Working

postcript - September 15th, 2012

There was.

Freedom in that.

I was right.



postscript - May 25th, 2012

quiet.  working in the white space.

I will be back to the ocean by July, and I think there may be some freedom in that.

by then.

I hope.



A postscript - Jan 28, 2012  

I remain so quiet, so absent, from this digital stage.  All that is worthwhile comes inside the white space and that is where I am resting.  Working.  Doing things I don't particularly want to talk about.

I'm absent.  Quiet.  Working.

My mind is so often in places like this

in the middle of my working days

words rattling, corners shifting

in the law, with its tatted seams

and then this lifting edge

bit by bit in the shifted corners

where I took that piece that was ebbing

wrapped it in sunburst and dust

and lodged it with the tide for safekeeping

---------

Up all Night

I have a picture of a guy in a stone carving somewhere in Spain holding up time.....

I was like that stone-carved guy last night, watching the clock on the post office outside my office window.

I haven't been up all night long for a long time, but I had a big thing to finish last night and in the middle of the finishing it my brain did a huge switch.

I had to turn my argument upside down and  I think it's going to work.

“This is the true joy of life-the being used up for a purpose recognized by yourself as a mighty one; being a force of a nature instead of a feverish, selfish little clot of ailments and grievances, complaining that the world will not devote itself to making you happy.”     George Bernard Shaw

Strawberries for Saturday

I'm so glad it's Saturday.  

All week I felt as though I was walking the tectonic plates beneath people - all sorts of different kinds of people.  Or being drenched as though under a faucet.

I was really missing my dad this week and wished that I could go and sit on his bed and ramble on to him and ask him my questions.  That's what I did when I was a little girl, and that's what I would have done this time last year.  But my dad's room at Centennial Place is filled with someone else's life now, and because of that I sometimes feel lost.  I'm a bit lonely without him in the world because he was the only one who knew that I was his Princess.  I was the only one he brought strawberries to at the end of his long work week travelling on the road.  My dad was always happy when Saturday came too.

My dad always said that you have to put one foot in front of the other, and I always know what my own shoes feel like. When I was a little girl, it was something that I really really knew.   

Don't hide from yourself,  he said.  Not very many people are ever able to break free from their cocoon, he said. 

His voice comes like that sometimes, and his picture also shows up on my screen-saver sometimes too.

This is the one that popped up today....  my dad really loved being served first.