Wednesday, March 31, 2010


Today I stood outside in the rain, and a young woman passed by, talking on her cellphone. "Are you kidding?" She said to the person on the other end. "I'm too busy being happy!"

"I love that!" I blurted out to no one. The girl turned to look at me, and smiled. "I love that you are too busy being happy!" I told her.

She laughed, and I laughed, and as she walked away smiling, I thought to myself: I'm gonna do that. I'm gonna be too busy being happy.

Sunday, March 28, 2010

It's complicated

Annie: Do you think human beings were meant to be so complicated?

Me: Do you mean "meant to be" as in predestined?

Annie: Yeah.

Me: Well, I think we became more complicated because the world became more complicated.

Annie: Yeah, I mean cave people weren't this way. Did we evolve to become more complicated?

Me: I'm sure we'd understand more if we studied the history of the world, or the history of evolution, or the history of man, or the history of human psychology and emotions, but I do think we were meant to be this way, just by the fact that we are this way, know what I mean?

Annie: No.

Me: I mean, I know I was meant to be your mother... because I am your mother.

Annie: Oh.

Me: Do you think you're complicated?

Annie: I don't know, I know my life is complicated. I know that you're complicated.

Me: You think so?

Annie: Yes, and I think many people would back me up on that!

The way things aren't

I thought the cover of my magazine said, "Yoga Curses," but it actually said, "Yoga Cures..."

The way things aren't

I thought I saw a sign that said, "Lesbian Walkway," but it actually said, "Pedestrian Walkway."

Saturday, March 27, 2010

The intense desire to have a relationship, or a specific situation work out exactly the way you want or need it to, is a form of perfectionism and control. It creates a tunnel vision around your own reality that keeps you at a distance from the world unfolding around you. It clouds your ability to see things the way they really are.

In essence, it's a fight against the way life itself is unfolding. The only thing you can control is how you respond when things unfold in a way other than what you wanted. The only thing you can control is you.

C. Carter

Wednesday, March 24, 2010


This is my friend Ned's dog. I love this picture.

Sitting at the sidebar

... this is how it works
You peer inside yourself
You take the things you like
Then try to love the things you took
And then you take that love you made
And stick it into some
Someone else's heart
Pumping someone else's blood
And walking arm in arm
You hope it don't get harmed
But even if it does
You just do it all again...

On The Radio,
by Regina Spektor.

Thoughts in real time

If we can make sense, we can make choices, and if we're open, we can evolve. But who we are rarely changes. I'm older now, more confident now, I love deeper now--but who I am, for the most part, is who I've always been.

Tuesday, March 23, 2010

The look of love

I'm attractive, sometimes maybe beautiful, but only when I'm inspired by love have I ever been radiant.

Ships in the night

When a relationship ends, it feels as if the one you loved has set sail, and they carry on board all the love you had. But that love already belonged to you, long before you ever met--it was just accepted by the other, and reflected back.

When you finally hoist the anchor and set your course in a different direction, neither ship takes all. They leave with what already belonged to them, long before they ever met--and sail through rough and silent seas, in search of a new home for all that love.

Joke by Annie

Q: What do you call a prehistoric prostitute?

A: Dinowhore.

Saturday, March 20, 2010

Sitting at the sidebar

I feel like I just got home.

Might tell you tonight

A lifetime ago, I sat in the same room I'm sitting in now, listening to the same song I'm listening to now. Full of anticipation, love and hope, I felt sixteen the moment I ran to the door and saw him darting up my stairs. He also felt sixteen, full of anticipation, love and hope.

New York is bursting with spring--the flowers are waiting to bloom, and the birds are already calling. And though I've never been a girl to sit home alone on a Saturday night, I've never been a woman who wanted something just to have something.

So I sit in the same room as I did a lifetime ago--listening to a song I once thought would be the soundtrack--I wait for winter to pass, and for the return of the season I felt sixteen.

Joke by Annie

Q: What do you give a famous soul singer for her birthday?

A: Aretha flowers.

Potty mouth

Annie: "When I went to get my braces, I was so nervous, I almost crapped myself!"


Me: "You almost crapped yourself?"

Annie: "Yeah."

Me: "Please don't ever say that again, anywhere or to anyone. And since when does my daughter say 'Crap yourself'?'"

Annie: "I was just tryin' it out."

Wednesday, March 17, 2010

Waiting to sail

When I was a girl, I waited to be grown. When I was grown, I waited to be loved. When I was loved, I waited for more, and when I found more, I waited for something whole. When I found something whole, I found myself still waiting--still waiting for something more.

Sitting at the sidebar

A song for me.

Monday, March 15, 2010

One day at a time...

... becoming a Grown-Ass Woman, for real.

Sunday, March 14, 2010

Evolving 101

Not long ago, I was with a man who called me a Goddess. He told me there was no one more beautiful, more wonderful, more lovely than I. We were like drug addicts together, and our drug of choice was romance.

Carl Jung said that romantic love was designed, among other things, to draw us together for the purpose of procreating, and every few years top news periodicals recycle this headline: Understanding The Science of Love. Although I'm convinced chemistry plays a big part in the pairing of people, I've always rejected the notion that science is the puppeteer, hiding backstage and pulling the strings, that surely matters of the heart are more mysterious than that.

The declarations offered by the man who thought me a Goddess felt like needles in my veins, and they fueled my seemingly insatiable desire to be adored. Every stroke, compliment and whisper in my ear made up for my father's absence, the vacant look in an old lover's eyes, and the string of disappointments I'd suffered since the search for my Knight-In-Shining-Armor first began. I thought the gestures of my beloved were meaningful, but at best they were his feelings in the moment; if they had been meaningful, we could have built a life on words alone.

I know a man who calls Hollywood romance movies "Love Killers," and though it may sound extreme, I think he's right. Every story is an adaptation and a reincarnation of Cinderella, and they add more and more fuel to the romantic fire that burns in most western women. But it's not a real fire, it's more like one of those petroleum-based logs you buy at the grocery store. You don't have to chop a tree or carry the wood. You don't have to cover it in crumpled paper to help it ignite. There is no work to be done, no mess to clean, just poof, like magic, the flames burn eternal.

I've always been a fan of the poet, Pablo Neruda, and anyone who knows me would understand why:

I crave your mouth, your voice, your hair.
Silent and starving, I prowl through the streets.
Bread does not nourish me, dawn disrupts me all day.
I hunt for the liquid measures of your steps.

I know what it feels like to crave someone, but whereas I once considered these sentiments the essence of passion; raw, untamed and unbridled, I now see them as limited versions of love.

I understand the intense feelings that would make me (or Neruda) go "... hunting for you, for your hot heart, like a puma...," but what I'd rather have is a man who considers my daughter, drinks wine with me while I cook stew, and stands beside me at a funeral. I no longer need him to see my hands as "... the color of a savage harvest...," I just want him to see me as a lover and a friend.

There will always be women younger than me, prettier than me, and smarter than me, but there will never be another me, so why would I want to be something less than me? Why would I want to be a goddess, or a girl in a dream, or a song, or a sonnet? I am already, as we all are, so much more than that.

I used to want a man to knock me off my feet, but now I want a man who inspires me to stand. I used to want a man who would take my breath away, but now I want a man who allows me to breathe. I used to want a man I couldn't live without, but now I want a man... I can live with.

Saturday, March 13, 2010

Realizations in real time

I was saying yes, but I was saying no. I was seeing clearly, but I wasn't seeing far. I wanted to be loved, but I wanted it in writing. I opened my heart, but I forgot to surrender.

Wednesday, March 10, 2010

Evolving 101

I'm the same girl I was before, but not the girl I used to be. I'm the same woman I've always been, but not the woman I once was. I've been running toward freedom my whole life, and running from life since the day I was born, and I know that if I stop running, I will find freedom, and if I stop seeking shelter, I will find my home.

Tuesday, March 09, 2010

Thought in real time

How nice it would be to come home to someone who was happy to see you, who wanted to make you a drink, or a sandwich, or fall asleep with you after a long day.

Saturday, March 06, 2010

Sitting at the sidebar

Working weekend
Home now
Warm night
Schubert plays.

Click the sidebar to listen.

Tuesday, March 02, 2010