Sage on the mountainside.

i can tell you this.

i’d never hangout on the top of a mountain. that seems fraught with peril. i’d much rather a small cabin tucked into a nook for safekeeping, with herbs hanging from the rafters and birds that are my friends and some predators that have adopted me and protect me while i sleep.

visitors get to sleep by the fire.

so thats one thing. one thing of all the things i could tell you . so many.

when i went out to clean the chicken coop i discovered one of my hens had died in the night. and its possible she was bonked to death by the several roosters (4) that i have. but i am sad. and after disposing of her in respectful ways, i didn’t really feel like diving into chicken poop anymore.  so the wild springclean has slipped down the list.

but i’ve torn the plastic off a single window and opened it.  ( i am not willing to commit to the plastic-free windows til we are past the frost date because sheesh, frosty toes are bad.)

i was barefoot today.

Still am.

Another thing is this:

I’m lonely, true. But I am so happy that I am not dead, and that I am not still struggling to find my way in that relationship.

Another thing is this:  even with a jackass for president, the world is still indescribably beautiful, and we should all be working for peace in the whole of it.

If this means shunning gun manufacturers or right wingers who think hurting someone is okay, then i’m allright with the shun.  both the silent and the vociferous.

Let’s find out who they are. yeah?

and another thing:  i have organized three whole bookshelves for myself.  and this, in a room that once held all the books of the world, three, for me. only me. all my books. well, hells bells, not all. but comeon, i’m making a point.  there is Poetry, there is ART, there is serious fiction and then there is fantasy fiction, because i love a good swashbuckle with magic, and maybe a dwarf.

its kind of thrilling. and it felt really nice to do for myself.  amidst the dozen popup books, and the christmas collection and the riordans and the nonfictions, there they sit… my three shelves… the kids won’t even notice, but that was my saturday gift to myself. a little mom in the mayhem.

Maybe not trekking up to the top of the mountain will give peace to the seekers.  That would be nice.  I can make soup? Come visit.

#sageonthemountain Slow Down Be present. Take it all in.



Type 9, maybe 6, probably more.

been reading a bit about enneagram personality types lately.  i’m slow on work for the next two weeks or so and i’ll have too much time to fill.  i know, i should be so much more appreciative of this time, but i struggle with how to fill it in a way that feels productive, and no, the presents are still not wrapped.  so, i’m reading here and there. and sometimes a thing gets wrapped. it’ll all get done.

so the thing about personality types, and myself, in general… i’m way bigger than they are. way.  we all are.  but, as i’ve been reading, i’ve been seeing a clear arrow to what is mine, well, more than one clear arrow.  but i’m certain, for sure, what is not mine.

sometimes the work happens even in that tiny deciding… i may be this, but i KNOW i ain’t that.

and how can i use this information to investigate my own patterns…. how?  i think i’m a 9, as far as this system goes, I know i’m not a 3, and I know i’m only parts of 6.  I’m working my way forward…

and i don’t think i’ll lay down any bricks around my number, i’m not moving in… but thinking about myself in the abstract is a damn good exercise. because its pretty damn easy for me not to, at all, in the frenzy of kid-rearing and house maintenance.  I’ll take my pieces of recognition and run off. offt.

there’s a lot about how you saw yourself as a kid here, and i was both fear-oriented at times, and felt overlooked at others. (sometimes happily… middle child shenanigans) …

i’m still pretty fear-oriented and i did feel surprise at realizing that… how to watch people, find out what is going to happen by watching body language and knowing patterns in other people and do everything possible to mitigate something that hasn’t even happened yet.

i used to hide from my angry dad under the piano. it was a terrible hiding place, totally ineffective.  i used to wait for my alcoholic spouse, and watch him get out of the car to see how much he’d had to drink before he came into the kitchen. I was always, always right. The commonality between the two experiences has blown my mind a little. ‘wait til your father gets home’… takes on a new level of weight.

there is so much here, and spending time and consideration on thinking about myself could possibly be helpful as i move on ahead in my life.


my dad would call in navel-gazing.   i love him a lot. did, do, all that. i, evidently, also love my navel.


out of order text on persons belly
Not my belly. but pretty damn fitting.  Photo by Kat Jayne on   

Its always there though.

and ultimately, we, who are as important as the trees, we just need to open up to it.

I wrote this in response to a gorgeous list my friend Heather made, of what she needs to be in the beauty of her moments…have since added and expanded… like Heather’s babe in belly… swelling in potential every day…

What do I need to be receptive to the beauty around me?

*ground..dirt and warmth of sunlight…

*quiet, strainfree time to ‘not listen’ but just be…


*hands at the small of my back, of any size, age or gender…

*variety…of color,shape, texture, action…

*green… proof of something growing and changing…

*my people…my kids, my laugh-makers…

*bare hardwood floors…

*words, fluid…


*schedulefree time…

*a story I can’t wait to get back to…

*someone to check on me…

*windy days, to remind me how connected I am to whats happening out there….

*curiosity about some distinct thing, a man, an issue, a color…

*a list.



Heather has a group she’s starting once she has her babe in arms, and once I check in with her that she wants it broadcast further, I’ll tell you about it.  I imagine being in her arms for a group would feel like coming home.  Its called Tether and Tend... which just makes me want to roll around on velvet.


red and orange maple leaves on tree
Photo by Dariusz Grosa on
Humanity, Uncategorized

What’s the point?

Whats the point of blogging? Why do we do it? Why do we read it?  If I’m imagining that people who read here are essentially other women bloggers… what are we doing?

what about dad bloggers? is that a thing? is there no fun acronym for you? SEAL… Secretive Educated And Literate?  thats lame… Nachoaveragedad? n.a.d.?

i don’t just read parents, of course. i like to read book reviews, and national geographic type educational worldviews, etc. I haven’t really figured out the wordpress way to gather the things i read together to share, it seems the preference is geared towards wordpress-hosted sites, and i haven’t been here long enough to be firmly kitted out.

I’m still being influenced by Kerry’s book, obviously to me.  Her blog is over at PickleMeThis… wicked smart and often bookish… said lovingly.

I’m sort of making it a goal to share people and places I like a lot more often. Last week it was Hannah and now we have Kerry. I smile because of them. and think. millions of dollars, that is worth…

i think i know, for myself, that i’m seeking connections here, that i’m practicing my practice of daily writing, and that i’m trying to sort things out.  and why a public practice?  I don’t really know, and perhaps I am further cliched in being a sign of my times… needing the responsiveness of the universe.  even when i’m not getting comments, i’m getting emails, and mailings and so forth…

I’m always curious how other people do it.  How does Kerry walk around between readings? How does she have time for all those books?  How does Hannah walk around between coaching sessions? How does she handle her own one wild life?

I certainly don’t know how i handle my one wild life.  I’m in it, slogging and staring out the window, feeling scared and overwhelmed, brittle and supple at times, sexy and manky all at once. all the things, all the things.  a multitude.

all the things i feel are allowed here, organized or not. and i am really grateful that i’ve had the outlet. in my marriage it was a secret code to share my unhappiness and i’m not even sure i completely understood how much I needed it.

1004180811_hdrand now? CONNECTION .

so, there is more, there is always more. and i’m going to think it and feel it and and you’ll see it as i work through it… because its a connection…





Curiosity and self-doubt, y’all

i’ve been feeling a part of a larger community with all this woman-centered motion lately, and there’s no better expression of that than tacking a y’all onto things… its lets us know we’re all one big body of finger-licking, mistake-making, funny-looking bodies in a huge, messy pile.

spent the morning talking about the difference between credit cards and debit cards. and how you pay for the pleasure of borrowing . also told my oldest to start asking me questions about babies and sex, because people i knew were having babies at his age.  he wasn’t altogether thrilled with me.  it was very interesting. my boys and daughter are in for a wild ride with me, and i can’t help think i’m in for as much of a wild ride as they are…

been reading a novel by an online friend lately, and the main character has been reading ‘to the lighthouse’ and the whole damn thing is freaking me out.  one, anything virginia woolf is a completely mind-bending read, and its time for me to get my beaten up copy out in plain sight, again.  two, i am finding so much in it that is familiar and FAMILIAR, goddamnit.  i think i’ll be really sad to think i’m a cliche, and i am righteously on the path today….  the smart, sharp-witted, blog-writing stay at home mom, who keeps secrets from her social life…wait, what? i exist in print? FUG.

guys, i haven’t even finished it yet. anything could happen. maybe its not me. maybe i’ll win a million dollars.

sheesh, my god. its so familiar.  and i’m so impressed that my online friend has done it, put it together, molded a story and a character that is causing a reaction in me.  how amazing is that. little black squiggles on the page lead me to discomfort and challenge my self-identity and self-value.

09251814461truly, now, these things have been going on for awhile and i’m not saying that Kerry Clare’s novel, Mitzi Bytes, has sent me into a talespin all on its own merits, which are plenty.  And i am not saying I AM her main character, as i’ve  not been hiding in dumb waiters lately and anybody who wants to know can find out that i write online. i mean, anybody.

and quite a few of the people who know cannot be bothered to check it out anyhow.

why is that? if i knew someone i liked wrote every day, i’d probably go look at it, and if i liked it, i’d probably do that fairly often… but nope. hmm. huh.

different strokes.

different levels of curiosity.  like, why curious, and then curiosity? why drop the u? i’ll never know, and i’ll be driven mad each and every time i type it.

i’m so curious about people.  how their inner worlds look… if they find ways to express what is going on in there… writing is one of those things i think… also humor.. artistic expression, movement…

some people have the gift of such groundedness that they can speak their own expression.   isn’t that crazy to imagine?

if any of my kids ever write or create or express themselves, i’ll be so thrilled to get those glimpses of them… such little glimpses in… i surely hope they feel the desire to share…





love you.