Wednesday, August 31, 2022




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Monday, August 29, 2022




in X years, will i regret not organizing my ho M e?

... my ho M e office?

... my pant R ies?

OUI                          NON

call + 1 ( 310 ) 848 - 1990




17 ><(((º>

When I was in fashion school, I got dumped by this guy I'd been dating for a few months. It was nothing more serious than dinner once a week, but I was always sewing sew taking a weekly night off was kind of a big deal. Brady. Brady called me, totally freaking out, struggling to speak while spitting out that he wanted to change everything. Change everything in his whole life. But he couldn't, or didn't know how ? sew he told me I had to go. It's hard for me to remember exact wording unless those words deliver a lesson:

I can't change anything, but I can change you.

><(((taking a break from our my fish experimentº>

                    <ºthe micro of our macro)))><

Had this lover years back, when the urge to get an aquarium first struck. He talked me out of it — thought it would mess with my head to sea beings trapped in a glass room, too close to home when we were tip-toeing around our second floor duplex (feather feet). We're still friendly and he may teach me to trade when these kids are both finally back-to-school. It will be cool to have a wake-up-and-go hobby.

Tending to the flock. Numbers are proverbial fish with no tank to clean, no neighbor with a key charging ten dollars a day when I feel like get to go farming.

Had this other lover, also years back, who helped me connect obvious dots. Grew up like me, Pennsylvania too, and even though he was living in transition after leaving his fiancé and their shared home, he knew exactly where his things were and why they were there. The get-up-and-go if you hear trouble coming down the hallway does stay with you. You're out the window. Off.

    Just out of the marital home myself. Douchy but hot/hot actor/real estate agent with a motorcycle. We met on an app and I'm still wrapping my head around the fact that I just had a baby and have a toddler but get to have sex with strangers ? they know. They each kiss my stretched out bellybutton. Tongue kiss it trail down. Reckless perhaps, but I'm on the back and this is Mulholland where we're taking the curves. It's late and there's a full moon tonight. He slows to pull over and motions for visors up. Asks how I'm doing.

 Are you leaning away from the turns?

turns out you ride by leaning in

Work with the energy, however it comes to you and wherever it wants to take you. A home beautiful and orderly *to you* Possessions you *truly love and really need* You're ready to go when it's time to go because you're ready because you listen.

<ºbear or bull)))><    

 ><(((sink or swimº>

Live wires in my legs these nights. To fall asleep I envision myself as one of those blow up things at car dealerships. Big foot steady to let the wildness clear my core, neck, crown, wave goodbye

Now I'm lightheaded some afternoons, making me wonder if the energy is not leaving but moving into new parts of my brain ? a funny feeling buzzy behind my eyes. A friend recommends an eye check, good to get, but yeah, still 20/20.

Reading glasses in vintage frames. Buzzy legs an opportunity for late night stretching. Dizziness a daily reminder to hydrate and sit still for a bit. Taking the curves with more energy here-and-happening.


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Friday, August 26, 2022


The banging coming through the ceiling during the roof's replacement brings me back into childhood. My family lived inside of a gut renovation when most people wouldn't. I remember thinking it was radical, in a bad way, that my baby brother napped right though the massive iron fire escape being welded loose and crash-dropped into a backyard heap. The escape was stripped from the back of the building and just dropped.

Crashing, scary loud and he kept on sleeping. The closet they used as his nursery was on the back of the house, second floor, right there in the middle of It. I was worried most of the time, and about this, so I crept in and covered my ears with my hands, with my eyes on him. I watched for his small back to rise and fall so I could tell if he was breathing. Was he going to be okay?

I was nine when Michael was born and babies still slept on their tummies. I used to rock him to sleep as he sucked on the tip of my pinky. Arches high ballet style to reach him over the side of the crib, pressing up into and hurting my armpits as I lowered him, rubbing his back to ease the transition.

Then I was eleven and there was a second baby brother, who couldn't ever acclimate to the drama. He hasn't yet forgiven me for leaving for school and never really coming home again. 

It was a ragtag demo crew of my dad with my mom's friend Diane's cousins, or something like that. One of my jobs was to microwave endless dozens of soft pretzels. There were three kitchens initially, all pretty gross. The post-Victorian house had been converted into apartments in the seventies. Twenty years later it was trying to keep it together as six of us were hopping floors, swapping one kitchen to rip out another. I would carry the little microwave oven around, looking for a working outlet. I'd run each frozen pretzel under a tap, puzzle piece the shapes together on a plate, before sprinkling the course salt from the tiny plastic pouch. Next, make my delivery rounds holding the hot plate with an oven mitt in my left hand and a squirting out yellow mustard with my right. Jumbo sized with the crust on the spout :(

Somedays, they'd give me a five dollar bill and I'd load the babies into the wagon and steer clear of the scene for the day. In some ways, I've been living the same story for thirty years now. In other ways, everything is changing, shaking loose and getting done. I look outside to rubble everywhere. The roofers' many trucks kept the black bin from being emptied on trash day, so I'll see if they'll tip mine into their big dumpster.

The banging is actually lulling me to sleep. Hard to say no to a mid-morning nap.

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Thursday, August 25, 2022



blog post #15: 1 + 5 = 6 -> family harmony 


Tuesday, August 23, 2022

SHEA = 8


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Monday, August 22, 2022



Sunday, August 21, 2022


i've long played a game where i tidy in a circuitous fashion patterned after the adage that one thing always leads to another

around & around & the house gets clean
but a clean house never stays that way for long
plus play a game too much & you'll forget that you're supposed to be playing

unconsciousness thrives in repetition -> why change is an opportunity to infuse attention

not cleaning
not drinking
little tummy hanging over my trousers
confronting demons, old wounds that came from home 

wounds from the womb are classically un-cleanable,
but manageable, certainly


introspective examination scrubs in the space between life's actions

thus the game of late has been not to clean

it's not that i don't want to deal, i do & i am --
in this upside down, the shadows lay on top
    can be pecked + picked apart = examined

keep visualizing a crate of fake ravens 
    got to find a case of fake ravens
        place them throughout the place
            name them my cleaning crew

it always was... so it becomes whatever you call it

calling this a cycle off from performing mom

from the first day of last month's bleed to this month's i did different things

had to ! my body wouldn't work the way it always works (changing)

but don't shit where you eat -- ! vintage for the vintage gods ! -- managed to donate a big bag of great clothes in the chaos of being more, more still, more expectant, practicing a different style of proactivity

!! do different things 4 different results !!

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Saturday, August 20, 2022


the glow is coming  

from a paint job in her bedroom


Friday, August 19, 2022

🌹Do you believe in

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Wednesday, August 17, 2022




♀︎When is to do to deal?

♂︎When is to do to avoid?

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Sunday, August 14, 2022


Couldn’t sleep. My legs so restless, sharp jolts all through my limbs, arms too, keeping me awake and it’s annoying. No magnesium fizz here, I’m across town, he’s back in the rental, this time sweeter to return to something semi-familiar. Like the farm this last go-round, my fourth visit since, a whole week's dedicated stay, despite all the crazy. The old farmhouse is Crazy's HQ, just begging to be gone. There's an order to efficient madness. Soon, rest assured.

Finally fall asleep and wake up wrapped up. Play, play, pack, coffee-walk. I don’t bring my phone with me. I’m paying but not ordering, so I get to sit outside at a small folding table in the early sun. My eyes focus on ants between the slats, busy on the bricks. Then a tiny spider on a wooden slat, creeping closer. Still waiting in line, he delivers a sprig of rosemary. I rub it between my palms and dab the oil on my pulse points. Slow stroll with a scone I’ll save for salted butter and hot honey. Goodbye and then he’s calling my name; my phone. Errands, boy retrieval, home to turn off the phone. Too much screen time has crept in.

They're happy playing in the cool house with a castle they were ready to donate then changed their minds about. This cardboard castle is the hub for the mythological creatures I collect on their behalf. I recently added a knight and unicorn to the mix, discovered in an Easton toy store. I meditate on the hill where I watered this week by linking 🔗 two hoses.

I was standing up there, seeing the ivy surrounding the clearing, the ivy caked with city dirt, fallen oak leaves and now-useless cobwebs. I wished for a hose long enough to reach. I’ve never watered up here. Never thought about it. Oh — wait. I have two hoses of the same make and this will be fun. Screw them together and the boys help me snake the now-one very long hose up the hill. The ivy loves it and I do too, feeling big movement. I feel very helpful.

Like I clean in a loop inside, through the front half of the house and then around back, I water in a loop outside, going from the hill all the way behind the garage for also the very first time. I went nuts, watering the undersides of the trees, brushing the backs of their teeth.

A storm blew through the farm after I left. A mini twister came down the road and spun onto the land, taking out electrical poles I'd scheduled to bring down, and uprooting a 3/4 dead maple that needed to go. The twister nearly misses the farmhouse, tossing a trunk onto her roof.

While I cannot clear the debris myself, I can rinse the dirty-dry patches that I'd never considered dealing with before they ask me for some TLC.

boys > farm > boys < home < boys


hill DIRT
behind the garage dirt
PILES of the paperwork spread across the office floor
debris scattered around the farm

Jung asks his soul what the wait is about
and she scoffs at his expectation for ripeness yesterday.

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Saturday, August 13, 2022


My youngest does this sports move/tic that’s a semi-dribble swoosh toss/baseball swing and juts his head into my gut in conclusion. He moves his feet so fast his sneakers squeak and the sound pierces my ears, as the head butt jostles. School starts soon.

The garage door was opening and closing of its own accord for a few days before Len came to service it. En route, Len was almost hit by a guy and he took his picture. It's the single dad who lives up my street. The street assumed the two single parents with young sons would date 'til he started pissing everyone off. I remain uninvolved. Our house caps the street. I've only lived here this long because there's an easy escape hatch.

Out there with Len, I had to do It, had to organize the heck out of the garage. Every few months this puppy needs a reset. Len came and went and I stayed until my man called me in for niçoise tartines and iced hibiscus tea. Such a treat, all the way round, another grownup in the house. My car Iris is back after spending four months in car insurance purgatory and she seems pleased with the calmer digs. Maybe she even requested we all chill out.

I’ve been flavor experimenting using the Cuisinart® strawberry ice cream recipe (minus the strawberries) as home base, and this is by far my personal favorite:

    W A N D S

    • whole milk, 3/4 cup
    • sugar, less than 2/3 cup
    • salt, just a twist
    • heavy cream, 1   1/2 cups
    • bourbon vanilla, 1   1/2 teaspoons
    • passion fruit, 4 scraped clean
    • honey, a generous squeeze
    • saffron, a conservative pinch 

    whisk milk, sugar and salt
        until crystals dissolve

    add cream and vanilla
        whisk more

    fold in passion fruit innards,
        along with honey and saffron

    pour into your home ice cream machine
        churn until tasty

    have a small taste, custard style

    scoop into a freezer container to set

    pairs well with The Parent Trap

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Friday, August 12, 2022



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Sunday, August 7, 2022

R0 is 10

my first baby is ten today
his word for his new year is Practice
 he's super into bass fishing, baseball & family time

double digits honey

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Saturday, August 6, 2022


I left the house a mess and so I came home to the house a mess because I'm the only adult who lives here even when that's not totally true. I came home and picked them up right away, as in, they jump right in the back of the cab. We cuddle then head out for sandwiches; I don't even bring in the mail; I can't be in this house or bother with house-things. Our home is fine with the weeks of apathy, accepting of my pouting. We have earned our intimacy. I've been practicing true love with my home/work. This work I share bridges the chasm between here and there — between intentionality and actuality — between societal programming and soul callings, with imagination, elbow grease, and the radical acceptance also called true love.

We order one New York (pastrami) and one Dubai (falafel) and cruise to the playground by their preschool, it being the closest park to the sandwich shop. We used to go there almost every day after school. Gruesome years and yet this park consistently elicits pleasant memories. The boys play together well here, plus there's plenty of shade.

The Dubai's falafel is a bit dry, so New York wins by a landslide. They cut the sandwiches into threes for us, and sell Dr. Peppers in glass bottles. Have you ever seen those, with their classy labels? We keep bottles like this to hold backyard tapers when they won't melt on their own. We stay longer than we thought we would, which means we show up at the orthodontist's gross and sweaty. Sorry, but you'll catch us on better behavior later. It must be wild to watch families change over the course of treatment. Brace yourself. We will report here for five years, minimum. What will happen versus what won't —


I've been up since 3:30 Eastern and I'm wiped by 8:00 Pacific. They're finally old enough to put themselves to bed, if everything's been teed up. I lock my door. She's new to me tonight. She grips the head of the wand and I'm with her, but unattached somehow. With her in gratitude, not grasping even as she grips. All these knowings come through the waves.

Ask questions when Spirit is in the Mood !

Why do I live in Los Angeles? Two answers, followed by one statement. Undeniable. Okay I ask, Why am I a mother? Again, two answers and a statement. Can't make this stuff up. I unlock my door.

There is a feeling when you get to your truth. The feeling is you've hit the bottom, not depressed, but GOOD. IT means there's nowhere else to go for now. Take a mind-body picture to remember this.

Addiction to not knowing is too easy. 

At some point, clarity truly is a choice.

You're living with answers. You don't comprehend the entire design. You can be cool with knowing your next two steps, trusting the bigger big picture is indeed being revealed — a puzzle in pieces. 

Is a quantum leap a rise above your story, a glimpse of anchored corners, and the chaos of building?

Detective eyes to get started: Pretend you don't live at yours next time you walk in. Allow a soft semblance of neutrality to wash over as you scan for what is ready to share. There are plans lying in wait if you have the energy. Give more to receive more.


I'm pleased I cannot shake the knowings that come through. I'm again on a printed sheet looking up at light through trees. Lock > unlock > grip & twist > open the tiny baby door handle > enter.

We will tour four parks from our past in as many days. We will stop to restock all the balls that we've lost since our last restocking (steep driveway; kids r kids). Basketball, football, a kickball. Baseballs, hacky sacks and a hot pink frisbee with a big red kiss on it ("for you Mom"). I promise to actually make their beds tonight. They've been sleeping on clean sheets spread out, but not made *just*right*


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( ͠° ͟ʖ ͡°)


Friday, August 5, 2022



Thursday, August 4, 2022


The most It you can be is yourself. This is where to allow It more than push It. Push the obstacles out of your way to create a space of allowance.

I hear myself speaking with my farmer and I don't like how I'm sounding. Instead of lying when I don't know something, I'll learn it. The hesitation to know here annoys me even as it tracks. I'm applying my inside work to the outside. A raw land long game demands practiced patience, and my nothing budget is what's made It a game.  2 Win: kick @ least 1 bucket down the road every single day

Farm leases are often verbal. Together we uncover 3 disparate events that occurred in 1983: Bobby got married, Uncle Robert planted two forests in the middle of tillable land, and Meghan was born 40 miles east. Bobby stresses that he’s been faithful for 38 years. I’m not sure if that’s about his doppelgänger, or loyalty in general — even though he’s planted the 2.7 acre llama pen before getting my go-ahead.

My hungry * horny * sweaty * human body is my husband. My soul and her mission are my wife. I love my wife, and she scares me. I feel like wives are supposed to be good-scary.

Being my woman's man makes me their daddy, a 38-year-old father of two. Dadi's on a business trip, which means he'll bring home presents, if you're good to mommy.

Taking Turns: oscillating rows of harvested winter wheat and flowering soybeans. Don't step on the baby edamame. Ripen past the salty mommy. Hard shells are pressed for oil and the scraps turn to chicken feed. Eat your inner mommy to become your outside daddy. Quickly now ! America really hates her mothers.

Example: When I have to pump gas at 5am and it’s still dark, I know I’m the only daddy who scopes the scene before getting out of my truck. The awareness of getting hurt just is. Keep your hurt. It's yours to deal with.

Fun Fact: Single mothers can smell one another in pheromonal connectivity. I met 5 on this trip and all but Melissa are further down the path, if we score by the age of the children.

☑ This is It
☑ You’re doing It
☑ It’s also called life


what peppers your path


came home to a B&W feather on my front steps

kid u not

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Monday, August 1, 2022


The word landlord will go by the wayside.

That energy is already on the way out. 

☑ primary bedroom
 primary bathroom

You must live like yourself because life is happening now.

I sleep with my pajama shirt unbuttoned in one move closer to being a daddy.
A dadi.

I wake to sleepy talk through a freedom declaration before taking a cup of coffee to the muggy front porch of my childhood.

A different front porch with the same summer morning weather.

No yelling here that I've yet heard.

Get up anytime you like.

Panting, grunting, moaning.

Couples making moves through the thin walls of the bed & breakfast.

This muggy is my sweet spot.

Sweaty from being still.

Yesterday, I lay in the cedar grove for hours. Set up shop set on a sheet printed with suns and moons. My red rental Wrangler is parked nearby with windows down, serving mobile commissary:

 bug spray 
 baby wipes 
 curry scented incense

I'm dozy when a red Wrangler parks at the high point startling me. It's the guy kombucha grifter come to yell and shake his braided beard, full of bogus claims. Some of us always wait for the yell. But the truck has charm and out steps a different character. Farmer Bobby more like Bill Clinton than I remember. There are campy Darth Vader helmets in place of his 1989 Jeep's e's.

I'd like to see a vast carpet of wildflowers partnered with a honeybee commune. "Cutting garden" is a home phrase I never quite shake. The paths need fresh stone in a different color. He'd soon like to see an old fence brought down to plant a few more rows of beans. The bushes growing into the fenceline are fast becoming tree-like and crowding the back road. We already know that the tree-trees need help, even if they're not 'supposed' to be here — hence all the bunnies, and a magnificent large doe.

The farmer's next-door neighbor is Luke, doing the demo of the old tenant house, allegedly burned down after some story about blow jobs in lieu of rent going awry. How? Turkey buzzards have been roosting in the collapsed eaves. Apparently they really stink, as in smell fowl. Someone told me that if you hit one with your car, they automatically vomit, and the acid in their stomach eats through bones so eats through the paint of your dented bumper. I cannot learn enough. Endless knowledge when not worried all the time about where the baseball gear's been lost now. Just keep it all in one spot. Get some old-school lockers and anchor them to a wall in your basement addition. Spray paint them or leave the tarnish, like that industrial unit we put in the apartment.

Dragonflies follow me when I walk the farm. They followed me because my boots kick up little bugs. Disruption feeds serendipity. People whose lives work well tend to keep this to themselves while others get distracted in reaction, unseeing what lies ahead. If you want, push your way to the front of change and avow no harm done to the back of the line.

☑ Rearrange


I'm writing, but I'm right here with you. 

Current worlds making room for new worlds.

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