Hanging Out

That’s my friend Billy in the back, I’m getting off – either doing what my mother says (not likely) or being careful (also not likely) – but there we are. It would not be a totally typical day for my mother to take us for a hack in the buggy but she loved a good production and that would have been one. But Billy and I – we hung out. We inhabited a lot of space. His grandfather lived next door in a huge house with an amazing amount of closets and small areas for us to crouch and crawl around, we had caves and roads and a lot of summer time. We were also completely unsupervised most of the time. This is a rare photo of parental presence, and I can’t imagine who took it. Billy sent it to me some years ago so I’m thinking his mother must have been the silent partner in this endeavor.

I was reading a list called “30 Things To A Better Life” – I’m pretty sure it was put together by Seth Godin – and the first Thing says, “Stop spending time with the wrong people.” Well I really scored on that one! I am appreciative and grateful that my (still) friends Billy and Debbie – we were all born a few weeks apart – are in my life, always have been and always will be. We are on the same wavelength and doing many of the same things as adults without having had all that much actual contact over the years. We always felt connected, like geese imprinting, we left our marks on each other.

Here’s the quote,

  1. Stop spending time with the wrong people. – Life is too short to spend time with people who suck the happiness out of you.  If someone wants you in their life, they’ll make room for you.  You shouldn’t have to fight for a spot.  Never, ever insist yourself to someone who continuously overlooks your worth.  And remember, it’s not the people that stand by your side when you’re at your best, but the ones who stand beside you when you’re at your worst that are your true friends.

And if there is any one inside of us who’s doing that yucky stuff – let’s get them going too. I feel like what Debbie and Billy and I did for each other in those early years was that we just hung out, we let the day be the day, the parent be there or not, sun, rain, summer, winter – just was what it was and we were who we were and we still are.

Far Away

Sometimes a closed door makes me feel far away from whatever is inside, even though I am only inches away. A word can do that, a look, a tone and a death can make me feel like I’ll never be connected again.

When Jill Bolte Taylor had her “Stroke of Insight” the world of connection opened up to me in a way I had missed out on in my own mind but felt always in my heart. When she saw her hands indistinguishable from a table from the phone I saw all the texts I had read over the years about vibration of atoms come into my heart and open. I have felt the presence of so many “invisible” things. Smoke trails of reality, essence of truth, light where nothing shines. The death on Friday of my sister-in-law, a mentor of Paula’s and a mentor in my professional world all reminded me that constellations of connection surround me. And thirty-one years ago this month my father died by his own hand, connecting me for my ever to the world of the unseen, of feeling and strength and vulnerability. I heard the shot in my head, standing in Concord, MA while he was on the Missouri River in St. Louis, its sound filled my brain and connected me forever to my heart.


Spring’s Photographs


She’s here too
And the cherry blossoms

It seems that there is no loss in nature of all things being themselves. Putting themselves in place to do life at the top of their performance. To see what they see with the sharpness of their eyes.
Dedication to life.
My Cats

sleeping next to me remind me of the big compassionate, realistic picture. They come, they go – they are always present. It’s Now. Always.
Humans are the ones who write, plan and read history – these are important but, looking back at the history we have, we’ve missed quite a few good points thinking thinking was the only way to go/grow. Cogito ergo sum is the lie, my cat knows that. So does the bluebird.


In the room there are three things; me, my writing, and the Cats.

The cats are an item, they are an entity. They eat and sleep as one, any one of them can disturb any one or three things in my life – all at once, as by one hand. They walk on me, throw up on me, pee in the litterbox, in the sink, in my shoe. They eat everywhere, they dream everywhere. There is nowhere not home to them.

I took my 100+year old bonsai to the hospital (bonsai hospital), Glenn looked at the tree: you still have a few mealy bugs, no scale, and you have cats. The tree is in a room where the cats aren’t allowed, I said. He looked at me like I was a poor foolish soul, there is no such place, he said.

Downstairs if you are upstairs and upstairs if you are downstairs, the cats collide. Up, in the bedroom they fly across the rug, they hit the door – all the doors – up to the fireplace, bounce off the cat tree – carefully constructed from wonderful smelling Pignon from New Mexico and sturdy enough to be climbed, scratched and lept from. Even though it sways mightily, it never falls. The T.V. is a jungle gym. Wonderful wires and a top to navigate like a tightrope walker. Yes, it is a flat screen and presents a tantalizing thrill to master.

There isn’t a rug that can’t be turned into a cave. Three moves and it’s done. Lift up the corner, paw to the triangle it makes, push paw under followed by body, lift up a little. The rug stays up and can be expanded. We have many so-called area rugs, each one a cave-in-waiting.

Downstairs in the kitchen the counter awaits. Filled with items needing to be redirected. Eggs to the floor, glasses of water, bottles of oil, containers of all kinds with myriad contents. All needing direction downward, all needing to mingle on what we humans call the floor. Our knives are blunted at their ends. Visitors see us as so careful, no accidents. We know the truth. The knives make a beautiful arc downward invariably landing point down, defying the laws of physics but not really.

The cats are action oriented. They don’t suspend judgement, they don’t have any. They are cats, and that is enough. Oblivious to the outcome, they live in the moment. They are presently, futurely, and pastly, cats. There is nothing else so fine as a cat.