in less than a month they fly away
My twenty four year-old son sent me a text photograph with a nest full of robin’s eggs. Then he sent a shot of the hatched robins in their nest. Ten days later, he watched the birds fly away. He watched the last bird fall from the nest and fly away, and observed that the nest was truly empty. Continue reading “eggs to flight” »
being with someone
Lindy’s house felt like vacation every seventh grade weekend, and kept me away from my family. She and I wore paisley print dresses and mock turtlenecks with semi-short skirts to our knees, hooked sandal toe nylons onto garterbelts, wore straight hair, imitated Cher, with thick “I got you Babe” bangs that squared off our faces, striving to look like that perfect blonde girl on Breck shampoo bottles. Continue reading “wack” »
doorknob kiss
Summer came and I sang nonstop because grass was so green and sky was so blue. My seventh grade best friend Lindy and I hung around Tiburon’s Angel Island ferry dock, at Main Street’s Penny Arcade behind Bird and Hound Clothing. Continue reading “kissing a doorknob” »
Stinson Beach is the most beautiful beach in the world
When my parents weren’t tanked, we had plenty of fun times growing up in Marin County back in the day. We drove up to the Russian River and canoed around, carried kites and hiked straight up from the house up into our hills, pulling apart rusty barbwire fences and squeezing in between, cutting through pastures on the way. My father loved hiking, and we made up funny songs as we walked, poems and skits for each other, gut busting laughs. It almost seemed to make up for unpredictable drunk ugly. Continue reading “fun times” »
love those books
The more you read
The more you grow
The more you grow
The more you know
The more you know
The stronger your voice
When speaking your mind
Or making a choice Continue reading “making contact with reading” »
dream image of meeting C
Last week I posted a story that mentioned my sixth grade classroom experience, and the poor girl, C, who picked her nose in front of us. I don’t know what happened to the rest of her life, but I do know she was institutionalized at some point, unable to socialize well.
I had a dream about C last night. The main action: I’m waiting in front of a college building and C comes downstairs. We link eyes, and she walks away, but returns to speak to me. Continue reading “I don’t want to act like a bitch anymore…” »
Goodbye
My family pulled the Pontiac into Marin County’s Bel Aire Estates driveway in 1956, and Helen watched us unload our car. She was my age and we grew up together. Continue reading “Helen tribute” »
I felt like was Miwok too
My neighbor Tracy and I wanted to commit to each other in blood. We climbed through a tiny passageway that looked enchanted and green under the railroad tracks, perfect for a blood ritual. Continue reading “blood sister” »
gnome army
Today was glorious in West Point, California. Clear skies, 74 degrees, no breeze. I spent the day using my wheel barrow, creating under a birch tree. I made a gnome army surrounded by cloud glazed tubes.
I cleared and raked the seventy square feet to lay down weed cloth, which I hope will eliminate unnecessary weed growth. Three trips to the hardware store and fifteen buckets of pea gravel, the space looks like a zen garden.
My gnomes are made out of plaster of paris, and I made ten successful ones from a plaster mold, until the casing for the mold disintegrated. The gnomes have lived around my studio for over five years. Some people love my gnomes, with a face like Savannah, Georgian, Johnny Mercer, my favorite lyricist who wrote the song Moon River. Some people really hate the gnomes and have told me that they are creepy.
They are now surrounded by bent and straight turquoise cylinders glazed with cumulus clouds and magenta interiors.
My interest in tubes goes back decades, because I’ve thought that humans are like tubes. We have these forms that can be straight or bent, and their fragile nature doesn’t last forever. Our spirits inherit these forms we live with on Earth. For me, the tubes are my artistic conception of our fragility and hilarity of our bodies. Tube forms crack me up, and I don’t take them seriously at all.
This blog isn’t intense, because it wasn’t an intense day, and the gnome garden will testify to my passions, regardless of whether or not anyone else thinks they are funny. I’m laughing.
I felt like was Miwok too
When my parents weren’t tanked, we had plenty of fun family times. We drove up to the Russian River and canoed around, carried kites and hiked up into Tiburon hills, straight up from our house, crossing rusty barbwire fences through pastures on the way. My father loved hiking, and we made up funny songs while we walked, poems and skits for each other, gut busting laughs. It almost seemed to make up for unpredictable drunk ugly. Continue reading “past changes” »