RIP Amy Winehouse



May you stay forever young, but age gracefully.

Liz Phair wrote her most successful album, Exile in Guyville, in response to The Stones’ Exile on Main Street album.  I remember reading an interview in Rolling Stone about her around 1994-ish where she wrote song-by-song a response to what she claimed.  The wannabe rockstar in me roared, “Hell yeah, that’s awesome!”  I think about that moment every time I hear either of those albums, so I thought why not use this as a writing exercise.  Phair’s antidote was well-played, so I figure I could pick no other than prose royalty, Mr. Bob Dylan.   So here goes…something…to Forever Young.

May karma catch you coming or going and be fleeting

May you not always get what you wish for

May you always give to others but not more than you can stand to lose

May you have a choice of an elevator to the stars

So you don’t have to slip and fall

May you age gracefully

Gracefully, Gracefully

May you age gracefully


May you grow out of your righteousness

May you grow to be humbled

May you realize you don’t know all the truths

And sometimes dark surrounds you

May you learn to be vulnerable

Learn when to sit down and cry

May you age gracefully

Gracefully, Gracefully

May you age gracefully


May your hands finally rest

May your feet be propped up

May you marvel on the strong foundation in high elevation

When the winds of youth hit your face

May your heart always be joyful

And know your song will not always be sung

(You don’t want Bieber to cover it)

May you age gracefully

Gracefully, Gracefully

May you age gracefully














Happy Thanksgiving

As the end-of-year rush to fulfill self-promises goes into overkill, I can’t help but be incredibly thankful for the year (thus far).  What a year it has been for me (for a change), but that’s for my year-end blog, naturally.  This is a short but sweet thank you to all of you that come here to read about whatever it is you come here to read about…it gives me no greater joy than to write.  I’m so very thankful for my family and friends (online and offline), and the inspiration they put forth into the world.

It wouldn’t be Thanksgiving without a word about my late brother Jeffrey.  My dear brother, you are never far from us during the holidays and just know everyone is getting older while you remain forever young.  Nothing is the same, but it’s how it is supposed to be.  Maybe sometimes I don’t buy into that, but you always find a way to remind me otherwise.  You are in every thank you because without you, Bubba, I wouldn’t truly know the joy of giving thanks and the wonderful gift of knowing how to love.  I’m so thankful to have known you and been inspired by your life.  What an inspirational being you continue to be.

To everyone out there in cyberland, at the moment, I wish you a wonderful Thanksgiving Day and remember to be grateful every other day as well.

Yours truly,



Associative Intrigue

Associations are interesting, aren’t they? Places can conjure up experience with people or a feeling.  Songs can remind you of a time when you were someone very different.

Words serve as events of achievement like the first time I learned what ‘palindrome’ meant.  Socially, one is judged by the company they keep.  Financially, one is aligned by the material goods they possess.  Intellectually, by the books they read and the concepts they understand.  Spiritually, by the faith they hold.

Brands make money on this; associations.  It’s how animals learn, and it all relates back to us and the associations that elicit emotion. When I tell my dog to sit…he sits with the emotive tone associated to the word ‘sit’. I purchase Diet Dr. Pepper because of my childhood attachment to happier times.  Associations are the most intriguing indicators of a person if you think about it.

Amongst other things I’d like to see pigs fly.

I’ve decided – during my writing drought – to take it back to the beginning. I found this site of writing topics for all grades of learning, so here goes Grade 1.

Topic – “I’d like to see . . .”

The rings around Jupiter, but I don’t have a telescope and it will only be viewable for the month of August. My friends in Truckee, but my time is tangled around an unpermitting schedule. Blake’s happiness, but he’s sixteen and angst happens. The digits of my bank account increase to six…I didn’t say seven so it shouldn’t be too much to ask. Justice for Jeffrey, but it’s not easy when no one is trying to convict. A healthier wife, a healthier life. ‘Romy and Michele’s High School reunion with Carolyn. Blackberries in amount of plenty to share with Ray. Adam & Shay eating Mighty Taco with me. A desert retreat of Justin and company dancing to drum beats. Rebecca meditating with the monks. Mark Bradley go Ivy League.

I’d like to see every classic black and white movie; no shedding of hair from my doggies; Stella soften to cuddly; mom in NYC and free; roadside attractions from an RV; more postcards from Murray; the Mapleleafs win the Stanley Cup; My feet standing in every country; an acronym next to my name (preferrably with the letters C-E-O); dolphins swimming next to me; this tattoo actually removed; and pigs fly.

Dear Jeffrey, 11 days until you’re 28…

Eleven is my lucky number, do you know this?  I think it may be mom’s as well.  Seven is another.  7-11…perhaps I should be the CEO of that, huh?

Supposedly, the number seven is one of the most significant numbers in the Holy Bible (besides the number one, the number seven is used more than all the others in it).  In music, there are seven notes in the musical scale.  Rolling dice for luck (or gambling), the seven has the highest probability of occurring as an addition.  There are seven colors in the rainbow,seven continents, seven stars in the constellation, seven days in a week, seven rows in the periodic table, and of course the Seven Wonders of The World.  Seven also represents the year of my birth (’77).

As for eleven, well it’s the master number. Eleven is duality when broken down (1+1=2).  You have September 11th (9+1+1 = 11), 11:11 on December 21st, 2012 the Mayan calendar ends (and some people think the world will end), football and soccer are played with 11 players on the field, and in Buddhism there are eleven groups of kindness (a man entered the Way, the two Truths, the three Gates of Delivery, the four Truths of the correct Law, the five faculties, the six Authorities, the seven Members of the Illumination, the eight Members of the Path, the nine Residences of the Being, the ten Forces of the Realized and the eleven Deliverances of the Heart full of love).

More importantly, though, in eleven days we celebrate your remarkably short life.  If love could have kept you alive, Jeffrey, you would have lived forever.


My weirdest pet peeve…

Cloth scratchers really know how to make me cringe. Their fingernails dragging across their clothing trying to get through the skin…makes my teeth feel a metallic shock. It grates my flesh, piercing through to the vein and slinging through them like a bad hangover. That sound is my nails-to-chalkboard without a doubt. In fact, cloth scratching existed far before the loud crunching pet-peeve and the leaving drawers or cabinets open pet-peeve. I would venture to say that cloth scratchers inhabited the pet-peeve list prior to over-the-shoulder computer lurkers, name mis-pronouncers, meeting ruminators, dis-chivalrous male commuters, and never-ending automated prompts.

The first time I was crippled by cloth scratching was around 1985 when my then three-year old brother lifted his arms to the red-drooping fabric of mom’s Mercury Cougar and slid his fingernails across it. His little maniacal laughter didn’t come near searing my eardrums like the sound of the cloth beneath his nails…it caused my nerves to ball up into the fetal position and beg for mercy.

This cloth-scratching pet peeve could very well be my weirdest pet peeve…could even be the weirdest pet peeve in the world.

scratching skin sound

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These are a few of my favorite things

As my days disappear and turn into weeks that seem to pass into months, I look at time and wonder who am I?  Perhaps that’s a question not left for a blog posting so every now and then I list out what I like in life…it reminds me of who I am, the small stuff.

I like: a space that’s all mine – cozy and dimly lit with records and books and knick knacks that are aesthetically pleasing to my eyes, mail, Buddha’s four-leaf clovers, manuscript boxes, notebooks, Asian relics, fresh flowers – any will do, lists,  romantic comedies, anything on beat, finding beauty in prose, unified beats leading up to a climactic rock out, barefoot, freshly cut grass, the smell of patchouli, feeling ‘dressed up’, iced coffee/espresso drinks in transit and hot coffee/espresso drinks stationary, High Street Pizza, listening to the poetry of my soul, watching clouds, Burt’s Bees, white wine in summer, red wine in winter or in a space that is dimly lit, socializing black tie, being moved to crowd surf at a concert, discovering something or anything, the static of vinyl, the idea of cigars and scotch, spirituality, old typewriters, compasses, buying different shampoos and conditioners, a good lotion, manual black and white photography, spotting a good sleeve tattoo, symmetry, an empty trash can/waste basket, organized spaces, collecting books, hand-written letters, touching the face of those I love, hearing Jeffrey’s voice in recollection, past-life regression, visiting with Rebecca, meditation/yoga, cleanliness, Madonna, office supplies, quick wit, imagination, personalities, stories I’ll never tell, stream-of-consciousness, waxing without regard, learning anything and everything, knowing I don’t know anything, being at peace with my past, words that make me swim, a breeze that reels me in, silence when it’s just right, humanity after a cry, strength from being the bigger person, overcoming, challenges that force me to grow, swag, comfortable money, phone conversations of reconnection, finding good art, brunch, union square in spring, postcards, poppy flowers, juicy peaches, alone time, writing, owls, quotes, the smell of laundry, staring out a passenger window, journals, pens, collecting sentiments from the people who left an imprint in my life, closure, hops,  beginnings, mind shattering experiences, dreaming of people I miss, 1999-2001, laughing, notes from mom, 80s movies, the green before it rains, dive bars, snippets of social conversations, and feeling my shoulders relax.

M is for…

So long MTV.

RIP Rue!

Thank you for being a friend…

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