Something magical happened to me last night, and I wanted to make sure I share it with my heart-dwelling nestly owls of the internet=you!

In 1992, I went through a soul-searing, toxic, scary, abusive relationship when I was 18 yo. I managed to escape from a terribly isolated situation, and made a vow, a promise you could say, that I would travel the world and see new places before I settled down, went to college, got married, blah, blah, etc, etc.

Clearly that promise was an escape tactic in order for me to cope with the traumatic events from that relationship. But 7 years later, I was still bound and determined to make a trip abroad happen. Finally, surprisingly, everything came together. I left for Europe on March 24th, 1999. I was to be gone for 3 months, visiting 10 countries. I flew to Lisbon, Portugal, and would eventually fly back from Dublin, Ireland.

When I landed in Lisbon, I was so panicked, I called my mom and spent 2 hours not leaving  the airport. I was convinced I didn’t REALLY need to leave EVERYTHING I’d ever cared about behind:J ob, Apt, Boyfriend, Best Friend, Friends, Family… I could just get right back on a plane and come home and stop This Nonsense. Fortunately, finally, I made it outside.

The next 3 months were some of the most painful birth passage of Self I’ve ever known. It was messy. It was immature. It was frivolous. It was badly money-managed. It was also exhilerating, intoxicating, exhausting, thrilling, and I was utterly, totally, completely Free. I discovered my body’s natural clock-when she likes to get up, eat, how long I take to do things, how long I like to linger. I learned how long I need to really gaze at something to drink it in. I learned that my movement through space and time, is a singular event, and even if another redhead, of the same age, height, speech, and demographic were to do this exact same trip, it would be as different as Night and Day.

I walked off the plane in SFO on June 11, 1999, in a red dress, gold shoes, and greeted my new life.I had kept the Promise. I had nothing-no money, no home, no job. I had no sweetheart. But I had family, friends, and was loved. I also had one thing I’ve never had before, something so singular and original, I’ve never forgotten it.

The sense that I will ALWAYS keep a promise to myself. No matter how stupid, no matter how outdated. No matter if the original reasons aren’t the same reasons anymore, but that it must be carried through. If I went to the trouble to make the promise to 18 yo me, it’s because She NEEDED that hope to get through that tough time.

So the Scrapbook is the mosaic of that trip, that experience. I started Stitch n Bitch’s (craft nights) at my house 3? 4? years ago in a shameless attempt to finish the 3 book tome. Sure, I invited ppl over to work on projects. But really, I needed to get this done.

And last night, I did.

It’s finis.

I wonder what’s Next?

**Photo of album to be posted later**

Related Reading

• Why Promise?

http://mylittlepail.com/you-make-me-feel-like-dancing/

It talks about the strange flow of creative energy that writing requires in my life, and how it is intrinsically linked to the energy flow needed for dance.

I’ve been dragging my heels about writing here, as the sense of connection, and satisfaction has waned steadily over the last 6 months. I would love to tell you it’s just temporary. The fact is, I don’t know. Statistically, I can tell you I will likely be back in a few years, but there’s no guarantee of that.

I was in this “what on earth should I do about the blog?” headspace when my friend Cake took me out to dinner and a hot tub. Casually in passing he says, “Blogging isn’t for everyone.” And a cartoon lightbulb went off over my head.

I’d been beating myself up about this for a while, when the fact is, blogging ISN’T for everyone. I still have EIGHT posts, sitting in draft form, some from over a year ago, waiting to be explored, polished, tossed around, and shared with you like a little gold writing nugget. Something I found, something magical.

But my heart isn’t in it. My heart IS, however, in my feet. And my voice. I find myself shuffling my feet around more, bouncing around the house, singing softly to myself sometimes or loudly sometimes. ;D

So I mentioned this to a group of friends, and one especially good friend of mine, offered to take over the Pail. My Little Pail. I wasn’t sure how this was going to work…but we hashed out some details, and agreed he will re-vamp the layout, have his own style and category, and post as he feels the urge to. His name, dear readers, is Costello.

I know he’s posted a few times already, but I wanted to formally welcome him, and request that you comment and engage with him as often as you desire.

It’s likely I will occasionally pop my head in to share some new juicy tidbit.Some life change, some dramatic curve of the road.

But mostly, Pail readers, I wanted to say thank you. Thank you for two amazing years that have brought me empowerment of my own passion, love at any hour, intrigue, surprises, and a little heartbreak. The good kind.

Shine on, you crazy diamond.

Goodnight Sweetheart-Chuck Berry

Random Posts

I wanted to thank Promise for letting me take over her blog for a bit.  Some of you might be wondering where Promise is or why she hasn’t posted.  In a word, life.  I’ll let her explain more when she wants to.

Promise does things in her own time.

Promise is the proudest Red Head I’ve ever known.

Promise has a keen eye.

Promise has Standards.

Promise will take control of the room if she wants to.

Promise rides on two wheels.

Promise is a dreamer.

A toast of fine red wine to Lady Promise.   Cheers.

Random Posts

Ever since that damned Muppet, poor “try” has gotten a bad rap.   I happen to like “trying” and I’ll tell you why.

I can certainly understand where the Yoda sentiment came from.   Too often we are told by people “I’ll try”, when what they really mean is “no”.  The poor misused “try” can also be spotted in statements like, “I’m trying to quit smoking again” and deep down, you know their heart isn’t in it.

However, what was once an interesting observation has become dogma and has ceased to be useful.  There IS a try, goddamn it!  What else do you call it when you “do” something but fail?  What about when you set out to “do” and end up losing heart and giving up?  That is called trying.

Let me give you an example.  I am trying to learn the guitar, again.  I could just say that I am learning the guitar, but that wouldn’t really be accurate.  It is still taking an effort of will to pick up the guitar and practice.  Even though I am determined to stick with it, I don’t have complete faith that I won’t get distracted by something else, or get so frustrated that I give up.  That is life.  So, I’m trying.  Again.  And I’m doing pretty well, actually, which is nice.

If you think you are going to finish everything  you start, simply because you say you are going to “do” it instead of saying you are going to try, you are simply deluding yourself.   I know people that are willing to simply say, “I’m trying” and mean it.  I find it humble, honest and refreshing.

Instead of eliminating a word from our vocabulary, and hoping that will allow us to levitate X-Wings, perhaps we could start focusing on trying harder; Increasing our determination.  We need to realize that we will not always succeed, but try with our whole heart anyway.

So, I will keep my “try”, thank you very much.  Just try and stop me.

Random Posts

I am not Promise.

I don’t mean this in some vague, existential way.  I am a completely different person.  My name is Costello.  Promise is stepping away from MLP for a little while, and in the interim she has allowed me to put a few drops in The Pail.

I am half of the Information Booth, with Promise.  Also, a friend of ours decided that we (the two of us together) were her power animal.  I know Promise.  I love Promise.  Sometimes her cat doesn’t growl at me.

I am a boy.  I’m the dancing, hugging, talking and crying kind of boy.  I want you to know that I am open to any questions you have.  Specifically, I’m thinking of questions like, “Why do boys do such-and-such?” or “You said this, but I don’t understand why.”  However, I’m open to any questions.  I find questions to be one of the most powerful tools to advance understanding and cooperation.  If one knows that all questions will be at least heard and considered, then the flow of exchange increases drastically.

Everything I have done with Promise has always turned out engaging and fun.  I don’t expect this to be any different.

Random Posts

We don’t dress up, unless we want to. We share who picks the place, and when. We sometimes talk more after the brunches, but for the most part, we don’t. We have never fought after a brunch, nor AT a brunch. No one has ever bailed on a brunch, or showed up terribly late. We’ve had them mostly at restaurants, but also had them at our homes.

We’ve been the Ladies who Brunch. We’ve been the Ladies who Dinner. We’ve been the Ladies who Overnight in Santa Cruz. In a few months, we’ll be the Ladies who Hot Spring!

I think part of the secret recipe is that we are discreet. We don’t agree with each other, for agreement’s sake. We are trusting in each other’s choices. We support, we laugh, and we question each other. We keep track of who’s who, and when was what. We tread in deeper territory at times, and keep it light at other times.

And every single time we get together, the first thing we say is “It’s so good to see you guys! These brunches have become so important to me!!”

We began to be “heard” about by our other girlfriends, of which there are many. Others wanted in. We were like, Sure! So we had an open house brunch. And while it was nice, it didn’t hold the same intimacy, the same longevity, that our 3 person brunches have. So we decided to keep is Just Us for most of the year, and twice a year, have a Public Ladies who Brunch. I’m getting ready to host the first Public one at my house, and I’m very excited!!

As families get formed, relationships and friendships ebb and flow, as transitions take over and perspectives shift, it can be crucial to get the Long View from those who’ve known you in all your myriad facets. And these Ladies, My Ladies, have been precious to me in this regard. They’ve seen me through alot, and they are ALWAYS on my side. And I’m on theirs.

So I raise a well-loved mimosa to my Ladies, who shine in my heart, and shine in my life. May we brunch until the plates are cold!

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• Unusual Gifts
• Friends for a…what’s between season and lifetime?
• Quan Yin-in the dark
• Gratitude & Manifestions
• Data Dump
• 35th Birthday
• Magik-Peter Murphy
• Getting Absolved-Thanks, Jesus
• Second Chances

A few months back, a dead person came alive into my life. Maybe it would be easier on you if I called them “lost”, or a “drifter”. You know the person.

You’ve heard the terms-

Friends for a day; a season; a lifetime.

This was someone who was in my life for a couple of years, pretty close, then whatwith one giant change, thingamabob, decision, choice, bugupthabutt what have you, he was gone. just evaporated. Drifted, as if across a great divide.

There was a space left when he did. A vaccuum. I hurt terribly. This time, I knew it had to be my fault. The ones from before, it could be debated. My fault, their fault. You say tom-ay-to, I say tom-ah-to.

I went through something similar a few years ago, and called it a Friendship Divorce.

So I was shocked and scared when the drifter contacted me out of the blue and wanted to have lunch. To talk.

Old friend comes back from the past, but it may or may not mean you’ve dealt with the core agitation. Is it time to forgive?

Different people have different ways of dealing with pain, in terms of those we love. Some clam up (I don’t want to talk.) Some storm out (Screw this!). Some just leave the person/situation. Some keep it deep inside , and explode only on occasion. Or hardly ever.

This means that the other party is sometimes left to reconcile their feelings, if they weren’t heard, or didn’t get the chance to. Sometimes this reconciliation cloaks itself nicely as Denial (Nothing’s wrong.) Sometimes its Indifference. ( I don’t even care/I’ve let it go.) Sometimes its Anger (Screw THEM!)

So when I had the chance, the real chance, in front of the person I loved, a friend I counted dearly, and when I took into account all the decisions,choices, blah, blah, and yes I considered that I may not “get” much from this friend initially, it came down to the same thing its almost always come down to for me.

Forgiveness.

It’s in my nature to forgive. It may take a long time, and it certainly takes pro-activity on each person’s part, but essentially, I don’t want to <maintain> the hurt. The wound. The broken shards in my heart. If other people in this world choose to not forgive, I respect that, and figure they probably have damn good reasons. And sometimes not forgiving just means choosing not to engage.  I lost another drifter right around the same time, and there’s been no such reconciliation. And while I forgive what happened,he and I will never be the friends we were before.

It can really seem like a crapshoot, this whole friendship thing. You never know who your friends are, as it turns out.

But this post, this one right here, is to say, I’m glad for the seasontimer who’s back.

Related Reading

• The Ladies Who Brunch
• Unusual Gifts
• Happy Imbolc!
• Getting Absolved-Thanks, Jesus
• Second Chances

I can hardly add anything to this video, as it is one of the most masterful, thoughtful, thorough, and provocative presentations on Choice I’ve ever seen.I can only say how relieved I am, how recognized I feel, about the increasing paralyzation that occurs when I have to continually, exhaustingly, and completely make choices not only that are right for me, but for my loved ones, and for society at large.

Enjoy!

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• Who do you answer to?
• Rally Car Montage
• Punk Tango

It’s been almost 3 months to the day since I posted here last. Life has been a series of strenuous electric shocks to the heart..my dad passed away on May 4th, and I posted here that week, and just before his funeral. I’ve been putting my thoughts here, into the Little Pail, for the last 6 months, over his illness, my disquiet. My depression. Job changes. Family and friends and everything in between. One week after the funeral, I awoke at 7 am to a text from my webmaster, stating the last 6 months of data was gone. I felt a cold valley open up below me, as I realized all the feelings and thoughts I’d put down…all the process, expression, and creativity I’d laid lovingly into place, like a mosaic, was up in a smokey puff.

It was an important morning. My friend’s baby was turning 1, and a birthday party I’d eagerly looked forward to was imminent. A Ride was on their way to get me. I started to get dressed, and doubled over, howling til my breath ran out, then gasping for air. I think that was my first true sense of vulnerability about this Muse, Mistress Writer. I felt like a sailor’s wife who’s heard that their mate is “lost at sea”.

I couldn’t understand–WHERE did my writing GO? How am I to feel, how am I to honor my dad if everything genuine thing I ever wrote since I found out he was sick is just…vvvvttt?!

Eventually, MGFD (My Good Friend) scoured the internet for cached posts over the last 6 months. He found every post but the last one, which was a poem I’d re-posted by Robert Frost for my dad, just before the funeral. I kept telling myself I’d re-post it, but didn’t. I was terrified of the screen I’m typing on, then. I’m scared of it now. I don’t feel entirely reassured that it won’t happen again. It’s made me want to run back to Tribe, or even Facebook, to make sure this art form I express in, stands a fighting chance against the vvvvvtttt!

But it’s not the whole truth. The whole truth is that my job has turned out to be very toxic for my soul. Yes, the job I changed to just 8 months ago. It’s horrifically demanding, and the pay is a joke compared to how much I’m busting my chops.

My health has taken a beating this year. A variety of mystery illnesses, as well as for my CAT, of all people, has consistently plagued our normally happy home.

My best friend of 17 years and I hadn’t spoken in months, and about a month ago, when we did finally get to the White Elephant, it rapidly became a shouting match via email. It feels a lot like a marriage separation, and though I’ve never been through one, I can honestly say it is the worst feeling I’ve ever had on this planet. SThis, combined with everything else, showed me that it was time that I start seeing a therapist.

Dating has been a challenge to my center of gravity, and I’ve stretched myself further than I could really afford to, in an effort to stave off grief and loss. I’m starting to understand how pointless THAT was.

There have certainly been other factors to my life, huge ones even, that have contributed to my Still Being Alive. One is a perspective shift around my career and life path. Another is that I’ve started a side business, which I was threatening to do, re-selling parasols. (Website soon!-www.promisesparasols.com)

And I’m learning about the stock market, so I can learn how to put my dineros to work. Some of these things are surprisingly nourishing and simultaneously draining. I regularly panic, then breathe through it. Sometimes I forget to breathe, though.

I wanted to break the paper wall, and mention that while I’m not HERE, I’m still here. Or maybe even Here. Just not, you know….”Here!!!”

I know that this Little Pail, this container of redheaded heart-shaped, soul-funk pot of mish mash is not meant to be only filled with the lighter side of Life. But this rupture is a big one, and I’m not sure of the message from Spirit yet. Maybe it’s time to put down the pen, take up something new. Go back to Dancing? Take up Drinking? I wish I had more in my life, but I just don’t.

So Summer can keep rolling by at a steady 50 mph clip, 20 knots in the boat, whatever. I’m at a standstill, and while I can pretend I’m moving, I’m really not.I’m crushed under the knowledge that a truly good man, who loved me unconditionally, with all his heart, is gone, and I don’t get to see him ever again. Not this life.

So I’m standing right here, until I can stop crying about that…

Related Reading

• Not enough time
• You make me feel like Dancing
• Damn, its time for True Confessions week
• About a fire-three letters

The atmosphere here feels, and pulls at me, much stronger than it has before.I’ve been saying it for years, that I knew I was going to move back here…you know, “someday”—“someday” (what is it about that word that we love so much?) but I keep forgetting to document how physically painful it is…to be in the mountains, to feel the rain on my face. To see the sincerity in the faces. Hear friendly voices.

I’ve occasionally likened living in the Bay Area to being in a really big, loud, brass train station. People from all over the world, coming and going, a hustlin’ and a bustling from train to door, baggage in some hands, waving a handkerchief tearfully in others’ hands. Some just sitting and staring around. Some just arrived and shell shocked, hear our language for the first time. The lovely strength in that is the sense of possibility and adventure. The darker, less obvious side is the impermanence, the lack of deeper connection. It’s like two elevators trying to be friends-always nearby, but always passing by. Even when you are going the same direction, its only for a few minutes, at most.

Something used to happen in Portland that doesn’t really happen anymore. It started not long after I moved away, and was persistent for several years. It was two things, actually. One, was the ghosts. Everywhere I went, I could see previous heartbreaks and triumphs on street corners, grocery stores, bars, old apartments. I saw the past-me in all her tumultuous emotions, being helplessly mourned by the present-me. It was terrible. It hurt, and I didn’t know how to embrace Portland in the present. The second was all the new buildings, facelifts, and subtle demographics shifting around like tectonic plates. I do not kid when I say that Portland of then is sort of gone. A lot can happen in 13 years, obviously I have changed too.

But the thing about where I am now, in the Bay Area, is that it doesn’t change. Not really, anyway. If you were to stop and ask a downtowner, or a college professor, or a city employee, they would shrug and say, sure, a few changes, nothing too dramatic.

And since I’ve been working through Figuring Out My Life Path, it suited me to have that.

There is a shift coming in my life, and I get the feeling that three things will be descending at once. At the very least, two.

My research about adoption is leading me quickly into some scary waters that I thought I knew might be coming. I will admit at this point I am not adjusting well. I am still pursuing my questions for answers, but more questions seem to be popping up faster than I can answer them. Doing this alone, continues to be a terrifying point. I won’t lie. I might be too chicken.

Looking further into buying a home is also scary. I have no savings. I have no other collateral. I have no family/husband/rich aunt to assist me with this. And the Bay area is one of the most expensive places in the COUNTRY to try and buy real estate in.

What if I become a terminal renter? I do NOT WANT.

And lastly, but certainly not least, we have the business. Who knows how and where that will come together. Good lord, or even if it comes together. Trying to start it in the Bay area seems more feasible, but I really want to live NORTH. In Portland. GRRRRRRR!!!ARRGHH!

And I worry about my relationship with Best Friend. We’ve lived with distance for so long. We’ve built many of our techniques and communication around it. Will it be harder, if I’m closer? What about if I have kids, and our parenting styles clash? I know its crazy to even think it out loud, but what if we destroy our friendship due to overexposure? She and I haven’t had the pleasures, nor the struggles, of a close proximity friendship with each other, since our more toxic days. I mostly believe we would work through it, but sometimes I have doubt. Of course, I am doubting nearly everything these days, so that may not count for much.

I need to go to bed.

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• The Art of Choice
• Hookah!
• Who do you answer to?
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