Update on my Weekend

3 years old

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9 months

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Cherrios

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Trains

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Potties & Diapers

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Books

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Pots & Pans

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Apple Sauce

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Not a moment to spare

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2 Grams

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2 Grandbabies

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Pure Joy

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Pure Exhaustion

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Love

kj

More Novel in a Paragraph

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No Emily Rabbit today. She is busy writing her guest column for Marion's blog. Meanwhile, book # 2 continues with fervent joy. Hopefully, these mini 'novels' are short and to the point. Or as you may know by now, you can also follow along to see how they fit together, more or less.

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Purr
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After twenty plus years and three near severings, they slept together like kittens.
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Moleskines and Paintings

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Which came first, the moleskines or the paintings? Casey couldn’t exactly remember, but she took that first moleskine everywhere, showed it to anyone with the faintest interest, all those Bic pen drawings scattered on random pages, especially The Best Friend Tree, Catherine and Casey standing there in their celestial pajamas, arms outstretched, looking pleasantly surprised that best friends could indeed grow on trees.
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“My best friend is an artist,” Casey would say. And she would beam.
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In her honor Catherine planned a series of five paintings and completed four. The first was of Casey and Maggie, early on, Catherine’s bold colors punctuated by the characteristic sharp angles of her faces and shoulders and hands.. The second was of Casey alone, ‘Casey The Writer,’ Catherine called it, Casey with pen in hand, surrounded by characters rising from the canvas, including Catherine herself, huddled in black, curled tight within the protective space of Casey’s arm.

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The third painting even afterwards would remain one of Catherine’s favorites. It was an exquisite rendering, a purple nude sitting on an orange velvet love seat, book in hand, perfect breasts, salacious smile. Even afterwards the painting still hung in Casey’s bedroom and sometimes she would stare at it, hoping for answers that could not be there. Catherine finished the fourth painting but only barely. Neither she nor Casey particularly liked it: a panicked woman buried in rubble, another woman extending a hand, ready to rescue.

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“My hand just flows when I have you in my mind,” Catherine would tell her. Casey would beam at that too.

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Catherine did not finish the fifth painting and later destroyed it, a colorful hopeful scene of Casey’s dog Stella Dora, her tail in midair, standing over and kissing a small content Asian woman lying in grass. Even afterwards, when Catherine went public with words like ‘dysfunctional’ and ‘the biggest mistake of my life,’ it was her objectified reference to “someone’s dog” that packed the worse sting.

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In the subsequent gallery of her paintings, Catherine would include only the Purple Nude. The others, she omitted and deleted with a firm finality consistent with her erasure of everything else, even the truth.

A Travel Journal: Italy

When you travel, do you keep a journal of your activities and impressions? JB and I do; usually we alternate days--one day she will document our gallivants and the next day I will. We are not strict travel-loggers though. Our journal always include every single thing that made us laugh, and of course highlights that left us either speechless or amazed or confused.

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Recently I found our travel journal from Italy. We spent a week on the Amalfi Coast about four years ago, a rare group excursion (we usually travel solo) that turned out to be fantastic. Here are our highlights in a nutshell:

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'That woman Barbara, attached at the hip. We tried to be polite but we often snuck away'

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We meet Ellen and Roberta, these two friends traveling and also from Massachusetts, and we have a ball together. We cannot stop laughing at Roberta's crush on the Englishman in the lobby. Excessive alcohol increased her passion and our reaction. We laughed until we got sick.

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The formal head waiter with the formal yellow jacket

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The pitcher of hot milk frothed for our coffee every morning

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Joan from Provincetown when she fell in Capri: she had two huge black eyes from it and tried so hard to ignore them

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Nine nurses three with spouses on the tour: they drank like there was no tomorrow.

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The leather boots in Naples that got away, but kj got some very neat Italian sneakers

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The first time ever that JB and Ms. kj had cappuccino together

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Two mimes on the streets of Naples: we couldn't stop watching them

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Only $ 28 on our final hotel tab--wow.

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kj ate three candy bars non-stop out of the mini-fridge

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We bought our Italian underwear at the grocery store!!!

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Our harrowing walk on a ribbon of a street to Minori--the Mediterranean right there beside and below us

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kj talks to a shop keeper about the Delfino's in Italy--kj's grandfather came from an area 2oo miles north of Rome

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JB only had one sweater for the whole trip: she thinks she will throw it away when they get home

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The wild dogs in Pompeii: kj kept looking at them to see if they were happy. They certainly seemed to take care of one another.

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A cooking lesson making gnocchi. kj couldn't bear to eat it afterwards because too many hands had rolled out that dough

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Eating in the same 14 seat restaurant every night: just bring us whatever you want, no need for a menu. Unbelievable food. Orgasmic.

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All those lemons and lemon groves on the side of every hill--everywhere.

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Sipping cappuccinos often and everywhere at all those outdoor cafes

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It was an awesome trip. Have you been to Italy? If you haven't and you have been told the food, people and natural beauty of the country can't be matched, believe it.
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Love

kj ♥

Some Favorite Things

Emily! Help!

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I'm winding down a wind-down weekend.

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Nothing dramatic.

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Or awe inspiring.

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Mostly Ordinary.

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Which,

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for me,

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is happily

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more than enough

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these days.
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Still, there are some things I want. More and more, for longer and longer: I want to be content exactly and fully where I am. I want to look back no longer with sadness but with gratitude. I want my friend Renee to be comfortable. I want Angelina and her brothers to be adopted. I want my knee to stop holding me back. I want to walk my mile and a half again each day with Stella and my pen and moleskine. I want the US Congress to stop acting like A--holes. (sorry). I want to be able to tuck my tee-shirts in. I want volunteerism to catch on like wild fire. I want Jessica to have every single thing she needs for all of her life. And JB and Mr. Ryan and Drew and Mike too. I want love to be in high fashion and stay that way. I want world peace. I do. I want world peace. ♥

Love

kj

More of a Novel in a Paragraph

I am writing. Regularly. Passionately. What great news for me.

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Please remember that what I am writing is not strictly or always about me. (For example,Casey is a narrator, not necessarily kj.) Otherwise I am going to feel vulnerable and awkward every time I share. I am going to try to post two or three snippets each week. So far your comments have been wild winds for my sails, and I thank you each so so much. You have no idea how much your support helps. I only hope I give it back as richly as I receive it. ♥

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Every Day
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The first time the topic of sex came up Casey and Maggie were sitting under a wide blue sky at a small outdoor table, sipping wine and Sambuca in Newport, Rhode Island, not yet aware that in three months they would fall in love with one another after spending a wild wonderful night together, surprisingly. On that day in Newport Casey asked Maggie how often she made love.“Everyday,” Maggie replied, “When there is someone to make love with.”
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At the time Casey had successfully, finally, bounced away from the sting of a two year impossible relationship, her first ever with a woman and characterized by heated sex everyday and sometimes several times a day, the first time, despite a marriage of twelve years, that Casey understood the physics that allowed two people to merge into one, orgasmically speaking. Casey loved sex after that, sought it out, not recklessly, screening for at least some emotional justification.
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So when Maggie said, “Everyday,” Casey understood. And how they began everyday and in time that became every month and then seldom in the years and decades that passed between them was anybody’s guess. But on that day in Newport, Casey just smiled at Maggie and said, “Me too. Everyday for me too.”
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Lina & the Green Shaggy Coat
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The therapist has not planned well so by the time she gets to the house, now two days before Christmas, she has only one plastic purple hair band and one bag of gold coins left and she holds them out, asking the two girls who wants what. Lina stares at her, stares down at the hair band. “You did this for us?” she asks, looking to her mother and sister, wanting them to agree.

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When the therapy work is done and the therapist is ready to leave, Lina approaches her, reaches for her shaggy winter coat, places both hands on the bottom button, then moves up to the next, one by one, until the coat is tight and snug around the therapist's neck. . Lina takes a small step back, pats the top button, smiles. “There,” Lina tells her. “Now when you go outside you won’t be cold.”

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Later when the therapist thinks about it, she is glad that she let Lina her touch her, glad that she did not tell her to keep her hands to herself. And from nowhere she understands that in return for the plastic purple hair band, Lina has given her a Christmas gift.

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In that moment six year old Lina becomes a loving Mother, making sure the therapist is ready for the cold.

A Day in the Life....

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I don't like posts that take looooooong to read. I am sensitive that when I do that I ask for too much time when there is not enough time to go around already. So don't read this if the very length of it is a turn off.

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This is about a day at work. I have a demanding interesting challenging affirming good job. I am not bored, rarely disappointed. But sometimes it's not easy:

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I had a hard day.
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I work two long days each week usually seeing seven or eight clients. Today by 8 am I had 3 phone messages from my 18 year old client "A" who I trust and who has agreed to a contract with me that before she would ever harm herself she would call me or the Crisis Center.
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She kept her promise. When she called this morning, she needed help, probably a hospital admission (her first) to help her understand why she cries so much and feels so sad and so alone that she wants to cut herself.
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I have been a psychotherapist for not yet two years. I consider myself a counselor but I have done many other things in my career too. This is the first time I have been a therapist per se, and one who mostly sees clients where they live, not in an office.
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So accompanying my client to the Crisis Center meant that I had to cancel my first two appointments with other clients. I was glad to do it, had to do it, but from there my day was a windstorm:
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9 am Call A's mother, pick up A at school, head to crisis center, arrange for her sister to stay with her, meet with intake counselor.
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11 am See J. for weekly session at her house except no one was home. J is usually there and reliable. I don't have her new cell phone number. Damn. I know she will call me, she will feel bad about standing me up.
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11:10 am I call L's new foster mother and ask if I can stop by. L is Angelina's 6 year old brother and he along with their 3 year old brother are in a new home where there is an expressed interest in adopting them, and maybe Angelina too.
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New Foster Mother tells me that she and her husband cannot decide yet to adopt the boys, that they need more time to think. She is kind and warm and she runs a daycare center in her home. But she says the boys are sometimes out of control, especially N. the 3 year old. I tell her a little about Angelina who she has not met and ask if sometime she might come for an hour or two to play with her brothers. She says of course. She walks me to the door and she hugs me genuinely. I like her and I will pray.
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12:00 I drive to the middle school of my 10 am client, who I missed earlier this morning. She is 13 and the office cannot find her: she is not in the class she is supposed to be in. I meet with her guidance counselor and (politely) ask why some one doesn't go looking for her if she doesn't show up for her 7th grade class. The counselor tells me bluntly, "We don't have the staff to do that. There are a lot of kids who don't go to class." Not a good school, I knew that, but I am not pleased.
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12:30 I drive to M's apartment building. She is not there. Two no-shows in one day, by two reliable clients. I am mad at myself that I cannot find M's new phone #. I leave a note.
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12:35 I sneak into Burger King, relax for a few minutes.

1:00 I see M. for the first time since she had her baby. I have been nervous about this. M. has significant problems with her three children ages 6, 8, & 12 and she has just given birth to a premature daughter against all medical advice. Plus there are three dogs stuck in crates most of their lives and I am pained to see that, to not be able to rescue them.

M is sitting on the couch feeding the baby a bottle. The baby is very clean and dressed in warm cotton onsie. I comment that M seems happy having a small baby and she says yes. I ask how her two daughters are doing and she says, "They try to get my attention." I suggest she let them sit on the couch with her and the baby, perhaps put the baby in their laps. She looks at me like I'm crazy.

2:00 I drive ten miles or so to an elementary school where 11 year old D. and I have our therapy session sitting on the floor in the empty Anger Management room. The room has carpeting on half of each wall but it is not thick so if someone were angry enough to slam into one of the walls, they would not be spared. D and I play two games of Old Maid and one game of War while I ask her about her favorite things (people, colors, places, subjects) and then she asks me back. We laugh our heads off every week about being in the Anger Management room. I see D. because she is overweight, is very aware her father does not see her very often, and was being bullied in school last year. She is much happier this year. She doesn't talk about her feelings much but I'm glad she knows she can.
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3:00 Another school, this time a middle school where 13 year old L. and I sit in the cafeteria and I can see how depressed and miserable she now is. Two weeks ago her mother lost all parental rights and L and her younger sister are now in a permanent foster home until she is 18. This is with a man she loves who has been a surrogate father to her for years, but his wife cannot seem to give the kids some time and space. This is a child whose history has been a disaster, and yet she is so bright and spirited. She wants to be a Mechanical Engineer in Japan. I keep telling her she will get there but there are 3 important rules: no drugs, no gangs, no babies. She laughs but I make her say that with me at least once a month. I am worried about her now. I make a note to ask my supervisor for some advice.
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4:00 I have a new client, another teenager who is in trouble in school and with the courts. She calls my cell phone and cancels at the last minute. Normally that is not acceptable but I cut her a break this one time because I don't know her and don't think it's a good idea to start off with conflict. I tell her I hope I can help her and I look forward to meeting her. She asks me if her foster mother told me that she dislikes people.
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What? I ask. "I don't like people" she says. "All people?" I ask. "Most," she replies. I like her honesty. It will be interesting to meet her.
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4:15 I make a few phone calls from my car. I call my friend (you know I mean you!) and we chat away, a nice break for me. I organize my appointment book, call back the client I stood up this morning.
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4:45 I see A's mother at the clinic. She loves her daughter, she wants to help her, is worried about her, but she is at the end of her own rope. She does not easily share her vulnerabilities, this is hard for her. I agree to see her again next week. I'm hoping if I help the family this will help A. But I tell her I strongly recommend she have own therapist and she agrees to call her insurance company. I tell her 'why go through this alone if you don't need to?" and she seems to agree.

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6:30 I walk in my kitchen door. My emotions are on overdrive. I had very little problem with all the juggling today, and I was thoughtful and deliberate with everyone I saw, but my emotions are drained.

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Walking into the Crisis Center this morning, A asked me if I liked my job. "Very much," I said.

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"How do you do it?" she asked me. "All those problems you have to help with and what do you do if you have your own problems?"

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I smiled at her. "I'd see someone to help and listen to me." We smile together and I stay beside her while she checks herself in. I'm glad I'm there with her. She is courageous to be handing herself over for help. I am proud of her. It makes a difference....

Just Poetry

Although I'm not writing too many poems these days, there was a time when they came sliding out, one after another. I was in a kind of limbo then: hopeful & hopeless, passionate & protective, certain & confused--all at the same time.
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I think that kind of confusion often encourages good writing.
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This poem is now part of then, my history, and I'm glad for it. No regrets.
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I Don’t Care
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I don’t care if the distance spans the decades
And the patterns never form,
If I never understand the photos
Where we look straight into the camera
your arm hanging over my shoulder,
cradling my cracked smile,
The one I tried so hard
To keep it together
Even when the fragments flew.
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I don’t care if the bluebirds turn around

And head back to what was never home,
That place we began but never finished,
That corner where we tried to intersect
But instead fell apart
in just that broken moment
When I told you I would endure
And you told me that was worthless.
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I don’t care that I am baking pies today,
My senses somersaulting from the memory
Of my mother’s hands,
Moving back and forth
Kneading back and forth,
Following a rhythm I never learned—
A rhythm I think about at midnight
When my dreams will not keep still.
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I would watch her dice and slice
Those moments so skillfully
I did not know my childhood was over
Until the day I left home,
Until the day you left me.
Until this day,
When all I can do
Is roll out the dough
And try to rise along with it,
Even when I know so well
I will clearly fall again.

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I don’t care that I cannot maintain
Hope that cannot be sifted
In any form but by its splendid grief.
If I thought it was enough
To carry those ten sticks to town,
Just to hold them and push forward,
I would do that.
Gladly. Totally. Certainly.
I would open your garden gate
And ring your bell
And wait in place
Until the door opened
And there you were,
Scowling at my folly
To dare to come at all.
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I would try to tell you
That somewhere so deep
I have never found my way
I believe there is a rising rhythm
That makes things right.
I would offer you my sticks
And then I would put my arms
Behind my back, barely moving,
Clenching with a driving hope
That you know that
I don’t care
Really means
I never learned
Not to.

Animal Wednesday: Emily Rabbit & Camp Hop-A-Long

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Hello! It's me Emily. Here I am in the Clothesline race, which is where you try to be the first one to get from one end of the clothesline to the other. You have to wiggle and kick your feet and hope that the wind will help you but you can't count on that because everyone else gets the wind too.

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I think I am at an advantage because I can also wiggle my tail and maybe that will give me some extra speed.

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Anyway, if you are wondering what I am doing and why, it seems I ate too many jellybeans, chocolate pretzels, marshmallows, Hersey's kisses, Reeses' peanut butter cups and Christmas cookies over the holidays and I am not jumping through life in my regular jumpy fun way. I am not about to be one of those rabbits who has to waddle along in life.

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So when I saw that several of kj's friends are active and do physical things without complaining all the time about it, like Secret Aent Woman (who gave me this picture), and Lori and Mim, I signed up for Camp Hop-A-Long to get back in shape and have fun without it being too hard, and doesn't the Clothesline Race look okay for that? You can see that the bear is front of me obviously has had some gymnastics training and that is not fair but I think my kicking experience from temper tantrums and my tail may be a secret advantage.

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If I win, I get to tell everyone at Camp what to do for a whole day. Who wouldn't be motivated to win that?

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Next week I am going to try to write my guest column for Marion's blog, but not until I get back from Camp. Oh by the way, I am also practicing for skeet shooting, and don't you think I will win that FOR SURE? Nobody knows I have a Marshmallow Gun and I'm not telling.

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I asked if there was any competition at Camp Hop-A-Long for who could cry the longest or loudest but there isn't. That is not really right, since that is a good skill too, but sometimes you just have to make the best of things and then put your own unique footprint where ever and how ever you decide to.

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Have fun, I'm sending kj a postcard telling her not to touch my jellybeans until I get back.

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Sincerely,

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Emily Rabbit

My Crack Pot Friends

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Artwork by the ever talented and always wonderful Studio Lolo

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From time to time my older brother, who a cerebral and skeptical man, includes me his his group emails. Every once in a while he sends one that touches me for one reason or another.

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Here's one I am delighted to share. I won't be forgetting it anytime soon and I hope you won't either:

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An elderly Chinese woman had two large pots; each hung on the ends of a pole which she carried across her neck.
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One of the pots had a crack in it while the other pot was perfect and always delivered a full portion of water.
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At the end of the long walks from the stream to the house, the cracked pot arrived only half full.
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For a full two years this went on daily, with the woman bringing home only one and a half pots of water.
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Of course, the perfect pot was proud of its accomplishments.
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But the poor cracked pot was ashamed of its own imperfection, and miserable that it could only do half of what it had been made to do.
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After two years of what it perceived to be bitter failure, it spoke to the woman one day by the stream. "I am ashamed of myself, because this crack in my side causes water to leak out all the way back to your house."
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The old woman smiled, "Did you notice that there are flowers on your side of the path, but not on the other pot's side?"
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"That's because I have always known about your flaw, so I planted flower seeds on your side of the path, and every day while we walk back, you water them."
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"For two years I have been able to pick these beautiful flowers to decorate the table. Without you being just the way you are, there would not be this beauty to grace the house."
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Each of us has our own unique flaw. But it's the cracks and flaws we each have that make our lives together so very interesting and rewarding.
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You've just got to take each person for what they are and look for the good in them.
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So...to all of my crackpot friends, have a great day and remember to smell the flowers on your side of the path.

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Love ♥

kj

An Auspicious Day

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Mr. Ryan has turned 3.

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He celebrated his Birthday with his family,

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many of his closest friends,

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and a Thomas Cake.

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He chose not to wear a Birthday Hat

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but he did sit on the Birthday Throne.

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Meanwhile, Baby Drew on this same day

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got his Learner's Permit

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He may be driving a little erratically at first.

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Please be on the Look Out for him just in case.

Special Occasions

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Mr. Ryan is having a birthday party tomorrow. He is three, Baby Drew is 9 months, and their Grandmother--me--remembers the day and night their parents were married, like it was yesterday. This is not the best picture of Jess or me that day, but I think the look on my face says everything about how much I love this girl of mine.

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It was a grand wedding, one I wrestled with how so much money could be spent for one fleeting day: until the day began, and then I knew there could be no price on the memories. It was magnificent.

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I've spent a good part of today trying trying to clean up my home office. It is a huge task. In organizing my writing papers, I came across the speech I gave at Jess and Mike's wedding reception. I wrote this before I thought of myself as a real writer:

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Thank you all for being her tonight to celebrate with us. What a treat to meet Jess' coworkers, to get to know Mike's family and high school and college buddies, to see the faces of Jess' fantastic friends--some we've just about grown up with ourselves!--to have our own family and friends here with us.

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Tonight we are a community in this grand ballroom, and it doesn't get much better than sharing a moment like this with the special people in our lives.

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Jess was about eight months old when she said her first word. We were in the back seat of a friend's car when from nowhere she looked up, pointed to the roof, and clearly said 'light'. There is not a more fitting word than 'light' when I think about who Jess is and who she will always be. This girl lights up the world.

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When Jess was eight, I got a call at work telling me that she had had an accident at school and had been taken to the emergency room. I probably drove 90 miles an hour to get to her. I rushed into the ER and there she was--calmly sitting on a gurney, her leg in a cast, proudly displaying a pair of crutches. She held those crutches tightly in front of her, looked lovingly at them, smiled at me, and said, "I've waited my whole life for this...."

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Today is another day that you wait your whole life for. In Mike, Jess has found a guy she clearly and totally loves, and her loves her back. Our celebration tonight is about the power and the wonder of love.

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Mike, we welcome you into our family and we are thrilled that Jess is part of your family. We promise to keep our opinions to ourselves (most of the time) and to call before we visit.

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We hope you'll forgive us if we have an occasional lapse and every so often offer unsolicitious advice. Like, tonight...right now....

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There are two things I want to tell you both as your start your life together:

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First, protect each other. Go to bat for one another. Draw a circle around your relationship that provides a resting place and shelters you both from harm's way. No doubt you will sometimes take your frustrations on on each other, but every day let your actions confirm and reaffirm that no matter what, you will be there for each other.

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Second, keep your feet firmly in the present moment. Avoid getting too caught up in trying to correct the past or plan for the future because when you do that, you can too easily miss the sound of crickets in the grass or the kind gesture of a good friend or total stranger.

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It's important to have and pursue goals, but you should know that the present moment is truly all there is. It can take a lifetime to learn this the hard way, so I hope you guys don't miss too many moments of your life together.

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Jess & Mike: it is written that when children find true love, parents find true joy. Here's to your joy and ours, from this day forward.

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And from this moment forward, it's time to party!

What You Might Not Know About Haiti

Photos from Time Magazine


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The lines on her face and hands defied the way she walked toward me, eager and snappy, happy to take my hands in hers, thanking me for coming. She wanted to know if I could help her market her idea in America. We sat in a back booth at the S & S Deli in Porter Square and this is the the story I heard from her:
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I was 65 years old, a retired Nurse when I first came to Haiti. I’m older now than you would think. I’ll be 72 next month. I intended to stay one year working in a health clinic. I did not expect the level of poverty to be so massive, so commonplace. Unemployment is almost 80%. It cost $ 40 to send a child to school for a year and most families could not conceive of ever having that much. The poverty is so deep you almost cannot believe it.

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First I started a library, thinking that this could encourage reading skills. Then an education initiative to send children to school, then a family-planning clinic, and then a very successful micro-lending program to help local farmers buy tools and supplies.

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But one of the best things is the Cooperative d'Artisanat--the Sewing Cooperative. I went to Haiti to do my nursing thing for a year, and then I was supposed to come home and sit in a rocking chair and say that I'd done my bit for the Third World. That's not what happened.

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"I met these women who just wanted to send their children to school. They had so little but boy could they sew. So we started a cooperative, sewing and embroidering linens, napkins, tablecloths. Some knitting too: the most beautiful baby hats and sweaters and socks. I started looking for places in the States that would buy what our cooperative made. Pretty soon we had twenty women, most would walk ten or more miles at a time to drop off what they had done and pick up new materials. There's no stopping them now. "

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Sarah Hackett is no stranger to adversity: widowed in her 30s with four children to raise, she learned to pull herself up by her own bootstraps.

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How many years has it been since I sat with her that day at the S & S and her eyes glistened and her hands danced in midair when she talked about these wonderful Haitian women? I remember her so clearly: her face and smile so passionate, kind, determined. I wonder how she is today, how the now fifty-strongwomen of the Cooperative d'Artisianat are today, they in their country that has blown apart.
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A Book Begins...

With inspiration all around me, I wrote for the better part of last weekend, knowing that I have earnestly (finally) started writing my next book. The characters and plot will be presented through brief scenes that sometimes will and sometimes will not tie together.

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I am very excited. That's a good sign.
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Back When

“Mom, what was I like?” I braced myself on her kitchen counter.

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“You were tough,” she said. “You wouldn’t take no for an answer. And your brother had such a hard time. You didn’t help me.”
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"But Mom, I was only five."

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She paused for a moment, weighed this. “That’s true,” she said.

Angelina

The daycare door has glass of both sides of it and every time, the therapist stands there waiting until the child sees her. Every time their eyes run to one another before that wide smile and little feet reach the woman and she is scooped up, laughing. They are jubilant. They walk to the room between rooms where once or twice each week others pass through while they play and while they play they talk about bad things that should not have happened. She is only four, no, she is finally five—a birthday party with her foster family the week after Christmas. . She asks the therapist why she did not come. She answers she was away, tells her next year she will try.

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For Christmas the therapist gave her a magic wand to shoo the monsters away, although she has to say ‘Go way Monsters!’ out loud for it to work, and the therapist taught her a song to use in the long moments, when she is kidnapped again, this time by the truth that her mother has left her, will not be returning, that the bedtime game her uncle and aunt taught her was oddly not right, when her mind and body intersect at the stillpoint where she is really alone.

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There is really no one, not in the way it should be for her. She will turn fourteen in bewilderment, probably open wide at the wrong times for the wrong reasons, the wrong people. There is no way around that. The therapist and the child swing their hands together and walk back to her classroom. The therapist helps her put words to it, washes her in love. It’s not enough, She has the wand and the song, she needs them, and of course the love counts. But she is only five. A week ago she was only four, and now she is only five..

Catherine
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I told Catherine she sounded heartless and she laughed.
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“I’ve been told that before,” she said.
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I stopped trusting her then and there but it was much longer before I stopped loving her. And when I did stop loving her, I rearranged the furniture so the love that had been a rattan rocker was replaced by a light weight folding chair, just in case she decided to stop by and stop laughing.

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How It Ends

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It wasn’t normal for Paul to answer first, but it was right because he was better braced, more able.
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“Matthew called”, the woman said. “He has a gun, at the Motel 6. He told me to tell you he’s sorry, that he loves you.”

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In January they stood freezing in the parking lot for 90 minutes, until the slow gait of the Police Chief told them. “He’s gone,” he said.

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And with that, a mother and father, imperfect and frightened for the better part of 18 years, stopped answering their phone and canceled all holidays. They revised their memories and forfeited their capital.

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And on the afternoon when the headlights finally blinded them, compromised by wind and rain on Route 16, they were ready.

Animal Wednesday: My Year in Review by Emily Rabbit

Hello Everyone, It's me, Emily.

I thought I would do what kj did and

look back at the year and maybe even further back.

This is me, by Sonia

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I made a mistake in the way I am showing you these pictures so I don't know what this is going to look like and I hope I don't have to do it again because I would rather be practicing shooting my marshmallow-now-Brussels sprouts gun which has been a lot of fun and I am going through Brussels Sprouts like you wouldn't believe. I shoot them in the open windows of kj's neighbors.

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Anyway, in case anybody forgot or never knew, here is a picture of my house and where I am supposed to live if I didn't spend so much time with kj and JB.
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And look at this picture of ME drawn by SONIA, who is kj's friend and who I am positive would be fun to get in trouble with and to take trips in the car driving fast with the top down. Sonia and I have tattoos and we are both very fun. My mother doesn't know.

Maybe this is the first story I ever did--I can't remember but I do remember what my tail felt like when I used that hairdryer. Now I just jump up and down and shake my tail until it is dry and sometimes I use kj's towel and roll in it with my legs in the air for as long as I want to.

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Have you ever done that because it is the most fun.

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So who remembers about my Uncle Bunny and his friend Janis Joplin? Sometimes Uncle Bunny chokes up when he talks about her because he says she would have been happier as a crazy rabbit singing Me & Bunny McGee.

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In 2009 Uncle Bunny opened a pellet company in Cleveland. I went with him once and it was mostly okay except that he was stricter than kj so I didn't get to sneak out as much.

Oh and I lost my money last year instead of doubling it and even though I wrote this letter asking for it back I never got it and kj says I should wait and see what happens, that maybe I will get some of what I lost back but that is not the same as doubling it so no matter how you look at it this was a shame for me even though it was not my fault.

I spent a lot of my summer in Provincetown with Muck, Truck, & F___ Duck. (kj is censoring my blog).

We bobbed in the ocean every day and I told kj if she bobbed every day for one month she would never worry about anything, because when you bob and you just lie there and relax the last thing in the world you would

want to do is worry. You should try it. I'm not sure it works in the bathtub so I recommend a lake or ocean.

So let me tell you about kj's job. Here we are on a street that looks very .nice but if you were here at night when it is dark you shouldn't be because I heard kj say that sometimes there are gunshots at night, not every night but who wants to be having fun on the sidewalk and worry about bang!notfair!

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But mostly kj drives all over town without a worry. She sees grownups in their homes and kids in their homes or schools or daycare places. Every 50 minutes or so, kj is off to another place and she likes all that variety and change so I go along for the ride sometimes. You might be wondering why I am wearing my purple bikini in this picture. Well, even though it was warm enough it was not a good idea. kj said it is never a good idea to walk around town in your bikini because it might give someone the wrong idea, I think she means that someone might think you have bad taste in bathing suits. So if you didn't already know, it is probably wise not to walk anywhere except the beach in your bikini no matter what color it is. I hope this advice helps you.

. Do you believe in dragons? Do you know any? I can't remember why I took this picture but I do remember being surprised about the red high heels. How can a dragon walk in red high heels, not because they're red but because they're high. Anyway, as you can see I have a lot of different friends--not just rabbits like myself. I think it is good to stir things up and not live life like you are looking in a mirror, right? So do you believe in dragons? Do know any? Because you should.

Ms. Lololo painted this of me looking JUBILANT. This is exactly how I look when I get my own way, eat all the jellybeans I want, roll down hills, shoot my new marshmallow gun, laugh so hard I fall to the ground, and kick my feet in the air just for the heck of it. This is how I look when I am happy, when I play, when someone is nice to me, when I am right and everyone knows it. This is what JUBILANT looks like. Do you recognize it?

HAHAHA! Here I am pretending to be Emily Guru. Don't ask me what that weird purple smudge is because that happened mysteriously and if I start thinking about it I will get scared and I don't want to because I am having fun being JUBILANT right now. I can't tell you anything about Budda Bunny because I am too little to know, but I think it has something to do with being smart enough to stop worrying and play instead.
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Oh! This! Remember when I got arrested? How I had to stay in jail until kj came with my bail out money and then I was in trouble even though none of this was my fault? I think I would have been okay if there had not been broken bones involved on a child but I didn't not mean to kick her while I was crying from my stomach and kicking my feet in the air and I still wonder why the police did not arrest her instead for walking in front of me while I was on the floor. And it was not my fault that the church people got mad at me for trying to sell multi colored pellets, okay, maybe I shouldn't have said they were jellybeans.

I am the worse best friend this one time because can you believe I forgot to include my best friend Marianne's painting of me and she had to remind me about it from Cairo where she is lying at the pool in the sun drinking fancy drinks that probably make her giggle by the time she's ready for lunch. Marianne paints mandalas and she painted me in one, looking like an angel, don't you think? Everyone should have a best friend like Marianne to get in trouble with.

And finally, in this new year of 2010, I Emily V. V. Rabbit wish everyone a happy silly & who-cares life all year. Thank you for being nice to me most of the time and for sticking up for me about getting paid. I will soon be a guest blogger on Marion's blog and I have permission to swear if I need to.

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Yours Truly, Hoppy New Year,

Your Friend Emily

The Year in Review: Part 2

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There is once again no order to these snippets of my 2009. This is more my exterior landscape than my interior one (Be still my heart!) but I have to say I like looking back in this way. It leaves me feeling hopeful, as if nothing was as bad as I might have thought.
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We are emptying the house my Mother and Father lived in for 56 years. My father and his father built the six room ranch I grew up in with their own hands and my Mother lived in it alone until three years ago. It has sat empty until now, because we couldn't bear to confirm to her that she cannot live there anymore. But now it is time. Most of the furniture and belongings are old and will be discarded, but I am determined to find homes for each of her china cups and saucers. I'll take eight myself and I'm giving the rest to special people who want them.

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This incredible quilt arrived in the mail one day last year, totally unexpectedly, It was uncanny because it is the most beautiful greens and browns for my new granbaby Baby Drew, who's bedroom happens to be green and brown. . No picture could do justice to the love and skill put into every stitch. I didn't know at the time that the maker (artist) and sender of this baby gift would this year be confirmed as a friend I want to hold on to for life. MIM. What an act of kindness. And what a treasured piece of art. ♥

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Mr. Ryan spends some weekends here at # 9 with his grandmothers Gram (me) and BB (JB). We are exhausted to the bones by the time we return him to his parents, but manohman is he fun. Mostly everyone knows that there is something special between grandchildren and grandparents, but for the life of me I can't put my finger on it. Partially, it's just so easy to PLAY.

And there are things I want to teach him, at a time I (finally) feel wise enough within myself. Mr. Ryan turned 3 last Sunday. His party is next Sunday. He is an Angelboy.

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How often do you look at the sky? What is the metaphor around the fact that the clouds do not, cannot stay still? Can you imagine what would happen if they refused to move? There would an interplanetary face off explosion. Better to flow: a painful lesson for me in 2009 but one I hope will treat me gently and serve me well in the years ahead.

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This little girl believed in the Easter Bunny and believed in all things 'yes'. When she grew up she learned about boundaries and betrayals and beginnings and bottlenecks, but she still chases 'yes' whenever she can.
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And this little girl has finally settled into the life she deserved all along.
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If you were 2 and you had your own flashlight and you wanted to see how it looked in the dark except it was early morning and there was no dark to be found, how clever would you be to figure out a solution, right there in the back hall?
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For some time last year I was lost and forlorn and my friends Heather and Gordon cared for me for the weekend. So did Marsha and Norm. And Lolo. My friends were lifesavers in 2009. They listened, they listened, they listened. They fed me. They told me I'd be fine. They told me it was not my fault. God and the Goddess were wise to create friends. The planets would not spin so evenly without them.

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I love Seattle, but I couldn't live there because of the too often grey skies and too often drizzle rain. Still, the architecture and energy of the city is really great. This is the city Market Place: food, fruit, fish, fresh vegetables, flowers, and plenty of funky tee shirts.

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My View from the kitchen sink.

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All year I kept asking myself, 'How much love can a heart hold?' I started wondering if I was playing with fire by believing that love is unlimited, that it will exist whether you want it to or not. But every so often someone (or some two) would remind me that what I believe to be true is true: love is unlimited. This is my Jess and her Baby Drew. No limit no way no how.

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What a thrill to see my book in this bookstore window for the first time. 'The Light Stays On' was released in December 08 so last year was a year of relishing being a published author. There was a book reading in Provincetown that was a little unexpectedly dicey (hee hee) but what a wonderful trip it's all been. Maybe in 2010 I will hire a Publicist and give this book it's due, promotion wise. (Thank you so much to everyone who's read and supported it. I am very very grateful.)

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And finally: kjbabe's First Annual Sex Survey. This was the year I got healthy (okay, healthIER) about sex. If you haven't seen the results and responses of this survey, and you are interested in who thinks and who does what, this is not to be missed. It's in my archives. I'll find the link if anybody's interested but you have to ask. :)
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2009 was quite a year. Actually, one way or another, every year is, don't you think? But I've heard quite a few people say a fast and furious goodbye to 2009, anticipating a much happier and easier 2010. I shouldn't end with a political statement since my blog is not political, but 2009 also saw the end of George W. Bush and a very uncurious presidency. According to strictly me, that might count for something hopeful all by itself.

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Love

kj ♥

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The Mystic

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I spent this weekend with eleven other writers and songwriters, all of us in the living room of a Big Yellow House where each morning and afternoon we would write for an hour and then share our work aloud. The feedback follows the path of "writing it up in the garden"--we are seedlings so we offer encouragement to one another gently with plenty of sunlight and nourishment.

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The following poem was written by another resident of the Big Yellow: a man named Mike Bigner. I came across it yesterday in Nerissa Nields' dining room and when I read it I thought, 'Oh my God, it's about Renee..."

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Why do I say this? Because I don't know anyone, past or present, has done more to teach people how to live than Renee. She is a Senior Angel. I'm telling you, that's the truth. (I'm sorry I'm not offering a link to Renee, in case you don't already know her blog, but it's been my experience that Senior Angels are not too hard to find.)

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A Novel in a Paragraph.

I have been working on writing stand alone paragraphs that are complete stories in themselves--kind of a novel in a paragraph. One of these days I may label them here because this "vehicle" may be the framework and direction of my second book. It forces me to make every word count, to create a picture and tell a story that can't afford to beat around the bush.

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Exit

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Catherine's voice ricocheted off two inch thick glass. "I need someone to match my passion and fire. I know I can't replace you."

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It took her the better part of two months, but replace me she did. Twice.