Don’t Call it a Comeback… Yet

Write this down: Love is infinite and invincible, our lovers (mothers, fathers, children, siblings, pets and friends) are not.

Image: handmade journal (by me) and tree bark pen

Handmade ephemera and quotes accordion-style envelope journal: by me and tree bark pencil

These days—well, on rare occasion when I sit down to a bloodletting via the Mighty Mac, a little—not so little—voice beckons from the bowels of my ego and says, “Well, where the fuck have you been?!” And I’m like, “Gworrrrrl (this is our special love language) you don’t even know!”

Greatest love story never told (abridged version) is as follows: loving myself (more than ever), my children, my cats, and this beautifully complex human (whom I’m honored to call my adventure partner, and [what I call him], and not a cussword today) takes up every single moment of my conscious existence. And, judging from the damage I’ve done to my teeth lately (grinding) some of my semiconsciousness.

Relationships are hard and egos are BIG and fragile and crazy and I am broken in many of the right places. “You see my light shinin’ through? Get with this!” But also some of the wrong places; and those edges are sharp. My days are a combination of being fully present and open, transparent and authentic, brilliant and available and free, yet also moving cautiously: slow—ly through this place and space in time and trying not to cut a bitch with my sharp edges. This is no easy feat, but what I have found (and repeatedly lose sight of) is the tremendous therapeutic gift of being able to release this ire and angst in my writing and make connections through the resonation of that gift.

Virtual tea time and back rubs have rescued me (and many of you) many times over through the course of the eight or so years in which I’ve been bloodletting on these here interwebs. And the friendships…man, listen! I love my NEW! (some old, some recycled, some vintage) tribe with my whole ass, and I just wanted to let y’all know that I’m fighting my way through the taupes, fog, and haze, (And tangled blankets; I forgot what a clusterfuck bed-sharing is.) and slowly– one word after the other– making my way back to do tea…and of course, honey bread with you all.


-BIG love

The First 52 Uncut: On Ugliness

“…I do feel we are at the end of a rope: the one that tethers us to this cycle of hurt, or the one that tethers us to each other, I do not know.”He says nothing.

Enter  a wave of pain: swelling through my chest,  breaking from my lips in a series of violent, bated exhalations, followed by a tsunami of tears. Slowly I rose to my feet,  feeling at once lighter, yet at my heaviest. The notebooks taunt me from my bedside. The notebooks, where my research and unedited scribblings for the book about our marriage lay in wait. I close my eyes to see my Self in my mind’s eye, and kneeling before her earnestly, humbly, compassionately, I  say, “Whatever feels right for you, is the right thing to do. Do that.”

This is an excerpt from the “The First 52: Uncut”.

It would be a disservice to ourselves and anyone who reads this blog, follows my far too infrequent ramblings about this project, or those on the front lines of their own first year of marriage  to sugarcoat the truth. Marriage can be ugly. Unh, unh…I see you, oh-self-righteous-it-is-the-most-beautifullest-union-brows-furled-clutched-pearls-reaching-for-your-mug. Have mine, and several seats.

There ya go. Love is beautiful. The process by which egos are shaped, shed, sloughed, and bloodlet to simultaneously surrender, survive, and still sustain said beautiful love all within the confines of this institution is as ugly as it gets. [Insert deep breath and an affirming head nod] But, it doesn’t have to be; mark my words, trust my tears and follow our journey.

In love, BIG love.