Change

Many of my poems deal with change—particularly my own need to change, to become who I am supposed to be.

Here’s another love poem, written years ago. In fact, written while driving home after we spent a weekend backpacking. That whole drive, from his place to my own, I was composing these lines, and—except for an initial stop sign—I never once paused the car, through city streets, the freeway on-ramp, exiting on the other side of town, arriving home—nonstop, every light was green.

That’s the rare magic of being so completely in the moment. 

My days are too full
to guard you in yonder high tower.
	You are free to change,
	to move about at will.

My hands are too busy
to bind you in stone’s cold keeping.
	Each time we meet is new,
	your skin so smooth, so warm.

My love is too warm
to freeze you in memory’s glass coffin.
	You are free to change.
	And I am just as free.

My heart knows so much, I fear to listen,
to be as free as that.
	I want something unchanging.
	Yet nothing is immutable.

Only nothing is immutable.

10/12/1989

Our first crocus.

Some garden news—

The spinach planted on January 14th is sprouting!

Operating on Automatic

Left Brain vs Right

Sometimes the thinking mind isn’t that brilliant. And maybe I depend on it a little too much. I’ve found that clearing and sorting out chaos frees up thought.

A week or so ago, I got busy emptying boxes of old papers and magazines, and came across the original (like written in the dark ages) manuscript of my sci-fi story when it was only one novel in length, and definitely behind the times in science. I glanced through it, and decided to at least read the part leading to the climax. 

Immediately, resistance set in:

“It’ll be awful.”

“But there might be treasures there!”

“I don’ wanna.”

“Okay, then, set a timer for ten minutes? See how far you get.”

And what happened? Would you believe??? —

TAXES became a far more desirable task than that little ten minute goal.

A Day on Automatic Drive

I spent most of Monday working on automatic drive—with complaints, with throwing up my hands, but driven to finish the job—quite amazing myself. Tax paperwork is packaged; a date set for delivery to our accountant. Hooray!

Taxes now off my mind, I woke in the night with an idea—a smidgen of a scene—for my unfinished trilogy. I never would have gotten the idea while tied to tax deadlines.

Relax and De-Stress

Our complicated lives can often feel overwhelming. I shun social media, but it’s impossible to ignore taxes. Advice to self: Just breathe. And keep a piece of life clutter-free—which means clearing out old messes — to free up those little grey cells. (thanks, Poirot.)

Sophie’s schedule: two meals a day/ a few trips outside / lots of naps.

“Is it time for my walk?”

Sticks (no stones or bones) 

Saturday, Sophie came home from a walk carrying a stick (a thin branch). I took it away and gave her a chew stick.

Other times, when she had a chew stick, she demolished it immediately, swallowing whole chunks. 

This time, she carried the chew stick around for three days, much the way she carries her toys , sometimes looking for a place to bury it.

Finally, today, she settled down to really work on it.

February report

Weather can be beautiful in February. We’ve had a number of sunny days, a couple getting up to 60 degrees. 

Saturday, I planted an old packet of sugar snap pea seeds after soaking them. If they sprout, they should be ready to be replaced by the time I want to plant tomatoes. And maybe, just maybe, the legumes will leave some nitrogen in the soil with their passing.

Today it snowed.

Bare Sticks, no I mean Bones . . .

Every year, there comes a time when I admire the bare bones of trees. If I chew on sticks, it’s only with my eyes. Even our slow-to-drop-its-leaves oak tree is bare by now.

This is the last month trees can show off their inner beauty before they start sprouting greenery again.

Everyone, be well!

Ironies—

A brief report this week, due to non-writing pursuits. My focus has been on taxes (I was late last year), and some personal issues. 

Ironically, that means I’m spending more time watching DVDs while knitting a cap, activities to counteract the tedium which dries up my creative juices.

I found the yarn in a thrift store:

Seeds—

Taking advantage of Saturday’s sunshine, I planted the second third of the row (kale, spinach, snap peas). What I encountered was frozen soil, aside from the dry layer on top. From niece Sandy’s suggestion, I covered the seeds with wood to keep the moisture in.

Then on top of that, I spread a black garbage bag for warmth (which now makes the wood redundant). Oh well. Once they sprout, they’ll both go away.

And with the enthusiam that February’s normally sunny days bring, I’m about to begin sprouting more seeds indoors.

At home—

Breakfast was mushrooms on toast. I’ve got a batch of seedy whole wheat bread almost ready for kneading. And most days, I continue to put one word in front of another, even if it’s revision and nothing new.

Y’all have a great week!

Our intentions—

You might remember my “intention” of experiencing something new every week. I hadn’t come up with any ideas for this past week.

I do believe the cosmos (whatever name you go by) responds to our sincere needs (whether we want it to or not). A new experience did happen. It left me with questions and a certain amount of angst. 

On the streets—

Back before Covid, I used to walk two miles to a coffee shop for early morning tea. Street people occasionally asked me for change. Sometimes, it was easy to say no. But other times haunted me, particularly if it was a woman. So I began carrying a dollar or two, ready at hand in my back jeans pocket.

During the Covid hiatus, when the coffee shop was closed or with limited hours, I learned to enjoy that quiet time at home. I do miss those quiet walks into the dawn, though.

Recently, I was carrying a 50 dollar bill in my wallet. Being short on singles, I accidentally handed it to a cashier in a thrift store. Realizing my mistake, I switched it for a 20. I folded it up so I wouldn’t make that mistake again. 

What happened—

This past Saturday, we were heading for the car with our groceries when I was accosted by a desperate woman. My husband put his bag in the car trunk and then got inside and waited. I loaded my bags while trying to make sense of what this woman was saying.

I was only half-sold on her story. It was her desperation that I bought into. On a cold day, I’d feel for anyone asking help. The amount she needed was $47 and change. 

I reached in and pulled out that fateful 50 dollar bill. She broke down when I gave it to her, and I held her in a hug. 

Second thoughts—

My attention had been divided between the woman on one side, my car, groceries, husband, and the day’s demands on the other. As soon as we left her, I saw all the holes and inconsistencies in her story. I knew I’d been lied to.

I don’t know her real story.  But the woman was real. The hug was real. Her relief was real. 

Did I provide funds for her next drug fix? Or for a safe place to stay? Not knowing bothers me, a lot, but . . . It is what it is.

The hug was real. My caring was real. That’s all I can own.

The planting experiment—

was postponed, due to a cold snap. I hope to set out the next batch of seeds next weekend. I have ideas of adding a second cover, a black one, to collect a little more of the sun’s heat.

Even Sophie enjoys the new—

I wanted to pick up a book at the library Sunday afternoon, so we took Sophie along and walked her in the adjoining park—new place, new smells, new experience.

Sophie was a happy, excited dog. Then we all came home so she could take a nap.

Can we slow down time?

As we grow older, subjective time seems to fly faster and faster. One way to slow that down is to do new things. Experiencing something for the first time, like we do in childhood, has (or is supposed to have) a slowing down effect.

Last week I mentioned an idea of trying something new, or experiencing something new, every week. So on Saturday, I began an experiment. 

Many years, though not last year, I get excited about spring planting and begin sprouting seeds indoors. What I’ve never done is actually plant before the last frost. There are seeds for which this is recommended. The question comes, how soon will frost end? How soon should I plant?

This year I don’t want to miss out. With unpredictable weather, the best option is to experiment. 

But it’s still January for heaven’s sake!

Last Saturday, I prepared one of my raised beds for seeds. Not knowing the optimum time, this is an experiment. I only planted seeds—kale, spinach, and snap peas—about one third of the bed’s length. 

Next Saturday, I’ll plant a few more. The following Saturday, I’ll finish the row. We just had rain. I didn’t even have to water the seeds this week.

Then we’ll be in February.

What if nothing happens? Well, then, I’ll start those rows all over again. We may end up with a doubled crop of something. It’ll be fun to find out.

I tried for an aphorism, to link all this with writing. Something like: 

You plant a seed idea or two. Sometimes no harvest. Sometimes you get lucky. Then you have to get busy weeding . . .

Anyway, spring will arrive when it arrives. I hope to have something to show for it—in both words and plants.

Sophie says, “I have no complaints about time. Just keep the meals and walks on schedule.”

Bring on the new—

The end to the holidays came as a relief. 

Our problems never arise out of a single cause; they’re always complicated. But one of the causes of my relief was of having put too much pressure on my desire to finish a first draft—or at least an outline—for the end of the sci fi trilogy I’m working on.

Pressurized creativity doesn’t work, at least for me. It dried up my ability to write, while simultaneously tying me in knots so I had no energy for anything else—other than overeating. 

So yes, it’s a relief to see the December 31st deadline pass. Bring on the new year!

I’m currently indulging in read-aloud sessions of my verse novel, after allowing it to rest for several months. Editing is so much more fun than first drafts!

Promote the healthy—

My breakfasts tend to be simple, tea and toast for instance. It occurred to me one day that I hadn’t made hummus lately, so I pulled the last container of chickpeas from the freezer. In the morning, I concocted a batch of hummus and ate some on toast.

Thoughts when almost asleep are always interesting. That night, lying in bed, I realized that my original vision of hummus had been on a whole wheat tortilla, and included a generous layer of kimchee on top.

Healthy eating is supposed to include probiotics, i.e. fermented foods. I’m pretty good about eating yogurt (store-bought), and drinking kombucha (home-brewed). My sister taught me how to make kimchee, but I’ve never been a big pickle eater, so the kimchee tends to sit at the back of the fridge, forgotten.

In the interest of starting the new year right, the next morning I ate hummus again, topped with kimchee, and even threw in some avocado. Yum! 

Back to the new—

Trying new things brings me back to the beginning of this blog. New activities can slow down our perception of fleeting time. What if I tried to do something new every week? In a year, that would amount to 52 new experiences. 

Except right now, I’m rather down on resolutions, so let’s just call this a suggestion. No pressure at all if I keep it small. Okay? 

Week 1: Kimchee on hummus. . .

Puzzling out the old year


This is a brief, and late blog, as I’ve had little energy to invest beyond my writing deadline.

However, great minds decided we needed more puzzles.

And so, along with my self-elected labors, I had to put Sophie together ASAP.

May all the pieces of the puzzles

of our lives come together in 2023!

It’s the season

This morning, Sophie was all ready to take her walk—UNTIL I held up her harness in one hand and her coat in the other. She took one look and walked away. 

I love an expressive dog! I then put the coat away and dressed her in harness only, and we took a leisurely stroll down several blocks sans coat.

Here she is in her MVP (Most Valuable Puppy) coat, a few days ago. With thanks to Leslie, who told me what those letters really stand for.

And that’s all, folks. 

Happy Hanukkah, Solstice, Christmas to all!

On Seeing

On seeing the literal—I got used to being farsighted after the cataract surgery, except for anything up close, like fingernail care and reading and jigsaw puzzles.

Finally freed to visit my optometrist, I now have progressive lenses—something new for this previously trifocal user. 

Some of the time the progressive lenses work well. However, the jigsaw puzzle swims around when I look down at it. And seeing the ground when walking can be disconcerting where uneven surfaces are concerned. Let’s hope my brain adjusts to it all. 

On seeing the metaphorical—I begin to see a way forward to resolve my trilogy. Following a careful read-through of what was already written, last week I began to spend—ideally an hour, though often falling short—doing a daily free-write. Of course, it’s what I should have been doing in November! 

Ha! I just spotted a notice posted over my desk on time management. The first rule is: Action leads to Motivation which leads to More Motivation. My resolution to Act—write for an hour, has led to Motivation—seeing where the story can go; hopefully the process will grain traction as it moves along.

On seeing Encanto—We watched Encanto last week. Recommended by my son-in-law, this Pixar animation thoroughly enchanted me.

In spite of its magical wrappings, there’s a beautiful message that no one person can carry the whole weight of a family—neither Abuela, who has held them together all these years; nor those family members with magical gifts. Gifted or not, perfect or not, only self-acceptance and mutual acceptance of each other can save them.

Sophie after a bath and haircut, wearing her Christmas scarf.