Monthly Archives: August 2010

Things I am trying.

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Last week I told you about my moment of straight-across peace to unsubscribe from unnecessary emails. Well, this week K. Sue has taught me to remember that you should continue to challenge yourself, always. She has always used the mouse of her computer with her left hand (as her mother is left handed.) I have always found this interesting, and with the office to myself this week, I was looking for ways to challenge what I do. Since it’s summer, and the office is a little slower than normal, I started working my left hand. How’s it going? Slow. I keep trying to grab the mouse with my right hand. It takes me longer to edit in Photoshop. It makes my arm hurt (who knew you were using so much muscle when using the mouse?) and it makes my fingers confused. But: I am doing it. And I am fidgeting less. Do I really need to click between my windows? Or am I just doing it because it’s easy? How badly do I need to check my myriad of websites I normally check? I find myself only doing things that are actually important. A return to focus, if you will. Exactly what I needed.

Will you try to use your left hand for your mouse for one week, and tell me how it goes?

Neighbor, best friend.

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Plinky Prompt: Write a 10-line poem about your neighbor. Too good to pass up.

“We’re neighbors” is how the conversation starts.
“More like family, really” is what we silently say.
In the chip aisle, we are eye to eye
contemplating options, of the corn and marriage variety.

Sharing clothes, advice, food, hearts, minds.
Having moments of clarity
and moments of, “what the fuck am I doing here?”
and moments that are perfect, and will always, always be calm.

she is my LA good feeling, my summer wind, lightly falling across my heart.
and always, I will ask her for a cup of sugar (or coffee.) always.

How pointless life could be, what a foolish business…

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…of inventing things to love, just so you could dread losing them.

Prodigal Summer = done.

Thank you, Barbara, for once again stealing my heart, breaking it just a little, putting it back together, and making me want to quit everything and become a farmer.

I will always love what you have given this world.

This weekend was:

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Sunshine. Scrambled eggs. My favorite girls. Tunes in my kitchen. Yoga at the gym. “Oh, we’re subleasing.” Downward facing dog. Triangle. Airplane. Walking home in the sunshine. Packing for the beach. Books, towels, blankets, pizza. Sun. In the car, tunes up, windows down, friends surrounding friends. Busy beach, moving on, quiet beach. Laughing so hard you cry. Sun. Blanket spread, friends arriving. “These are my friends from high school.” Loving getting to say that, over and over again. Explaining how we’re all friends. Running in the water. Video taping it. K, B, and I in the water. Getting tossed out of the ocean by the waves. Bruises from the sea [no, thank you, you are not admitted.] Laying out. Showers on the beach. Wedding on the beach. Reading on the beach. Sleeping on the beach. Bleachers on the beach. Nerf football. Chattering away at each other. Birthday wishes. Sun going down, lifeguards arriving. Young lifeguards. Time to leave. Packing it up, in, and out. Changing, laughing, sun dipping. Pictures. Two cars, four girls, makeup on. Smiles, oohs and ahhs, pictures. Camera on timer, on the car. Friendly passerby shooting our smiles, or glances at the sea, and the helicopter. Dinner. Fancy restaurant, by the sea. Seated, by the kitchen. A bottle of wine. New friends, old friends. Seafood, Alfredo. Mud Pie. Laughing, laughing. Smiles. Stories, long and short. Hugs, mints flavored like sugar, and hugs. Valet cars, and home. Traffic. Life stories, on the streets of LA, through the night, to home. Rent. Rent checks. Back in the car. More life stories, because the traffic in LA is never light, and the load on your heart is never lifted.

Sleep. Wake.

Bikes. Farmer’s market. Is that man dead? No, I think no. Garlic, and so large it is. Peaches, because they are too good to resist. Sunshine on my shoulders, bike grease on my hands. “Do you always get this much stuff” because the bag was so heavy. 5 ears of corn. Ride home, dead man walking, dead man gone. Sun. Home. K and M home, too. Some water, some rest. Clean the kitchen — more guests coming. avocado brie toast. Clean out the cooler. Thank you, K. Onto the Grove, for movies. Missed movie…Crate and Barrel. Wanting to own every piece of furniture. “Where do you send your samples?” and Barbara. Loving everything. Teeny spoon. Too late again, fourth row? A fourth friend. Seated two by two, laughing inappropriate loud throughout — parts funny, and not. Movie over, 6:40. Just like she said.

Home, change, borrow clothes, Corelyn you’re a saint. Pink Taco. For five. At eight. No, for three. At eight thirty. Slowly back to five…friends, stories, epic stories, family trees, timelines. Tahiti. Not going to Tahiti. Ever. It’s a volcano. So many tacos, so good. Sangria, by the pitcher, because we can. Dark atmosphere, light hearts.

Outside. Dark. 10:00. Photographs on the stairs, by the blue wall. Jumping, jumping high fives, band photos. I am the lead singer. Smiles, not smiles, advertisements for who knows what. “Remember when we had a band?” “Oh, you mean Frost?” Because I had forgotten we named it. “Just kiss her.” More photos. Tree lights, Jeff lying on the ground, photos. Mannequins, poses, smiles, laughing. “You know what would be a great shot?” Three cameras. 11:02. Let’s get out of here, Diddy Riese.

Diddy Riese. Short line. Share a sandwich, taste all three. More laughs, more smiles. 11:48. “Would you like to be in our short documentary?” Are you sleep deprived? Yes, right now. Laughs, chats. Snapped Achilles? Interesting story. Visual journalism. So, so nice to meet you, good luck. 12:00. In the car, home. 12:20. Best. Weekend. Ever.