to be, or not to being

sometimes, most of the time, where you are is exactly where you need to be . . . Thank you Mara.

NO . . . vember???

Really? November already? Last year at Thanksgiving I was cooking for two. This year, it'll be for one, typical. Yep, big sigh. I'll be making a delicious vegan pumpkin pie for a friend's wedding anniversary and one for a boy I know will appreciate a pie with no strings, otherwise, I'm an old maid this time around. Oh well, you know they say: if you're no good company for yourself, you're no good company. And thus far, I've found that I'm pretty fun, and my cat agrees.

Thanksgiving planning seems premature, so instead I'll share some photos of Roy again, who I miss dearly and would like to grant and give more thanks to. These photos are from his celebration of life party. He's such a stud, check him out by the pool! My sis came to town for this and we even called in the blue angles, because, if anything else, he was one.

Simply Royal

Today my Dad called. I missed it. Like most every other Saturday, I was at Fayes Video and Espresso, on the bench, post breakfast delivery. I didn't answer his call, because I know I can always return it. On the message he left, his tone was inquisitive, optimistic and loving as usual. The only unique aspect of this vocal note was evident at the end, where he was speaking to someone else, presumably my Mom, when he said "no." His voice serious. I thought nothing of it, as Pammy can ask about dirty dishes, scheduling dilemmas and request other mundane information while Pop is mid conversation. I called him back at 1:00 after missing his second attempt at getting a hold of me. We spoke. He asked me about the SF weather conditions, a run of the mill comparative conversation we often have, before he told me he had bad news. I already knew what it was, but it wasn't until he said "Roy died," that I started bawling profusely.

Roy Johnson was a movie buff, a lover of silver screen cinema, a philanthropist, an art enthusiast, a foodie, a divine partner, a scolar, and the best damn date I've ever had. Roy owned and operated Limelight Books on Market Street for roughly 30 years. The black and white 8x10 photo collection he had would make any movie maven weep. He appreciated the art of film so intensely that he could tell you any fact, from script verbage to personal actor profile fun facts. In my life, however, he was a gentleman who consistently proved and reminded me that chivalry is alive and well. Roy would often invite me to art openings where they serve gratis champagne and give you VIP tours of newly unveiled exhibitions. He escorted me to lavish dinners, a genius at wining and dining a lady, and always made sure I got home safely, like my Dad would. Nevertheless, this fine suitor of mine could never be my one and only, as he'd been with Harlen, (lucky s.o.b!) for over 40 years.

Roy and Harlen are two of my brood of gay uncles. Men I've had the honor and pleasure of growing up around. I learned early on in life that love comes to us in many forms, and wherever we find it, can get it, we should - because it's rare. This was the simple explanation my Mom gave me, after someone questioned me with a negative undetone, about the male/male couples in my life. I never had the chance to be embarassed, ashamed or uncomfortable with their love. A lesson, I think, that has gifted me with the deep compassion I have in my day to day life. For people who don't experience love in all it's incarnations, it seems simple to disregard it. That, thankfully, was never an option for me. I only pray that I will someday have a relationship like Roy and Harlen had; one full of laughter, of respect, travel, adventure and kindness. Without their example, I just might have thought settling was alright. Not blood related, they are nevertheless, my family.

The very first time I was introduced to San Francisco, and all its majesty, was from their home in Twin Peaks. Ever since, they have been my safe haven, their house, the place I find my folks when they visit, where I can sip the ever ready cup of coffee and ever full glass of wine. Their house was, and is my home. It's where I've shared my evolution as a San Francisco local, where I've grown up from a bratty 13 year old girl, to a hopefully successful woman in her late, late 20s. Their love was, and is what reminds me that I am loved and lovable . . . considering how they stuck by my side to watch and nurture my growth.

Roy had cancer, and Glaucoma. He had more ailments these last few years than I can name, because ultimately, he never uttered a word about them to anyone but Harlen. A trooper, and a kind warrior he was, up until the very end; last night. To tell you anything about Roy, is to tell you that he loved and lived life to the fullest, truly. He cherished people, and reminded them that they matter, that they are loved and that they complete his life daily. He put others before himself, all the while taking immaculate care of himself. His sunglasses reminded me of stardom, and with his hair always styled, he presented himself to others like he was meeting royalty. What manners.

One night we attended a benefit at City Hall. He called me hours earlier to ask what color dress I would be wearing that night. "Red," I told him. When we met, he wore a tuxedo and a bow tie to match my dress.

I love you Roy, I miss you already. Thank you for your words, your embraces, your unwavering support and your sass. I'll see you on the other shore or side, I don't yet know. I plan, however, to wear a canary yellow dress . . . but if you prefer a blue tie, that works too.

XO

Don't ever Fayes away

Today is a big old block party on 18th street, here in San Francisco, in my neighborhood. This block is the place I first fell in love with, upon moving to the city 5 years ago in August. I knew it a bit prior to my move, via my best pal Heidi, who already set up shop on the block. After having worked at a few establishments, baby sitting local babes, and simply hanging out at my communal most laudable zones, I now know that here, I am very much at home. An extended network of dear friends are as close as family, and often as supportive too. I fell in love on this street, a girl behind the counter, who tended to flowers, all the while being sought after by a very unexpected stranger, who became familiar. I got my heart broken on this street too, exchanging records and various yours and mines at the nearby tea shop. I cannot imagine my life having lived anywhere but here, and I suppose I shouldn't because I am here now, and hopefully for days and days to come.

Fayes has been a constant, like the ink of tattoos, this place will never leave me. I spend every morning getting coffee from shining faces, who provide me with everything from caffeine to morning trivia, to my very own soundtrack for the day. And the weekends are my favorite. Time, hours, spent on the bench chatting, and catching up, sitting, sunning and just being with our little crew. There are dogs and friends, and passers by, who fall into the a.m. plot of my life and set the tone for weekend adventures to follow.

Fayes is one of the many businesses that will be celebrating an anniversary of sorts today. But in true Fayes fashion, their celebration will be specifically fun infused. A pie eating contest will take place at 2 pm. Be there. Eat pie, or at last watch someone else. I hope they taste good, for the brief moments they'll be enjoyed. Sweet Robin and I made them last night. It was way too hot to be inside, so we peeled apples at the best spot we could think of, serious prime real estate, the Fayes bench.

pretty bird

today was lovely. I got to see many a friend and will tell more tomorrow. For now, however, I will share with you the beautiful little trinket that my dear friend Kate gifted me with. I am a fan of feathers. And why wouldn't, how couldn't one cherish them so? They represent taking flight, optimism, unlimited boundaries and the notion of soaring. For me, they are also romantic and reminiscent of older times, when pens were quilled and we actually listened to the little birdie that spoke in our ears. For another great image and mini dissertation on feathers, go here. And if you'd like to own one of these treasures, visit PreenYourself.etsy.com . . .

chirp.

Feeling Feisty

Last evening I attended a concert at the Greek Theater in Berkeley with some dear friends. It was a perfect night. The sign at the entrance of the venue sadly stated that no bottles, no alcohol, no cameras nor picnic baskets were allowed on the premises. Somehow, I got all listed items passed security with a smile, and even a complement on my red riding hood-esque basket. Fun, and maybe a tiny installment of good Karma? The music of Lesly Feist is simply elegant and moving. She can rock, and sway and swing like not many other. I like her a lot. And I loved her white fringe dress, very Stevie Nicks, very Feisty.

Getting There: Stairs or Escalator. You Should Already Know.

"If you can't explain it simply, you don't understand it enough." - Albert Einstein

GEMINI

May 21-June 21

It's not the time for action, Gemini. Instead, cultivate your intuition and sit pretty. You'll be rewarded by fortifying your self-confidence. When you feel good, have clear intentions, and are balanced, you'll reap the best from your efforts. Wait until that time arrives before you step out.

LIBRA

Sept. 23-Oct. 22

Watch out for acting like a martyr, or only trusting love from others if they're martyrs too. Now is the time to hold true to your ideals without throwing any babies away, no matter how dirty their bath water. Let compromise, hope, and patience be your guide.



I think his words are true, that Albert, matter of fact I know so. My horoscope professes similar advice and wisdom. Esentailly stating not to act until you know for sure, otherwise, you're acting out of a lack of understanding. I know this. I realize that in defining, or attempting to define my relationship with a troubled Libra man, I stumble, I make disclaimers to outsiders and myself, I analyze and set my mind into tape loops, all the while managing no clear and simple way to define us. This sad fact results from the ironically simple fact that there is no way to define us. We are in purgatory, and neither one of us can explain why, thoroughly. I think he thinks he knows. I think he doesn't know. And he's not too much the martyr, nevertheless, I think that compromise, hope and patience should indeed be his guide towards understanding. Once he understands, and once I make up my mind to, we can revel in the closure or the new beginning we both so heart-fully seek.

Don't argue, I suggest, or allow frustration to run rampant throughout your tender nervous system. Instead, learn, then know and then act. It will be so much simpler when we fight for what we believe in, so long as we know our cause intimately. Be well, and enjoy the enlightenment of understanding. I so look forward to it.

good day

I started off my morning like I usually do on a Saturday. Make (or assemble) breakfast for my bff, Mikey. On the menu today: 2 hard boiled eggs, 2 veggie sausage patties and some crisp slices of an organic Fuji apple. yum? hope so. As often as I grocery shop, one would think I'd have more than fruit and flax crackers on hand?!

Then, after some home time with the cat, it was off to a most wonderful art opening. Yes, MM's, the one I spoke of. Amazing. It was a wonderland, an experience of fantastic nature. I cannot explain in words what Mikey does with and to and for the human condition. And how that genre is so connected to our own animal tendencies. Please do see for yourself. I had myself a great afternoon with friends and neighbors and stranger appreciators as well. Hope you get to enjoy soon.

Su-Su-Studio

A BFF, MM, aka Mikey, is one of my favorite artists. And no, not just because I love the person and should by extension love the art. I love my sister, respect her artistic talents, but wish she's branch out style wise . . . MM's art, is however, breath taking. I am lucky enough to own a few pieces - have gotten my hands on rare posters and save each card that comes my way, each show flier, and many a scribble of his. Some days ago, I was invited to his studio to help with tiny odds and ends of stitching some stuffing. Me and Sharon and Ariel and Wendy got to hang out with Mikey and chat art and life set against a most exquisite San Francisco summertime sunset.

We gathered to assist in any way for the preparation of a show that happens today. Today, instead of just celebrating Pride with some Dykes on Bikes action, how about making your day's anthem Dykes, Bikes and Mike?!

I hope to see you there, and witness your face as it soaks up the whimsy and emotion and fine application of sentiment painted onto wood, coated in fur, in lines delineating ceilings above. From 3 - 5 this afternoonish evening, there's room for you at the Braunstein/Quay Gallery located at 430 Clementina Street, here in San Francisco.

Why come? Myriad reasons, but most of all "Because You Can't Make Them Stay."

Shady Lady

Sunday was quite a day. And an eventful evening of revisiting the heartbreak and wonders of an all too recent ex. Nevertheless, I have a Sunday reminder that is far more than a simple memory: a lovely little flower. My friend Dan buys and loves and names many an orchid. I mentioned once that I'd love to care for such a rare and beautiful plant the way he and his loveliest wife, Robin do. Dan called me on Sunday. Soon thereafter I headed up the street to his familiar home. There, unannounced to me, he gifted me with thee most beautiful creature. Shady Lady is her given name, and I will not change it. She was a plant in need of some serious TLC, an so her previous owners donated her to the place where Dan purchased her. The price he paid, be it a small or grand sum, is a profit whose proceeds then go towards funding HIV education and research. Not only did I get a most beautiful specimen of a plant to take care of, but Dan, and by extension, I got to contribute to the well being of others, of those who suffer far greater feats than simple heartache. Thank you Dan, sincerely, I will do my very best to tend to this little, lovely Shady Lady. And thank you also, for contributing a memory to my recent Sunday that resides not in the realm of the romantic unknown, but in a world of rebirth and spirit and care. Much appreciated.

Happy Anniversary Mom & Dad!

What a night?! And what a day too, eh? Today is the anniversary of my parents' wedding. They have been married for 39 years! I can tell you this, "forever is a long time." And like my Dad has also said, "choose your mate wisely." My folks are simply remarkable people. They have not just a love for each other, but after all these years, and most importantly, a friendship. I can only dream about growing old with someone, while maintaining the youthful zeal that they two possess. But for now, I take my days one at a time.

Like today, it was hot hot hot here in San Francisco, but there was an idle wind that made it all the more glorious and bearable. I spent my day drinking iced coffee and cleaning house (see cute kitchen inset). Each window was open to its very fullest capacity, a state in which they rarely have the opportunity to exist. My poor roommate, Gris Gris, however,had a rough time with the heat. While I'm a lady who sacrifices comfort for fun fashion on occasion, my little mister has to wear his fur coat each and everyday. He slept far more than his usual 13 hour daily feline requirement, stretched out on my bed in a his longest yoga inspired elongated position. Nevertheless, I think he'd admit that this day was no less than spectacular.

After briskly walking about my neighborhood with a girlfriend, taking in the sights and running some could be mundane errands, it was a pleasure just to be outside, to be alive and well in the sunlight. My evening was also chalk full of crafty chores, but it, like my afternoon, maintained a truly charming ambiance. I sat and reminisced and caught up with three of my most favorite ladies over some rose wine and olive oil soaked herb slab bread. Our stage had as its backdrop the most spectacularly familiar vistas of my neighborhood and the city in which it rests, snug and simple and stellar. A perfect saunter home, I saw tennis players taking advantage of the late setting sun, and passers by embracing each other in the heat, but more concerned with the production of their own . . .

My phone rang at 9:27 and I hoped it was who it ended up being. I am stuck right now, in a purgatory of sorts, where my heart vacillates between the need to forget and the want to acknowledge his presence. We chatted briefly and I felt good. But our relationship wasn't always so, and continues to struggle with boundaries and contact and effort and even time spent driving. We may be in each other's company tomorrow. I do have my own obligations and schedule, laundry with Mol and pilates. But maybe tucked into my Sunday, we will share some moments. Maybe tomorrow will be the day that I say "I need to get over you, but cannot do it in your presence. I need space. Space and time and thoughts away from you." Or maybe tomorrow could be the day that he apologizes for our fork in the road. I always prefer spoons to forks - their rounded silhouettes, their curved ability to balance on my contoured nose - but unlike a spoon, our union has splintered and become a fork. Oh fork I say! I don't know if we'll have dinner, where cutlery reality and metaphors abound, or if we'll sit and stare and realize that forks and spoons don't match. And a knife could inevitably surface to really cut our ties, our losses, our fears and our comfort levels. Alas, I cannot know, as it is right now, tonight, and not yet tomorrow. Wish me luck. Not the kind that would reunite a perfect table setting (utopia), but the kind of luck that lotto players feel when they win. "I tried, bought the ticket, but never expected this win, this victory, this payback, this acknowledgement resulting in such (albeit monetary) freedom." I would like that luck. The hope to win, without any expectations to do so. Just fingers crossed behind my back. But you know what? I think I should reevaluate my vision of luck, I should think that I am the winning ticket. If not for this game player, for someone else. But perhaps for now, just for me.

Pause and Effect

Today was full of work. Why must it be 5 whole days though? Sigh. I took advantage of the long lasting sunshine and spent a bit of time reserved outside of work walls for myself and took in some much needed nurturing nature. The community garden up the street always seems to soothe. A few folks were found tending to their roots and various vegetation. I was there to admire, and simultaneously tend to my own mental garden. It needs care, more water and some time to grow. I hope to get a plot of my very own soon.

she's crafty!

My girlfriends came over last night to get crafty. What a treasure it is to have such wonderful people in my life - who I cherish, and they feel the same . . . sheer bliss, I tell you. We crafted, well, I tried. Mol worked on some simply stunning jewelry and D finished some of her newest little guys, seaming together fabric that is quite frankly, drool-worthy. We ate some summertime fare and reminisced and laughed and enjoyed each other - completely. It's nights like last that make me sane, make me appreciate my life's breath and remind me that it's friends and folks who love us back that count. The relationships that are one sided and don't return our sentiments may be great lessons and good challenges, but who needs to prove themselves? In healthy relationships, we simply shouldn't have to. Life is too short not to love fully and unabashedly and be loved the same way right back. I encourage each of you to find those loves in your life and love them back every moment you can, reminding them and yourself of just how great you make each other feel. Stick with them, celebrate them and yourself and know that it is rare but not hidden, this kind of stellar love. It's found in familiar friendships and even in the smile from a stranger, it is folded into a batch of homemade olive hummus brought to your doorstep, sipped from a bottle of chilled sake brought on a whim, and unearthed on a random Saturday night that took an eternity to arrive. Enjoy your loved ones . . . the time is now.

A big PS: while I will elaborate soon, I must thank the dozen loves in my life who made these, non-computer generated photos possible. I used my new camera!!! Mikey - u likey? xoxox

True Story

The next year of your life will be different.

This quote from an author I love, makes me hopeful. And maybe even a little wary too. Maybe this year, I'll look like this girl. Pretty shoes, relaxed posture, observing my life happening somewhere in Paris?

Iheartsantogoldsonglightsout

Darlin, don't have to worry, I'm not your type.

Mama

So, it's not September, her birthday month, nevertheless it is a day for my Mama. For me too, I suppose. A day set aside for many of us to reflect upon Motherly love. Some of my friends have lost their moms; to cancer, to circumstances of estrangement and bordered lines of longitude and latitude. I consider myself so lucky, very. My Mom has been here to set standards and examples for me as a woman, an artist, a creative resource, a teacher, an advocate, a writer, a wife and yes, quite profoundly, as a mother.

Married at 25, a young Pamela didn't rush into having children right away. Half of her 9 year wait was fostered by my Dad, a guy who was a bit scared of babies and fatherhood perhaps. Nevertheless, after having his first, my sister, he often tossed around the idea of a family of 10. Not for this career girl, my mom is delighted by myself and my sister, respectively. My point, however, is that she was a woman not pressured by society's need for her to embark upon her duties of procreation, ASAP. I think the reason she and my dad are still together and still make each other laugh, can be traced to the fact that they got to grow up together, to be in a relationship for a decade prior to learning how their newborn circumstances would inevitably shift their lives' dynamic. Another reason I respect my mom is that she knows how to take care of herself, and yes, others too. Growing up, we always knew that after she got home from work, it was her turn, time allotted to soak in the bath tub and take phone calls from her girlfriends. (A thought that still drives me crazy today: safety hazard much? She still does this, and it makes me crazy thinking that she's shaving her legs while holding a cordless phone in the other!) . . . but aside from the cautionary element to this tale, I must say, that after her solo time, she was refreshed and ready to do parental chores and to give her family the attention they required. Like making sure me and my sis had a glass of milk with dinner and some green bell pepper slices with our spaghetti. Like making sure lunches were made, and homework was done . . . and hearing about our little kid days.

My mom left yesterday to head home with my dad. I was sad to see them go, am sad she's not here, just reading and relaxing in my small home today. It's a bit overwhelming when visitors call, parents especially, and we can't necessarily slow down enough to really soak them up. I love going home for this reason, there aren't tours or time we feel needs to be filled with something, some activity, some . . . event. And don't get me wrong, our events were great; Legion of Honor to see the Annie Lebovitz exhibit, dinner at a favorite carnivorous friendly Hayes Valley beer hall. One thing that did remind me of our time as mother and daughter at home are the articles and clippings from brochures, magazines and newspapers that she collects for me. One stapled cluster includes: "10 Commandments For Total Happiness,"8 sex and love things men are right about," (Pamela, wow?!) and "Ever feel like you're drowning in debt?" I must say, I cannot wait to finish cleaning my apartment and then read each of these gems from my Mama.

So, here's to Moms. To their love, their craziness, their unique ways of caring for us, be it from afar, in the present, or memories from the past. I can only imagine what motherhood will feel like . . . it's such a natural but thoroughly strange idea to me. To give birth, to adopt, to inherit, to gain or acquire children however they might find us, I can't fathom how intense the relationship will be. Caring for a child who depends fully on what we can provide them. I ponder the idea of how we are responsible for their well being, and yet still must focus on our own. Kudos Mom, what a balance you've struck! I hope you will give me lessons if I'm ever so lucky to effect a son's or daughter's life the way you've helped me shape mine.

xoxox

missing persons

I miss you. Tonight my parents came to town. We ate dinner and talked and reminisced and they did everything in their power to avoid your name or my current heart ache. They did this because they love me and wish for my pain to end; or to at least be responsible for relieving my mind of its constant thoughts of you. Nevertheless, I brought up your name. How could I refrain? Discussing my life with them necessitates your name and our excursions and time shared. It was so hard for them to attempt changing the subject or not making a big deal of you, and my now very real loss of your presence. Either way, I miss you. I think they miss you too. Just a week shy of meeting a man they thought had stolen my heart and a man they thought they could trust being its keeper. So sad, for me, and yes, for them. They never want me to rush into anything, but truth be told, they hope for my happiness, and indeed pray for some grand babies. I wanted to write to you tonight, right now. It's taking much of my energy not to send you a quick line questioning your mental state. If you want to know mine, it's indecipherable, mottled, tragic and free. All, like me. I'll see you at work tomorrow, but Friday I will be with them, viewing photographs that you'd be so much better off narrating. They planned to meet you, fall in love with the one I love, and now, like me, my sweet parents are bruised and a little bit shattered at the illusion of you. How will they ever believe all the wonderful things I told them about you, while my face frowns? Sighs abound. Nevertheless, my Guardian Gemini horoscope could not have been more accurate. It reminded me that my heart is hurt, and told me to instead focus my energies on the folks who love me most; my folks. And with those fresh Wednesday words swirling in my head, I can depart to my dreams, and hopefully not revisit the paranoia induced nightmares that plagued my Monday night's rest. Good night mister Taylor, love ya, mean it . . . for now.

you say tomato . . .

This Sunday was April 27th, exactly 8 months since he first called me. And who'd have guessed that our relationship would be so prompt and aware of lunar calendars, but never fully aware of each other? My heart hurts. We have not talked since Sunday really, just passing glances down populated, working hallways. I want to hear his voice, and want him to miss mine. Nevertheless, I'll wait. There was no specific closure for either of us. He, masked by sunglasses, holding potted plants in arms too occupied to embrace my shrinking frame; curbside and so alone, it was only a "thanks for chatting" that ended our daisy tearing conversation. We visited the nursery that day. I bought a Wondering Jew plant to hang outside my kitchen window, such a beautiful color palette of sage and violet leaves now hang and need sunlight, demand water and crave attention. I am not Jewish, but feel the wanderer nonetheless. I will plant tomatoes and basil and hope that they flourish in my roof top's sunlight. A bag of potting soil, to be shared with him, sits heated and odoriferous in the backseat of my car. I will soon have to deliver my unused portion. The passing of the dirt. What metaphors, eh? The collective purchasing of plants to be nurtured, given new beginnings, seedlings that crave and require devotion . . . and then dirt. The literal unloading of our dirt onto each other, to be utilized for the purpose of nurturing simpler forms of essential life. Hmmm. It's sad and so very true, this relationship's demise. But how, I really wonder, that after 8 months without seeing a flower, a blossom or any fruit and receiving adequate care, did I ever think this plant, this man, would be fruit bearing? Winters are hard, weather is tainted by a warming of the globe and yet I still thought that he might change, and that I might be the sunlight to help him grow. Not so. My girlfriend told me just yesterday that I am but a girl standing, waiting and hungry beneath an apple tree hoping for a sweet, orange fleshed mango to drop. Alas, no mangoes, no apples either, just a tree with roots hidden down deep beneath the surface, protected by soil that might dirty my hands too much; grit forever stuck in my nail's beds. I hope that he can uproot himself, honestly. Because the saddest part of this scenario, my reality, is that I love a person who is focused on healing his own wounds - raking, tilling and excavating his earth - and yet can't allow himself the opportunity to flourish, fully. Without water we cannot survive, nor plants nor various arboreal types. And now it is time for me to tend to my own little garden, and hopefully watch it grow, threatened all the while by city air, unpredictable heat waves and water shortages. Maybe someday he'll come over for a caprese salad, an assemblage of roof ripened tomatoes and backyard basil, homegrown by yours truly. Or maybe, quite possibly and almost certainly, not.

roar

I took a much needed Mental Health day from work yesterday. I ran errands and took care of some grown-up chores. I also made a visit to my local Kinko's, where a most delightful, Brooklyn bred man named Phil helped me with my little project. My Etsy shop is on hold for a bit while I figure out the date of my next photo shoot. In the meantime, however, I have selected some garments that will fare far better for sale in real, touch the fabric and test the zipper, life. These select pieces just wouldn't work on Etsy, due to odd, super teeny vintage sizing and slight fabrication snafus. Hence street shop!

My dear friend Mike owns my favorite coffee shop. He has been so generous in the past to allow little sidewalk sales to happen just in front of the store. This coming Saturday will be no exception. It also happens to be Faye's Video and Espresso's Birthday! So, I'm going to assist in crowding the concrete and hopefully contribute to peopling the store by extension. I have my garment rack and plan to have a stellar, visually intriguing merchandise set up. So yesterday, at Kinko's with Phil's energetic and sarcastic Brooklyn style assistance, I made tags for the clothes. This time I won't just end up giving everything away . . . I will make a profit. Sure, I'll welcome some bartering, but the price tag is just that: the price tag period. Don't I sound mean? Or maybe just firm? Or maybe like a business tycoon? Either way, I'm excited about my sidewalk business, so much so, that I've coined a name for this impromptu shop of mine. Ready? It's "Lion Tamer Vintage." What do you think? I'm using the above photo of yours truly as the card/price tag. Phil thought that mountain lion was my family pet. Apparently there aren't lots of mountain lions roaming the streets of Brooklyn, New York. On the back will be contact info for Lion Tamer Vintage as well as my Etsy address. Nothing like a little project to get my mind off of the other projects that are currently on hold, in limbo or simply unfinished. And by projects I mean bills, diets, and relationships. I haven't heard from the man I not so secretly admire today. I wonder if he'll call, and wonder if I'd answer. I wonder if I'll get to say my piece or if he'll beat me to it. If he'll be the one to say "I need time," or "things have changed," or "I can't do this." And if he doesn't say anything, what then do I? Taming lions is no joke. Wish me luck.

S.O.S

What I am to you, is not what you mean to me . . .

These are lyrics, but really, they could be my words. I wish they didn't ring so true, but sadly, they tell truths, many, many. Tonight I met up with a friend for a beer. I tried to think it was just friends having a carbonated elixer, but after the man I visited became my patient and I his therapist, I realized that we misread each other. He pined about how badly he wants a girlfriend, someone to punctuate the Saturdays and Sundays of his rigidly scheduled weeks. He knew I had a dinner date, but not with whom. And after feeling good to have been mildly sought after by him yet again, I felt bad for knowingly departing to see the boy I've been spending all of my weekends with. I headed to his home where he made dinner for us. He played guitar for an audience of one, albeit in a posture that acknowledged the wall as his audience rather than my shrinking self. It was late, but we both missed each other and retreated to his familiar, dimly lit room. Talking nose to nose and then not at all, in words unspoken, we found solace in the comfort and ease and excitement of our two faces. And then it became "later than we thought it was." I interpreted these words as a signal to depart sooner than later. Unsettled, I mentioned my interpretation of the false invitation to go. Frustrated and feeling misunderstood, my sweet special friend felt aggravated by my tangling of his words. Why, I wonder, is it, that communication gets in the way of communication? I gathered my things, including my scarf and under utilized dinner ingredients, said goodnight and bid my fair, yet weighted adieu. Tonight, right now, I feel so very sad, so thoroughly confused and yet somehow empowered. Do I need now to make my move? To force him to realize that I could potentially cease being around at late hours, or even at all? Do we break our hearts in premature attempts to save the beating vessel, or do we wait and hope and pray that time will tell, will heal and maybe even surprise us with delights of love? I do not know. And I wish I did. I am at a loss. Imagining my days without him hurts my heart. It makes my already sore, pilates stressed muscles ache more. The notion of his presence no longer being a part of my reality, offers me little comfort, but instead dread. So, tonight, hoping that soon I will tell you of great sacrifice on his part and triumphant overriding of emotion and reason, I will instead ask of your advice, your thoughts and your strength to get through whatever it is this night represents. Life is short, love should be simple. That's the good stuff. The early eve man reminded me of just that; that companionship mends wounds and makes for time well spent. I only wish that my current flame knew that someone else was not just seeking my companionship and humor and wit and familiarity, but that he also knew that people who love us are the best cure for myriad ailments. I want to be his prescription for success. I guess, however, that I better start taking my vitamins first.

MexiCAN't Wait!

Tonight I am off to Mexico with a girl who I'm guessing is my sister from a different mister, we were separated at birth I'm quite sure. Who else finishes each other's sentences without such strong genetic ties? Who else can translate a simple stare into complete experiences, detailed dilemmas and insightful inside jokes that other people just "don't get?" Hmmm. I must question my mom more about this sibling scenario. Either way, we're out of this city for a few days, to catch up on, even redefine R&R. Rest and Relaxation and Rejuvenation and sure some Rock n' Roll thrown in for good measure, we two need this break from our day to days so very much. Will you miss us? We'll miss you, and say salud! to you and yours while we sip a tasty margarita or two.

Sometimes vacations offer timely shifts in scenery, breaks from routines and the occasional moment for reflection. I hope to reflect, reevaluate and really wrangle my self and my senses on this trip. When I come back, I hope to have had my presence missed, but more so, I hope to have found myself to be more present, with myself. Here's to leaving it all behind and then coming back to find . . .

Adios

Chirp

"When you awaken, then you are obligated to think about what to do with all of that glorious energy in the morning, right? You know, when you want to just knock the hell out of what's holding you back from being truly happy or getting what you want out of life. That's the bad energy at work. All you need is the nerve, to find the nerve to do what you really want to do, right? The problem is that it may come natural to you, but it does not always come easy. So, maybe now you've got a clue about what's been on my mind. I think it is still considered an Olympic event nowadays: wrestling. I hear it's Tibet vs. China . . . after Tibet's Independence Day . . . of course. Grappling. I feel someone grabbing my elbow."

Adam J, wrote these words to me in a letter I received just yesterday. Sometimes I wonder how he knows me so well. How can another person feel my pulse race, how can he know that I am not alright, even miles away? Is it that obvious, I wonder? Either way, Adam always manages to instill questions in my ever prolific and imaginative mind and simultaneously quell the insecurities I rely upon. He continues with:

"And in order to win, you need to realize the powerlessness you might feel in any difficult situation, and admit that the reason you feel that way is because you are powerless. So, it's somehow about promoting a wrestling match between you and you. It's the raging battle within that takes your spirit and your sleep. And makes you sweat."

I cannot express to you, my few and far between readers, what these words mean to me. They speak to me on so very many levels. I will conclude with this wisdom, courtesy of a man who knows no limits of compassion and generosity.

"And so you do little things like play your guitar, which takes you away from all of that for a little while. And if you pay close attention you can figure out what I am listening to lately, can't you? (it's Clapton). You have a coffee with your best friend. You can also call your mother on Easter Sunday and ask if she still hears the squirrels running around in the attic - and I don't mean mentally! And you take stock in what is really happening around you, and try to fit it all in. You look for the rescue impulse everywhere. You lay out those personal expectations that fuel the impetus to change. Then you wait . . . for the big event."

This is my big event. This moment, this time, right now - is make or break. I am in love with someone, perhaps an idea of someone, who does not, or cannot reciprocate my sentiments. Tonight I sit, waiting for a phone call, wondering if the phantom doorbell ringing was actually his finger's pressing, and think to myself about deserving, about intention and about fate. I want so badly to be in love. But the love I should be seeking is the love of self and of life and of those who mirror my own profundities. So, I share these inspirational words with you, my loved ones, because it is the truth. We need to wrestle and get dirty with our demons. And then, we need to win, by way of want. So tonight I bid adieu to those feelings that corner my heart, that label my efforts and that seek to quell my creativity. A mouthful, I know, but thanks to Adam, tonight, I see how simple it can be.

Fly away to you. To you and to yours.

Lady in Red

Hi. So sorry I haven't been in touch. As a matter of fact, I've been out of touch, with more than just you. My horoscope warned me of drama this week, and foolishly, I felt it a premature forecast and wholly unparalleled to my current existence. Nevertheless, I was wrong, sorely, painfully mistaken. I don't intend to throw myself a pity party here, but I'm pretty sure that my heart started to break and suffer great pain this evening. It was the conversation that began with innocent questions, and ended with the suggestion that this should be discussed in person. And "in person" shouldn't hurt or be odd or strange or unwelcome, because "in person" means life and love and scents and senses . . . but somehow, right now, the idea is not welcome. He, this gem of a man I've had the luxury of spending days and hours and wee hours and categorically significantly insignificant moments with, has been thinking. And thinking, truth be told, is not what it's cracked up to be. If I think too much, I can imagine great horror, great success, sweet baby faces, off-white wedding gowns and funeral services. Thinking, can be one person's demise via projections and false notions of the future. But, hey, thinking about days ahead can also translate into finishings: goals accomplished, phrases uttered and time well spent - so call me crazy for thinking that I might have found my match. Big sigh.

It's not sadness, this emotion, or emoting, instead it's a check-in. My horoscope was simply reminding me to be true to the one thing I know to be right and wrong and unjust and fair - me. I wish I didn't previously recycle the words, in the hope they were incorrect, or I'd have posted them here. Nevertheless, I'll say this . . . I am, as you may be, like the dress featured above. We are tattered, we are aged, we have seen trials and tribulations and tights, and yet we will still become someone's bookmarked page on someone's wish list, ready to be given new life and readily available to help someone stand out in a crowded room . . . ready to independently shine on our own, in living color, vibrant and beautiful and stained but never damaged goods.

xoxoxox

Sorry, photo is coming soon. It's file was too big . . . soon, however, you'll be able to see, and even purchase her on my etsy shop . . . think vintage, classy, red frock - like us all . . .

Raising The Bar

Almost one week into the New Year, the day that this photo was snapped, and while not as sun filled, all certainly does look quite nice. Let's hope this pseudo warming trend continues. So today, it's Sunday and so far the forecast looks good. A productive walk with my fave pal, Pat, and some much needed down time of chatting, sipping and reminiscing, this 6th day of 2008 feels great. Last night I had the pleasure and gift of hearing a living legend play and interpret some songs of the past. Ramblin' Jack Elliot reminds me of a present day American griot. Singing his songs, as well as time tested tried and true tunes, this man truly turns the art of listening into a performance. His quintessential rambling not only sets the stage for each song, granting his audience a glimmer into his life an that of each song, he then finishes them off with appropriate educational exits. My company was another factor that set the stage for a delightful, starry filled, cloud scattered evening. I feel so lucky to have people in my life who reliably inspire, encourage and remind me just how lovely it is to simply breathe and be alive. Reveling in each other's plain existence, I can't help but thoroughly appreciate what a luxury it is to feel wanted and hopefully I succeed at returning the favor by giving that same tiny gift to those I love as well. And it is a gift, one that I often take for grated and overlook. But my date's presence is so very present and, in the words of one wise Debbie Harry, I am always touched by that presence, dear. For an energetic rock n' roll reference and lyrics that attest to such a statement, watch this.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YLdtrQ7vPOU&feature=related