happy all hallow's eve

here's that [ommitted] x 3

the other night I took you close to me to appease you.
so you'd leave me alone...
and afterwards in the dark my eyes spilled tears until 5am.

another scooter adventure

In 3 minutes, I'm going to pour myself a glass of wine just like this one. It's been a hellishly long week - a lot of physical labor, and I have to be up before the sun rises tomorrow for some more of it.



Another scooter ride home tonight from a work buddy, and I was laughing my ass of the entire time - so much so - that my sides hurt. There was a marked difference between this ride and the one a few weeks back from my girlfriend, and that is that he drove like a fucking maniac, especially when it came to passing in between the cars stopped at the red lights. Between my incessant laughter I was screaming "I hate it - make it stop - oh my god - I hate it" at the top of my lungs.

But I loved it. My adrenaline was in over-drive. As soon as I jumped off the back of his scooter after being driven up the sidewalk at lightning speed and then smacking into the bottom step outside of my house I ripped off my helmet and buckled over with screaming laughter and kept yelling random things at him. The last thing I remember shouting was that the helmet I borrowed was stinky (it wasn't his), and then I gave him a big hug goodnight.

a small moment

Yesterday we were all sardined in the underground train already when suddenly a man pressed in tighly behind me saying "This is love-ly" as he pushed us all in even tighter to fit before the doors closed behind him. His arm was reaching above my head for a handle to hold onto, elbowing my skull in the process, so I shouted "No, this sucks!"

Suddeny I cringed in my personal darkness (my eyes had been closed) due to the realization that perhaps I said it louder than I thought, so I opened my eyes. Sure enough, A few people were looking at me and one woman looked away quickly and then directly at the man next to her and they started giggling. Then I darted my eyes around all the bodies pressed against me and I saw them all looking at each other and smiling as well. It made the blood rush to my face and then I couldn't help smiling too, before I closed my eyes again and thumbed the volume way up on my ipod.

I'd like a sandwish please...

I love finding mispelled signs, I find them so endearing.

il cibo

Many hours spent seated at tables this weekend. Hubby cooked a wonderful dinner Friday night and a cozy Saturday brunch. Saturday evening there was a large dinner party to say farewell to a good friend, before heading out to meet the larger party for cocktails and dancing.

good deed

We have a movie bandit in our house. We have an account with Netflix and when we are done with the film we typically leave it down at our mailbox for the mailman to pick it up. Lately I noticed it has taken up to a week or more for netflix to receive our returned movies, as opposed to the usual day or two at most that it used to take. One DVD was never returned at all.

Yesterday Hubby placed the netflix envelope on the ledge above our mailbox as usual, and when I left the house an hour later it was gone, and I knew for a fact that the mailman hadn't even arrived yet. And what do you know that same envelope reappeared later that evening and the seal had been opened.

Now a pretty handwritten letter is taped up above the mailboxes addressed to the "Netflix Freeloader" advising him/her as to how to set up their very own account seeing as we will no longer be leaving our outgoing mail to be pilfered and they will no longer have the pleasure of "borrowing" our movies. I provided the Netflix URL and encouragement as to the simplicity of setting up an account, pointing out that it takes far less energy than stealing ours and they will have the added benefit of selecting their very own favorites rather than relying on the gamble that they will like what we've selected (unless they happen to be a die-hard Civil War fan of course, then I've probably clued them onto a plethora of great dramas and documentaries).

Anyway, that was my good deed for the day, what was yours?

my heart is south

It's almost one year ago now that the 4 of us went to New Orleans to celebrate the beginning of my third decade. Those days I had a hummingbird trapped in my heart. I could feel the fluttering of his wings against the inside of my chest. His will to fly free was so strong that the rapid movement of his wings bruised my insides, only I wasn't aware at the time because with all his might he lifted me ever so slightly off the ground, my toes dangling like strings. All I noticed then was the fact that I was momentarily detached from the rest of the world, not tied down to the ground like the others.

Our last day there we stumbled upon this abandoned plantation about an hour East of the city. I tiptoed as we trespassed on the haunting property. Up the winding outside staircase. Along the creaky floorboards of the upper balcony. A man appeared out of nowhere startling me and I asked him what the rusty basin below was used for.

I made us turn the truck around to go back to this parking lot as well because it beckoned me for some reason. A faded hand painted sign. Just took this one picture of it then climbed back in and we were off.

Our view off the balcony of our hotel. The surreal mix of magic hour natural light and streetlight flourescents. I only want the south.

I want...

I've been browsing ebay for the past half a year for the perfect tintype of a civil war soldier, and this is the first image that has truly fit the bill for me:

night

Another film festival down in Big Sur. We sat cheek to cheek outside under a blanket with a warm wind at our faces, and thin red wine on our lips. Those black and white silent films did me right.

and day

This time 16 guests were staying at our friends place so we opted for the campgrounds and some privacy instead. They had us round Saturday morning for coffee and breakfast just the same. Tucked away high in the hills.



Back at the campground the redwoods loomed overhead. At night the full moon cast haunting shadows.



Snack. Sweet Lambic and tart cheese.



Spanish Manchego and soft Swedish cheese



In Italy I learned the true meaning of bitter sweet.



Silence.



I bought a black folding knife so I could whittle too.



There in my lap sit the 3 books I bought Friday evening at the library:
The Prince by Niccolo Machiavelli
Downstream by J.K. Huysmans
Residence on Earth by Pablo Neruda [I am not a fan of poems, Neruda used to make me cringe, however I was drawn to him that night and the words I read made me gasp with longing.]

mischievous [abridged]

Took the old - rickity Italian cable car home down Market Street today. Had 3 plants on my lap and at my feet. Hid my face behind them. Small smiles. Saw mouths move as they looked at me and pointed at the deep violet orchid. "...beautiful" was the only lip-reading I could make out - the music was blaring in my ears. Banjo music of course.

I tapped my feet and the fern on my lap probably made an annoying sound to others. Actually, probably not. So many smiles, and strangers talking to me. I just decided to keep the edges of my mouth curled up the entire ride, and by the time we reached my stop it stayed there of it's own accord. The warm air hovered around my slow movement home. Today was my Friday. In one hour I will pick Hubbs up at the airport and tomorrow we will drive down to Big Sur and camp alone this time in the middle of the redwoods.

[Words can become easily misconstrued here, and as I feared they would - they did, so I took them down and put them away in hiding. I don't feel like explaining myself so I won't. This day I feel like taking them all away and I just might. Still pondering.]

vanished

Their faces stare at me all day long. I was about to crawl into bed just now but instead I was drawn to the darkness and I stood before my towering wall where I've pinned up my collection of vanished faces.


Tonight I was drawn to this one in particular and I turned the light back on to inspect their faces. When I peered in close to the picture, their stories started pouring into my mind, saturating it. I stood dampened with the harsh realization that none of this flesh or oxygen surrounding me really matters. Not an ounce of it.

What beautiful day were they celebrating, and why the hardened faces? Only one oblivious child smiles. The fruit sprawled out on the table. The cotton clothes pressed tightly to their necks on a hot day. Hands hanging heavy at their sides.

I suddenly want to fall into the arms of my family but they are all so far away. We have photos of our clan all gathered on precious days and someday will those too be pinned on some strangers wall, all traces of us vanished? Some days I just can't handle being so small in this overwhelming universe.

giggle

1. Go to Google
2. Type in the word "Failure"
3. Click "I'm Feeling Lucky" instead of clicking "Google Search"

3 x 3

Hubby is on the Right Coast for work momentarily. He just called and told me he came across the tiny note I slipped in his wallet with his flight/hotel info that I wrote on it.

He said he kissed it 3 times, then 3 more times, then 3 more times. I was descending the stairs to the underground train and I immediately stopped when he said this and stood still in the middle of the staircase. Strangers rushed by as blurred colored lines. I grasped the phone tight to my ear and cupping my hand around the mouthpiece whispered loudly in response "...really baby?? you did that? when? when you got back to your hotel? aawwww Cutie.. you what...you miss me? Oh I miss you too little Cutie..."

3 splinters in my back

My OCD is out of hand. I scoured the house while you packed this morning and I didn't let you out the door until you kissed the door 3 times, then the lamp that I turn on when coming home at night 3 times, then me 3 times. 3 days they take you away from me. Your plane touched ground in NY 18 minutes ago.

Had to venture down to Big Sur Friday night without you and then our friends took off Southbound early Saturday morning leaving me all alone in the woods with Birdie. The friend's whose place we stayed at both took off early as well. They each came down to the barn separately and touched my shoulder before they left and then I stood and embraced them for a short while. They both make my eyes light up. They are an older couple with wise souls and young spirits.

Saturday morning was a quiet experience for me. The permanent smile was surfacing and I was shedding the layers of filth of city life off of my soul and inhaling the lightly scented air deeply. At one point I leaned back against the Barn to photograph the trees and 3 splinters dug deep into my skin. They are still embedded there, they hurt when I lean over but I decided to keep them in my skin, the pain reminds me of that wonderful place I can never seem to leave dry-eyed.

I thought I was alone that morning after all of my friends had left, but the other guest - the Swedish actor/filmaker/screenwriter was up at the Creek House working on a new script while I played Birdie for 4 hours down at the Barn. It was hours later when I finally glanced up there and realized that the he was there, so I picked up all of our wine glasses off the wooden floor from the night before and headed up to see him at the Creek House. My first impression of him came the previous night when I walked into the Library lawn and saw his face on the huge screen, his arrogant character repelled me. Then another short film came on and there he was again, only this character made me slide to the edge of my chair.

Saturday afternoon Hubby finally arrived to pick me up and I invited you to join us for brunch down the road. Afterwards I went and watched your movies again so Hubby could see what he missed and he loved you too. Then Hubby fell asleep as I played him the new tune I learned to play that day. His mouth opened and he was fast asleep but his feet were moving to the rhythm of Birdie. This fascinated me so I played slowly and softly and watched him sleep until tears spilled down my cheeks out of nowhere and I kicked his foot with mine from where I stood and said "please don't die baby!" and he woke up briefly and said clearly "I won't", then rolled over on his belly and I continued to play while looking out the window.



We walked up the trail to where you were working and you came out and stretched your arms then we all went inside the Creek house and you made us a damn good cup of coffee. When I commented on your films, you gave me all 3 of them and I was feeling dizzy and had to sit. Then I had to walk outside and you Swedes both politely spoke English because you were still within ears reach of me - even though I ventured off to photograph the woods.

We were glued to you until the sun went down. We didn't want to leave. We lit candles and bundled up. You kept writing down things I was saying on a piece of paper, taking notes. You wanted to use these snipits of my life somewhere in one of your movies. I told you about my phase when I refused to use my voice to communicate with anyone and instead had to have my typewriter with me as a means of communicating and would only type what I had to say and would then wait for whoever was in my presence to come stand behind me and read my words over my shoulder. The first phase was all in fun, it made my interactions with others so intense and beautiful, plus it weeded out all the stiffs who didn't get it.

That phase surfaced twice in my life. Couldn't muster up a voice, and during the second phase it was because I was deeply troubled and heartbroken. The second phase was after the Greek admitted cheating repeatedly on me. I just sat for days at my desk at my typewriter and when anyone would call for me or come to my room to talk to me I would move my fingers over the keys and communicate. Tears ran freely those days. Sometimes I would take the page out and drop a tear on it then put it back in the typewriter and type a word over and over again on the paper until it would softly crumble away.

yesterday seems like forever ago

Woke up early Saturday in Big Sur with Birdie and sat a few hours watching the sun burn the fog off while my legs dangled from this porch.



Bare foot in the dry dirt and free. Friends who were headed southbound took me down Friday night to catch the Swedish Film Festival. Then to your remote home tucked deep in the redwoods.



This is the poem I made on your refrigerator when Ramblin' Jack was telling us bits of stories over breakfast. I was heartbroken and didn't want the day to end.



The Swedish Viking Ship I imagine us all drifting away in someday.

the lesson

She is smiling. Something fierce and hot sliced her heart after dark yesterday.

Last night I cabbed it over to my lesson and introduced Birdie to the lovely gentleman friend of a friend who was kind enough to donate an hour of his time to me for free. He had a magnetic presence and took little Birdie and started picking hillbilly style ... my jaw dropped and my skin went numb under thousands of tiny pin prickles. Later when he picked up his banjo, we sat knee to knee and picked a roll (I learned it off my DVD) together in harmony, all the while he was quickening his tempo and I kept up with him until finally I squeezed my eyes closed and yelled Fuuuuck! and stopped. Then he rolled his chair backwards away from me and shouted "that was so great - I can't believe you've only been playing for about two weeks...wow!"

To say my cheeks were producing flames and embers would be putting it lightly. I can't remember the last time I blushed so heatedly. That was dangerous for me. The euphoria of playing an instrument your adore along with another who also adores this instrument. Our knees were touching every once in a while because he wheeled so close and it got fucking hot in there quickly, and stupid-ass me wore a sweater on what ended up being a very warm evening out.

When I left I tried to jam a $20 into his hand when we shook hands at the top of the stairs but it repelled him back and he put his hands high in the air, so I started walking back towards his room saying "Fine I'll just throw it in your room then". He got mad and I got scared so I stood before him like a scolded child with my eyes cast downwards. We said goodbye then I ran down the stairs concealing a smile and started running down the street a little. It was an unusually beautiful evening out, I walked down a few streets and hailed a cab.

"Is that a banjo you have there Miss?" The cab ride was lovely and informative, when he pulled up in front of my house the conversation continued a short while longer. He put the car in park and turned to get a good look at me. My eyes were open very wide and my back was arched as I bounced up and down at the edge of my seat to the rhythm of my ever-elongating words - sometimes I sing my sentences when I feel comfortable and inspired to do so. His smile and words in return were very uplifting/hopeful and inspiring, when he himself seemed rather down and bitter when I first got in the cab. I've been told though that when I'm happy I spread that happiness all over you like wildfire.

semi non sequitur

For me the lines blur very often, I love intensely and quickly and never take the time to dissect the inner workings of what fuels the love. I married a marble-rock-solid statue of a man who doesn't allow this aspect of me to penetrate or wound him. He knows I fall in love with everything: objects, women, men, cartoons, old men...in fact he sometimes segues introductions to people/things with "you're going to fall in love with him/this". If I didn't marry an understanding man like that I never would have married at all because I will not live this life pretending I stop loving all else because I love one, it simply doesn't work that way. I will however, never disrespect or cheat on my precious Hubby, because no matter the size of the crush, it all pales in comparison to the blazing galaxy of love I hold for him.

That said I think I'll try to seek out a non-charming female instructor so as not to blur my vision.

1920's hair

I sat for 2 1/2 hours at the salon yesterday, nodding off under the hairdryer. The friend I went to the festival with Sunday also cuts my hair. As soon as I sat in the chair we immediately started talking about the festival, then Birdie and playing in some old school band, then the 1920's which led to my book Bound for Glory which led to the Great Depression and cotton dresses, and 1920'2 NYC jazz dance clubs.

She gave me my favorite A-line 1920's flapper hair-cut, and sat and carefully fingerwaved my hair and placed me under the dryer. Everyone in the salon stares at my hair the whole time I'm there, peering over things, clients just stare unflinching, and stylists watch smiling, it's very embarrassing for me. The next time I see my friend she tells me the conversations my hair starts once I leave, and that's what I hate, the silence of my presence is just them waiting, then when I walk out the door the chatter starts up. Upon departing she gave me a big hug and told me to go home and put vintage clips in my hair and don a simple1920's cotton dress and play my old time banjo.


If only I felt beautiful yesterday, but I didn't so instead I went home and my raging pms forced me to shake out the perfect waves into a messy afro. I always photograph/document my new haircuts, and when I saw that I destroyed her hard work I started crying from shame, and the fact that I looked disgustingly pale and bloated, and my eyes looked tired and wrinkly and old - no that didn't help me. Luckily the phone rang and an old familiar voice was on the other end. I kept crying and explaining rapidly the process which reduced me to these tears and she started laughing really hard telling me she missed me so fucking much. I started laughing with her and then lit up a cigarette. "You're still smoking!" she yelled - to which "only when I'm going mad! Only when I'm fucking going crazy in my head!"

I was a loser. Hubby called my cell and told me his boys night turned into mixed night and that I should meet them all out for dinner. I walked to the bathroom mirror looked at my face holding both phones to either ear and declined his invitation - explaining the guilt over my hair and how I'd be horrified if I went out and saw my friend, that I didn't feel I had deserved a fancy dinner right then. Then I eventually hung up both phones and lay back on my couch praying for salvation when my phone rang again and another good friend called saying she was on the train heading to my hood to meet me after all for that drink we casually mentioned the day before.


I threw a bandana over the mess I created and met her down at the piano bar at a yummy local restaurant (seems to be where I'm dragging everyone these days). There we sat with a sake cocktail and a glass of champagne at the tiny candlelit bar. When it became painfully clear that the restaurant was fully shut down, we stood outside and she smiled wide and said she didn't want to go home so I pointed down the street to another place and we went and had 2 more drinks at a gay bar.

1am rolled around quickly and we went outside where then I watched my friend climb into her cab across the street after waving and shouting goodbye once again to me. I turned and walked home slowly. When I walked into my bedroom hubby lay under the covers with his light left on overhead for me. He woke suddenly and said "waah" and I couldn't wait to crawl in next to him to place a kiss on his cheek before turning out his light. Then I stared widely into the darkness waiting for the thoughts circling overhead to fall suddenly over me, hoping that their enormous weight would push me into the deepest sleep.

It did. And I went to my favorite vintage 20's store and shopped for hair clips to place in my perfectly fingerwaved hair and then I spotted my grandfather's fedora on a tall shelf and I stood reaching up on tiptoes to grab it, then placed it gently on my head, closed my eyes and flashed a big red smile because I realized that I was still a smooth-skinned little girl.

I'm nervous

Tomorrow night I will be receiving my first banjo lesson. The husband of a friend of mine is in a bluegrass band and their banjo player will be my teacher. He is giving me the lesson free but I'll tip him generously for his time of course....holy shit I'm so nervous. I've practiced at least an hour every day, and over 4 hours yesterday, and Birdie is in my arms now as I write this during a small break. I should be thrilled but instead I feel like I'm going to puke, when did I become so afraid of strangers?

momentary lapse from hibernation

Since Birdie flew into my life: one of my bosses told me I inspired him to pull his mandolin out of storage and start playing again; a friend told me she was going to dust off her electric guitar; another friend told me she wanted to take out her violin she hasn't played in 10 years; another one will perhaps finally tackle the piano, and finally yesterday my scooter driving girlfriend said she wanted to learn the harmonica to play along with my banjo. Little Birdie your inspiration is contagious and it just makes me love you all the more.

When I came home from the Festival on Saturday there was a package in front of my door. Birdie's strap and the instructional DVD's, CD, and tab booklet had arrived. We had a half an hour to change and head over to our friend's dinner party. I became caught up with Birdie so we were 45 minutes late. How wonderful it was to be back around good friends. Inspiring and intelligent dialogues floating around the room, dipping in and out of eardrums, heated conversations interwoven with wine and firelight. That night and the following day I spoke more than I had all month combined and my throat is sore and breaking today. I tried to sing along with Karen O this morning and my voice kept dropping off. A low fire burns behind my chin and there are dark ashes tickling my throat causing me to cough every 2 minutes but it makes me smile.

3 splinters in my back [sneak]

[this is the last paragraph I decided to omit from the 101005 entry only after someone alluded to me being mentally ill]

My mother asked me if I was going to kill myself one day in that silence. Probably because I'd got up and locked myself in the bathroom in the middle of dinner at my older brother's house, started screaming at the top of my lungs and placed an imaginary gun in my mouth (my fingers) - and pulled the trigger again and again and again and then I let my body go limp and fell to the floor and shut my eyes tight. The sound of my brothers and mothers fists pounding wildly against the door faded away as I pluggd my ears and hummed myself far away... to anywhere but here. I didn't tell the Swede about any of that though.

[Mentally Ill...if being repeatedly physically, mentally, and sexually abused when you were young and therefore you sometimes suffer in difficult situations due to it, if that makes you mentally ill, then half the children growing up in the world right now are ill. Due to that time in my life and having to face one of my abusers mixed with discovering I was lied to and other facets I won't disclose, I really lost my wits end - it was more than I could carry on my young shoulders at once.]

under water day

How lovely this day was.


Even though I awoke alone and anxious because Hubby left the house at 4:30am to go fishing two 1/2 hours out deep in the ocean, I was quick and happy. A friend called to ask me to my neighborhoods street fair which I wasn't even aware of, but I had to decline because it was to be another day in the shade of the redwoods at the bluegrass festival. All of the streets around my place were barricaded off so I walked freely down the middle of the them in the ripe morning sun. I walked about 10 minutes to the other side where my friend was waiting for me with her pearly white scooter. I climbed on the back, held the little handlebars and we were off to a Creole diner for some southern brunch first. We sat up at the counter, high on our stools, the sun hitting our backs through the open door behind us.


Then we scooted over to the festival, and today was sunny and warm unlike yesterdays chilly foggy day which drizzled dampness on us continuously. Six and a half hours we spent there today - and it was so refreshing because yesterday I made the mistake of dragging Hubby out with another friend of mine and he had his head in his hands with his eyes closed almost the entire time. This behavior irked me enough that I didn't mind leaving the festival early to get to another friend's house for a dinner party, but we still managed to arrive late, oh well.

But back to today...there are days that I consider my "under water" days. It is a magical thing. It's a sensation where all of the surrounding noises unite as one soothing humming sound. The air coats my skin and glides over every object within my view, connecting me to it as water does (although that is precisely why I hate swimming in lakes and oceans, because that liquid is touching me and the insane creatures lurking in the deep). Experiencing a water day around strangers like that is rare for me.


And lastly there is that phenomenon in this world that my heart cannot take. When someone stands raw before you and sings or plays an instrument so beautifully, creating sounds that are warm fingers probing deep into your chest, digging softly around for your heart until they find it and hold it gently, protectively...my heart can't take that. That slight pressure upon my heart forces the tears to spill, but on a day like today no one can see them under all of that magnificent water.

do I amuse you?

When I saw Hubby designing a temporary logo for a friend, who sadly is moving back to the east coast this month, I suggested to him that we drive our friends belongings to N.Y. for her and make a fun trip of it.
"Think of what a relief ... and-and the money it will save her - let alone how fun that will be teehee!" I blurted out from the edge of the couch as I clapped my hands.
He just shook his head, flashed me a loving smile, laughed and said "Sometimes you're really funny baby". I just sunk back, laying deep in the couch and kicked my foot lightly against his leg to get his attention. "How am I funny...like a clown?"

I stood up in front of him and played Mirror for a minute, which I like to do as it affords Hubby a moment of dark entertainment, where I change my voice to what I assume the voice of his thoughts to be, and I tell him what random bits of negatives and logicality are streaming thought his mind. When I was done revealing his lack of spontaneity he could detect the serious tone in my manner and touched upon some of his "thoughts" only to back them up and shed light on the absurdity of my idea: "Baby, do you really want to be responsible for all of her belongings?" Perhaps he evens me out so they say...but why does it have to hurt and why do I have to be made normal according to all of you whom I care nothing about (the general public I mean)?

"I'm going to bed" I said and left the room to walk through the comforting darkness, not turning on any lights so that I could feel my way through the rooms and to bed, where I felt around for spiders before climbing in. Then I imagined the house in my photograph again, but instead of breaking into it I wanted to go down the road to see what was at the other end of it.