Sunday, February 20, 2011

A Nearly Perfect Sunday

A nearly perfect Sunday looks like blue sky sunshine after a week of stormy drizzle, cold enough for jeans but warm enough to sit out in the old cemetery with your iced coffee and ginger scone listening to your honey-pie's sweet voice mingle with the birdsong. Fancy footwork through the muddy paths and dewy morning grasses.

A nearly perfect February Sunday looks like streets rinsed clean and shiny, like windows opened up, dirt being swept down the steps, the comforter draped over the shrubbery outside. Four stacks of paperbacks on the sidewalk. It looks like air touches everything.

It looks like three writers at a coffee shop sharing their momentum with each other. Only writers could call it a submitting party, on a Sunday so nearly perfect because you release some stories from your lap-top, get a sore back from so much writing.

A nearly perfect Sunday smells of smoked Gouda and steamed broccoli and pine-fresh hardwood floors. It's the hot shower waiting at the end of the day.

It's the memory of what makes you cry, what made you cry just last night, and the shock of coming home and finding nearly all the books gone from the sidewalk, four stacks of paperbacks gone, given away, working their way now into other people's lives, hearts.

Saturday, February 12, 2011

Clearly Beloved

Copy and Paste the link below to see my new cover story in this week's Bohemian :)

I had so much fun researching this piece--got to interview some savvy therapists, dear friends, and other people who just stumbled into my path. Also got to revisit Elizabeth Gilbert in her new book "Committed" which, I must admit, is quite good. All in all, a very satisfying way to bring in a few extra bucks.

And now, on this gorgeous Saturday afternoon, I'm heading down to the city for my good friend Raina's bridal shower. I was just reminiscing about the first time we ever hung out, a good seven years ago, at the Russian River Brewery. I cracked her up by ordering a root beer. I'm grateful that some things never change.

Saturday, February 5, 2011


I have the house to myself this weekend, for the first time in months.

And though I love the company of my husband, there is something luxurious about waking up, making tea and eggs, firing up the heat and opening up the blinds, in complete silence. I will read on the couch in the slant of sunlight. I might brave the local pool for an hour of laps. Or bike to the park with a journal and an apple in my backpack.

On this lovely Saturday, hours spreading their wings before me, I have no real plans other than to seek stillness in my solitude.