Dust Off This Old Jacket

Hi there.

It’s been forever since I put words here.. lifetimes ago, really.  But I downloaded the Counting Crows ‘This Desert Life’ album, and have been plunged into a massive revisiting of old haunts and memories. And here I am.

This is a bit like knocking on the doors of what could be a ghost town, to see if anything stirs inside.

Just putting words down feels good. There have been some things I have wanted to tell an intimate audience of strangers sometimes, lately. With all the newness and adjustment always taking place I miss that sense that someone is listening… not just to my everyday voice saying words, I have that but that I can tell the truth, right from the heart of me, and have someone or something receive it.

Amy Hit the Atmosphere…Track 3. Depressing in the good way. Sing your heart out and exorcise that shit. That’s what I’m talking about.







Old Friends

Hi :)

Anytime I look in here, I see old friends’ names from my blog circle and I smile & smile. Blogging was once so very essential, and it moved back in the priority list to make way for other hobbies, and then for other important things, but the fact remains I *loved* my ‘blog circle’, for lack of another term.

I have had very special friends here, people who represent in every important way the kind of people I seek in my life. Kind, intelligent, thoughtful, creative people, who invested in these circles of connectedness and I was lucky, and richer for knowing you. I never see one of your names without feeling that smile that goes all the way inside.

I hope you are all well. I’m going to take a peek here and there & see. It’s been such a very long time.



What if I wrote a sentence that didn’t end but stretched on and on and revealed something about the human heart, but not some over-reaching universal truth about the human condition, just the particular essence of us, crystalized with all our flaws and struggles open to the elements so that the wind gets in and hollows them out bigger, exploits our crags and irregularities till there is only that pattern, silhouetted for a slice of eternity, like a pock on the pavement.