Cate

I miss my son.

The thing that no one tells you about motherhood is this: it is a terrible wound that never heals. It makes sense to me now that our wombs are bloody, that from the time we are able to bring children into the world we endure the physical whispers of the pain and the loss bearing children will ultimately bring us. It is hard to let go and hold on at the same time. I am learning, as I suppose all mothers of children do, once our mothering is done.

The weekend has been a tough reminder of loss on all sorts of levels. It's hard, but I know that it will get better. It always does.

The best and strongest part of me, the hopeful heart of who I am grew in me just like these two boys that I brought into the world. By my attempts to mother them successfully, to grow them into fully conscious good young men, I have grown myself. That's the irony of motherhood. What ails me is what also cures me, again and again.

We got up early this morning and headed out with the two dogs to Enchanted Rock. It was the first time John had been there, and the first time I'd been with any animals smaller than my children. It was amazing and fun! The dogs were like little goats and they had a blast running around checking out the new smells.

I can absolutely tell the difference since we've been working out the last few months...our stamina for fast-paced hiking is better than it ever was. We were up at the summit before I even realized we were there!

Now we are home and I've been perusing all sorts of gardening info, as I've been doing over the last few weeks. We are taking the plunge this year and completely xeriscaping the front. Last year's drought and the dismal outlook for this summer made us realize that we couldn't even attempt to keep grass in front for another year without feeling like total shitheads. It's going to be a lot of work and I'll have plenty of before/during/after photos. We already have quite a few drought tolerant plants...it's just going that final full step and looking at the entire yard as a canvas rather than small beds here and there. I think it will be beautiful when it's done and much more our style.

John's decided that it's going to make much more sense to build our shed on a slab instead of pier and beam, so we're going to have someone do that. Small, messy concrete projects are cool and we can handle that. Big rectangular slab that has to be level? Not so much. Once we get it all framed in, we can start doing all the mortar work on the walls. I am going to be so happy to see this done.

The wrinkle in all the manual labor is that I found out a few days ago that my janky shoulder injury is actually some thing called a "frozen shoulder" that is going to take months to get better. It cracks me up that I have some weird injury that makes me sound like a five-year-old when I try to explain it. Hi, I'm Cate, and my shoulder is freezing and pretty soon it will be frozen and then it will thaw and be back to normal and maybe my other shoulder will freeze one day or maybe not. Goofy, but still frustrating when I can't move my arm. I thought I'd be told to cut out doing push-ups for a while, not that I'd have a comic book storyline for the next six-to-nine months.

We'll get it all done, even if I'm going to play the one-armed woman all summer long.

In the meantime, between daydreaming of cactus, I'll be reading the entire collection of Jules de Grandin books that I found on Ebay. I really loved these when I was younger, so I'll see if old Seabury Quinn holds up after all these years. Sundays rule.

Art show next weekend and I'm so excited!  (And nervous!)  Yay!

I hesitate to even say this out loud because so many of my friends are the real deal and make livings off of their words, so I always feel like a horrible dilettante when I talk about writing. I have decided that this is the year I will actually put work into submitting what I have been writing to publishers. The truth? The business end of writing sort of scares the shit out of me. By business, I mean all the rest that comes after writing. I don't know how it works, but I figure that I can try to learn. There's nothing to lose from trying.

It's a beautiful day here. We woke up and took a couple of the dogs out for a walk. It hardly seems like winter, which makes me wonder what the summer will be like. I'm hoping it won't be a repeat of last year.

Last night we went to watch hockey. San Antonio has a minor (probably minor of the minors...I don't know how it all works) league team that we love watching. It cracks me up that I love hockey so much!!!

I love days like this, when I have the luxury of time to consider what I have done and what I would like to do.

I've been housecleaning of late, finally saying goodbye to journals that have been abandoned after months (and sometimes longer) of hoping for the occupants' return.  What I did notice, though, in checking to see who had been around or not, was that I was not seeing some of my friends' updates in my friends feed.  

I have tons of rss feeds that are usually the bulk of what's left for me to read here anymore, but it irks me that I've obviously missed some pretty important stuff here and there.  I may try to create a separate real people reading filter to see if that remedies the situation.  I know I don't comment that often, but I've gone back and read things that--if I'd seen them at the time--I would surely have wanted to give a word of encouragement or appreciation.

I'm seeing rounds of unrest and people leaving here again.  Is is awful of me that I am secretly happy to see so many people huffing off?  That last bit that I hardly paid attention to was some drama over LJ not giving a shit about its loyal old school users.  Seriously, I don't remember it being that different back when it was Brad and the cool kids.  Was it?  I haven't noticed that much of a change, other than the expected ebb and flow of accounts over time.  I suspect that this will be the only place that I ever manage to sustain a long-term online presence.  This is the place that always feels like it fits, in spite of anything else.

Work tomorrow.  I am so loving my new office!


p.s.  I miss you, uneasytruce.  

Last night I dreamed of my grandfather. It was Christmas and we met in a house surrounded by agaves. They were everywhere--fat blue green ones, striped ones that grew like lemon-lime taffy in the dirt. The constant of my family dreams is the desert of my birthplace. That place that defies its borders and adorns itself with mountains in the distances.

My grandfather and I were eating berries from a plate that my mother had set on the table.

"I miss you," I told him, feeling disgruntled at another holiday my parents had made no effort to mark.

There was no tree, no decorations of any sort. As my grandfather answered, the house shifted and became my own, still in the desert but warm with luminarias and the smell of pozole on the stove.

I wanted to ask him if he had seen my grandmother; if she, the first of his wives, was the one he had chosen as a companion again, but I held my tongue, already knowing that if they were together she would have been here. She would never have let him come to visit without her. I ask the other question instead.

"Do you miss me?"

"I sure do," he replies, smiling at me before popping a handful of blueberries into his mouth.

He is old, but seems boyish to me somehow. It makes me happy to see him like this.

I miss his deep baritone voice and his eyes that were never quite any specific color. When it was time for him to go, he reminded me that he'd brought a new cactus for me. I walked him outside and noticed the cardboard box filled with dirt and a small bit of ocotillo. He gave me a hug and waved as he walked away.

"See you next time," he called over his shoulder, giving a tip of his old Stetson like a cowboy hero in the movies.

I woke up to dogs barking outside my window and coffee on the bedside table.

I am watching Chris & Don, A Love Story, while we are in a resting period between the busy morning and a trip out for sushi later this evening. I love documentaries, and I especially love anything that references art and/or the Los Angeles that I never saw except through films and other people's images. And, of course, I am a sucker for a sweet and poignant love story.

We should be taking down the Christmas tree today, but I'm in no hurry. We'll get to it. I have a three-panel painting going that I'm going to put on the wall in my new office. It's hard to believe it, but I now have a huge office in the new government building. I'll have to take photos once it's all put together. I'm in trial again Monday, the first one ever in the building.

I feel energized this year, and ready to do so much. Life really is such an adventure.

Another year over before I even knew it! We actually stayed up until midnight this year, but only because poor Buster Brown, the smallest of the dog clan, was freaking out about the fireworks.

I haven't done a lot of looking back over the last year. It was a hard year in some ways and smooth as silk in others. I had to let go of a lot. That was hard--letting go of notions about my role as a mother, letting go of my notions of what other people expect of me, letting go of the notion of having control over anything but MY own head and heart.

Every bit of what I let go of made room for different things, most of them better. I have learned to accept that I'm a good mother--maybe not the best mother, but certainly the best I know how to be. My kids' successes and their failures are not as connected to me as I used to imagine. I love them so much and I know they get this.

We watched all the Harry Potter movies over the Thanksgiving break. I'm reading the books now and will write more about why later, but during the last of the movies my oldest son Max turned to me and said, "Wow, Mom, you look just like Harry's mom. You look like Lily Potter."

I looked at her, not seeing much of a resemblance beyond the reddish hair, and my son--without turning his head to look at me but speaking to me more directly than if he had been staring me in the eye--said quietly, "You are just like her. You love everyone a lot."

I just nodded and tried not to cry, because I knew what he really was saying. I knew, in that soft-spoken offhand comment, that he understands how much I love him. My difficult standoffish teenager gets it. That makes me happy beyond my ability to express it.

It's nice to know that my heart still shows. I have to be so hard sometimes, with work and all the nasty shit I am witness to--so much horrific stuff. I am glad that my kids see me, the best me.

As for the other things I am making room for in my life, I hope to travel more and to connect in less superficial ways with people. I am still going to try my 30-days at a time plan for doing new things. It worked pretty well last year and made for some changes that were profound and healthy.

I always say that I will write more and I hope to, but my focus this year will likely be on reading more. I used to read so much and over the last few years I have hardly made time to read at all, other than sitting in front of the computer. I have started using Kindle for my PC, and I'm still not sure how I like it, but it's definitely made it easier to read more.

My painting continues and I keep hoping to one day think of myself as a "real" artist rather than a dilettante. Mostly, I am going to keep growing and learning. I did a lot of that last year and it pulled me through some of the hard places that I bumped into here and there.

I wish all of you a wonderful journey around the sun. Happy New Year.

I had planned to do a whole lot of nothing the day after Thanksgiving. By the time I'd had a few cups of coffee, I had a plan. The whole Blech Friday thing galled me more this year than in the past. It's not that I don't love to shop. I loooove to shop. Maybe I wasn't paying as much attention in years prior, but it seemed like this year the whole shop-til-you-drop message completely overshadowed all the great things about this holiday that I love--the idea of being grateful, of sharing the bounty of our lives with others.

It bothered me to see the notion of collectively taking time to contemplate everything we have being completely overshadowed by this gross all-consuming appetite for what we want. So I decided that Friday would be spent going through the house, gathering up as much as I could in a single day to pass on to others. We have so much more than we need. Every single day we enjoy the luxuries that most of the world lives without.

I was taught by my family from the time I was a little girl that when you have enough to go around, you share a little of it. Sometimes you share a lot of it. It's as simple as that. I'm not trying to be some sort of pretentious asshole who lectures people about lessening their footprint or not shopping at Walmart. I choose to do what I do and so can everyone else.

It sure would be nice, though, if we all would share the best of ourselves on the day after Thanksgiving instead of gathering in mobs and fighting over things we don't even need. I hate to think what the children of these people whose Thanksgivings are nothing more than a prelude to shopping are learning from their parents. I would like to believe that we are better than this. I sure hope we are.

My effort to be better than this ended with more huge bags than I could have imagined finding their way to other places. Most of my clothes are going to a women's drug rehab and the rest will be parceled out where people can make the most use of it.

Thanksgiving. I give because I am thankful. I am thankful because I give. Old lessons that I'm glad to have drawn upon in the face of such organized excess. I've always passed things on to others, but yesterday will definitely make me more mindful of the dicey intersections of having, needing, and wanting.

We are all lying around the living room rubbing our bellies and watching a marathon of Harry Potter DVDs interspersed with football. Odd combination, but it works. Thanksgiving dinner was great. We had all the usual goodies and the boys were both funny and sweet. We rarely have a chance to sit down at the dining table for dinner, but we all agreed it would be nice to do it more often.

No plans to do anything tomorrow more than tummy rubbing. The weather's still warm enough to get out and about, so we may go for a walk at some point. I can hardly believe it's already time for the holidays and another year on the horizon.

There's more to talk about, but my brain is too food-fogged to articulate much. It's nice to simply have a few days of hanging about and enjoying the company of the people I love.

I try to be present and grateful in my own life. I am happy for the time that's set aside each year so I can really dwell on our luck.

I love you all, my friends. You always make me feel like the grand prize winner.

We moved a lot when I was a kid. I survived by watching. I waited to see who was nice, who was smart, who was cruel. I watched for the people to avoid and for the people I wanted to draw me closer. I never had many friends, so the ones I had were important. They mattered more than I ever let on.

I learned through my young adult life, as most of my peer group became as nomadic as I had always been, to not hang on so tightly or take it so personally when friends flaked or floated away. It was simply the nature of our existence; everything was impermanent. I still had the small inner circle that I held to, but I was more flighty myself so I had to be more forgiving.

After I had children, the ties that bound me to others became even more fragile and tenuous. My primary mission as a mother kept me from being the kind of friend that I saw in movies and television. I didn't have peers here--no other moms who were raising kids on their own, unmarried and struggling. I was the freak mom. I was essentially alone, except for the beloved raindog who was so far away that we could barely manage to visit once every decade since college. Still, we were tight. We could count on each other without question. We still can.

The last ten years here on LJ have brought me so many dear ones. I met my BFF lacyunderall here years ago. We've since spent many hours together, laughing until we couldn't breathe. We have cried like babies together and we've raged at the fucked up nature of all sorts of things.

I forged friendships here that have blossomed outside of the virtual world and withstood the test of time--with tsarinasun_set_bravely, razorart--all people I adore. I recently visited with one of my oldest friends from here and it was like we'd lived right around the corner from one another for years. We knew each other so well that we even had that comfortable silence of lifelong friends...the sort that has no need for filling in spaces with noise. I love her more now than ever, just like I already knew I would.

So this year when I started thinking about friendships and what I expected these days, it wasn't so much about who I'd actually seen in the flesh or how often I ever saw anyone. It was more than that. It was about follow-through. It was about intention.

I realized that it has become important for me to be able to count on friends again. Not in that scared high school kid sort of way, but in a way that is devoid of bullshit. I have discovered that I have no need for pseudo-friends. I'm pretty low maintenance as a friend, so I don't really feel that guilty about shifting my definition of friend to include only those who actually act like friends. I'm so done reassuring people about their lack of follow-through. Again, it's about intention. Quality of contact vs. quantity--as I am such an odd mix of busy/hermit myself that I completely get not getting together often at all. This is why I can have friends that I love INTENSELY that I have contact with only a couple of times a year.

Letting go and redefining a good number of my relationships has really made me appreciate those of you that I am blessed to call friends. I've also realized that I know a lot of interesting people and that I need to make space for "people I know" to become "friends."

I look forward to being more of a follow-through person myself. That is MY intention.

Late this afternoon I drove through the tiny town as I do every day to get to my house, admiring all the little goblins and goobers strolling along the road. Halloween is a big deal around these parts and everyone comes out with an enthusiasm that used to have me wondering if there were going to be some sort of Lottery-style grand finale at the end of the trick-or-treating.

Traffic slowed down to a crawl, giving me a chance to ooh and ahh over the kids in their costumes. I started thinking about all the cute costumes the boys had when they were little, how much fun we used to have getting ready for the holiday. I remembered the Halloween right after Jacob was born and how tiny he was. Max dressed as a spider that year, with extra arms that I sewed onto his costume. He was the most beautiful little spider I'd ever seen. I made costumes every year...mummies, wizards, zombies...whatever they dreamed up I would make.

Here I was idling through town and I started crying in my car, missing those two little boys so much that my heart literally ached for them. Then I felt so silly for crying that I just cried more. By the time I got home and tried to tell John what was wrong with me, I was laughing and crying all at once--something that really makes me look like a crazy person. He let me sob into his shoulder for a minute or two, until I felt better. He reminded me how the boys will always remember those things they seem to have already forgotten.

This is what happens when I see ghosts of who me and my boys once were. I mourn, feeling grateful and ridiculous all at once.

I am from that place where movie stars pretend to be cowboys and oilmen, from the tortilla and frijolito.

I am from the tiny pink house where my parents lived, children playing at raising children of their own, where the kitchen was always full of sun and every room smelled of Kools and sandalwood.

I am from the prickly pear that stubbornly flowers to spite the desert, the demure violets and hopeful forget-me-nots that my grandmother Iva grew in her parlor.

I am from the notion that I should always be ready to have less and work harder, and the fight-to-the-death instinct that is tempered with belly laughter and a forgiving heart, from my union organizing Uncle Dutch, the poor dirt farmer Baileys, and the watchful Harris traveler clan that hid itself until it finally disappeared.

I am from that house down the street where the little girl took care of everything so the neighbors would never know her parents weren't home. I am from the hippie family in bargain bin pants that moved around out of necessity while pretending it was a grand adventure.

From "Girls don't do that!" and "Who the hell told you that girls don't do that? You can do whatever you want. Goddamn patriarchy."

I am from the folks who never went to church on Sundays, who gathered remedies in the woods out of mistrust for doctors. I am from the people whose prayers could be found in their weathered hands, in the bone and sinew of their gratitude, in the certainty that they were blessed. I am from the steadfast belief that struggling without ever giving up is what ultimately will save us all.

I'm from the isolated lands that lie west of the Pecos and the invasive kudzu of the south, from cornbread, cast iron, and red velvet cake set atop carnival glass for my birthdays.

From my grandfather who traveled as a small boy, alone on a train, to the funeral of his mother who died in a sanitarium after her husband chose to be rid of her. I am from the two plain sisters who grew up in Piedras Negras, the small one who never married and the large one who married the one-legged man.

I am the curator of all our inexplicable collections--of my grandmother's broken watches, my grandfather's bolo ties and pool sticks, a century of buttons, doilies, and sewing machines. I am the keeper of the family secrets. I am the lost letter of my great grandfather in his later life to the daughters he barely knew, tentative in his expressions of deep regret and loneliness. He wrote of his chickens and the price of eggs, of small town gossip and his thought that he might like to come stay for a while if that would be alright, of everything but his resigned fear that he would never make it home.

This brutal summer is stretching itself out longer than I would have liked, but I keep reminding myself that I'll be wishing for warm weather soon enough. At least the mornings and the evenings are cooling off a little, so I'm getting a whisper of fall. We've still been gardening as much as we can--mostly planting agaves and other cactus. This summer has convinced us that we are going to xeriscape the front yard with decomposed granite.

I have missed writing and my head is clogged with so many things these days that I am starting to think that this may have to be the year where I take the time to really write again. The problem I have had with writing is that I have lost the discipline for it, so I'm going to have to cultivate that again. I'm able to do it, but it's always an issue of what I'm willing to give up since my time is pretty limited already. I love my art and crafty stuff, but maybe I can find some sort of middle ground where I have time to do quality work and writing.

The biggest thing that happened to me lately was a complete accident, but it's something that has already worked a sea change for me. Several years ago, I was told that I couldn't run anymore. I had pain every time I would even try, pain I couldn't simply muscle through and keep going. I was told, without much fanfare, that I couldn't run again. I went on to skate. That was easier on my knee but had all sorts of other impacts to my body that were not sustainable over a long term. Since I quit skating with the league, I've struggled to find some sort of exercise that I could fall in love with...I dabbled with a few things, but always missed the running. I missed the feeling of it, the movement, the way I kept my pace with the music blaring in my headphones. I missed it when I began to see my body get fluffy and when I stopped feeling strong.

John and I recently headed to the gym that opened about a year ago in the little town near our house after deciding that it was time to do something to improve our health. It's small and quiet, populated mostly by people well over our age. This means no waiting for any of the machines and no pretentious look-at-me crowd (except for a few old geezers who check out my rack when they think I'm not looking) to contend with--all good things for us. We had a trainer who showed us around and set up routines for us that consist of weights and aerobic stuff...which brings me to my accidental life change. I got on an elliptical machine. How I have spent the last few years pining away for that feeling of running without ever knowing I could get it on one of these machines is a mystery to me! Once I hit my stride and really started moving on it, I wanted to cry from the sheer joy of that familiar feeling. I was running again! And without feeling like someone was shoving a screwdriver in my knee!

I feel like a completely revived and better version of myself again. Something so simple as a silly machine in a gym reminded me of how important that forward movement is to me--even if it's in place. I can accomplish amazing things where I am at in every moment, in the place I am at NOW. It's a reminder that came to me when I really needed it and I am grateful.

One of the agencies I work with is looking for a forensic interviewer for our local Child Advocacy Center. They will train but you have to have a college degree (preferably in social sciences/psych area of some sort). This is a calling, not a job.  Contact me here or via my email if you want more info or know anyone who might be interested!

I woke up at 6:30 or so this morning.  It's unusually warm and dry here, with the sort of wind that makes me worry about wildfires.  The mornings always start with clouds, but they are moving quickly.  It's my habit to be up before anyone else in the house and this morning I am sitting in our garage/studio space watching the clouds race by and listening to Sigur Ros.

Disney was amazing!  We had so much fun!  It was nice to get away and not have to worry about much for a few days.



Here's me and my man, looking like supermodels! Hee!! : )

Once we got home and back to reality, I was back to dealing with my elder child again--who'd taken it upon himself to run away while Double D was here house sitting.  We expected that might be the case, so it wasn't much more than a mild disappointment when it happened.  He came back and we had a serious blowup where I basically told him to get the fuck out of the house with the clothes on his back.  Not very motherly of me, I know--but I had just had it and sort of lost my mind for a minute or two.  After I regained my composure, I put things right the best I could and we've been puttering on from here.  So he's been home for a week now (the living at his dad's house is NOT happening again) and he's been an absolute sweetheart of a kid.  Now, let's see if my usual jinx will apply...it seems like anytime I brag on him, something awful is right behind it.  We've got a long summer to get through, so a week isn't much; but in the scheme of what we've been coping with lately, a week in Max time is longer than you'd think.  I just keep putting my prayers for this child out into the universe and hoping that he will figure it out.  Love, love, love is what is keeping him from being murdered by his mother.  Let's hope that continues!

We've been working like crazy on all sorts of art projects and I've been focusing on finishing up little odds and ends.  I finally finished my Reina de Michoacan and the old record player that's part of the concept.  I'm so thrilled with this one that I'm already full of ideas for the next in the series!  I'll post it here later when I get it uploaded to a place where I can share with everyone.

My trial schedule shows no sign of lightening up much, but I do get a breather this next week!  It's been crazy, but worth it to clear some of these cases off the docket finally!  My trial partner is the bomb and we make a great team.

I am very much looking toward the summer, even with the bumps we've had getting here.  It's been a really rough year in a lot of ways so far, but I have learned so much.  This has definitely been a year of examination and thoughtfulness, along with really taking charge of what sort of life I want to have from here on out.  I love these growing years--the ones that really stretch me and make me live with intention.  What a gift!

Always here and reading!  Love to my friends and Russian spambots!

xo
C.

We're going to Disney World day after tomorrow! Just me and my old man--no kids invited! Double D is coming to torture the children while we are gone.

I got my hair done today and I love it! Strawberry blonde, here I come!

We have a new dog named God Bless Johnny Cash. He rules! We call him Johnny Cash for short.

Got a new car...Honda Fit. I felt sad leaving the Subaru at the dealer, but I am LOVING this little car. It reminds me of the Blueberry the Gus drives on Psych!

I have been in trial at least once a month, and sometimes more, since January! CRAZY? Yes! Kicking ass? YES! : )

I added fish/seafood back to the mix of what I was eating before. I missed sushi too much to be a vegan.

How Not to Live Your Life is one of my new favorite shows. It makes me laugh so hard.

I have finally figured out how not to waste my breath. That doesn't mean I still won't from time to time.

I am reveling in friends this summer, old and new. I am making serious efforts to reach out to the people I care about.

Life is pretty damn fine these days. I am thankful and enjoying every minute of it.

So today was the last official day of my vegan month. Verdict? It was easy, my eating habits improved a thousand bazillion percent, and I am going to keep it up for another month. I feel better than I have in ages, I've lost almost ten pounds--which was the pesky ten that I've struggled with since I hit 45 a couple of years ago.

I doubt that I will lose any more weight and that's fine since I wasn't really even expecting to lose any. I actually feel like I'm eating more than I did before but the calories are more healthy. I eat tons of good stuff--veggies, hummus, fruits. I don't miss much--cheese was the hardest as it was my favorite food, but I found all sorts of ways to substitute for it.
I will continue on through the spring and see how it goes, but I could definitely see this as a viable lifestyle change.

Spent most of tonight yawning and watching Ru Paul's Drag Race. This season has been a little disappointing--a little too ghetto and too many mean girls. The last couple of weeks have been brutal with family shit and crazy stuff going on at work. I am more thankful for my friends than ever.

I will be forty-seven in a little more than a couple of weeks. I like that way that number sounds without being quite sure why. Hope that's a good sign.

Yay for February! I love this month for all sorts of reasons. It's the first month that I really start to see Spring coming around the bend. It's pink and pretty, romantic and silly. I even love the goofy way it's spelled. I adore February. This month is definitely starting out cold. I put cat houses out for the outdoor kitties and put some extra boxes out for neighborhood strays to have a place to hide out from the below freezing temperatures. We are not used to this sort of cold, so I'm sure the animals are going to be needing some places to snuggle.

February is also my vegan month. I was a vegetarian for a little over a decade. It ended when I had Max. I've never been a huge meat eater, so that's not going to be a big sacrifice. I've never done without dairy before, though; and I am a total cheese addict, so I'll be curious to see how it goes. My monthly experiments continue! Last month was riding the spinning bike and I didn't do very well, but we did walk a lot and have continued to exercise more. I feel better than I have in years and I'm finally getting that feeling of being a non-smoker again. It's nice. I still get a twinge here and there, but it's never worth taking the step of lighting up. I loved to smoke, but I like breathing more.

This month is going to be short and sweet, I think. I want visitors this summer! Start planning!!!!

Lubbock, Texas 1969



Let's kick this year's ass! Let's be brave, beautiful, present, compassionate, and get out there! Let's do some good stuff every day. It doesn't have to be epic. It can be small--any little thing that's new or interesting. We are the tiny ripples that matter. Let's not abide bullies. Let's speak up and out. Let's be fearless, because that's possible even in daily life. We can refuse to participate in bullshit. Let's not be all talk. Let's put our money where our mouths are. Let's be kind to each other, for real this time. Love matters. People matter. We can be amazing this year. There's absolutely no reason not to be grand!

The confession.

I sometimes secretly wish my photographer husband would take more photographs of me. Now this is a ridiculous wish because I am absolutely the worst subject and I hate most photos of me--and especially as I feel like I'm in this weird in-between place of not young enough or old enough to be some combination of beautiful/interesting. He takes stunningly beautiful photos of places and things, but hasn't ever seemed much interested in photographing people.

There have been times, though, when I've wished for a portrait or two that would be the woman my husband sees, or maybe a snapshot of the woman I see myself as being with him...I have delusions of Alfred Stieglitz and his Georgia, of myself looking plain and lovely all at once, revealed to the world only by someone who loves me. This is nothing more than fantasy and I know that. I would drive John crazy with my pleas to get rid of a thousand photos for every one that would not make me cringe. As it stands now, we have a solemn pact that he has respected for all our time together--that he get rid of the truly awful photos before I even have a chance to see them.

Part of it is vanity, I suppose; but a larger part of it is wanting some tangible memento of this epic love affair I have with my husband. It took me a long time to find him, so long that I'd really begun to doubt his existence altogether. I am convinced that our love is extraordinary and grand. Of course, I understand that all lovers feel this way about themselves and that's what makes it so wonderful. There are all sorts of tangible objects we have created together that will be around long after we are gone. I am not unfulfilled, by any means.

I look at a photograph like this, though,



and I am full of wonder. I have no photograph like this of myself, taken by a lover and companion. So that is my secret confession...that one day, out of all the days of my life, I would like to be caught on camera in such a way that would tell the photographic story of how well I was beloved.

Three Things I Adore (I renamed this one because "turn-on" is a word that conjures images of a masturbating seventies- moustache guy...which is NOT a turn-on for me!):

1. Five o'clock shadow

2. The smell of gardenias

3. A good laugh

Four turn-offs. This was a hard list to narrow down. Believe me. I tried (again) to not go for the obvious....


People who treat support staff, secretaries, waiters, and any other sort of service people like crap. There was an attorney I used to know who would be super cool with other attorneys, but she would be completely dismissive and rude to anyone she perceived as beneath her. There are, unfortunately, too many people like this.

Dirty fingernails. I think of this as the little tag on people that says, "I'm gross and have all sorts of other poor hygiene issues that would completely disgust you."

When guys insult each other by using references to the feminine. You know...the old standards such as calling each other pussy, chick, girl...to the new and even more hateful things like telling another guy to go wash his pussy. Seriously? Are you fucking kidding me? You're going to try and belittle some dude by saying he has a vagina? And are you saying that his vagina is dirty as a further insult? Or are you just saying that vaginas in general need washing? Do you make references to tuna when you talk about lady junk too? Take it from me, a girl/chick/pussy-wearin' mama, my vagina is strong and beautiful. It's been the welcoming warmth to lovers and the portal to earth for my boys. It's never been anything I've been ashamed of or felt less for having. I am not less than you because I am female; and if you don't really feel that way about me, then don't say stupid shit that makes you sound like you do.

Excess and gluttony bother me--and I'm not talking about size. What I don't like to be around is that person who has the need to get the most expensive dish (but only when you pay), the second bottle of wine when one was perfectly adequate, the last piece of candy on the plate after they've had more than anyone else already. It's a particularly distasteful variation on the theme of selfishness. I feel sorry for these people because no matter how much they get, they are never satisfied.

Five people who mean a lot to me, in no particular order:

Aside from the most obvious answers (my husband, children, best friend, grandparents, etc.), I decided to go with five people from outside my daily life so I would have to put some genuine thought into it.

1. Joni Mitchell--for singing my soul's songs
2. Sojourner Truth--for teaching me how to be brave
3. Sam Shepard--for giving me a sense of the West and my place in it
4. Frida Kahlo--for making me comfortable with the duality of my Tex-Mex culture
5. Studs Terkel--for teaching me the value of telling people's stories

On a completely different subject, I am amazed at how quickly this year is wrapping up. Only a few more days to Christmas Eve. We will be making tamales (in addition to the traditional potato soup) and opening presents. I have no clue why we have always opened gifts on Christmas Eve rather than Christmas morning, but that's been the way in my family for several generations. It's been a good year and we've tried to share the wealth here and there. The boys are enjoying a break and I'm definitely looking forward to one! Only three more days to go!

This is a hard one for me because I try not to regret things too much...all a part of the learning process. Six things I wish I'd never done:

1. Started smoking when I was 15.

2. Put off visiting my grandparents when they were alive and I had the chance.

3. Screamed at my kids when they were little.

4. Spent so much time trying to please the people in my life who will simply never be pleased by me.

5. Listened to anyone (including myself!) who ever made me feel bad about my body--that includes my weight, my big nose, my short neck, my little squinty eyes, my frizzy hair, etc.

6. Waited so long to get in touch with my brother's kids.