One of my favorite things to do here, in a growing list of favorite things to do here, is walk (and sit, and read, and watch and write). I walk to the beach, I walk to the park, I walk to the bay, to the wharf, to the Ferry Building, to the Italian neighborhood, to…
Category: Dear Diary
Pay Attention to What Now?
Late last night, just before bed, I nearly broke my brain. The tweet from the poet Rasha Abdulhadi read, “Right now, in this moment, you can’t fake where your heart is. Pay attention to that.” Based on other tweets, I believe Abdulhadi was talking about where one’s heart is in relation to current global politics,…
Rainy Day Blues
The morning rain slants against the living room window. Seagulls fly above the houses arcing and floating in the blustery wind. Ever since listening to an interview with the philosopher-poet David Whyte, I’ve been turning over in my mind this coin of an idea that we’re all dancing towards our own disappearance. Last night I…
Let’s Grab a Beer and Talk about our Day
The psyche knows these seasons. The mind and heart know the ache of April. Two or three nights ago I dreamed I saw an ex (the one that lives out here). She was getting on a crowded elevator. I was already standing in the back of the elevator. She was clenched-teeth pissed at me and…
Writing This Is Boring
This morning I woke up early-ish. Not when my alarm went off, but shortly after. Honestly, I’m not sure I set my alarm. I’m trying to re-establish routines and habits that will facilitate writing or reading or whatever. This is me trying to be a bit more serious about my “craft” and also trying not…
Welcoming the Rain: A Reminder to Try Softer
A soft rain falls in the morning gray. I’ve been looking forward to this. Yesterday, in anticipation of a rainy day, I bought a large can of whole, peeled tomatoes, some tomato paste, a box of pasta, some pancetta and two packages of meat, along with a long, thin French baguette. This afternoon I’ll slow…
In the Middle of Reading, I Stop to Brush My Teeth
At a section break in an essay on composite poems, and because I had just finished my morning coffee, I stopped reading and got up to brush my teeth. Because I had just finished my coffee, I first took the mug into the kitchen where instead of brushing my teeth (which is why I got…
April Urges
Perhaps it was the springtime pagan fertility vibes of Easter. Perhaps it was the beginning of a new month. Perhaps it was because April is National Poetry Month. Perhaps it was the odd coincidence that on Sunday (3/31) I used up the very last page in my writing journal – which, when I looked back,…
I Go to Re-shelve a Book
My mind, doing what my mind does, swung from idea to idea without landing on anything. I had just finished reading a short piece, “Old Immortality,” by the poet Mary Ruefle. It’s a story about the Earl of Staffordshire who wanted to be a writer, but instead of self-publishing his book, he had it inscribed…
Reading Poetry (Again)
I’ve been reading poetry again. Reading poetry always sets my mind abuzz about words and purpose and human connection and stories. I’m not sure if it was intentional, but the last few books that I’ve leaned into (My Private Property by Mary Ruefle, Death Prefers the Minor Keys by Sean Thomas Dougherty, and Winter’s Journey…
Walking with Your Tribe (Second Edition)
The other day, I read a blog post about the first nice, spring-like day in Paris (this year). The writer chronicled her day which mirrors a lot of my days. She grabbed a chocolate croissant and sat on a green, wooden bench where she watched the pigeons gather at her feet waiting for crumbs. She…
There’s Also this Other Side
I frequently write about life’s complexities: the minor keys and sepia hues of memory, the spaces between belonging and solitude, the subtle art of letting go with one hand what we hold tightly with the other. Sometimes, I wonder if I present (at least in this space) as a dour and sour malcontent who uses…