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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• Getting Absolved-Thanks, Jesus
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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.

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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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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. So much so, that I’ve started seeing a therapist for the first time.

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…

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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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So, on those nights, I try a series of different tricks to help ease the jitter-bugs, soothe the savage beast within. Here’s my list of favorites.

Peter Murphy-If you haven’t heard me wax exuberantly here about Peter Murphy, then you don’t know me as well as you think. I adore his music, and listening to him can distract me long enough to realize my problems are just as meaningful as anyone else’s. And that he is human, really, just like me. and that, is a balm all by itself.

Hafiz-As shown in my post recently, poetry is excellent for the soul. I recommend it specifically right after dinner, and just before a long walk. Daniel Ladinsky’s translation has brought Hafiz back with faddish intensity, but it honestly is some great stuff. My other personal favorite is called Wow.

Hot baths-Now THIS is the nucleus, the center, the core of my relaxation techniques. I’m not always in the mood for one (hot summer nights on the 3rd floor is no time for a bath!) but 95% of the time, I am. No matter where I’ve lived, who I’ve lived with, how weak my body has been, or especially, how much money I’ve had, this luxurious me-time has a 100% sure proof guarantee.Sure, I would prefer a hot springs. Hell yes, I would love a massage. Yes, I want to get dressed up and go out with friends. But all of those things take $$, and if I don’t have it, a hot bath can still give me a sense of dignity, grace, fluidity, and open possibilities. Without Fail.

The Red Violin-We all have favorite movies. I’m famous for clocking tons of screen time when I need to battle some demons, deal with insomnia, or work through some issue. My favorites are TV shows on DVD. I can stop at any episode, and only eat up 40 minutes at a time, approximately. But this movie, is well worth the extra time. It lifts and bends the story like a bumping country road. there’s no huge crescendo at the end, no heroine to be saved.It’s the story of an origin and life of an object, a rare and caringly crafted red violin, that lived, truly lived, for more than 400 years. And the lives it touched along the way.

Counting change- This is a more obscure comfort, not well known among my friends.I don’t use it to relax as much as briefly cool my anger so I can focus it through to the resolution. It sharpens my mind, brings clarity. I tend to clean out my change purse every couple of nights, and throw the nickels, dimes and pennies in jar near the computer. My friend CTP graciously gave me a ton of those flat paper rolls for holding the change a while back, so besides counting it out, I package it as well. I’ve heard recently that the banks won’t take them like that anymore, but I don’t care. It’s currency, and plenty of places are happy to take a full roll, as long as it’s neatly put together.

These are all just means to an end. Sometimes, whatever I’m dealing with is bigger than all of these methods. Job stress, relationship stress, death, grief, friendship strain, worry, health, a hundred myriad things that just won’t take a backseat and let me unwind. But trying even one of these methods usually works, on some level.

What do you do?

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It was then, and remains now, the oldest, most worn out, rattiest, cover duct-taped, edges gone book I own. But at least its signed by the author.

What was it about his stories that shaped me over the years? The redhead worship? The strong female lead throughout all of his books? The rich philosophy, the pedantic ramblings, the mossy, kelp-like undergrowth, rich with brainy minerals?

Throughout some dark times Mr. Robbins kept me sane. He kept me insane as well. Laughing at the tragedy, crying at the ecstasy. He kissed me, and he slapped me. Each time a book was released, I would sigh with relief, that there was a chance, a fat/juicy/hotdog w/ketchup&mustard/hold/onions &pickles of a chance, that I was going to find kinship and symmetry in this crazy mixed up world, and it would allow me to be here, on this earth just to try, for a little bit longer.To keep existing.

Sure, not all his works made me bow down at the altar of Literature. And no, I’m not the sort of fan who’s tried to learn everything about the Author. Yes, I went to a reading/new book release once. Yes, I looked briefly into his personal life.(he has kids,has been married, etc.) But the most interesting probing I’ve done was look into the authors/stories that inspire HIM. Whoa, did that give me a view into the Brain Most Revered.

and this little, carved out part of the universe, that pays homage to my own thoughts, that gives me voice and soaring freedom of expression. This Little Pail, is named in tribute of him. It’s been 15 years, and when I crack open those books now, I see myself. I see the shaped parts of my caverns and valleys around a few tenets, inside those wacky books of his, that I hold quite dear. Pacifism. Laughter and Pleasure. Dance. Magic. Mayonnaise. Stilts. Sex.Privacy.Aging. Children. The Pacific Northwest. and last but certainly not least, my origins, as a redhead.

My proudest moment in regards to the Man himself?

When I did go to his book release, it was for Villa Incognito. The book explores the question of the Mysterious, and the many answers we have not, cannot, or won’t yet, explore.

I raised my voice with difficulty. “Is there a secret of yours, of the mysterious, that you are not very proud of, and would you share it,with us?”

My reluctant mentor, stared at me in respect, the room went quieter still, and he said nothing.

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your beauty still causes me madness
keeps the neighbours complaining
when I start shouting in the middle of the night
because I cant bear all this joy

I will be giving birth to suns
I will be holding forests upside down
gently shaking soft animals from trees and burrows
into my lap

what you conceive as imagination
does not exist for me

whatever you can do in a dream
or on your minds-canvas

my hands can pull-alive-from my coat pocket

but lets not talk about my divine world

for what I most want to know tonight is

all about
You.

-Hafiz

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I am still breathless of Hafiz, even after many trips around the sun.Powerful words are like keys in doors; the right combination can open to anywhere.

Promise

(Thanks to Xero Sama for use of fractal)

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I haven’t been back, really back in the saddle of writing since early December. I probably shouldn’t tell you that, as you may not have noticed the HUUUGGEE gap (gulp) but since I missed my own damn anniversary, I thought I should get down on bended knees and freeakin APOLOGIZE.

BABY, I’m sorry! I know I missed our one year anniversary, but you mean EVERYTHANG to me, baby, please open the door! I’m SORRRYY~!! How many times I gotta say it?

*pause*

*sound of door unlatching*

okay! So now that the groveling is over. What can I say? December was a blur of a Cute Boy, Old Friend who Came back Into Promises’ world. Then there was Other Cute Boy I met at Christmas Time, even though I had a Cold. Then came a quiet and solemn New Years Eve, and Day. Then came all kinds of ping-ponging with Cute Boy #1, which led to yanking around of Cute Boy #2 (sigh, poor thing) and now Cute Boy #1 is gone, and Cute Boy #2 remains. Oh, and I had bronchitis for 2 weeks.

So you see, there was really nothing going on.

But I’m happy to say that BEFORE all that, there was a boy named Jocko, who we all NOW know…dum dum duuummmmm! Is actually a fraud and a con man, yes! See my other post, here.

I have been at my new job (technically a transfer) for the last 3 months, and even though I work harder, for less pay, and took a demotion, I am so stupidly happy to be rid of the mental anguish and constant humiliation, its all I can do every day to not kiss my boss, and dance a jaunty irish reel, right in the middle of her dangerously overloaded round table. Still, it’s amazing the feeling of being out from under someone’s deadly triangle shaped fingernail.

I’m back to researching adoption, and insofar as Love goes,decided to Let Go of the Idea of A Man for Promise. For now. It’s too hard. Period.

The cat is good, the house is good. Family has endured some rough trials, see here.but I’m working on the acceptance there. My sister is leaving for France very soon, and I’m SOOPER excited for her. Never had a vacation. I know, I know, what’s THAT about! Go Sisterness to the mountains, to the cheese, to the seductive language, and the warm hearts~! Watch out for dog poo!

I’m a bit tight on money these days, so spending time reading indoors until Spring peeps out of its bear cave. Headed to Portland in late March, very excited to see Best Friend and Baby. Perhaps visit a family who’s adopted that I’ve already interviewed.

Thanks for bearing with me! and *raises glass*, here’s to the first year of MLP, and hopefully, many more!

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2 dates later, I was utterly charmed and faith-restored back in Men In General, but specifically, “Jocko Abramovitch”. He was easy to talk to, respectful, funny, dorky, and had a rich past. You know, he was like me. He suddenly moved to LA for a job, and I was disappointed and sad, but we had agreed to keep dating. “This is far from over, you and me, just a small challenge.”, he said. Of course, I got two distant emails, weeks apart, very non-commital, and after some embarrassing crush-like obsession for a few weeks, I let it go.Insofar as, I let go of the idea.And I let go of contacting him. The problem was, J.A had restored my faith very fragile it was, back in Men. and his total lack of…well, everything, sort of sent me into a romantic depression for several weeks. It colored my perspective; professionally, spiritually, emotionally, friendship, all over the place.

Now, I’m no 20-something upstart who doesn’t know her way around a cornfield. I’ve been in the battlefield of dating for going on 15 years now. Go ahead, tell me it’s not a battlefield. I have to tell you, it honestly is.

I’ve seen my share of LTR, NRE, crushes, obsessions, public maneuvers, how to’s, do not’s, follow-your-heart messages, and the friends who will throw themselves in front of a truck to stop me from calling a boy. I’ve seen marriages, divorces, polyamorous triads and then some, domestic partnerships, children, adopted and otherwise. Dating starts an interview process that essentially never ends. It gives our lives spice and variety.

So when I say I got a bit down about it, I mean I am still trying to recover. Is this Jocko’s fault? Yes and No. He’s really the end of a long line of bad choice boyfriends and dates that’s been going on since I dated a fantastic, awesome, one-in-a-million Arabian who is now happily engaged. (not to me I’m working on the me-part of this equation of How Did I Get Here.

So IMAGINE MY SURPRISE when I find out said “Jocko” has been incarcerated for Fraud? Identity Theft? as of January 7, 2010, which I found out about right here.(Special Thanks to Merry Gentlemen for the information!)and here.You can basically track what happened the moment “Jocko” went to LA, and started charming many, many other girls, stealing, lying, bouncing around and generally putting his considerably saavy brain to use, using other people.

I laughed out loud for so long when I found out. Partly due to the irony. Partly due to relief that nothing of mine was taken. Partly due to the happiness that he’s been caught. Partly because i intend to get in touch with SFPD about the brand new 2010 mustang he was driving and the pretty fancy condo I was in for our second date, suspiciously devoid of any personal effects, but loaded with furniture and nice decor. (I had teased him at the time.)

And for all those who may have been affected by the sham, do not feel badly. Many of us bright women were taken in. Know his name, now forget his face.

As if dating weren’t hard enough…:D

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