Not Good

Not a great week-end. Have a crow on my shoulder, and he caws plaintively. Says he understands my grave decisions. But does he? Trickster, he can see the past, present and future like a chalk drawing on a sidewalk. Sees everything at once. Won't tell me what he sees. Can't say he is good company then.

The Best Part

In Ophelia's in Fremont, I climb the loft to the children's section. A cat, one of several in the store, glances at me, meows. I scratch his head. To be a bookstore cat will be my next incarnation. Not much will be required. The best part.

Here

It's late, and the world is still. I just took a shower. I have clothes. Shelter. Friends. Work. My life is full of such luxuries. Outside, in the dark, so many without. A prayer for them here.

Stories

You remember something you thought you had forgotten. What it could be like, maybe. What a shock that she understood a story you read out loud that no one else has ever understood. Makes you wonder, would she understand other stories, not just the ones you read, the ones you carry, that bend you, have almost broken you.

6:00 am

morning

whatever ghost

howled outside my window

last night

has been tucked in somewhere

she sleeps with me

Dog Day

Day off. Ambitious plans. Balance my checkbook. Finish my column. Write a proposal. World Peace. Okay, not that. Spent about three hours just decompressing from the stress of the last several weeks. Dogs know about this. Are not embarrassed to lie down, head on their paws, think tranquil scenes of nothing. I found myself sighing. Turning. Repositioning myself on a pillow. Tossing a pillow off the bed. Retrieving it.

Leaf Shadows

I told a friend this week that when I'm really stressed, my right eyelid twitches. As if a small crane have been assigned to pull it continually slightly to the right. Only a bit of a twitch now. Candles lit. A gothic thriller. Patter of rain. Bigger breaths then bigger breaths. When I turn the lights off, leaf shadows all over the ceiling.

Flirtatious Books

I go the library always with a sense that the world can begin again. It's marvelously quiet in there and marvelously loud. The books are kicking up their skirts in one endless can can, pretending to be circumspect and bound by convention but flirting with all humans. "Pick me! Pick me!" Even the oldest books, the classics, are not above revealing a discreet ankle or wrist.

Chippewa Saying

"Sometimes I go about pitying myself, and all of the time I am being carried on great winds across the sky."

What's Next

All I can do is keep walking even if I have no idea what direction my feet will take me. Who will walk with me. The important thing is to be in motion. Or maybe that's all wrong. Maybe standing still is the best thing. Standing in myself and next to myself in the stillness. If there's a way to do that.

First Meal

I woke this morning in finely worn flannel pajamas, pink with pale brown cats. I clambered out of bed, from under a mound of comforters, and followed sounds to the kitchen. My housemates, Bill and Deb, said, "Would you like french toast?" I said, "Yes." Company was coming. Another family. "Do I have to change?" "No." Minutes later, Alex was there at the door with his baby whose blue eyes know everything. Coffee was brewing. Pears were sliced. Deb asked me to sample a butter from Hawaii that tastes like key lime pie. Max, who is four, came through the door hauling a bear as big as he is, his mother close behind. The heavenly scent of maple syrup. The baby sang through breakfast.