It's love all right, it's just the world around it that makes it so hard.

Moment in real time

I declare my joy in the moment, and the problem with that is the moment changes. I declare my grief in the moment, and the good thing about that is the moment changes. But the bad thing about all of it is--you never expect the joy to go, and you can't imagine the grief ever leaving. 

A couple of years ago, I was explaining to my mother exactly the kind of man I wanted in my life. She listened patiently as I rattled off my list of requirements, then she said, "Katie, you are going to meet someone. He won't be the man on your list, he won't be the man of your dreams, and at first, he may even be unrecognizable. But he will be the right man for you."

The way things are

It's funny how you can have a whole life of focusing on something, longing for something, dreaming of something--then when you finally find that something, you begin to miss the time when you were focusing on, dreaming of, and longing for that something.

In real time

Have you ever wanted in the same moment, to go back and go forward? Have you ever in the same moment, looked at a baby and been glad you didn't have one, and long for one? Have you ever turned on a piece of music that reminds you of a dark time, only now the time is covered in light in your memory? Have you ever tried to spell a word that keeps coming up incorrect, and in your resigned unwillingness, have you ever chosen a different word that turns out better than the one you were intent on? Have you ever thought you could fix something, but realized you are not the only one creating outcome? Have you ever felt bound and free, invisible and seen, all at the same time?

I have.

1980's NYC...

... these were my friends.

The breeze through my window

Sometimes it pours rain on your carefully choreographed outdoor wedding. Sometimes someone you love dies at night in a car on a road. Sometimes you look back at your life and think you have nothing to show, or that you didn't get the right kind of love, and sometimes a warm breeze blows through your apartment and imposes onto you all of the day's beauty whether you like it or not. Sometimes your mother gently points out how vulnerable you are, and even though she's telling you not to change, you can't help wishing you could. Sometimes all you can do is wait for something to shift, something to make it bright again, smell sweet again, like that smell when you walk past the markets in the city--the smell of Hyacinth and Lilacs; a reminder that sometimes just being alive is worth all of it.

Sitting at the sidebar

He's not my usual cup of tea, but I could drink this song like water all day long.

Good news!

In this week's Leo horoscope, Rob Brezsny predicts I will be moving from a state of raw, dark, obscure power, to a state of bright, refined, accessible power!

Yay for me!

Joke by Annie

Q: What does a tomato who's behind in school need to do?

A: Ketchup.

Thoughts in real time

On the train to work this morning, as I listened to the music I have posted at the sidebar, I thought to myself, I am home. Then I thought about detours, and that I've taken quite a few in the past months--both musically and personally. Then I thought there's no such thing as a detour, because there's no such thing as a main route, not really.

We never stray from home or from who we are, because the map has only one road. It's the one that takes us over pavement and rock, through parts unknown, places to revisit and things to see for the first time. And whether we stop to hang our hat, or land only to take off again, we're always home in some way. We always walk through the rooms and adjust the pictures--we change things, move them to different places--always trying to make it sweeter, make it better, make it feel more like home.

A few of my favorite things

A fine leather bag, a good pair of tweezers, unexpected blue skies, and the Red-tailed Hawks flying over New York.

Thoughts in real time

We all deserve, but if we don't demand... we're just deserving.

I demand much more than I did twenty years ago, much more than I did five years ago, even more than five days ago. I still take backward steps, I still take less, but my vision walks forward on an unobstructed path, always in the direction of more.

And now when I look in the mirror, I want her to have everything I never did, and to be loved the way she deserves--the way we all deserve, but so rarely demand.

Thoughts in real time

Clean closets, dirty sink, cable guy comes Saturday. It shocks me how close two people can be, and how quickly they can feel so distant. That lady with Lilacs on the train platform was nice.

Café days

I sat at the cafe tonight, the doors open wide. The sun before setting shines brightest on the corner, as if it's walking down the hill toward the river, and stops only for a rest. Music played, everyone inside was smiling, and when I felt the breeze hit my back, it all reminded me of a beach bar; sitting with the locals, talking about nothing but sharing everything.

At the cafe, I felt the gift of my freedom. To walk outside when I choose, sit where I want, drink what I like, and not have to explain or justify any of it to anyone. When you have such simple freedom, it's easy to see what's around. It's easy to value your neighbors, a cold beer, and the beauty of a New York City street corner just before sundown.

Evolving 101

My father once told me to believe in the tides and the seasons, and yesterday when my mother asked why I no longer write on the blog as often as I did, all I could think of were the tides and the seasons.

Beginning almost 4 years ago, The Half Note has been a friend by my side--a witness to my wake up calls. It's been like a funnel through which my lies and denial, and ultimately truth and longing, poured down a narrow stem, filling the space that I now recognize as me.

I remember my honeymoon twenty years ago--a Caribbean dream, the island of Anguilla. With my husband, I walked on smooth coral sand and swam in the kind of sea where mermaids must live. Across winding roads under island skies, I drove a jeep with no doors, with eight black-skinned schoolchildren on board, weighed down by bags and books, asking with joyful smiles to please drop them home. Anguilla was the place to celebrate life, to be in love, and feel one's freedom--so it was no wonder that my inexplicable sadness the entire stay came as a surprise. But no surprise.

People spend their whole lives climbing ladders--toward success, in battle, or in search of something else. I don't have to tell anyone what my theme has been, because I've never kept it a secret or made apologies. I've been accused of having an adolescent view of romance, an unrealistic expectation of men, and a fairytale vision of life. But I actually think I have a realer vision than many. It's not the criticism or accusations that have helped me evolve--it's my commitment to having another look around, to not accepting that I'm done or finished, left to spend the rest of my life buried by the weight of my limiting beliefs. I've made decisions both consciously and unconsciously to do this thing a second time, a third time, as many times as it takes so I can get it righter than I got it before.

Now I see with new eyes, young eyes, girl eyes. I'm 46 and I'm 16, and it really doesn't matter if I'm worshiped or walked away from, romanced or rejected--because even the things that hurt most are a small price to pay in comparison to what I have now--the things that can't be taken.

Maybe without warning, like the way it used to be, The Half Note will have 6 posts all in one day, and maybe I'll return to Anguilla. Maybe I'll walk on the soft coral sand, swim in the sea with mermaids, and give rides home to those beautiful children. And in the jeep with no doors, whether I'm with a sweetheart or I'm driving alone, I will celebrate life, and be in love, and feel my freedom, because I no longer have a choice.

It's sunny out with rain tomorrow. This is it, the changing tide, the new season--this is who I recognize as me.

Thought in real time

Maybe the wrong time... is the right time.

Sitting at the sidebar

Today, this northern girl feels completely Southbound.


Click the music player to hear.

Going home

My feet in boots, blue jeans on--I wear silver rings. For a moment, I feel like all of who I am, but it's too easy to lose that sense when you live among people who, like you, are not being all of who they are.

In boots, blue jeans and silver rings, I am suspended in a place where nothing need be done. I have long hair and green eyes, but I don't open my mouth, or build a house, or make something brilliant--I just hold my breath and I wait.

This work we do to be human, to carve out space, make art, find fulfillment and create meaning--it should be like a song. Effortless, melodic, rhythmic, and each day ending with a perfect cadence.

My boots, blue jeans and silver rings are expressions of the all of who I am, but when do I take the pieces of me, the notes and the chords, and write a song?

Maybe now is the time to stop waiting--for it, for that, for more. Maybe now is the time to make something brilliant, build a house just for me, then open my mouth and start singing.

Defining love

We all have our definitions of love--what it is and what it means. I used to think that love meant loving someone regardless of how they loved or didn't love you back. Later I decided that, with the exception of the love for a child, that wasn't true. At least not for me--I'm not that pure.

Recently, my brother Michael and I sat in our mother's kitchen, and he told me what he thought love was. "Love is when you love someone after time passes," he said. "After you know them, you still love them. That's love."

I think he's right.

Full course life

I want to be fed. I want a meal at a table on a leveled floor. I don't want to stand in line to place my order, or wait for what might be served. I don't want the thing that's still cooking, or the thing that's burnt--but mostly, I don't want to always be waiting for whatever is left over.

Thought in real time

Joke by Annie

Q: What does a shy tree need to do?

A: Branch out.

Sitting at the sidebar

An Orange Sky for my daughter, my brothers, my mother, and my dad.

My salvation lies in their love.

Today

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.

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."

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

Joe

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.

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.

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!"

Pause.

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."

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.

One day at a time...

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

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.

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.

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.

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.

Sitting at the sidebar

Working weekend
Home now
Warm night
Schubert plays.

Click the sidebar to listen.

Sitting at the sidebar

A Song For You, by Alexi Murdoch.

What I want

I want cigarettes and red licorice to be good for you, martinis to make you feel as happy in the morning as they made you feel last night. I want little girls to know their value, and little boys to know their beauty--I want an apartment flooded with light, and a really good book to read. Oh yeah, and I want love. Gotta have me some love.

Ad buster

Annie: "When we get home, can I wash my room with Windex?"

Me: "Uh... OK."

Annie: "I saw a commercial that said, 'Wash your room with Windex!'"

Me: "Hey, since when did you stop adhering to the rule about muting the commercials?"

Annie: "Mom, I never mute the commercials anymore! Besides, it's not like I'm actually going to start buying the products they're advertising!"

Me: "But you just said you wanted to wash your room with Windex."

Annie: "Oh. Right. Good point."