dear rmichael shrieve,

You are the first in my thoughts of what or who should be "time capsuled." My phrasing, obvee. I thought of "the song" today, then went to YouTube and watched the whole 9 minute performance.

Still so good, so raw and rhythmic, so percussiony. Just love it. As I was watching I thought how damn fortunate we are to have this archival footage. Y'all are such babies. You were 20. The youngest performer there. 2 years younger than your boss.

So you and this footage, I feel, should have witness borne to it. Everyone should watch it. Everyone should try to feel what it must have been like to be there. Bearing witness to musical history. Dang, y'all were such babies.

And please dear god, tell me you still have that shirt and your granddaughter wears it when she plays the drums.


https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xBG6IaSQCpU

Enjoy lovies.

dear body part that I recently realized I've been ignoring,

No, not that one you perverts.

Everyday, apres showeur, I lotion up the bod. I use my favorite moisturizer and mix in some delightful essential oils and everything is wonderful.
Then I realized that I, for some reason, neglect these parts while lotioning.

No, not those you perverts.

SHEESH.

The amazing structural integrity that these parts maintain is altogether astounding.
Attaching to my sternum and my scapula, I daresay you provide this gal with some big time uprightedness. Muscles that attach to you include the trapezius, deltoid, subclavius, pectoralis and the ever sexy sternocleidomastoid. That's right, the SCM. Very sexy.

 You shall be ignored no more. Thank-you clavicles.

dear pair of jeans that fit me so splendidly,


HAH!


As if you exist.

dear quantitative ecology,
Wow. Now that is a fun word to say out loud.
Not that I knew you even existed, but I'm thankful you do.
You were instrumental in publicizing the most glorious Monday morning news I have heard in quite a spell.
The California blue whale population has reached approximately 2200.
They are calling it a conservation success story. And they are calling it historic.
And my heart is singing.
Who knew advanced math and statistics could give me such a boost?
In my mind the humpback whales are singing too.
And I know the blues can feel the vibration of soaring hearts and many sighs of relief.

dear jen bragg,
Sparkling blue eyes, dark, curly hair.
I didn't know you for long. We worked together for only a short time. But in that time I most certainly noticed, dear Miss Jen, that you were often wearing THE MOST GORGEOUS sweaters. And one day I  asked "did you make that?" And when you answered "yes", oh I soon became so enamored of you.
For you earnestly answered my questions about how you learned to knit. And then I heard about the knitting(oh dear, my words, I don't think it was called this)"convention that you would go to yearly.
And then I pondered your natural loveliness and thought how nice to have such a delightful and effervescent being on this planet. All love and goodness.
And then, oh shit Miss Jen, that day in December.
Oh shit, Miss Jen, I thought of your daughter.
And how the milk stopped flowing.
And how she would never learn to knit from her mama.
And how unfair that is.
That unfairness.
I am sure that your daughter is surround by love and memories of you.
I would like you to know, sweet girl, that from afar, I too, hold sweet memories of you, forever knitting, forever loving your girl form afar.
Forever orbiting the planet, knitting needles clicking. I picture you keeping us all blanketed, sweater-ed, scarfed, hatted, mittened and afghan-ed all in your loving embrace.
I think of you with much fondness, even though I only knew you for such a short time.
You are not forgotten.

dear Robin,


Please hug Taco for me.


Please hug them all and receive their good hugs right back.

dear fact:


Sometimes people smell like salami.

dear forgiveness,


Due to my leanings toward the morbid and due to my tendency to have macabre thoughts, I have instructed hubby that if I were to be murdered he would have to confront and forgive my killer.


I just think it would make everyone feel better.


No need to carry around hatred.
No need to carry around guilt.


I just think it would make everyone feel better.


Yes?

dear yes,


I'm having fun seeing how many times a day I use you.
Saying yes is one of the best ways to affirm ourselves in the Universe.
Saying yes says that you are allowing more space for more yes stuff in your life.
I'm saying it to visual gorgeousness.
I say yes to verticality. Is this a word? Don't care. I say yes to standing and walking around and up-righted-ness.
I say yes to a nice deep breath.
And my home and my family that dwells there. Most yes.
I try to say it instead of yup or yeah.
The point is not to amass these yesses. It's not a contest to see who wins in this lovely little game.
But to note the moments that request a yes.
And they are myriad.
Yes?

dear Roy Scheider,

What is it about your acting that I like so much?

I like your contained nature. And your observational, minimal method of character portrayal. Oh and your voice, not quite gravelly, not quite soothing but somewhere in between. Somehow always sounding 100% assured and undaunted.

Yet even if sounding a little rattled you are still able to pull it off and sound certain. Very, very certain.

As in one of the best lines ever uttered in film.

Of my 2 readers, I know one of them will immediately know of which I speak. The other reader will either be huffy with me because of course she knows this line or she will need major prompting from me while I try not to be huffy because WHO DOESN'T KNOW THIS LINE?

P.S. Roy Scheider,
your hunky-ness is undeniable.

dear today,

It's Taco's birthday. It's what I call his birthday. The day we picked him up to bring him home. Others call it their "gotcha day."
With anniversaries like this it make s me realize that someone, somewhere, everyday, is probably feeling as I do right now. Absent, bereft and broken.
It reminds me to work on my compassion skills when I may encounter a person who seems crabby or less than lovely.
It could just be that they are feeling a horrible ache where before it was filled with the comfortable knowledge of being someone's everything.
How can 6 years feel like so much and so little at the same time?

I've avoided this post for a long while now because it will shred my heart and who volunteers for that

dear May 8th 2013,

While of course I realize I can't be angry with a date and I'm not angry.
I'm hurt.
You are after all a beautiful sounding date in the beautiful month of May.
On this day however, my world broke to pieces.
My heart knew at it's deepest core the feeling of anguish.
Taco died.
He was my soul dog.
Tennessee boy.
Dear heart.
 Friend.
Loving gaze eye contact.
100% benevolent.
Food lover.
Caretaker of me.
Hider from thunderstorms.
Incredibly joyful.
Magnificently present.
Aware.
Gentle.
Deep rooted soul.
He knew when Marc was "supposed" to be home and would face east in anticipation of his arrival.
Classic dog always interested in your whereabouts.
When he walked near me, I put my hand out and he exquisitely placed his head under my palm.
My heart knows he lives there now, but the pain of loss is cellular.
Molecules of unfettered moments that rise without warning and derail me.
Moments that one day will not cause pain, but will delight me with a memory of him.
For now though, I  try to be the beaming ball of wonderfulness that he thought I was.
But I miss those white eyelashes.
Miss them with every ounce of my being.
Love you dearly Taco.

dear spray paint scented candles,

I don't think so.

dear right now,

Right now:

there are kittens being born
someone is dreaming
a skinned knee is bandaged and kissed
a bullet has been fired
rain is falling
healing is occurring
the last shovelful has fallen on the grave
crops are being planted
night has fallen
birds are singing
oceans endure
Right now:
a fire is burning
deep grief is felt
kites are flying
peepers are preparing
Right now:
a blow has been dealt
we wonder
hope remains aloft
we make the decision
the heartbeat fades
the sun shines for us all
the dog sighs
All right now.

dear skipping little girl from yesterday,

This is what I saw. Darling you skipping down the sidewalk.
Then your mom (?) says: "what do you THINK you're doing? You better get back over here or no birthday cake for you."
Then you ambled on over and you both continued on.

This was difficult to see for so many reasons.

Obviously this woman has not a clue that skipping is one of the most joyous movements our bodies can create.
Also obviously she has forgotten her own joy if she didn't just catch right up to this child by SKIPPING!
And also it provided for me a chance to work on not going immediately to huffyland in my mind and chastising this woman for so downtroddenly speaking to this girl. Dressed all in pink by the way.

Instead in my mind I spoke to the child and said :
hold on to your joy
skip  to your heart's content
always seek happiness
fun is always fun
hold on to this spirit of whimsy

Then say "fuck the birthday cake bitch, I'm SKIPPING!!!"
ooops, huffyland.

WHEEEEEE!!!

dear blue winter coat,

You are a men's small, purchased from Campmor many years ago.
The sleeves fit my gorilla arms.
The hood has kept my neck so toasty and warm this long winter.
The multi pockets hold lip stuff and dog cookies and plastic bags for scooping up the poop.
My fanny is generously covered by the length.
A good coat.
A very fine and good coat.
Thank-you for sheltering me.
And if we note the date, I think we would all concur that it is time for you to rest for the next 7 or 8 months.
It's really time.
REALLY, REALLY TIME.
Adieu, bleu.
Et merci encore.

dear that boy who molested me when I was 4. or maybe I was 5?

It's okay. I forgive you. I forgave you a long time ago.

What I remember more is the feeling of shame I had. My mom was getting a bath ready and I knew my undies were inside out and I thought if she noticed that she would be disappointed in me. It's 4 year old reasoning, but I really didn't want her to ask me about it.

I don't even think about it other than remembering that shame. And how I didn't protect myself.

Here's a thought:

dear younger me,

I'm sorry I didn't know how to say no. Or don't. Or stop.

dear older me,

It's okay. I forgive you. I forgave you instantly.

Love,
me

dear forgiveness,

No matter the pain inflicted or the the hurt felt or the inconceivable unfairness of random or
premeditated acts, you are the way that we heal and forge ahead in life.

You are the only way we can ever, ever find an alignment within ourselves that enables us to breathe
freely, with no hatred or bitterness or any other emotion that hinders us from living with the zest and
joy that is our birthright.

Living with constant hatred in our hearts impedes all the wonders of this gorgeous Universe from
entering into our existence.

I don't pretend that it may be easy to forgive. I do believe it is part of our make-up. I believe the
capacity to forgive is one of the best things about our aliveness. I believe we enrich ourselves when we
forgive.

Because who among us has never done a deed for which we wish to be forgiven?

Mr. Mandela and Dr. King, they knew about forgiveness. The twinkle in Mr. Mandela's eye? That
doesn't come from hating Apartheid and your jailers. That comes from a light heart.

A heart that has shown forgiveness.

dear Universe,

Thank-you for  EVERYTHING.

I love you.

dear toast,

Pondering the allure of you makes me wonder why there aren't more poems written in your name.

Perfectly toasted toast, not to mention the buttery puddles contained there-on, borders on religion, doesn't it?

Isn't it easy to revere toast and the sheer delight of experiencing that initial satisfying crunch and the giddy knowledge there are many more bites to enjoy? Don't you just not even chew it's so good?

My dog Betty knows the sound of the toaster bell and will come in and plant herself at my side because she KNOWS I will ALWAYS give her a toast treat.

Yep. Butter melted in toast, ( which is what I called it as a kid,)  I think it could be the greatest thing since sliced bread.

dear life,

Here is my favorite bumper sticker that I saw today:

Reading Is Sexy.

It had an illustration as well, but I was hurrying back inside my work and I just could not stop to view it as I had double goosebumps everywhere due to the temperature being 9 degrees!!

Thanks for always having nifty things to appreciate. No matter how big or how small or how fucking cold it is.

Loving you always.