Sunday Scribblings: tha assignment

This week for Sunday Scribblings we were given an assignment to go out and observe a person then write about them. You can go here to read the specifics to the assignment. I took it as an experiment in observation and creative projection. I say projection because I'd never claim to know someone by my first voyeur's view. Anyway, my oberservation actually blended a person, a thought, and a memory of a friend from the home town. I had fun. ~gg

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Inside Panels of Book Covers, by gogo

She stood fixing an invisible sock in her Wellington Boots, hiding the casual scratch of an itch, with the facade of sock maintenance. It was all about propping the circumstance for her when it came to body image. Her clothes, finely put together, each piece hemmed together with precise color coordination and style. Though the colors and styles did not rely on any sense of today’s fashion-in, the observer would have been lulled into believing she was naturally fashionable by how her outfit came together so. She supposed she was fashionable, after years of paying close attention to this part of herself.

Her skirt was an old thin knitted blanket with pale blues, greens, and yellow waves that she sowed into its new existence. She gave it a kilt cut and starched look simply by molding it with felt underneath. She had found the felt in some random thrift store box during an unremembered experience. Her navy Peacoat was a petite find at an army surplus store down Route 66 in Missouri. It was the best place to shop army surplus she thought. The Wellie boots were the off the cuff accent for the rainy day, that brought her look together.

She wasn’t a materialistic person in her mind’s eye, and thought her friends wouldn’t think it of her. She just liked to decorate herself. As a little girl, she always seemed to loose those Barbie dolls she got at one Foster home or another. She never had time to play dress up with them anyway, and when the time came to give them up, she still had the need – the desire to dress something, so she decided to start with herself. This is what she thought as she found the window of the vacuum cleaner repair shop to push back the coffee stained brown curl behind her ear. She didn’t mind if her curly bobby cut look fell out of place, it just gave her a chance to play with it.

She felt most people just saw the outside, became intimidated or judgmental because she took time to present her outside, but that wasn’t about her. She supposed, if given a chance, she could explain to them that the image helped her maintain a structure to her outside world that never really seemed to be there, but then that was too deep a thought for those who only went as far as the surface to judge her.

She always found it interesting that everyone was kind of a book cover in the world. A labeled shirt or not, everyone seem to judge a book by its cover looking for the type they’d like to read. She knew those who tried to come into her life because of her book cover, who could only seem to wade at the surface were just folks she weeded out, like she weeded out the noise from all those judgmental stares. She was after all a person, complicated and real, just like everyone else.

~~~~~~~~~~ go here to check out what others wrote for the sunday scribblings assignment.

"we'll i ain't got no more bull shit to feed you": in memory of

I’m listening to this new CD, Chris Bathgate - Throatsleep. Well, it’s been with me for a few weeks but I like to absorb my music, so this is the first time I have popped it into the CD player. I only mention the artist and album title in case there are other folks out there who appreciate random finds now and again. I know I do. In fact, I only knew about this artist because a friend of mine introduced me to his music.

This is where I want to become concise in my ramble on this page. I want to mention that there is a song on this album that I have heard before. I want to talk about how this wonderful/insightful/artistic and talented friend makes me road trip CDs when I travel and how Chris was on a few of the compilations I’ve received. I want to talk about how it was great to see him perform live a few weeks ago and get a slew of albums from him – to pass along and share. I want to share about how this friend, who introduced me to his music, makes the best compilations and her attentiveness to the song list never escapes me. That hearing the song tonight, spurred memories of being on the road and how the music she shared accentuated the trips. Finally, I want to mention one road trip, when I was first introduced to C.B, and the journey itself because out of all the things I want to mention - it is this memory I want to put to page. AND A BIG THANK YOU TO kp, in case you come by this way again. And thank you for telling me you read my page.

The Memory: "love ya, kiddo"

The memory was of driving down route 9 to my grandfather’s funeral. It was an expected death that happened at an unexpected moment. I was working two jobs, trying to taper off the travel gig while preparing for graduate school the following fall.

What do I remember?

I remember the death happened during a very busy week for me. The funeral itself felt like a day off since I was working 7 days a week at that point. Getting the call from my parents that Grandpa Ray had died was the unexpected part. A month or so earlier, I had called him during a hard period in his life. Treatments were sketchy and the docs thought he wouldn’t pull through. It was the last conversation he and I would have, though a week later he had a sudden turn for the better and prognosis was good. We all expected him to pass on at some point, but at his death everyone thought he was in a good phase. His death was sudden without lingering insult or pain.

To back up to the last conversation we had, I cannot think of a better last dialogued shared. My grandfather was my nomadic storyteller. He taught me to how to read palms and appreciate a funny story. Tried to get me to chew, but that’s a story on its own. He taught me a good laugh comes from the belly and that a stagnated soul dies earlier than the body does. Our last words shared were simple ones. I told him about getting into graduate school and he was the first family member to tell me congratulation and how proud he was of me. Ray told me about his prognosis and how he had no intention of letting "those docs" predict his death. He said he would walk out of that hospital and he did, even though those docs expected him to die before the end of the week.

Ray told me he was gonna pick a day to die when no one was looking for his death, and he did just that. His last words, you know those valuable monologues we yearn for and cling to in movies, plays, and in our personal worlds, that echo in our ears for years to come, were as cherished to me as the experiences I shared with him. On his memorial card at the funeral, I wrote those words:

"Well, I ain’t got no more bull shit to feed you. Love ya Kiddo."

Driving down Route 9 to Cemetery Street where the funeral was held, a block a way from his home, those words rolled off my silent tongue channeling his voice. Even now, I can hear his voice and his laugh. The music played and my mind went wondering down all the memories of him. I practiced the words I would say at the service during his eulogy. It was my intention to share stories of him that he told to us over and over again, that made us laugh more from his own contagious laughter then the retelling of the story. I wanted everyone to know his last words to me because they were the epitome of his essence.

In the car on the way down, I didn’t feel sad for his death, though knew he was someone I would mourn. Not a sad mourning of loss and regret, but like an Irish wake I knew I would mourn with the recanting of his memory and stories he shared. I realized he was the inspiration behind my own need to be a good storyteller and my attraction to a good laugh. Being a person who has distanced herself from her family, in order to become the best of them and not the worst, Ray’s death brought me face to face with everyone in my family as I was at that moment. To honor him, I wanted to present myself as the better part in all of us, but scared I’d get lost in old ways and habits where there was no I in the situation. On that drive down, as I remembered him, I was happy to know the better parts of me included him, including the storyteller and laughter.

When I stood in front of my family at the memorial service, I took on the role of canter and retold his story. We laughed together and his last words told to me became something that belonged to everyone.

This is the memory spurred by a song. That old travel music for that particular drive has become the soundtrack for that moment and that memory...and a few more, but that’s another story. And if I had any wrap up to this ramble, I would say that life is a layered thing.

Embrace those layers.

please stay tuned...

The week wanes into the weekend and I have spent most of my time caring for the cold that landed in my chest. Sleep a big priority, the part of my head that usually begins to sound alarms blaring I have too much to do to slow down my pace was too tired to report on the state of things. It happens. Colds get the best of us. The best thing to do is to slow down the pace so the body can catch up. That’s what I did.

I do have a few stories to tell from this week. My favorite word to toss around in my head is tittles. It’s the little details in life, like dotting the i’s, that bring out the best stories life has to offer. I’m not at a point where I can write at the moment. I just need a minute to get back into the pace of things. My sidekick pile needs attending to and I am still not gorged on excessive sleep for the moment.

~gg

sunday scribblings: skin

~I told myself I was going to start writing for Sunday Scribbles again. I promised myself, no matter the prompt I would write what came to mind and post what that was. Well, what came to mind was rough. I was surprised I went directly to thoughts of touching skin when I read this prompt. It may be very inappropriate, perhaps down right rated R, but this is one of the things I love about skin - being touched and touching. I offer with respect and hope no one is too insulted by my response. Read at your own risk.

~skin~
Thinking of skin,
my mind went to touch,
touching skin,
that apothecary shop of sensuality.

What is your favorite part of the skin?
The nape of the neck,
scented sweet
or the concaved dent between
clavicle and sternum?
The forehead?
Perhaps we move downward towards the shoulders,
rounded and soft, the arms firm or downy?
The palms, the tops of hands – fingertips?
Perhaps the subtle seduction of the breast,
queen areola in her fleshy goodness?
The navel – a hidden world born the moment
we are cut into an individual at birth?
Perhaps toes, or the sandy softness of the treaded foot?
The ankle? The calf, or perhaps the thigh, going higher and higher?
The skin covering the sharpened hip bones waiting for a kiss?
Or is it somewhere else among meadows and southern lips?

- Want to know what other people said about skin? Go to Sunday Scribbles.

the simple life

Yawn.
Sleepy eyes, caffeinated open,
Imagining the warmth of my bed,
how it will welcome me home
when I fall into it, asleep, sleeping
curled into unconsciousness.
Head to pillow, I look forward.
Yawn.

~Time seems to have stopped 30 seconds after the last time I looked. I want time to hurry up already, but know this kind of wishing only brings the creeping of slower existence. So, I thought I would spend some time posting something about something...yeah, I got nothing.

My intentions today are to power sleep 8hours then babysit. I have to say I am enjoying the babysitting experience. I am watching an actual baby, pre 6months, so besides fulfilling her basic needs, we kind of stare at each other. I do appreciate the fact that the baby gets excited when I sing. She begins to coo right back at me. I think her personal favorite is "I Got a Frothy Mouth & am doing fine." I am glad to say that I am not a one-hit wonder though, having a successful follow-up of a cover by U2, "MLK" and an original, "Baby, I'm Changing Your Diaper as Fast as I Can".

Afterwards, if I am not pressed to get more sleep before work, I want to go see my hairstylist at one of my favorite local bars with some friends. There is always good music playing there and someone stuck a "Vote for Pedro" sticker among all the graffiti and band stickers by the bar. That just brings a smile to my face whenever I see it...of course, so did the lecture I went to yesterday on Attachment Theory of Individuals, Groups, and Couples. I digress.

Apparently my hair stylist and her band are doing a CD release show at this bar. Sounds good to me. Music releases are a theme in my life lately. I won’t lie, I am very excited that she is back in town because I haven’t been able to find a decent hair stylist since she left. Yeah, I am not a vain person, but do appreciate a person who knows how to cut a decent du. I am very excited she’s back from Portland – like happy dance excited. This from the gyrl who spends most of her day in professional attire and having discussions about evidence-based practice and logic models. Little does the world know, I'm a groupie at heart for musicians and hair stylists.

Other then that, its work tomorrow night, sleep and then studying all day on Sunday at the library. This is my simple life.

Now back to pining for bed.

~GG

sleeves

Watching her sleeve move ever-so-lightly downward in a bent slouch as she reached up to pull the stop-signal cord on the bus, I remembered you. It was a long sleeve with a big cuff, oversized really, that when ‘laxed, fell comfortably around the palm ending appropriately at the beginning of the first set of knuckles. The cuff was sturdy and narrow, giving off the impression that it was a glove for the hand rather then the end of a shirt sleeve. When reaching, the sleeve casually with subtle lightness fell back to release the hand from the home it lived. I found myself surprised by how my heart worn weary on the edge of my own sleeve gave way to endearing love for hers.

You have been so forgotten for so long, lost between the louder rhythms panging in my head – studying for class, assignments due, and the tasky endeavor of creating a clinical program in hopes that a published paper may come out of the attempt; polishing my skills for the promotion at work and the preparations for the flight onwards. I treated you like a regimented cover, though weary, kept clean and spotless with that professional gleam I’ve been harboring. I forgot you hanging out exposed in my days, redirecting myself to more important things. But really I’ve never known how to work you, as evidenced by the sudden flutter from the simple movement of a stranger. You sang so loud it changed this cadence in self and all I wanted to do was remember you. Remember you.

pieces

I've randomly try and write poetry. Words on a page motivated out of words that just sound fun. I usually get a far as one stanza before I am done. Here is a collection of random pieces. I'm now going to go for a run...my brain hurts from studying too much. Peace ~GG

Unfurling
Spending time collecting self
Like an apron folded tight
Against the edge of a sunrise,
creeping through the windowsill.
All wound up, a clean clothe
Worn to scrap just sitting there,
Breaking threads unused
In their kept ness.
Its time to expand.
Its time to let go,
And go unfurling.

Echo Pitched Back
Standing at thresholds, the flesh pickled,
Eyes squinting to see the other side.
Sometimes even seers can’t see beyond
The echo pitched back.
What’s beyond this? What’s beyond this?

Untitled
Rusted thoughts creaking in the head
under bellied routine,
they squeak sharply
stranded in time,
to press beyond the conditional
condition she has gotten herself into.

moral incontinence. Incontinent in morals. The inability to keep oneself from morally getting wet. The inability to be a good gyrl, a good soul…straight maybe. The lack of moral character. The act of transgressing randomly without notice (my favorite). The act of uncontrollably failing to live up to ones own morals.

my day

I set up house at the coffee shop, preparing my day of study, after spending the morning in quiet communion in a circle, then cleaning the dust bunnies of clutter that collected in my home. I pop in a new CD – Chris Bathgate, Silence is for Suckers – as I sit in silence with this self. I begin to type an entry, wondering what I want to say, but my head feels constipated with used up thoughts. I struggle to put any words to the page. I go outside to get a sense of something outside. Watching this gyrl in the distance playing with her red umbrella in carousel twirls, up and down, over and around and around and around. Her goulashes spin, a wobbly rotation between her and the unsteady ground. Caught with her red umbrella between the rains today, she becomes a dancer in the chilled wind, content and impish in her childhood.

I am distracted by my favorite entrepreneur who has gone door to door trying to find a space for the bongo people, who want to play but have no home today. Her smile always catches between my chest and lungs; I want to strive to live life with as much bubble and joy that erupts from her. She tells me about the cracked glass and tile dreams she has for this coffee shop as inserts of insight unfold about the bongo people that has sent her out in this day. I smile in myself while muttering the words bongo people, bongo people, bongo people in my head. I want to keep saying it over and over again, my own carousel of spinning happiness.

I come inside and start again to prepare for my day. Studying the top of the list, writing the primer for the studiousness, I am not ready to put my nose in the book or the book up to my nose. I murmur bongo people, letting it bong from my lips. My neighbor smiles and I smile back. I’ve learn not to explain me. It’s just best to let it be.

Typing my page, I realize, though I haven’t moved any of my clogged-up thoughts, I have eased them with the color in a day, this day,
my day.

There You Are, I Whisper

A bluesy day, but I’m feeling good. Woke up and rolled out of bed, turning off NPR blaring at my head. I tell myself, I simply cannot wake up to the news, shaking off the dream where I was in the news commentary, so close to Bush I thought I could tell him to [knock it off already]. Maybe it’s time to go back to classical music or white noise instead of the news first thing, I think to myself as I turn on the water for the morning brewed coffee. Turn on the light in the bathroom and look at this self in the mirror. There you are, I whisper at the smile coming back at me.

I am the comfortable old blue jeans I put on, with the undershirt and dress shirt buttoned just above the chest. Hair brushed down, the one exercise in patience for the day; I drink my coffee while flipping through a magazine. Today is the autumn equinox and I spot the balance in it all.

I am coming into myself or towards a new chapter. Like a reader reading a good book, I am excited by my turn of the page. I smell something on the horizon, though not sure what it is, I do know its coming and for the first time, I’m pretty confident it’s gonna be the best thing that ever happened to me. There is no concrete rationale for the thought, no proof of what I sense; it’s just a dousing rod kind of hunch smiling right at me. ;)

Happy Autumn Equinox.

A Look Through the Window

This new internship is different then the last one in regards to feeling comfortable. Last year, the Community Center had a smaller number of folks working there and a more casual feel. Working at a Veterinary Hospital has a much different feel as I walk past numbers of people I have never met, have no clue what they are doing and in turn they know nothing about me. In part, I feel cushioned by this anonymity of a working crowd. I am one of a number of people. However, when it comes to being…oh the social worker sometimes it’s hard riding the periphery of this place. I am supposed to get the staff and clients comfortable with the idea that I am around for counseling services – particularly in a crisis situation. Sometimes I hover on the periphery waiting to see if I can help someone, wondering if I am the interloper watching. I personally know that I don’t feel comfortable being watched for emotional reactions to things. I’m always accessing where everyone’s comfort level is including my own. I am also taking liberties to simply ask people if my presence is needed. Now mind this, everyone at the Vet Hospital wants this service provided. This program benefits all involved to have a person on staff that can focus on the crisis stressors in a situation. With that said, I am the new one in a pretty established routine. I can liken it to being the new kid in school – awkward, isolating, exciting, and sometimes just plain weird.

Earlier in the day, I was processing myself in regards to these feelings. How does it feel to be the new kid? Am I pressuring myself to be at a level (Social Work skill wise) that takes time? What should I being doing today to take care of myself? You know the usual touchy feely, check in kind of stuff.

While doing this, a memory popped through my head of looking through the window of the 6th grade class when I was in 3rd grade. (I do this often). I went to an elementary school that was shaped like an L. On one wing was 1st thru 3rd with kindergarten the Caboose and 4th thru 6th in the other wing with the gym/cafeteria/auditorium the corner of the L. It was a big thing for 3rd graders to get excited about 4th grade because they we were moving into the next wing of the school. In a sense, it was our first right of passage where we were officially the big kids. Coming back to the story that came into my head, I remembered being in 3rd grade looking through the 6th grade window with a friend. We were watching the last grade in this school reading a selected novel in class. I remember the books were huge! They were thick and blocky, and gave off this intimidating presence of I AM A BIG BOOK! I can remember thinking how slightly intimidated I felt by watching them read. Though I was excited to some day be in the 6th grade and read that size book, I also had trepidations. How would I ever be ready to read something that size? I remembered that my friend and I talked about that. In kid form, we gabbed about what it would be like to be reading that book in 6th grade to look up and see 3rd graders watching us with amazement in their eyes.

I held this memory turning the corner of grades in our school, into fourth grade and beyond. I even remember reading those huge books in 6th grade realizing they weren’t so scary after all, and I wasn’t behind as I worried I would be. I use to look up in 6th grade out the same window wondering if there would be 3rd graders looking in.

The memory, like the true grace of universal lessons, reminded me that I am right were I am at right now in regards to my internship. I’m like the 3rd grader a little intimidated by this new world through the window, but knows soon enough I’ll be on the other side doing fine.

Well, I'm not actually a 3rd grader, more like a 30 year old intern at a Vet clinic....but I hope you get my point. :O).

As We Grow Further Away From Our President

I have been reading some really wonderful insights and responses to our government in world news and with 9/11. I wanted to pass along some links for others to check out, if you come by this way.

The Wisdom of Jimmy Carter and American 'Dolls' Write to Bush
Rodeo Clown at Ground Zero and Dust
Grudges
The Gospel According to St. George W. Bush

Top Ten List on a Late Thursday Night

I am at the library with a cohort from school. We are working on our first group project for a class, having those random conversations that go nowhere, and we all stop to ask each other, "how did we get here?" I just get a kick out of these types of conversations.

Here is our Top Ten List of Things We Wish We Were Doing Right Now:

10. Putting on our PJs
9. Snuggling
8. Watching random bits of TV (Grey's Anotomy is the top pick)!
7. Watching the previews for Grey's Anotomy
6. Eating a real meal (i.e., homemade and spicy).
5. Laying on the couch drooling while watching Grey's Anotomy
4. Preparing our graduation invites, instead of this presentation
3. Surfing the web to see if Grey's anotomy is spelled with an A or an E.
2. Laughing at someone else who thought it was a good idea to be in grad school.
1. Sleeping after watching Grey's Anotomy

It's All About The Techno: Please Standby

I’ve had a technologically yucky day. My internship office is not set up for internet access or printer access yet. I don’t even have a work computer there, so have become resigned to use my own in the office. This comes with an agreement that if my computer fails at work, it gets fixed and paid for by them. It’s not that the parties involved aren’t helping. This program is getting a lot of support from everyone, but we all are diving into the bureaucracy of working, so things take time. With that said, I have hit my limit of techno complications. I was about to throw out all my ideas and begin to think handwritten everything. The sad thing is, my typing is better then my handwriting and in the bigger scheme I am willing to wait through…going on 24 hours of works worth of waiting to not subject people to my scribble.

There was fun in all this though. I had email access for about 2 minutes where I wrote a friend an email, and then I lost the connection. We were all cheering our success only to form this communal sigh when I lost the connection. I laughed so hard. The beauty in life keeps me going. Eventually this will all be solved and I can move forward with my lit searches, prints, and it all. I won’t lie though, this hold up is frustrating. I find I am scheduling in more time to work out the bugs then doing my job, and all my patience doesn’t take away from the fact that my workload is heavier because of it. It’s times like these when I want to call all the technologically savy folks in my life and ask them to come in and just take care of it. Then buy them dinner.

I came home from the long day and immediately changed my clothes. There is something about putting on a new outfit that changes the energy of the body. I’m wearing college student casual this evening which consists of my favorite pair of corduroy and my university sweatshirt. I have the hood up at the moment ‘cause it makes me feel good. I did a little meditation where I exhaled the wiry frustrations of the day (it was a long exhale), and inhaled the energy I need to do the next to do on my task list, which is study.

I wanted to post about this tag that was in one of my new office drawers. It’s the code sticker and is already peeling. I wanted to write a little story about the life I imagine it will have, maybe peeling off slowly or getting ripped when the drawer closes. I even thought of an ending where its little numbered face was treading the floors of the Hospital on the bottom of a shoe, only to be a mysterious thing peeled off and thrown away at home. It was a cute little story in my head. That’s about all the time I have to write it though. I figure that little sticker deserved a few words, if not a whole story. Apparently my techno problems deserved most of the page tonight. I just think if I write about it, maybe it’ll go a little faster and I’ll be a little closer to taking it off the list….

If I Don't Move To London, it's 'Cause I Bought a Cat

Disclaimer: Free Thought Ramble that needed a public forum to be just as it is!


Wow! I tell you, my dayz are full. A good kind of full. What is taking up my time is…well school. My internship this year is at the University Veterinary Hospital. Yes, that’s right…an animal hospital. My job as a social worker is working with the clients who are in crisis. Those who have animals can probably attest that their pets are like family members. When we see them suffer or have to make really hard choices about life or death, sometimes its good to have someone in your corner listening, advocating, and offering resources. That’s where I come in. What I like about this particular internship is that this program is at the ground floor. I get to help develop this program, as well as develop evaluation protocols. I also get to hone my counseling skills in another setting outside of mental health organizations. In other words, I get to build skills I intend to use in my master plan to take over the world. Please stay tuned. :O).

I thought that this internship would curtail my need for a pet of my own, but I feel more wanting of a pet then ever before. Since I am moving to London I do not think this is a good idea at this time. About 2 years ago I helped to save an abandoned cat in winter. I wasn’t living a lifestyle conducive to cat care. I worked two jobs and traveled every month for the music company job. I did get this cat her shots and helped her care for 6 kittens she gave birth to. She was pregnant when she came into my charge. I believe that was why I came into her life. I found each one a good home, and made sure Mom was healthy. By the way, my cat’s name was Basil. I know, very cute. Unfortunately, I was not home enough to qualify as a good pet mom/owner/caregiver, albeit at the shelter, she wouldn’t have lived because of the pregnancy.

My goals were to get back to school, and I needed two jobs to make this happen. There is no GoGo Trust fund in my world or a GoGo Visa. It’s my dollar that gets me anywhere I want to go. I traveled for one job because it made the constant workload feel a little less heavy. I’ve lived in this State all of my life and knew in order to leave this State, I had to see the other ones. These were my goals at the time. I had friends take care of her while I was gone, but still how fair is it to the cat? Not very.

I’ve grown up with pets. Dogs, cats, rabbits… an abandoned goat. I was raised knowing what a good pet owner was, what animals needed, and the contract one has with a pet when one becomes a pet owner. With Basil, I was like the proverbial husband bringing home the bacon, but barely home for a good rub. It’s just an analogy…don’t go there.

This time around, I was not a good cat owner.

I did the next best thing and found her a good owner with 3 other cats to live with. I waited long enough for the kittens to be old enough to go to good homes, and gave her to this woman once all her kittens were gone. This was a very hard thing. I made the decision without telling my friends and then proceeded to mourn without telling anyone. When I say mourn, I mean every time I saw one of her forgotten toys, I balled! Every time someone asked me where Basil was, I gave the generic answer then cried later. I finally got to a place to ask myself, why am I not sharing this? I realized because I felt ashamed that I wasn’t ready to make room for a cat. I think I am in a place now where I can honor both the pet owner I want to be, the student I needed to become, and the part of myself who did help Basil through a transition. I also can say, I’m still certain I need to be in a settled place in my life or at least moving within the United States to own an animal.

I am glad I helped Basil, and still wish I could have been present with her. I know I want to take this big leap to London and it wouldn’t be fair to a cat or dog. I don’t want a goat. I also don’t think I could ever give up a pet again…I want to be in a place where we’re together until one of us dies.

I’m not marrying the cat, I’m just saying.

Anyway, I am excited about the internship. I’m surprised it’s brought up herstory of mine. I find my time busy right now with it all, but I’m enjoying this experience. It’s given me a place to learn at the professional level, while healing/connecting/being at the self level.

I still miss you, Baze.

~ GoGo

Prickly Finger Tips Touching Orange Blossoms

Fall came poring down today under gray sky and cold wind. I wake after a long day of sleep between work shifts and go for a walk. Though the day gives off a sense of glooming, I feel none of it, contented by the themes of autumn unfolding. I finally get to wear that sweater, wrapping my feet in hiking shoes, and head covered. My memory walks down lanes of Apple Festivals, football games, autumn hikes and bond fires. My mind remembers how much I have loved fingers exposed to the prickly cold of autumn’s chill, palms rubbed frantically and then held to the mouth for rushing spurts of warm breath on finger tips.

I come home to a house full of Japanese Lanterns dangling from my mantel. On this fall day, I welcome the orange blooms. On this day, I am filled with joy and awe. I am also busy beyond belief and my tiredness may be influencing my disposition. I take reprieve in simply enjoying the beauty of today and this self.

Hmm. I guess this is me scribbling a love note for this moment. Seems about right.