July 22nd, 2015
Ann Randolph is a phenomenally ballsy storyteller/performer from LA. She’s got the courage to get on stage and not be pretty, which makes me want to fall down and kiss her feet—I am so sick of watching women on stage in pretty dresses crooning pretty songs with pretty guitar chords, trying desperately to be sweet and inoffensive. Ann does real, and it isn’t always pretty. Just wearing those camel-toe pants on stage is an act of supreme chutzpah. Her stuff is definitely adult content, which is a rare enough thing for family-friendly Cortes Island to get me excited. When I saw Ann’s show, Loveland, last summer, I laughed so hard I just about strangled. And then I cried. I was torn by envy and awe. Ann will perform her new show, Squeeze Box, at Mansons Hall this Saturday.
Last summer I was registered for Ann Randolph’s program at Hollyhock called “Writing Your Life for the Page and Stage”, but I got bumped at the last minute. I was severely pissed off, and briefly considered doing a volunteer stint at Esalen in California just to get to study with her. But then I realized that Esalen is like Hollyhock on steroids (aka New Age Disneyland), and would probably make me nuts. So I vowed to let it go for the moment, and finagle my way into her course this season. And behold! The Universe smiles. I have landed a comp slot, and the program starts tonight. I am severely stoked.
The timing is good, as I’ve been in a bit of a stuck spot. I’ve written a few things for Bicycle Buddha and Non-Moms.com in the past few weeks but they have sputtered and seemed so lame to me that i haven’t posted them. I know lameness is no excuse. Still, I try to be gentle with myself, knowing that commitment is a process of perpetual self-forgiveness. I’ll get my mojo back. But in the meantime there is that gnawing in the pit of my stomach, that wanting to write. The bitch called Resistance is sitting on my shoulders, taunting me and distracting me from doing what I know I really really want to do more than anything: tell my stories.
But for the next five days, I will be doing what I really want to do. Immersing myself in the medicine. Hoping this course will shake me loose a little, and at least for the time being, may throw that Resistance bitch off my back.
June 7th, 2015
So I just got back from this wonderful road trip with my, uh, guyfriend. To visit his mom. In California.
I say this, and people give me this peculiar piercing look. Then they ask me, is it serious? And I am flummoxed. I mean, what is serious? Liver cancer is serious. Babies are serious. Anything involving lawyers is serious. But love—how serious is that? Read the rest of this entry »
May 17th, 2015
Unwiredness is one of the luxuries of life in my green schoolbus on the bluff. No wifi, no smart phone, no wires. I have a battery-operated radio but the reception is crap. When I want to hook up I carry my computer down the cliff trail and along the ocean boardwalk to the farmhouse. It is only a 5-minute commute, but that distance makes all the difference in the world.
I climb down the cliff and sit myself down here under the patio umbrella, log on, send off my queued emails, download my mail and maybe a podcast or two for later listening. Check my twitter feeds and analytics, and the Tideline for island gossip and news. Do a little blogging, send and receive a few graphic files. Log out, feed the chickens, pick some kale. Then climb back up to my bus on the bluff, to work and practice and play. Read the rest of this entry »
May 10th, 2015
Whew [mops brow]! I’ve just delivered a whompin’ 10-megabyte blog. This baby’s been at least five years in the belly so, it’s about frikin time. Gonna get some sleep now. Happy Mothers and Non-Mothers day everybody!
Check it: Non-Moms.com.
May 2nd, 2015
I am in love with a boy and his dog. It’s an old-fashioned sort of a thing.
Because mostly how things go in these fast-moving times is: you meet, and you flirt, and then you have sex. Sometimes on the same day, or maybe on the second or third date. And then hormones explode and you get all dizzy and euphoric, and then mildly to madly obsessed. You can’t think about anything but him/her, you replay every moment and fantasize relentlessly. You ignore most of your friends and bore the rest of them half to death. This, is what the pop songs call Love. Read the rest of this entry »
April 12th, 2015
The Gilean Todd was moored over at the landing, said to have rockfish, halibut, and cod. Spattering rain, gale warning in effect. But the tide had just turned so I put on my all-purpose bike gear, hauled out the blue kayak (like a split milk-jug), and set out for the wharf. With one boot full of seawater and the wind at my back.
I pulled up alongside and shouted up to the boat: Hey—you got fish?! Yup. Halibut. But only whole fish, said Silas, hoisting a glossy 14-pounder. Both eyes on one side, shiny as live. Just yesterday swimming off Comox.
I paddled round the wharf and dragged the kayak up the beach. Read the rest of this entry »
April 11th, 2015
I was hanging out at the cafe with two longtime Island friends. Both about half a generation ahead of me in age. The g-word came up (grandkids!) and Kate immediately started in on the marvels of her latest grand-progeny. Denise, an accomplished qi-gong instructor and youthful, energetic force, shrugged. “Mine won’t be having any,” she said. Read the rest of this entry »
April 4th, 2015
No hard feelings Hollyhock. Its been a nice cozy winter, sitting in my corner office overlooking the ocean, three days a week, tap-tapping away on my (thank god) Mac with the nice big monitor, grooving with the marketing team. I think I’ve done a pretty good job. But that’s enough—I’m too old for this nonsense.
This nonsense being, the act of sitting in front of a computer for 8 hrs a day (well ok less than that, with lunch and plenty of stretch breaks), investing my heart and soul into something which isn’t my passion. Don’t get me wrong—I totally respect Hollyhock and the good people that make it tick. If I didn’t, I couldn’t work there for even five minutes, in any capacity. I respect, and I support. But I am 50 years old and I’ve only got so much juice in me. Life is too short to atrophy my body, or to pour out my soul, for something that isn’t the very reason why I am alive on this earth. Read the rest of this entry »