It was a sunny spring day like today.
A Memorial Day like today that mom died.
It was five am the call came in and I will forever be grateful
to the hospice woman sitting with her
collected her things
glasses no one would need again.
The call came in and I was ready,
prepared by a dream of mom saying goodbye.
I woke sister up. She had been prepared, too. A dream.
Mom’s phone call on the way out of town,
just like she always did when leaving on a trip
even though we’ve lived a thousand miles away or more
and we didn’t talk all that often.
To have one of those calls back,
maybe one when I was annoyed at her calling
out of the blue.
I know she was in Arizona when daughter was born.
She always loved the Southwest.
I think she saw it through Frank Lloyd Wright’s eyes.
She lives through daughter. Granddaughter.
Finally the grandmother she wanted to be.
Playing here, on the sunny spring porch.
Sorrowed turned to joy.
"How do I stay open to your shefa? Help me release my old patterns."
Chillvaquero talks to G-d
“I am incapable of conceiving infinity; and yet I do not accept infinity. I want this adventure that is the context of my life to go on without end. I love young people: I want our species to go on in them and I want them to have a better life.”
~Simone de Beauvoir from The Coming of Age
photo by Aya Padrón / Flickr, cc by-nc-nd 2.0
My candle burns at both ends;
It will not last the night;
But ah, my foes, and oh, my friends—
It gives a lovely light!
Edna St. Vincent Millay
"The light belies the bony solidity of the land, playing over it like emotion on a face, and in this the desert is intensely alive, as the apparent mood of mountains changes hourly, as places that are flat and stark at noon fill with shadows and mystery in the evening, as darkness becomes a reservoir from with the eyes drink, as clouds promise rain that comes like passion and leaves like redemption, rain that delivers itself with thunder, with lightning, with a rise of scents in this place so pure that moisture, dust, and the various bushes all have their own smell in the sudden humidity."
A Field Guide to Getting Lost - Rebecca Solnit
Fancy iced teas in faraway places make me happy.
Sometimes, cool things come in the mail.
Rainy day commuting blues
"(now the ears of my ears awake and
now the eyes of my eyes are opened)"
e. e. cummings
"the desire to want to escape America is American as you can get."
From David Shields’ NYT review of “The Grey Album,” by Kevin Young
What JP might’ve looked like if oldy timey photos were an exact color match… (minus the car) ;)