For Magic: In Memoriam (4.7.2004 – 2.16.2012)

Hey there Blogges,

How are you?  Me, I haven’t been so good.  Out there surviving a job, sick and on interferon treatment for Hepatitis C and waiting for another heart procedure.  But still, I’m okay.  I’m here, I’m clean and sober, and somehow I know that God is on my side through it all.

I’m here today to blog about someone I love, someone who has made the passage.  That someone is my cat, Magic, and he was definitely a big someone to me.  He was my baby boy and I’m not ashamed to admit it.  I’m sure that many of you have also felt the terrible grief of losing your pet to sickness; of having to make the decision to have them put to sleep.  For me, the decision came a few days ago on Thursday, February 16th at 10:00 am.   I will miss him sorely.

So here are a few words, some pictures and a poem in his memoriam.

I never wrote too much about Magic because he was always such a seamless part of my life - a part of me – and someone who I thought would always be there.  He did so much for me.  He let me be loving and unselfish.  He asked me to be soft and sweet to him (and I was.) He required that I should be responsible and giving.  And he didn’t demand these things of me or yell at me to get them.  All he did was love me.  Unconditionally.

He taught me how to be committted and give 150% of myself.  He taught me to enjoy a moment in the sun and how to watch the rain.  He taught me to be excited about the birds singing in the trees in the morning.  He taught me that cuddling is as necessary as breathing.  He taught me that all the love I could give could be returned tenfold.  He taught me to never give up.  And in the end he taught me that death is to be accepted and that there is only freedom.

The Passage
I lay twisted and broken on the forest floor
cool pine needles touching my hands and
as shadows slid round and behind me
my breath grew still, was no more.

Down through the earth and sky I fell
deep into sweet icy waters and
rocked by the currents I drifted away
until the stars rushed up to meet me.

I opened my eyes in the grey before dawn
no chorus of birds in the trees but then
small sounds came to my ears
So I knew.

I will never forget him and I will always love him.  He really was magical, just like his name.  I will be back soon with more blogs, more about the book and more about the journey in general.  I will try to give 150% and be free, just like he is.

Love & Perseverance

Kate

Happy Birthday to Me! (Maybe)

Hello Bloggees & Friends,

It’s the day after my birthday – and I am floored! Happily so. So many people checked in with me to wish me happy birthday, and here I was, sitting around thinking I was all alone. Really, it’s true. I’ll tell you what it’s all about.

You see, sometimes the bike pedals uphill. I think a lot of you may know what I mean. Don’t get me wrong. I haven’t let go of my dream, haven’t let go of my heart, but the desert’s been mighty dry lately, the oars have been pretty heavy, my wheels have been spinning fast trying get up the hill (You may insert any stock “hard times” phrase you wish right here.)

So….back to sitting round all alone. I don’t really have any excuses. It’s just that I got tired. It’s just that for a minute, even though I tried to hold on, I lost hope. I stopped believing that it could ever be different and all of a sudden the world got heavy.

I don’t want sympathy, I don’t want to whine and cry either. But on the other hand, I’m not going to deny that sometimes I don’t feel good. That sometimes old feelings, old fears (and new fears) feel very real.

I’m only human, and contrary to all that lovely advertising and happy facebook living everyone seems to be doing, l want to say that I often feel confused about what is possible, what I’m entitled to versus what I’m not, and even what my deluded mind is telling me I’ve got to have, do or be.

Whew! Am I going crazy trying to sort it all out?

Probably.

Happy Birthday to me.

I love all of you.

Love & Perserverance

Kate

Spring, bugs, self-esteem. There’s a connection……

Hey, Bloggees and Friends.  This was originally posted as “Today I can Try” – and trying is definitely what I’ve been doing, maybe even succeeding a little.  I know you haven’t heard much from me lately.  All I can say that life gets crazy busy and hard sometimes.  Still, that’s no excuse. but here goes.

Well, I had bravado, and I lost it.  I searched for self-confidence and couldn’t find it.  Then someone told me I should go get self-esteem.  Self-esteem would know where self-confidence was, they said.

So I began my search for self-esteem. 

I looked everywhere.  I fought through swamps, climbed over mountains, even looked deep underwater because I knew self-esteem didn’t want to be found.  He was hiding from me.  And I’d heard it was rumored that he was the last of his tribe.

I had to find him.

Exhausted after all that fighting, the running and then the climbing, and after such a long swim, I crawled out of the ocean, sat down on a rock looking out to sea, and cried.  It seemed I would never find self-esteem. 

Then I felt an uncomfortable little tickle on the sole of my foot.  It felt like some horrible bug.  Scared at what I might find, I jumped up, shook my foot as hard as I could, and wiggled my toes.

“Hey,” a voice said.  “Stop that!  I’m trying to stick with you, but if you struggle too much, I’ll fall off.”

What?!

Shocked, I plopped back down on the rock and gingerly lifted my foot to my lap.  Sure enough, stuck to my sole was a wiggly little bug.  Was that where the voice was coming from?

My silent question was answered immediately.

“Hi,” said the bug, “I’m self-esteem, and I’ve been waiting for you to sit down and take a break from all your running around so I could let you know I was here. You’ve been squishing me to death with your big feet.”

“Okay…?”  I answered, feeling pretty unsure of myself, and the whole situation as well.  I looked down in disbelief at the tiny little bug on my foot.  “Well, I guess I’ve found you, but I thought you would be a little more impressive.  Definitely a lot bigger and more powerful.”

I must say, I was surprised at self-esteem’s appearance – and his tinny little voice.  After all, I had been told that self-esteem was a big deal and I thought his voice would be loud and sonorous, sort of like the voice in the Wizard of Oz.  But then, when I took the time to look more closely, I realized that self-esteem was quite beautiful, with his tiny antennae of irridescent blue, wings coated in a rainbow of colors, and a body in the sweet round shape of a ladybug covering a multitude of feather-soft tentacles.

Self-esteem sighed.  “That’s what people always think.  You don’t know how many of us get squashed as soon as we’re hatched, what with all the crazy running around we have to endure.  And, you know, some people actually kill us on purpose.  Can you believe that?”

I didn’t know what to say, but self-esteem didn’t need an answer.  “Oh, how I weep when I think of all my dead brothers,” he lamented, his voice cracking. 

Was that a tiny drop of water I just felt on my foot?

Well, this was certainly a twist I never expected.  But, by now I had learned to go with the flow, even if only a little, so I decided I’d try to wrap my mind around the situation just as it was and ask self-esteem what to do.  It was better than guessing, I supposed.

“Okay Self-esteem, you tell me.  How do I make you grow?”

“Great question,” Self-esteem replied.  “And I’m happy that you asked.  I knew I had attached myself to the right foot.  See that ocean over there?”  he asked, flicking his irridescent antenna toward the matching blue beyond.

“Yes,” I acknowledged, “I see.” But for the life of me I couldn’t tell where all this was going.  I mean, DUH, how obvious can you get?  After all, it’s the ocean.  It’s big and blue and all encompassing.  You can’t really miss it.

“Well,” he continued, “Take a nice clean glass, fill it with water from the ocean and then put me in the glass of water so I can live happily and grow.”

“Wow, that’s great!” I exclaimed, impressed with how easy this was all turning out to be.  “But what does this have to do with self-confidence?” I asked.

“Wait,” Self-esteem commanded, raising a tiny tentacle in warning.  “Listen to the rest of the instructions.”

“Okay, I will,” I promised, now intent to learn the rest.  I sat quietly with my sole up, foot perched on my lap, ready to listen to his every word.  After so much pain and hard work I had learned, at least, to do that.

“Hm, hm…” Self-esteem cleared his throat, or maybe what passed for one, and then continued. “Most important, you must replenish the glass every day with fresh water from the ocean.  If you don’t I will never grow and may even die.”

“Oh, Wow.”  It suddenly struck me.  This was serious.  Growing self-esteem was hard work.  His life depended on me. 

Then my heart went out to self-esteem and in that instant I knew I had made the commitment to care for this tiny creature I couldn’t help but love. 

“Okay, Okay, I’ll do it!”  I nearly shouted, now excited at the prospect of  a new adventure.  Then I remembered.  “But self-esteem, I need self-confidence,” I insisted.  “Lots of it.  There’s so much I want to achieve and I need self-confidence to get it done.  When I asked other people about finding self-confidence, they said I needed to find you.”

Self-esteem rolled his eyes (was I hallucinating?)

“My dear, that question is so easy to answer,”   he sighed.  “Self-confidence, self-love, selflessness and self-forgetting are all my children.”

I peered down at Self-esteem.  Was he grinning?  At least I thought so.  Although maybe I imagined it because the truth is I would’ve needed a magnifying glass to see.  Still, I could swear that Self-esteem had the enigmatic smirk of the Mona Lisa plastered all over his tiny face. 

Wait a minute.

Had I mistook his gender?  Was Self-esteem a he, or was he really a she? Or something else entirely?

“Oh, and one more thing,” Self-esteem added, sounding now quite mischievous.  “You were asking so many quetions, I forgot to tell you.  I’m pregnant.  Now go get me a glass of water.”

Love & Perseverance

Et, Voila!

Hello out there, Friends and Bloggees,

And there is exactly where I am.  Most definitely.  In that quasi-space between being done with the past and completely ready for the future.  That middle ground where the ground doesn’t seem very stable at all.  I guess that’s what happens when you let go of the won’ts.  You’re left with the will’s, would-like-to’s, the what-if’s, even the (dare I say it) possibles.

Well, so now the question is  – What do I do while I’m here? There, that is. (Just in case you’ve lost the thread on this whole train of thought…)

Well, this morning, in an effort to manage said situation and to try and stay on solid ground, I roamed up and down hallways which cut through the carefully planted rows of cubicles at my 9to5, answered a couple of calls I really should have let go into voicemail, ate a few potato chips, and then ate two pieces of fruit for lunch to counteract the effect of the potato chips (I’m sure many of you know how this works) until finally I couldn’t take it any more and succumbed to the lure of the “what-if I sat down to blog for a minute?  It wouldn’t take so long” and the irresistible “sure, it’s possible.  I can sneak it in.”

Et, Voila!

Here I am, right where I want to be.

Love & Perseverance

Letting Go of the Won’ts

Hey there Friends and Bloggees.  Whew! It’s been a  long haul. That’s right.  Look below and you’ll see the last time I was out here was November 13.    Been carrying around alot of won’ts. If you know what I mean.  But in 2011 I’m going to try to try to unload them, let them go.

What’s a won’t?  Glad you asked.

I don’t know about you, but my won’ts look like big roughhewn sandstone blocks.  Oh, about the size of the ones that went into making the pyramids.  Believe me, when they get stacked up they’re hard to get around.

You see, I’ve always had this idea that my will, that thing that pushed and moved me hither and thither, banging me like a pinball around the universe from one calamity to another was THE problem. 

I came to think, “If I can just get this stupid will under control and into alignment the rest is gravy.  No more problems for me.  Yes sirree, Bob. ”

Wrong again.

What I failed to realize was that all that will had left behind a big pile of won’ts.

Won’ts like…

I won’t have enough to give,

I won’t have enough energy,

I won’t have enough time,

I won’t be good enough.

Or how about…

I won’t know how to do it.  So I better not do it at all.

I won’t do it perfectly.  So why bother.

I won’t be a big success.  So what’s the use.

You get the picture.  Frustrating isn’t it?  After all, how can I get anything done with all those won’ts standing in the way?

So, like so many of us out there at this time of year, prone to New Year’s Resolutions, I have decided that I too, will make a resolve.

To let go of the won’ts.

Love & Perseverance

I dream of Catalina

Hey there Friends and Bloggees.  Here we go again.  Is it really November 13?  I guess it is. And it’s been 3 weeks (gasp) since I’ve sat down to type in the little box.  So, before I start donning the hair shirt and getting out the cat-o-nine tails to punish myself for not keeping up my creative commitments, I am just going to say “Oh well,” and keep on dreaming of Catalina.

Obviously, as you can see from above, dreaming of Catalina is my way of saying something else.  What it is, I don’t know yet, but by the end of this blog maybe we’ll both find out.  Who knows, maybe you even do the same sort of thing.

Here goes.

So this morning I’m sitting in the sun at the cafe down the street, drinking coffee and eating the scone I’ve been waiting for all week, surrounded by other people who are also enjoying a sunny November morning with their significant other, kids, dogs, etc.  You know the drill. 

Anyway, after about 45 minutes hanging out with the sun in my eyes I’m feeling pretty relaxed, feeling pretty much a part of this friendly little scene, when all of a sudden – Bam! – I’m dreaming about Catalina (the island off the coast of California – in case you were confused.)

And just that quickly I’m thinking about how much warmer the sun would be if I were in a cafe in Catalina, what the bike ride home would be like if I had a place in Catalina, and what sort of people I might meet in Catalina.

Are you getting the picture?

Now here’s the kicker.  I’ve never been to Catalina Island.  I don’t even know what it’s really like.  But I’ve always wanted to go and sometimes I even get on Google World and browse the satellite photos for a while, imagining its beaches and harbors, its ranches and marinas.

Aah Catalina…. A life of sunshine, fun, and relaxation.

But – Hey!  What about my little cafe down the street, with the great scones and the gourmet coffee? What about the nice people with their kids and their dogs?

Rewind.

I looked up and the sun was in my eyes, the clock on the tower was moving forward, I was once again an observer, and it was time to go.  Damn, I thought, there I go again.  Never quite satisfied, never quite committing to the rock-solid present, just a little out of sync, maybe one degree removed from participation.

Aah, Catalina, thy name is imagination.  And I wouldn’t give it up for all the world.

Love & Perseverance

Mushy

Hello there, Friends and Bloggees.  I know it’s been a week since I last sat down to type in my little box, floating along out here in this backwater eddy of the internet, but hey(!), I just made it through the first week of a new job.  Not all good, not that well paid, but not all bad either.  Turns out it’s an okay place to work with some okay people. So we’ll see what happens.

What does all that have to do with the title?  Well, I have no idea – yet.  But by the end of this blog I might and you might, too  (I hope. ) That whole train of thought was pretty mushy, wasn’t it?  See what I mean?

So here goes.

I was sitting outside this morning at my favorite place up the street, drinking coffee and enjoying a scone in the semi-cold, slightly rainy, transitional sort of Bay Area weather so typical in October when I paused in the middle of writing my morning pages and wrote…my thinking feels so mushy….  Then I went back and underlined it twice.

That’s when I knew I had the title for my Blog.  I hate it when that happens.

Because when it does, I have to get out here and go out on a limb so I can discover why I have been mandated to use said title.  It’s happened to me before (see “Hey There!” - 7/1/10 and “With a Vengeance” – 7/3/10.)

And to be given a word like mushy to write about.  Well, what am I going to do with that?  After all, mushy is how baby food is described.  Mushy is all about overly sentimental, trite story lines in romantic movies with unbelievable happy endings.  Mushy describes soft, squishy, vulnerable feelings, almost embarrassing in their baby softness.

Give me words like razor-sharp, delineated, driven, dynamic, clear, incisive, sharp.  Those words feel good; speedy, cool, rushing down the straight-away to a goal I’ve got my eyes glued on.  Whew! I can practically feel the wind whistling past my ears.  Now those words I can like. 

But MUSHY!?

So who knows what will happen.  Because as I write what I think changes and meanders, finding its own path as it drifts downstream in the sunshine, following the course of a powerful river making its way to the sea.  And then suddenly, the future becomes mushy; as in unclear, undefined, unknown, unfettered, uncontrolled, and yes, even unimagined.

Hmmm, maybe mushy isn’t so bad after all.

Love & Perseverance

I know it’s cheating

Hey Friends and Bloggees.  I know it’s cheating.  But today I have to re-blog.  Anyway, this is a favorite little true story of mine.  About life, and people, and how usually they aren’t all bad…or all good either.  Here you go.

CATFISH 

It’s 3:00 am and the night is precarious.  Too many police and not enough money make for a bad combination. 

Then an old truck with high round wheel hubs, looking like it just drove off the set of the Beverley Hillbillies, pulls over.  Loud country music is pouring out the radio and what’s not scratched is painted bright red.  I run over to the passenger side window and the driver leans over to roll down the window.  First comes a long scraggly beard followed closely by the smell of Budweiser. 

“Hi, want a date?” I ask, on tippy toes. 

“Hey, little lady, how much you want?” he belches. 

Yeah, this one really better have some money. 

“How much you got?” 

He sits back and chews on that one.  I could practically swear he’s got tobacco in his jaw. Then he leans over, opens his glove box and takes out a little bottle.  It has a tiny spoon on the end.  He dabs the tiny spoon into the bottle, pulls it back out and honks as he stuffs it up his nose. 

I know what this is.  He’s a meth head.  Damn. 

“Well, really I was lonely,” he says.  “And I came down here to find someone to go fishing with me.”  He leans out the window with a big smile on his face. “You wanna go?” he asks 

What the hell, I think. Let me see what’s up.  I get into the truck.
“You know this’ll cost you.” I tell him. I turn to face him. “And besides, where did you want to go?” 

“Well, I was thinking Manteca.” 

“Manteca, huh?”  I consider what this might entail.  “You know, by the time we get back it’ll be afternoon.  That’s a long time.  You’re going to have to pay me for that.” 

“Well, how much do you want?” he asks. I can tell he thinks this is going to be easy. 

“Five hundred. I want five hundred dollars,” I tell him firmly. There, that’ll fix him, I think. 

“I don’t have five hundred,” he says, looking suitably chastised. 

“Well, too bad, I gotta go then.” That’s what he gets for being cheap. I open the door of the truck. 

“Wait,” he says, and puts his hand on my arm.  I look down at his hand with a death threat.  He removes it. 

He takes a deep breath.

“Okay.  Listen, I’ve got four hundred dollars, but that’s all I’ve got.  Will you take that?” he asks.  Then he turns and looks at me through eyes turned red from too much Budweiser and too much Meth, but maybe red from crying too. 

I think he really means it.  I think he really does want to go fishing.  Maybe he’s a little nuts. Maybe a little high. But  definitely not dangerous. 

I make the decision. 

“Come on, let’s go,” I tell him. 

He lets out his breath. 

Suddenly animated, he agrees, “Okay, let’s go!” and grinds his transmission as he revs up his truck. 

“Give me the money first,” I remind him. I hold out my hand.  He starts digging through his pockets and crumpled bills start falling out. Eventually it all adds up. “Okay,” I tell him.  “But I have to go by my apartment first.” 

“Whatever you say little lady,” he says, looking happier than he has a right to be.  And he swings the truck around. 

“Remember, my directions, no wrong turns.”  I pull my right shoe off and hold it in my right hand, where he can’t see it.  Just in case he makes a wrong move.  A high heel in the temple can be a pretty good deterrent. 

We pull up in front of my apartment building and I get out.  If I’m lucky my man won’t be home and I’ll be able to stash a hundred dollars.  This makes the night more than fat. 

I run upstairs.  Nope, not here. 

I take $200 of the $400 and put it with the $300 I already had and leave it on the table.  There, that should do it.  He can’t complain about that.  Then I take the rest and hide it in my little mouse-hole at the back of the closet. 

I grab the the flyer lying on the kitchen table and turn it over. I had picked it up the other day on my way home.  It was advertizing a concert I wanted to go to, but it was on a Friday night, so there was no way my man was going to let me go.  You know how it goes.  On the back, in big bold letters, I write… 

GONE FISHING 

I step back to look at my handiwork. I’ve got to chuckle.  It’s a hell of a note. 

When I get back downstairs “Mr. I want to go fishing” is waiting patiently in the truck fiddling with the dial on the radio.  As soon as I get in the truck crackling strains of country music loud enough to damage my ears floods the cab. 

I look at him.  He looks at me. 

“You don’t like it?” he asks. 

And then I realize I’m going to have to listen to this shit all the way to Manteca and back.  Well, you know what they say.  There are no free lunches. 

At least he turns it down a notch or two.  Then we take off. 

Three hours later we turn on to a small dirt road.  By this time we’ve reached a temporary agreement about what should be playing on the radio.  He gets a half hour his choice. I get a half hour my choice.  During each half hour the other person is required to sing along with the other one’s song choice. 

Suddenly there’s no more road, only a green field in front of us and the river beyond that.  The sun is coming up behind the hills but the river is still in shadow and its steely smooth surface is broken by hundreds of small ripples and sharp splashes.  The fish are biting. 

Truth is, I love to go fishing.  When I was a young girl in Australia, we would fish in the surf with long poles and catch whiting as the sun was coming up over the Pacific. Then we would rush back over the sand dunes to slap them in a pan of hot peanut oil and cook them for breakfast. 

I try not to show my delight.  If you act too happy, these tricks can think they have the upper hand.  He jumps out of the truck, reaches into the bed and pulls out a tackle box.  Then I get out, and without another word, we both start walking across the field to the river. 

Four hours later three catfish lie beside me on the river bank.  Nice ones.  He hasn’t caught a thing. 

“I told you I could fish,” I tell him with a smirk, a sort of a ‘you-don’t-know-shit-do-you?’ kind of look.  And he takes it like a sport. 

At the back of the adjoining field, his friend’s property, he says, there’s a little shed with running water.  I throw the catfish in the net basket he’s provided. “Just in case you catch anything,” he said, and I set out across the field. 

Now, this is the thing with catfish.  Even if they’ve been lying in the dirt for a couple of hours they can jump back to life when you hit them with water and catfish have these spiny little spikes on their hide that can really hurt.  So you’ve got to be careful when you wash them off.  Really, the only thing you can do with a catfish to kill it is rip it’s head off.  And you have to grab it in just the right place so you don’t get stuck. 

Hurrying along beside me, he coaches me on all the do’s and don’ts.  I guess he doesn’t realize I already know this.  I know he means well but it’s sort of annoying. 

I squat down and grab a fish. Jamming two fingers right behind the gills at the back of the head, I dunk the fish in the bucket of water and rip the head off at exactly the same moment.  It’s the only way to do it. 

“Damn. Damn!”  He starts shouting, hopping around on one foot.  Then he bends down and puts both hands on his knees. “Damn.” He says it again as he lets out his breath in a whistle.  I stand up.  He kneels down. 

“Little lady, I mean it.  Will you marry me?” he asks from his position on one knee.

Oh-oh.  This could go south on me pretty quick.  I feel a chuckle starting somewhere in my body but commonsense tells me that this is not a good time to laugh.  And you know what?  I wouldn’t.  I know he’s sincere.

“Damn,” he says again, still on one knee.  “I’ve never seen any woman do that. You’re the woman for me.  I mean it.  I’ll take care of you.  Get you off the streets.  You wouldn’t have to worry about a thing.” 

I look down at him.  Well, this is a sticky situation.  If I hurt his feelings, could he turn on me?  You never know. You never really know.  I kneel down so we’re eye to eye.  And I tell him the truth. 

“Look, I’m sorry.” I pause for a moment to take a deep breath.  “You have to understand.  I have a life.  I have a man.  I’m a working girl. You know that.” 

As I stand back up he stumbles to his feet.  Gathering himself into himself, he stares vacantly at a patch of sky over my head for a moment, obviously making some sort of internal readjustment.  When he looks back down I can tell; he’s decided to pretend this never happened.  That’s good.

“Well,” he says, and clears his throat. “Let’s get you home.  Besides, by the time I drive back it’s going to be night.” He looks over my head towards the truck.  “Yeah, I got to get back,” he decides.  We walk back to the truck in silence: him with his tackle box, me with my three catfish in a net bag. 

Three hours later we pull up in front of my apartment building.  There’s no pretense left.  No,“Here’s my number, you can date me again.” For what? To catch a few more fish?  I get out of the truck and slam the door shut. 

“Okay, see you around.” I turn around and smile. “ Thanks for the fish.” 

But he doesn’t smile back, just grunts and pulls off, transmission grinding as he makes a u-turn. 

When I turn to go upstairs I see my man’s car parked out in front.  I guess he finally came home.

I wonder if he’d like some fresh catfish for breakfast?

 The End

Love & Perseverance

Too much existentialism

Hey there, Friends and Blogges.  That title means this blog is going to be completely practical.  Yes, completely.  No looking up at the sky, no pondering of the navel or such-like.  I’m here to get you up-to-date about what’s going on in the practical world.  Because, in reality, I am very, very practical.  In fact I can be way too practical for my own good.

??? you say?  Well, I have a little axiom (one among many) and it goes like this….

Any woman who trades sex for money is way too practical for her own good.

Okay.  Back to existentialism and the lack of it in this blog today.  In my last blog I promised I would tell you about a play I saw recently, “The Brothers Size,” by playwright Tarrell Alvin McCraney.  And I am.

When I first read the review of “The Brothers Size,” and the playwright’s bio in a local paper, I knew I had to see it.  Tarrell Alvin McCraney started off in the Miami Liberty City projects and ended up at Yale.  Now he’s gone on to work with the Royal Shakespeare in London, England and  his plays are taking the theater by storm.

Wow, I thought.  England. The Projects. Writing.  I can relate.

So I found out it was playing at the Magic Theater in Fort Mason and joy of joys, they had a PWYC night (that translates into Pay What You Can.)  Amazing, I know.  And, they have a calendar of events where they extend their generosity to include PWYC performances.  Thank you Magic Theater. 

Here’s a link to their  website so you can check them out. http://magictheatre.org/

Anyway, it was a beautiful evening, the last of the heatwave.  I took my camera with me and took some great pictures of the Marina and Fort Mason.  I’ve posted them to an album on my FaceBook profile page.

Here’s a link http://www.facebook.com/pages/Over-the-Edge-Stories-from-the-Street-Life/328246349130#!/album.php?aid=32805&id=100000611513423

And if you can’t see them because we’re not FB friends just send me a request, I’ll be glad to include you.  The more the merrier.  So long as you click the LIKE button on my book page, that is.

Okay, I’m not going to hold you hostage.  I pasted them on the book page as well.  I was just kidding – sort of.

Back to the Brothers Size.  It was a wonderful play.  He has a unique voice and the emotional themes he explores are universal.  I left the play deep in thought, digesting everything he brilliantly laid out in a simple story.

And it gave me hope.  Maybe my voice can be heard too.

Even more good news.  The other day a friend emailed me a told me about a free performance of the play to be held in the theater at Laney College in Oakland, California.  Local people, here is the header from the press release.

PRess Release: Free – Sat 10/9 – 2:30 pm event – The Brothers Size by Tarell Alvin McCraney at Laney College

Well, I must now leave you because I’m on my way to the city to attend a meeting of the Women’s National Book Association-San Francisco Chapter, of which I am now Vice President.   Here’s a link. http://www.wnba-sfchapter.org/

I even have a profile posted on the member directory.  Here’s a link to that too. http://www.wnba-sfchapter.org/Member-Directory.html

I really have to give this organization a plug.  I’ve learned so much and have found so many networking opportunities since I’ve been a member.  It’s been great – and a big part of my writing journey. Local writers, male or female (the organization is open to men too ) check it out,  get in touch with me if you like.  I’ll tell you all about it.

Hey! you say?  What about the title?  Oh.  I nearly forgot.  That’s another axiom of mine.  It goes like this…

Too much existentialism and you’ll end up pushing a shopping cart.

So, as you can see, between these two extremes, I’m trying to lead a balanced life.

Love & Perseverance

I saw a plane fly overhead

Hey, Bloggees and Friends.  Well, it’s one of those titles.  I think  it summarizes how the week has been pretty well. 

I had this great blog all planned out.  Sort of dreamy, sort of grateful, sort of artistic, if you know what I mean.  Then last night, after a full day of rushing around trying to accomplish just a few things (why does everything take so long?) I came home around 10 p.m. and found a piece of mail informing me of my not-so-great financial status.  Yikes!

So when I got up this morning and sat down to write that dreamy, creative, artistic blog I had thought out and planned so well, I realized “Hey, that’s not what’s really going on! I can’t write that.  It’s dishonest.”

Now don’t get me wrong, all that great creative, existential, spiritual stuff happened.  And I’m going to tell you about it.  But the truth is life’s realities intruded and bust that little pink bubble.  (Don’t they always?)

Okay, I thought, what the hell am I going to write about now? And how can I title it?

Then I realized that the truth is as good as anything.  And the title is still valid. Because life is a mixed bag.  I’m a mixed bag.  Plus, I’ve got it on my wall. 

It says - EXPERIENCE BECOMES ART -  Here’s a picture.

Okay.  So Here goes.

Saturday:  I’m at my favorite cafe.  It’s beautiful and sunny, for the Bay Area it’s a heat wave.  People are walking back and forth, I’m scribbling in my geeky notebook drinking coffee, the odd panhandler or two is stopping by to remind me I don’t have it so bad, and then,

I saw a plane fly overhead.

“So what,” you say?  Yeah, I heard you say it.  Well, this is what.

(Here’s where I get to place an excerpt from the book.  For all of you who do not yet know, the title is Over the Edge.  If you want to know more, click on my picture over there and go to my Facebook Page.)

Excerpted from “Miss England,” First of Eight

I slip around the corner into an alley where I spot a few milk crates stacked neatly between the wall and the dumpster. Carefully lowering myself on to the edge of a crate, I sit down and wait for a few minutes and hope those two policemen will forget about me and leave.

The noise from an airplane flying overhead fills the night sky, maybe a 747 coming to land at SFO.  Looking up, I manage to catch a glimpse of its tail lights through the clouds.  I wish I could be on it, safe inside on my way to somewhere else, in limbo between two places.

Sometimes it feels like I’ve grown up in airports and on airplanes, always travelling to school and moving from country to country. I love airports.  Tiled in white, soothed by air conditioning, with assuring words from soft voices coming through loudspeakers, wherever you go they’re always the same.  It’s always fun to sit and watch the endless streams of people rush by, all so concerned with the next place they’re going, and it’s always been fun to imagine where a plane was going as I watched it streak overhead.  But now, whenever I see a plane it makes me think of home, makes me want to cry, because there’s no going home now.

As I watched that plane fly overhead I did wonder where it was going, I did wonder who the carrier was, and just like I used to do when I was a kid, I did try to guess what kind of plane it was. 

And because I was at home; with myself, with my heart, and with my soul, I didn’t cry.

Love & Perseverance

Big P.S.  Next blog, I want to tell you all about this fabulous playwright I discovered the other day.  Look for it to come out this weekend!