Thursday, January 19, 2012


This morning the mountaintop
was cloaked in a great white beard; its face
the colors of autumn leaves of russet and dusty rose.
In these spring-like days of winter, crisp air
sends chills through my bones. The rain has come, at last.

Beating Hair to Death – Last Thoughts

It feels like a lot of small things are whizzing through my mind this morning. Maybe I will eventually accept that this is true of most mornings and in some way, by stating it, committing the statement to the page—day in and day out—is my way of finding the door and maybe one day I won’t need that door—on second thought, I need the door; maybe sometimes I won’t be inclined to keep it there and I’ll cut it. For now, that’s my way in.


I did get my haircut yesterday and this time the whole process was draining in how I went about it, fretting about the insignificant. There are two hair stylists that I like going to, but I took at least a three-month break from one when I went in pursuit of another. This is also something that I’ve done in the past. I like change in some things more than others. I was happy that the stylist wasn’t upset that I had tried someone else out and glad that she was able to take me on short notice. When she saw me, she thought I was going to be her other client with the same name since she hadn’t seen me in so long. She was glad to see me. I told her I’d gone to someone else. I felt like I was cheating on her. She said it’s good to try others out. She said, ”You get bored. Even I get bored of cutting the same hair.” I laughed.

For me it’s not boredom. I think its familiarity that makes me want to try a new stylist. There is a certain comfort that causes something—disinterest?  I noticed that times I’ve gone back, less was taken off when I wanted more, or that the cut just looked different than the last time. And I don’t always like to speak up. Sometimes I will but it feels bad.

The hair stylist’s job seems very challenging. To have a client sit down in their chair and ask for a cut that they truly don’t think would flatter the client. How does one handle that? Or to take a photo in of a favorite celebrity haircut and want it, not taking into account the texture of one’s own hair and how it’s not going to look exactly the same. Stylists in some ways seem like miracle workers because hair really is a great part of our being.

I like knowing there are two stylists that I like very much and whom have different styles. When they work my short cut, to me, it feels like I get two different results, both to my liking—mood being the final decision maker. This time, I decided to go to my other stylist because I think I might be growing my hair out a little and I like the roundedness that she creates, which adds more femininity to such a short cut. The other stylist is used to cutting men’s hair and she is not afraid to take my hair the shortest possible, yet trying to maintain the femininity. I like them both, but feel bad for not choosing one or the other. I’m too scared to go to Supercuts because I’ve had a couple not so good experiences there. Once I did find a stylist at a Supercuts and I kept going back because I really liked how he cut my hair. I had a feeling he would move on, probably to San Francisco. Next time I went, he was no longer there.

I’m usually a quiet client, sitting with my eyes closed. Speaking, only if I have a question. I enjoy listening to the others around me. Some people are very chatty while they are in the chair. I like the quiet. If the stylist asks me questions or chit chats, that’s fine with me too.

I’m reading a book that I found in the .99 cents store. It’s told from the point of view of Nic, a thirteen year old whose mom is an atheist and astrophysicist. He starts hanging out with a friend that introduces him to bible study. I’m about a quarter of the way through and entertained by Nic’s voice and the bantering back and forth between him and his mom and also the thoughts in his head. The book is called Believe Me by Nina Killham. I re-picked it up this morning and I thought how funny to be reading this line now. In this scene he is talking about how he finally went to a real barbershop—“no more mom cuts for me,” recalling a memory of a horrendous haircut of his first barbershop haircut. She’s sort of sassy and says to him, “What are you going to do, call in a bad hair day?” And then Nic, talking in his head, well narrating, says:

“But hair, I don’t know, it sets you up. It’s like a canvas everything else is painted on. It’s the first thing you notice. It’s the difference between acceptable and deviant behavior” (pg. 59).

I got a kick out of that. My stylist dried my hair, put three different products in it and started poofing it out at the sides. I had mentioned how I wear it straight, smoothed down, sometimes messy in the back. She was done and said, “What do you think?” I said, “Well, I like the cut, but I don’t like it poofed out,” and she encouraged me to fix it up the way I like it. So I took my hands and started flattening out what she had just done. She smiled and said, “There, now it’s how you like it.” It’s always good to have a stylist that can see and likes short hair on you. I’ve gone into places before where they didn’t seem too jazzed about chopping my hair off. This stylist though and the other seem to like me with short hair. She thinks I look a bit French. I don’t know. I’ve heard Italian before but never French. I do recall someone in my family saying that my grandfather’s father was part French and Spanish. Maybe that’s what she sees. Anyway, I think I’ve said enough about hair for now—maybe for good.

One last thought on hair. Stylists are artists and I think I like having my canvas worked on by a variety of these artists because even if I ask for the same cut, it will be different. I may not always like it and if I love it, I still like seeing what other artists could see and create.

I guess all I really had on my mind this morning was Hair! I’m haired out.

Tuesday, January 17, 2012


1. To turn or direct inward.
2. Psychology To concentrate (one’s interests) upon oneself.

Intro- + Latin vertere, to turn;

From the Free Dictionary and American Heritage Dictionary.


Labels are tricky and for the most part I try to be careful with them. When the labels are applied very carefully in medical and psychological settings, they can help. However, I also believe that there is a fine line and even if appearances reveal black and white, there are still those shades in between and labels can also cause harm, trapping a person. I am also optimistic and know that there are great exceptions and, as a whole, it’s better to have ways in which to categorize if done with care, understanding, and caution—and maybe a little dash of love.

I have continued reading The Fourth Treasure and am enjoying it immensely. It leaves me with much to think about and it is also a love story. When I was done reading for the morning, I turned on my Kindle and wanted to see my Amazon “Wish List.” I had added a few books there and I was curious. When the screen flashed, it briefly showed another screen and my eye barely caught what book it showed but I saw the words Power and Introvert. I double checked to make sure I hadn’t added this to my “Wish List.” I had not. I was curious and tapped in “Introvert Power” to see if I could find the book I saw. Why had this title flashed up on my screen? I have always identified—and I’m careful to use the word identified and often substitute it for related—If my memory serves me, I recall reading something by Joseph Campbell that made an impression on me. He was speaking of how when someone identifies too strongly to something, they may lose a part of themselves in that which they identify with—this is how I remember it anyhow. My curiosity may take me to the memory later on.

Introvert, though is a word that when I first learned of it, made sense to me and I do identify with the concept. And that’s the elusiveness of concepts: there is the black and white of it and then there are the individual layers and nuances. Aside from the usually cut and dry definitions of an introvert, what stands out for me besides tending to turn inward is the energy aspect—of my understanding—that a main difference between the introvert and the extrovert is how they derive their energy. And of course, we often have the tendency toward both qualities, some leaning more one way than the other. My understanding is that introverts can be in socially stimulating situations, but they can become drained and then need the solitude to re-energize, their energy coming from inward activities; whereas, an extrovert tends to need the extra stimulation of social settings and may actually feel drained in a quieter setting. Extroverts derive energy from the buzz of crowds and activity.

Back at my Kindle screen, the three book choices that popped up were: Quiet: The Power of Introverts in a World That Can’t Stop Talking by Susan Cain; Introvert Power: Why your Inner Life is Your Hidden Strength by Laurie A. Helgoe; and The Introvert’s Guide to Success in Business and Leadership by Lisa Petrilli. The first two caught my interest and I’ve downloaded a sample copy of the second book. I’m sure I will end up purchasing the book. The Amazon Kindle price is $1.79—can’t beat that. Even though I’ve lived with the concept of what it feels like to be an introvert from my perspective and experience my whole life, I look forward to reading more about it from this author. It’s time to “empty my cup again”!

When I woke up this morning, I would not have guessed that I would be thinking about introversion and then trying to think about when did I first come across that word? I’m not sure. It took looking for one thing and having another flash before my eyes. If I wasn’t paying attention, I may have missed the moment. I’m glad I was there—now I’m running late—but I feel good; now I’m off to get ready for work.

Happy Day!

Monday, January 16, 2012

Following my Thoughts

The shower used to be the place where I was calm, where ideas would come to me; running from the shower I would dry off enough and grab for the pen and paper. Now showers are sometimes rushed, still enjoyed, some thoughts, but not the same as before.

Just this morning, while I decided to do those dishes in the sink—washing dishes is not a favorite activity of mine—but today I was there with those dishes and the thoughts were there and I realized that this would be my new space, besides the other little entry points within a day that can cause me to go into a reverie, into the world of my thoughts. When I was done with the dishes I didn’t come directly to the page. Some time went by, and as I was reading and browsing, I realized too that I receive just as much joy reading about books, the description, other reader’s reactions, etc., as I enjoy reading the books themselves. I download more samples than I’ll ever be able to read. Some samples get deleted, some I keep there in case I scroll through the many pages one day in search of a book on top of the many new books that keep showing up. This is one of my races with time. It’s not a race really, but it goes along with my path. Some worlds I enter with my toe and leave it in the shallow end, never to return; other times, my toe keeps nudging in until I’m up to my calf and then my whole body is swimming and I keep on swimming until I reach that end point.

And then I realize that my hair looks scraggly. Something has stirred in me of the want of remaining a pretty flower and I know that inside I feel it, but then the outside—I try to maintain the balance of what is portrayed in the media, what feeds the ideas of perfection—you know what I mean—not perfection but unrealistic physical expectations. I watch my mood go from medium-high to low. Too much in my head. Too much thinking of silly things. These thoughts this morning played into yesterday. I decided to give my hair a trim myself. When it’s short, it grows so fast and it gets costly to maintain. I took the thinning shears I purchased months ago and only used once for two or three quick snips so my hair would stay down on the sides a little better. Yesterday I noticed my sides were getting too long. I asked for them to be longer when the stylist cut my hair last month and I don’t like how they grew out. I snipped and snipped with the thinning shears, which only cut pieces of hair. I liked that the sides were shorter and I thought it looked alright. As I started looking closer, it didn’t look so good. I’m going to need to call and make an appointment to get my hair cleaned up. I used to do this when I had longer hair too. I’d get frustrated and cut my hair myself and then make an appointment. My eyebrows are growing in too and I like them, yet I don’t like them. I think I’m being too hard on myself. I think that there are too many annoying things that are available for women to pay too much attention to the outside. I’ve always been an inside person—not always, that’s not true. For a great part anyway I have been an inside focused person. And I must say being solo makes it that much easier, in my opinion, to not get too wrapped up in those outward things. This will pass; it will also cycle back.


I went to pick up a book on hold from the library last week. I was running short on time, but decided to take a quick look for a certain book. When I didn’t find what I was looking for I quickly looked for something to catch my attention. A white spine with red and black stood out: The Fourth Treasure: A Novel (2002) by Todd Shimoda with calligraphy done by his wife, L. J. C. Shimoda. I was intrigued on reading one of the endorsements on the back cover:

“Brushing heart and mind, The Fourth Treasure has depth and nuance of a skillfully calligraphed scroll.  Todd Shimoda balances the worlds of neuro-psychology and the ancient ‘Way of the Brush,’ from Kyoto to Berkeley, from Japanese culture to American and every shade in between.”

—Liza Dalby, author of Geisha and The Tale of Murasaki

I began reading the book that night and knew I was going to be right at home in a world of learning, beauty, and culture. I’m not too far in yet. The story goes back and forth between time periods. I love that throughout the book there are Japanese kanji with a description of the meaning of that particular kanji.

There is a part in the beginning that has moved me and I hope to live these words, to keep them close to my heart:

“Before leaving his studio, the sensei quickly bowed toward a wall scroll, a work of calligraphy completed by the first Daizen sensei on the day he founded the school.  The poem—“Live Life as Art”—had become the Daizen school’s motto” (pg. 9).

Friday, January 13, 2012

Morning Page – Laughing in my Sleep & Two Books

This morning when I got out of bed to begin my morning routine, my significant other said to me in that You talkin to me? way, “You laughing at me?”

He’s not usually conversational when I begin my morning routine because he sleeps an extra hour or so. “Huh?” I said. Clueless, I reached for my slippers, and joked back, "You talkin to me?"

“You were laughing in your sleep. I thought maybe you were laughing at me.”

Slippers on, I came and sat on the edge of the bed.

“Ohhh, yeah…thanks for reminding me. I completely forgot, but yes, I was cracking up, wasn’t I? Gosh, what was I laughing at?” I put my head into my hands trying to find a clue from the night. No clues.

“Yeah, you were really laughing.”

“I must have woken you up then?”

“I don’t know, but I heard you.”

“I can’t remember what it was…I love it when I laugh in my sleep.”

I rose to get up, kissed his lips, smiled, and continued with my morning routine.


I have a handful of books that I am pecking away at. I was reminded of one recently and decided to stray from my current reading to read The Giver (1994) by Lois Lowry. It’s a young adult book, recommended for readers 12 and up. I delighted in this utopian adventure. We follow the story of 12-year-old Jonas as he learns the truths and responsibilities of his new role as the community’s receiver of memories.

This book then has lead me back to George Orwell’s 1984. I was supposed to read this in high school and I remember perfectly well not reading it at all. I know some of the references because they have inserted themselves into our consciousness. I also recall watching a few of the republican candidates speak on the television at a Jewish community center a few weeks back. I thought it interesting that Newt Gingrich had alluded to Orwell’s 1984 and specifically used the example of “2+2=5.” I remember this reference well, having heard it before. I have a vague recollection of watching the movie at some point. The memory is fuzzy. I downloaded a sample copy to my Kindle yesterday to see if it fit my mood. I began reading this morning, absorbed. I reached the end of the sample. I purchased it and was ready to enter the world of 1984 will full attention.

On my version of the e-book, there is “A Note on the Text” written by Peter Davison and I found it to reveal some very interesting facts. One being that Orwell had edited the English version differently from the American version, using different words in some cases for a certain word and also using a different style of punctuation. I found that to be fascinating, but it makes sense. Also Davison points out, “A serious flaw occurred in the 1951 printing in the Secker & Warburg text.” The ‘5’ was left out of the formula “2 + 2 = 5” and he further states “That all English editions thereafter, including the special 1984 editions prepared by Secker & Warburg and Penguin Books, have repeated this error.” Equally fascinating to me. To think that by leaving off one simple symbol, how much meaning is lost, the intended message not conveyed.

I’m looking forward to reading this timeless piece that I have been pulled toward since reading and finishing The Giver. I was in another thrift store this past weekend. The book section called. I’ve never bought or used CliffsNotes before but I saw one there for 1984 and thought what the heck? I knew I would read 1984 soon, just not this soon. I like the additional background from CliffsNotes on Orwell and I am going to treat this experience as a revisiting of a book that I am now reading by choice and I will be my teacher and guide, along with CliffsNotes, of course.


I caught the moon one night while I was gazing out the window during this past full moon cycle. The branches in the foreground framed it beautifully; it beamed so bright, it felt like the sun was wrapped around the moon as one.

Thursday, January 12, 2012

Morning page – Oatmeal, apple slices & Peanut butter, and a Cute Dog

This morning I had oatmeal. I like that it has health benefits. That’s not why I’m drawn to it, but it’s a nice bonus. But then I feel guilty; am I not reaping the benefits when I add a pat of butter and a good dollop of brown sugar and so much milk that I can drink it? It’s mostly the butter that I question. I love that added creamy flavor that it adds. I like that oatmeal is warm and satisfies my belly. I used to talk myself out of preparing it because I would have to dirty a pan, a stirring spoon, a bowl, and an eating spoon. I think I’ve gotten past that, unless there are too many dishes in the sink, and then I revert to drinking a cup of milk to get me going. I also like Malt-O-Meal. It’s much messier and requires more time to sit and stir those granules, so they don’t stick and spit all over the stove. Malt-O-Meal has a tendency to seem angry as it boils away having a tantrum inside the little pan and making a mess.

I also have a memory associated with Malt-O-Meal. I don’t think it affects me too much, except that I can’t help but think about it and maybe even chuckle a little when I make Oatmeal. The memory is of me as a child, enjoying my bowl of Malt-O-Meal in my little plastic blue bowl that was made with ridges to appear like a turtle’s shell. Next thing I know I’ve got the stuff in my hair and it was thick, not watered down with milk the way I like my Oatmeal. Well, I knew my mother wasn’t going to be happy and she wasn’t. She had to get me to school. So after a few damnits, she was able to get most of it out of my hair. She didn’t always have a lot of patience. I don’t hold it against her. But I really do prefer Oatmeal now.

I got tired of peanut butter and honey sandwiches. They were my mainstay for a while there; apples were never my favorite fruit. I didn’t enjoy eating them with my hand and that’s unusual for me because I like eating anything I can directly from my hand if I don’t need a fork. I also didn’t like how I seemed to almost always choke on the apple peel. Somehow, though, I decided to give apples another try. It’s not that I didn’t enjoy their sweet taste and juiciness; it’s just that they seemed too much trouble to eat. Now that has changed and only within the past six months or so. Most mornings when I pack my snack bag for work, I cut apples slices and put them in a container with peanut butter. When I get to work, it’s usually one of the first snacks I will tackle. When the juice of the apple eases into my mouth, the smooth peanut butter creating a barrier making the tough peel more digestible, my senses delight.

I saw a cute dog the other day and I couldn’t help but take a photo of him. I was diagonally across the street. His owner went to have lunch and tied him to the parking meter. He kept looking in to find his owner and then he would turn to the street; and then he stepped off the curb onto the street. He was safe from traffic and his cord wasn’t so long that he would eventually go in the middle of the street. He seemed more interested in the traffic than looking into the restaurant window. I sure wonder what it must all look like from a dog’s perspective.

Endnote on dishes in the sink—you know I think sometimes the amount of dishes left in the sink from the previous day, can greatly determine my mood and enthusiasm for coming back to that sink of dishes. There’s nothing like a fresh start for any task—like a blank page.

Wednesday, January 11, 2012

A Sense of an Ending ~ Book Reflection: Letter to the Muse, Know today as Vincent

How did I come upon this book I ask myself?  It turns out Julian Barnes was awarded the 2011 Man Booker prize for this small but quietly potent book. But I think by now that is old news. That didn’t matter to me and in fact it did not seem to stir upon my consciousness. Now that I know, I imagine how ecstatic the author must feel. So congratulations to him.

I first saw mention of this book in an email newsletter I subscribe to. I then saw it in another email. I knew that I would like to read it at some point, but I didn’t pursue it at that time. I had finished up the previous audio book I was reading and I was in search of a new one. Since I have a monthly membership for a flat fee, each month I receive one credit toward any audio book and then other audios are discounted. I wasn’t sure what I wanted to listen to. Something I’ve read before? Something new? Hmm. Nothing was speaking to me. And then I looked and there I saw that familiar title: A Sense of an Ending. The story sounded interesting.  The story of youth and how the suicide of a friend from a distant past is revealed, bringing the protagonist back to his schooldays—memory unfolds. It’s not a large book. Four hours and 40 minutes by audio.

I enjoyed listening to the writing. I have a hold request at the library so I can read the book myself. I’m number 164 in the queue. The good news is there are 24 holdable copies across libraries in my county. It will be a little while, not too long though. In the meantime, I downloaded a sample for Kindle with the intention of only reading up until the sample stops. I love seeing the words on the page. How he opened the story and how he recounts a memory, and then continues:

“We live in time—it holds us and moulds us—but I’ve never felt I understood it very well. And I’m not referring to theories about how it bends and doubles back, or may exist elsewhere in parallel version.”

And of course there is more. Then he continues his story where it begins for him during his schooldays.

I found myself lulled softly into the story, entering the school, the classroom, and this band of friends.

I listened to this audio slowly, though it could have been listened to in one sitting. I enjoyed the banter between the friends as the protagonist pulled from his memory bank. When I finally reached the end, I felt a small sense of that’s it. That’s how it ends. I don’t often like endings. There was a subtlety to this one. Despite my initial feeling toward the ending, I enjoyed the story so much that a couple of days ago—I finished the book last week—I decided to begin listening to the story again before the book from the library is available. I don’t like recommending books because I know that we all have different tastes, different moods, etc. I can only say that I’m glad I found this book. It’s the journey of past recollections meeting present and it becomes a meditation on memory—death, life, time, choices, regrets—the ordinary and the extraordinary.

Written with acuity and a sense of grace, I appreciate the quiet, loudness of this book.

Tuesday, January 10, 2012

Sea Lion Day

Today I'm counting on these lovable sea lions to help me through the day. In case I find myself feeling frustrated or things feel out of my control, I want to think of the look in their eyes as they play with each other and bark and smile and wrap around each other innocently, with such joy.

Happy day!

Thursday, January 5, 2012

Morning Page – Spring Day in Winter

 “Life is like an ice cream cone…
You have to learn to lick it!”
--Charlie Brown

Yesterday for my lunch break I went to the library to take some books back and to pick up one I had on hold. It feels a little late to read it now that Christmas has passed, but then again a Christmas spirit without the materiality and media is nice to carry always. The book is called The Man Who Invented Christmas: How Charles Dickens’s A Christmas Carol Rescued his Career and Revived Our Holiday Spirits (2008) by Les Standiford. I finished A Christmas Carol in December and loved every word of it. I also started reading A Tale of Two Cities on Kindle. I was immediately hooked and love the language. The first part was clear to me and I could see the details of the characters and setting and it made sense to me. However, I am a little bogged down by the second part so far. I’m certain that it will come together for me as I continue reading.

When I left home yesterday I decided to take my camera. I grabbed it and attached it to the satchel I carry around as my purse. When I took my lunch break, I decided I would go in search of a 2012 calendar for work—one of the daily calendars. I usually try to get to the stores and purchase them at 50% off. As I walked, I couldn’t believe what a nice day it was. The air didn’t feel icy like it has and the brisk pace of my walking was making me feel warm. It was like a spring day in winter.  I told the day how beautiful it was and smiled up at the sky. I had my camera with me but I didn’t see anything that I wanted to snap. When I got to the store, there weren’t many calendars left. Last year there were. I left with nothing. I had stopped into another small store before that. Nothing. I was determined. As I wound my way back, there was one last store. They had about five calendars and only one daily calendar. I wanted one then and there and I liked that it was a Zen calendar. It was the last one. I ended up paying full price.

I usually have a few daily calendars around my desk area. Back at work, I decided to quickly hop onto and search for The Booklovers Calendar. Then I saw there was a word origins calendar. I added it to my cart. After checkout, it didn’t look like the word origins calendar was available. I didn’t want to wait and have it not show up. I canceled that one and tried to find something humorous in its place. I settled on The Argyle Sweater Calendar. Both calendars were 50% off but with tax and shipping, it all evened out. I was relieved to have my one calendar already and two on the way.

The end of the day came and I walked to the car. The sunset was gorgeous. Muted amber tones. I took my camera out and began snapping. I needed to go to the grocery store before home. As I continued driving, the sunset colors changed. They became a molten ruby red. I pulled over to the side of the dark road. I snapped away. For an amateur photographer such as myself, the images don’t necessarily transfer the way I saw them with my own eyes. This one though feels close.

A few months back I purchased Chat Pack: Fun Questions to Spark Conversations. Here’s one of the questions: “If you were making a list of the five things (not people!) that make you happiest in your life, what five things would you write down?” 

The sunset—nature is definitely on my list of five.

Wednesday, January 4, 2012

Random Musings ~ First Blog of 2012

Writing has been missing. I’ve missed writing in general, except for the few words that I’ve jotted down in randomness. I’ve missed Red Room. I’ve missed coffee. Today was my first cup of caffeinated coffee since about a month ago when I thought I’d experiment with taking it away. I have purposefully not made any New Year’s resolutions. I think I will continue working on myself—my interior world. I can see why it gets harder and harder as we age; and I can also see how it can reach a middle point and feel fine. I can see how it feels like a teeter totter—life that is—the constant balance seeking, of maintaining some sort of equilibrium, all the while trying to stay true to oneself and not becoming hard, but maintaining a sense of softness, maintaining that soft glow in your eye as you look upon the dandelion floating through the sky and letting it nestle right in your heart and carry you on and open your lens to more and more of life’s subtle beauties.

This morning I decided to make a pasta salad using multi-colored spiral pasta for our lunchtime snacks. I added red onion, celery, olives, red bell pepper and mixed it with a vinaigrette dressing. As I was cutting the bell pepper, my mind began writing and even though yesterday is when I realized that writing—that in part is my lifeblood—was absent. Maybe it needed a break of its own. As I waited for the coffee to finish brewing, I anticipated my first sip and I knew I would sit down and write this morning because coffee and writing go together and spark my fire. I knew I needed to show up at the page because the longer I waited, the more time would build for me to talk myself out of it—to fall into a rut of self-consciousness.

The other day while I was sitting in the car, waiting for the engine to warm up—because my uncle told me it was a good idea to warm it up so all the fluids get up and around in the machinery. It will run smoother and I won’t put a strain on the car, he said—it’s really a small truck, but I prefer to refer to it as a car. And it does make a difference. When I go too soon, it’s harder to go into second gear. I feel bad because sometimes it will make a horrible noise. I’ve been driving stick shifts for a long time, but at times shifting into second gear makes me feel like I just learned.

So this little snippet is what I wrote that morning:

Waiting for the car to warm up, listening to an audio book, my attention drifts to movement caught out of the corner of my eye. I look and there are two squirrels playing, rounding the tree, shaking their bushy tails. I then look forward again; the light shines on the leaves in the tree in front of me. The soft breeze shakes the leaves in a way that makes them look like gold coins dancing on the beach, planting a smile on my face. At this point, not much time has passed, but sitting here tapping it out to catch the moment, it feels like lots of time has inched by. I had to rewind the audio on the Kindle. The narrator was talking about memory and how we reach a point where we know we're forgetting and we have choices: We can let it go; we can force ourselves to remember—or at least try; we can research for further prompting where eventually the memory will come back to us in our sleep or some other random point.

The squirrels have moved on. The tree is still there. The sun has shifted away from the golden coin tree. The car idles in a way that says its time to go.


Yesterday I feel like I had a mini breakthrough. It may have helped to talk about it out loud, but something shifted in me. A part of me that since my mini “meltdown” as I refer to it has finally begun to release itself from me. It had put a bit of a damper on my being, partially because I don’t like losing control, especially with my emotions. The irony is that when others lose their emotional control with me they might apologize because they feel bad, I tell them it’s all right. You need to let it out. This happens every now and then where it has nothing to do with me. I just happen to be an understanding ear. And at these times, I feel good that I am able to be there for them—just in my presence and in letting them know I hear them and I understand and that it’s all right.


And so, this is my first blog of 2012 and I feel optimistic about this year. I like the curves of two 2’s like bookends holding a zero and a one together snuggly in the center. And then I can imagine these four numbers up on a trapeze—a 2 with a 0; and a 2 with a 1, grabbing hold side by side each pair on opposite ends, joining in the center. That’s how I see 2012 in this moment.


I raise my glass or in the case of this morning, I raise my coffee cup to you and wish you health and peace and happiness for this year of 2012.

Wishing you all rainbows and sunshine! :)


This photo was taken at the Japanese Gardens in Hayward.