash. She was efficient and sweet. She's agreed to rewire the new (old) house when I get moved in there.

Meanwhile Lola now has the cold Hugo had. I took him to the vet and he got a shot and some chewy lysine.

Sigh. This is my current life. Then my future husband Jim and I will tear apart the new house and build a better kitchen and sun room/bedroom so I can see the mountains. There is a remodel in my future. It will be grand. At least the sewer problem is fixed and it is a wondrous thing,

I have mostly conquered the kitchen. Now I fear the garage. But. I found a Reed's Ginger Beer in a cupboard, way in the back. This is excellent news as I have eaten a tiny bit of corm chips I found for dinner. Stale? Who cares? Not me.

I have actually packed a lot of my stuff in boxes already. And I could be totally delusional. I fear the kitchen. Maybe I'll just give everything to Goodwill and start over. I keep buying food. I think I'm heading toward famine because I'm moving a few miles south and they have no food there. I won't be able to walk to my favorite Coop anymore :-( well I could and climb the little mountain to my house with provisions in a backpack. Imagine my muscular thighs after a few months of that.

I shamelessly flirted with a woman at the dog park after I learned she is a plumber. Shameless, I tell you. I got her number. She's impossibly young compared to me. Then again, almost everyone is impossibly young compared to me. I fool people with a lot of swearing and immature behavior.

My tenant of seven years is moving out. It's the end of an era.

I'm watching really bad science fiction right now. Really bad. So I don't have to face the packing situation. I'm afraid all my stuff won't fit into my new house (well, why would it, silly person) because I'm going from many rooms to a few.

I gave my bed away and now I'm sleeping on a pallet among boxes of books.

The whole thing is making me feel queasy. That's what the bad sci-fi is for.

BTW-the sellers ARE fixing the sewer line and giving me $5000 against the electrical so all is not lost. I just thought I'd get some $$ from this house to throw at the new one. We'll see. There must be a rich Amazon person  who will adore my current house and pay lots of cash for it so I HAVE NO MORTGAGE.  This is the point. Besides, the new neighborhood is quiet and peaceful and dead-ended. No cars roaring by. A private back yard, even though it is tiny. I will continue with these stupid updates until a) the house closes and b) my current house sells. All before May, when we go roaring into gear with a lotta babies. Meanwhile, empty boxes call to me to be filled.

My "new" hundred year old house will be taking all my money and ingenuity and pluck to restore, rewire, replumb and that's not counting the stove which I MUST replace and why o why do people insist on pulling huge ceiling fan/light fixtures into a wee bedroom? I wanted a new project, right? It was that or a condo (yetch) with no yard and hundreds of stairs squished next to another condo for density. I will have a yard, dammit and a view of the wide world. So what if the floors slope? I have a fireplace and a roof and sturdy floors. Sometimes we must give thanks where we can.

39 years ago Eden was born in our bedroom with our family doctor Joel and my friend Donna in attendance. My water broke at about 6:30 AM and while Steve scrambled to change the sheets and I tried to figure out what the hell was going on, the contractions were slamming me like a freight train. My sister took Maya, about 2 1/2, downstairs to read books and have breakfast. About 8AM, Eden came flying out, to the amazement of us all.

I had visions of candlelight and soft music (Bach's Brandenburg). I have no idea if candles were lit and the Bach was terribly annoying, all that plinking and the girl was coming on her own time, in a rush of heat and light.

There is one picture of us, wet baby on my chest and my sweaty face and tangled hair. Labor is a roller coaster and all the change flew out of my pockets, leaving me breathless on the bed. Joel left for Passover Seder in New York and Steve went to class. When his teacher found out he'd had a baby that day, he sent him home. Steve wore a tie in celebration.

That girl is now a beauty and a wonder still. Restless, brilliant, talented, a world traveler; she is my fretful lamb, always seeking the stronger view, the higher plane, the wide life she claims for herself. And we tag along after our adventurer, our visionary, our bright light.

Happy birthday, sweetheart. I love you eternally.

Mom

That's my beautiful daughter.

So.

My house adventure gets more interesting. The sewer line is effed up, lots of cracks and holes. A $15000 repair, yikes. My trusty agent will negotiate the price down. Sellers, be reasonable, ok? Then there's the electrical situation, mix of knob and tube (read:old house) with some newer wiring, ungrounded outlets everywhere. And Rosemary says electricians are like unicorns, mythical beasts who don't return phone calls. i'm scouring my friends for someone who will bid it and then we can ask the seller to give us a whopping deal.

I don't want a mortgage. This is the point. And there are cosmetic issues as well as a furnace that doesn't turn on, a terrible electric stove that needs replacing, a busted microwave (don't care) but it needs to be extricated from it's niche and ceilings that are 'interesting'. Maybe asbestos. Great.

The siding is vinyl (yetch) but maybe under the under (which is also asbestos) there are the old clapboards. Fingers crossed.

I'm having these issues because I don't want a mortgage after I move. No mortgage, k?

My future husband Jim walked around during the inspection and we talked about a tear-off so the bedroom no longer slopes and I can have a bigger kitchen and a sun room. Facing the mountains, whenever they appear. I know how to turn a house into a beauty. Money is usually involved.

Still in house limbo. If everyone will play nice and the bank can be mollified and I can get good solid money out of my current house, we can continue to move on moving. In the meantime, my house is a bunch of boxes with the art removed from the walls. I like this process but it might make me crazy.

The weekend was spent in Duvall at a painting workshop so my hands are covered with paint. I made a few decent paintings. However, the teacher wanted us all to contemplate our womanly navels and she even launched or tried to launch a conversation about feminine archetypes. I was with Betsy so we consoled ourselves with significant looks and subtle eye-rolling. We sat together and shared paint and brushes and pastries. And today I brought my ipod so Beethoven gave me solace while I worked. Now I'm exhausted.

Tomorrow is a full work day and I'll wait to hear from Rosemary about the latest wrinkle. I have said I won't do this house if there is no price break. I'm not fixing the sewer line without compensation.

I'm afraid this post is totally boring but I can't help it. It's what I got right now.

Eden's birthday is this week and I'm so lame, I haven't gotten her a present. I bet she'll understand.

Sure, I'm fine. I just ate an entire bag of corn chips. I'll never lose weight for Italy at this rate.

The house I might/will/could purchase is now officially 'in contract' as they say around here. The house inspection and sewer inspection are on Friday and my friend general contractor Jim and I will attend.

Meanwhile I am officially freaking out. I came home with a dozen boxes and spent an hour putting books in. I have a wicked spider bite on my leg that itches like crazy and now I'm in my bathrobe quilting and watching Benedict do his Sherlock thing.

I hate moving and I haven't moved in, count 'em, 13 years. Do you know how much crap I have? Books and art and art supplies and more books and papers and notebooks filled with poems and poetry books and piles of quilting fabric and furniture and shoes. I'm exhausted just thinking about it.

Tomorrow is another day. I'll wake up bright and early and begin again to sort through, pack, throw away, give to Goodwill, save for a garage sale, etc.

It's an old house, the one I'm buying. I'm afraid there is one outlet in every room, lathe and plaster walls and wonky windows. I'm thinking to adopt Jim as my future husband to fix, rearrange, build, sculpt and otherwise make habitable my habitation. I DID say I'd take a fixer house, all I could afford on my plan to live without a mortgage, get sensible ferfucksake, so I can go to Tuscany (tra-la) and semi-retire and tend roses, which my new house has.

It also has a formidable row of arbor vitae on the south side that are about 27 feet tall and totally blocking the south light. ----sigh----- I'm going to appeal to the better natures of my new neighbors to cut them down, trim them, something or else I'll go ballistic with a hedge trimmer and get arrested. The bedroom is a cave, it's so dark. Aside from that, it has a beamed ceiling, a fireplace (!!!!!), lovely old plank floors and a view of the mountains and a huge greenbelt. And I can walk to the light rail and get to downtown or to my old neighborhood for the farmer's market.

The katz are a problem. We're gonna have to have a talk.

I'm going to admit something here and then we will never speak of it again, as my real estate agent said yesterday. We looked at a house with a fantastic view but too much $$, not enough room etc and I really had to, um, poop. So I chose a bathroom (there were three) and after getting some kleenix from Rosemary, made use of one of them.

But.

The water was turned off. Hahahahahahahahahahahaha. No flushing. I came out and told Rose. We had several plans. We'd go to the store and get gallon jugs of water and bring them back. But what if we caused a flood? Maybe I could scoop out the, er, poo and bury it in the back yard?? That seemed too icky. And I would probably get caught.

So we just left. Oh gawd, I'm one of those people now.

Dear house gods. Please look down on this dumb sinner and forgive her. May you continue to guide me with your heavenly light toward a good house, a perfect house even so.

Amen

Really, it's like this. When I was a teen and living at home after I got kicked out of college (too much sex, drugs and rock n roll), my parents decided to throw me out because I was a 'bad influence' on my siblings. (My brother told me recently he had no idea where I had disappeared to until about five years ago.) I was just gone, poof. I stood in my bedroom and threw my clothes out the window. I had been given a half hour to vacant. My boyfriend came over in his bug and loaded me up. We couch surfed until we found a squat where we stayed for a few months. There were padlocks on the doors. We moved to Boston so I could go to art school and we got minimum wage jobs. I worked in a health food store and I would steal food and honey out under my cape. I couldn't afford to pay tuition so I split for the West Coast (but that's another story).

So I'm never really safe. I'm still that sad girl without a family or stable housing. No matter that I have friends and children and a job I love, there is this belief that it could all go poof again. Selling my house, buying another one, freaks my shit out.

House hunting sucks. I looked at the perfect (well anyway) property yesterday but it's gone already. Wee cabin in front with two story handmade house, very eclectic and unfinished on a 1/3 acre with a horse farm down the road. In Seattle! Trees and garden and whaaaaaaaa. Then my lovely agent took me to Vietnamese lunch and paid for it. So today I'm going to an open house which has a purple bathroom. That's what I need. Although we saw a house yesterday that had the most gawdawful ceiling. Someone decided to take globs of spackle and make twirly meringues in a repeating 'wave' pattern. Rosemary took one look and said 'hell, no'. It must have taken hours. Elsewhere the house had heavily textured walls and a terrible sloppy paint job. And sticky floors. And stucco on the exterior. People, this is not the climate or earthquake zone for stucco. Yech.

The magnolia is opening and I cut back the daphne yesterday. I brought a few blooms in and the whole house smells wonderful.

We're in a bit of a lull, baby-wise but lots of new clients. Our fall will be busy.

Going to Tuscany. Did I say? I still can't believe it. I hope my house situation is settled by then.

Gearing up to submit to a journal that rejected me the first time out but has solicited more work. What did I already send them? No idea. Shite. Not usually so careless.

Just ended a four day dance retreat. Wiped out but work tomorrow and the cruelty of the time change.

Just to see the delectable Johnny Depp, I watched a movie with Johnny and the very large Marlon Brando (as a shrink!). Johnny was in full Don Juan dress and claimed to be the famous lover spinning tales of feminine conquests, so many. Marlon was supposed to cure him. Didn't.

The house journey continues.

Really, I want to lie on the couch and fall asleep in an uncomfortable position.

doing what I love

         
                                                          Sweet Maisie Jean

Nope on the house. My bid was '3rd'. In this market, I have to be patient. Patient. Yeech. Actually ok.

 And lowered expectations? When I bought my first house with a wee bit of money my mother left me, I asked for a tree. the house didn't even have a tree. I planted several during the five years I lived there. And this house, many trees and a ton of sweat. So, dear universe, grant me one more favor and send a house this way that I can fix up and care for and love. A house that will keep me warm and dry. And safe.

We had a babe this morning, in the tub. It was a lovely birth. Lovely. Lynn, my partner was there and my student. And I thought, I can't think of anyplace else I'd rather be at 2 in the morning.

I saw a house today that might work. I mean, I might be able to afford it and it has some problems like a wonky gutter and a partial brick foundation (uh-oh) and it's teeny and there's no fence and the whole living room is slanty, like you put a marble on the floor and it would roll toward the kitchen.

However. It's not too expensive and you can see the lake from many windows (at least in the winter when there aren't any leaves on the trees) and there's a gas log fireplace, not exactly a fireplace but still and a yard that needs love and gardening, you know I love to plant trees and flowers and veggies so I could love it.

I could live there by myself and feel like I'm not taking up such a big amount of room and resources in my big farmhouse. And I won't be so trendy, living in the neighborhood I'm in. On a dead end.

The dog keeps nudging me. He wants a walk so I guess we'll go get soaked. It's pouring.

I'm reading tonight in Duvall with the writing group I've been hanging with for the last two months, especially the talented and funny Betsy . And I spent the entire morning with my effing printer, all because I changed the cartridge. In my pajamas. The dog nudging my elbow because he was bored and needed a walk. And I tried everything, including calling HP-did you know they charge you for phone calls?

Eventually I got dressed and walked away. Left the house. Went to the office so I could print there. Debated whether to go to Office Max to buy another printer. Nah.

Came home and lo and behold (as my mother would say), the printer is working. While I was gone the house elves fixed it or else I don't know what. Surely the katz had nothing to do with it.

On the way home, a mattress was propped up beside a defunct restaurant. The spray-painted message was :
                       IT'S NOT ME

                       IT'S YOU

I'm reading a personal PROSE piece and a few poems tonight. There will be wine. I just can't make suicide funny but I'll plow through anyway. The busses have ads for the Overnight Suicide Walk to to raise money for 'prevention'. Walk to prevent suicide. Right. As if that works.

You now have $50.00 in credit at Powells.com

You need not spend the credit now. If you don't, it will simply remain in your account. But then again, maybe you should. In a complex, scientific study conducted by a local second grade class, books purchased less than a month after taking residence in a bookstore were seven times more likely to have a positive self image. Books with red covers, especially. Perhaps you can help.

I just ordered three books from Powell's and this was the message about my credit from my brother (a Christmas present). 

I didn't, unfortunately, order a book with a red cover. 

Yesterday I attended a poetry reading that was quite juicy. I heard Mary Ruefle and Joshua Beckman. Then I went to a reading for a book about women in Buddhism, Hidden Lamp. It was boring, so boring. Holly and I were texting each other while the editors droned on.We left and went for pie. I had cherry. 

Um, no

Today is my birthday and while my partner is delivering babies, I am going swimming, then to the spa, then to a dinner party for a bunch of poets and writers. Rebecca and I had dinner last night at Bengal Tiger and I heard all about her adventures in the snow back East. New York (sigh).

My friend who is marrying this summer in Tuscany has asked me to officiate at her wedding. Ha! They are renting a villa with five houses on it, several swimming pools etc. Pure opulence. She's buying me a ticket and feeding me. The villa is an hour and a half from Florence. Uh, I'll have to go there too. Trying to decide if I want to stay on longer than a week.

I'm beginning to house hunt in earnest. I've forgotten what a weird experience that is. The photos on-line make the rooms look huge and the yard gigantic and the bathrooms pristine.

What the description doesn't say is that the house is under the flight paths from the airport (double thick windows supplied by the city!) or that the neighborhood has no stores or restaurants and is impossible to get to. But the price is right!

My agent Rosemary is friends with Eden, my younger daughter and yesterday she asked if Eden knew I was looking for a new house. She said she has to do a good job with me because Eden will question her judgment so there's double pressure on her to find the right house. As long as the house has a MIL, a fireplace and is near a greenbelt (or in a greenbelt) and a dog park and the water, I'll be happy. Oh, if the house isn't falling down and in need of a roof/plumbing/front stairs/windows, that would be good too. Although for the right location, I'm willing to compromise. I have peed in a litter box waiting for the bathroom to be done.

Just say no to a mortgage. In my current house, the mortgage will be paid off when I'm 92. Really.

I saw/heard these women last night. We were singing and crying and clapping.

The house on the very street where I want to live was awful, weird yard, cheap upgrades, ants (!) and the best of all, they converted the garage into a master bedroom so the French doors from the bedroom open on to the driveway. If the blinds are open, you see your...car? Uh, so no. No basement, no possibilities for a MIL for when I'm decrepit and someone lives with me and carries me around.

Still. I walk around looking at everything here. The basement needs to be emptied. Not much down there except dust and the litter boxes. The garage, oh boy.

I've moved out over and over, unhooking from the house, the neighbors, the neighborhood.

I talked to my brother yesterday. In among the patter, I mentioned the period of time when I was homeless after our mother had throw me out. He said he and my other sibs were never told what happened to me. He hadn't know until about 10 years ago. We don't ever feel safe. He fusses about money all the time. He worries that my sister and I will need watching over and he'll need to support us. Legacy of anxiety.

So selling this house, cumbersome as it is, feels ok right now because I'm choosing to sell it. No one is forcing me to leave, taking what I can carry with me. Ug.

Yesterday, while walking in Seward Park, a place of eagles and old growth trees. it was crashing rain with sudden sunlight. So beautiful, the wet branches and buds on the deciduous trees through the top of the park. By the water, I caught a little hawk landing on a branch. As the sun warmed us, she opened her wings and spread her tail to dry her feathers.

My car is making a strange clunking sound when it changes gears. Uh-oh. I wish it would magically fix itself. Probably not going to happen.

This was my valentine's gift

Sweet Rosemary, my daughter's friend from college, is a real estate agent now and she came over and looked at my huge house and made notes and lists and said, sure, sure in the most comforting way. Meanwhile my head was spinning and floating with detritus; what if I convert the garage into an apartment and then I'd have two renters so I could stay here, but wait, I don't want to stay here. The upkeep, the expense of painting, roof, yard, etc etc etc.

So this morning she sent me a photo of a house on the very street I want to live on, south of here, backing the greenbelt, fireplace (o joy), small lot, smaller house, o yes. We're gonna go look at it this morning. The bank thinks I might qualify for my current house AND a new house so my mortgage would be a million dollars (here hyperventilating begins) but Rosemary said I could come to her house for dinner.

I don't want to think for a moment about packing and moving. I've been here for 13 years. Enough time to gather way too much stuff.

What I'm doing right about now at 1:15 AM.

Bracing, that was the walk Felix and I took. Rain and wind and large former snowmen, currently blackened lumps that the dog barked at, circling around and around while growling. Because former snowmen looked pissed off, all melty and lopsided.

When you come home wet and bedraggled, then you can eat anything you want, even a whole bag of cookies. It's to get warm, right?

From my windows:

And the kids are all out throwing snowballs. Felix went into a seizure of delight, barking and sliding and eating snow and cavorting.

IT'S SNOWING.

Cold afternoon but sun shining on the yard, trashed end-of-year garden, dead leaves, scraggly branches. The camilla bush has already had a few blooms.

Off to freeze my face off with the dog in tow. He has no opinion about the weather. He'll take anything if there are occasional squirrels to chase and a ball to retrieve.

Tonight a birthday party in a Moroccan restaurant with belly dancers. Going with Clark, my gay husband.



I may do a bit of this on the table for the birthday girl.

Cold morning in February, my birth month. Sunday morning I sent in an application to volunteer in the Philippines for a month. Now I'm anxiously checking my email every day to see if I've been accepted. What if I answered the questions too briefly? Perhaps I didn't go into enough detail. There were whole pages to fill up. I didn't fill them up. I was succinct.

Going into another disaster zone scares me but because I've done it before, I know what to expect (sort of). Sleeping in a tent, minimal food, distressed and traumatized people. Emergencies beyond me. In Haiti we were asked to treat all comers. So we saw hypertension, skin diseases, sick kids, burns, the works. We had reference books and baggies of pills, under a tarp in the street. We called it the rubble clinic because it was amidst the rubble, next to a collapsed church with the remains of the nursery school children inside.

I can deliver a baby, manage a hemorrhage, sew up a tear. I can resuscitate a baby. I can witness death and destruction without losing it. What I can't do it fix it. I can't make all the wars and natural disasters stop. I can't end the suffering. But I can be present for those it has affected. I can do that. I can get myself half way around the world to be in the presence of great sorrow. That I can do.

No no oh no

I want to live on a green belt near the lake in a wee house with a fireplace and light and room for a studio and a park near by where I can run the dog and see eagles and it's all paid for so I don't have to work so hard to pay the effing huge mortgage. And a tree. And a mother in law where I can have a friend live. And the roof doesn't leak. And the plumbing is fine and the floors are ok. And I can have a fire when it's cold.

I went to the street where I first made a bid on my first house. I didn't get the house but it was incredibly cheap and I had a down payment, a little one. I still want to live on that street.

Maybe I will.

I spent the ENTIRE DAY with midwifery students (and a model) in a series of mock postpartum visits. Geez, it was grueling (like porridge?) Hahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha. See, brain is fried. And now I have to grade them all. I have a pile of papers in front of me and no one has made me dinner though my tenant has offered chicken and dumplings. Not what I want. I want some chocolate cake and champagne.

I think that is a perfectly acceptable dinner.

Felix is at dog camp with Randy, my savior. For three days. I love Felix but he takes a lot of energy and frankly, tonight I don't have any.

Ok, Fake mashed potatoes made with cauliflower. It's good. It's dinner at the Coyote household.

My new hair. And I feel like Penelope Cruz, just older.

I got a haircut today. It was time. After the last haircut which I didn't like at all, I said, fuck it, I'm just growing it out and so it grew and grew, duh, what hair does. So now it's all flowing grey locks with curl and product and I feel fabulous. Too bad I have nowhere to go with my wondrous hair except for the dog park.

I downloaded an interview I conducted with a midwife pal that my buddy Clark transcribed and it's 23 pages long. Yikes. Fortunately, she's a brilliant and insightful person, but geez, Clark has five more interviews to go. This bit is hard, waiting for interviews, conducting interviews with midwives, practically impossible. And then I procrastinate. Ha.

My writing group is interesting. I drive all the way to Duvall, a far place to me. We sit on the floor of a yoga studio and write from prompts. I'm finding that I 1) want to make myself look good and 2) I don't have patience with prose. However, poems spring up afterwards.

With this hairdo I will look good on Sunday when I go to Duvall again.

Yesterday, sweet Rosemary came over and assessed my house for salability. Sigh. It's time, like a haircut, it's time to divest. This big old house is too big and too old. And I must have smaller and cheaper and more secluded. Or I think more secluded. I'm fantasizing about 'small house backing a greenbelt' versus co-housing versus a condo in an old old brick building versus 2 acres with shack and painting studio on Vashon Island. The thought of packing, moving, starting over etc makes me totally terrified. By myself. At least I figured something out. As a once homeless teen, home is very important and never a sure thing. And I have to be protective and fierce and closed up so I'm not out there again with no roof and no family and no resources.

I can't afford this house forever unless I work til I die. And I'd rather go to Burma.

Rosemary said that mostly my house needs a bit of cosmetics. After I'm done paying for the exterior paint job and the furnace, I can tackle the eye shadow and mascara.

For lunch I had a smoothie made with chard and almond milk, two tofu hotdogs with mustard and a bowl of granola. I think I hit all the food groups.

When I arrived home today there were a mess 'o feathers and bird blood on the kitchen floor compliments of the katz, the murdering bastards. It is their nature but sometimes their nature is a bitch.

Two sightings of a holy/ethereal/ miraculous sort:

Over the weekend I was tooling down MLK and in the opposite lane, in the road, complete with police escort, were about 200 people, Ethiopians? All wearing white, long white scarves on their heads. A few young men were in the front with rolled up carpets. In the center of the crowd was a canopy with three wise men? underneath. They were lavishly dressed with bright colors around their faces. Wha???? The Ethiopian version of the Dalai Lama? I immediately wanted to pull over and park and get out of the car. Cars on the road were wrong. I wanted to bow down.

Today driving across Beacon Hill, I was scanning for the dead end road where the Buddhist monastery is. I stumbled on it once, looking for a mom in labor. I  found the street and there in the median was an elderly woman standing beside her wheelchair fervently praying with her palms together in the direction of the monastery. Again public worship. In the daytime. Random.

The homeless man I gave a dollar to had beautiful hazel eyes. He liked the color of my car, same color of the tarp he's calling home.

I'm just a visitor here.

My dog has learned to sit, lie down and roll over. And he'll do it over and over again for dog cookies. Seriously. That's what we do around here.

I danced today after 3 hours of sleep. I don't even feel tired. I must be delusional. I am delusional.

That's me. Beth Delusional Coyote.

Amen.

Weary. Busy with work. A pileup of women who are waiting for labor. Lynn and I will be busy soon, running here and there, catching babies. In a writing class in Duvall, a hellava drive from here on Sunday afternoon. Constant low level worry about money, about the dog who needs attention, what do I do with the dog when I'm gone for hours, days at a time. My trusty dog sitter Randy to the rescue.

Clark gave me a CD of his singing, piano and his sweet voice so full of ache and melancholy. I listened to him driving to work, wiping tears away as I walked into clinic. His rendition of Joni Michell's River so low and sorrowful.

Watching old Colombo episodes. That man has stains and wrinkles on his iconic raincoat. And a half smoked cigar. And a terrible old car. He was always busting the uber rich in their fancy houses with pools and hot tubs and red corvettes. O if it only were that easy

I want to think about beauty today the mock orange all indecent bloom o bees humming to themselves as they work through the stamen the pistil  smell of earth and rot

I want to imagine the workers coming from the train carrying their lunch pails brief cases backpacks as they shed their clothes and drop their shoes in the street their skin flecked with sunlight

I want to pilfer strawberries from the neighbors eat them with the dirt and stems smear their red tang on my cheeks

I want to sit and wait for the hummingbird flicking her green belly among the gladiolas her hover a miracle of hollow bones and thrum

I want to think about beauty today as the ships come into the grain elevators the air thick with chaff as they are loaded for China  Peru   Anatolia   their long chutes thundering with seed

With thanks to Rebecca.

The weather is yuck and cold and rainy. Usually I love a good challenge; long raincoat, big boots, dog on lease and off we go to get pelted and soaked and invigorated.

Not feeling it today. Still in my pajamas wishing for a fireplace and an old movie (Sunset Boulevard, anyone?) and popcorn. And hot chocolate.

It whipped and roared and blew and threw garbage cans down the street last night. The dog woke up and crawled under the bed. It was dramatic. And a momma is in labor. Barometric pressure, that's what brings out the babies.

I NEVER get a day like this when I stay in a state of undress, sleep in and putter about. Only when I'm sick and that doesn't count.

Meanwhile, the umbrella I left opened on the back porch has disappeared. Poof! It's undoubtedly down the street visiting a neighbor.

Because my old router was wonky and inconsistent, I WENT OUT AND BOUGHT ANOTHER ONE AND INSTALLED IT ALL BY MYSELF. Without calling anyone or having the nice neighborhood husband come over. Who says we women can't do things? With electronics? Huh, I'll show you.

I'm working on poems about bears. They keep gouging the furniture with their giant claws.

Yesterday Felix and I ran the park. In the pouring rain. Discovery Park is a Naval station with a huge water tower, a light house and a few military families still living there. Mostly it's an enormous park on Puget Sound so there are forests, a waste treatment center, a long strip of beach, a fenced area where the police horses live, a First Nations conference center filled with contemporary Native art and huge sandy cliffs. And bunnies. On a day like yesterday, off-leash dogs own the place. He ran and ran and ran, found the ball to lose it again. He went in the water several times. He played with other dogs (consisting of chasing and being chased).

And I forgot to add-Felix went to the dog bath place after and now he is clean and fluffy and he smells good. This will last for about 24 hours when we again venture out into the muddy wet etc. Then he'll look like his true self. Doggy and dirty and beautiful.

The house is so quiet. And clean. After my breakfast, I sat at the table and cried. For a while. For long enough that my eyes are all swollen and my nose is drippy. Felix came and 'nosed' me by pushing his nose under my arm. He wants a walk so off we go.

The sun is miraculously out. I emptied and refilled the hot tub and it might be hot enough now.

Tonight there is a 'Hot Flash' dance at the boy bar. The dance is twice a month for the ladies. I usually go with a friend-any excuse to dance, you know. She can't go tonight so I'm thinking I'll go ALONE. Gawd. Because it is for us older gals, it starts at 6PM and ends at 10. Hahahahahaaha. I'm usually done by 8, really. And the music is questionable; sometimes good, sometimes terrible. I'll go and dance by myself and have a drink made by a bartender that knows how to make cocktails, unlike me.

There are usually a few dancers on platforms who are barely dressed and young and skinny. I feel, um, anbivalent about them. Women stick dollar bills in their panties like strip clubs. It's modern life, I guess. Am I sex positive or an old fart? I don't know.

A dance friend just called and wants to meet me tonight to dance. I don't have to be totally pathetic!!!

Saved. But not by the baby Jesus.

Grief is a bitch.

Holly and I went for a hike today in the beautiful Northwest woods. And Felix of course.

The beautiful green and wet forest. It is my church, my home, my altar and my solace. 

An apple and almond butter for dinner. Herb tea. Felix is actually tired out. A miracle.

Came home today and Deb's already found another place to live, rented an apartment. Whew. That was fast. She's outa here as quick as possible, apparently.

I made a cocktail for myself consisting of Scotch, lemon/ginger/honey beverage and sparkling water. Why, you ask, don't you go straight for the Scotch. Because I want a cocktail, dammit, no matter how inept or peculiar.

Am I heartbroken and sad. Yes. I am.