From there to peppers and eggplants

-




From there to here with peppers and eggplants.
I’m HOME after a rough flight left me needing a rest yesterday.
I’ve never liked flying and if it wasn’t for how much I love Christine I’d be taking the bus or train as I used to do. It’s only an hour, the misery I feel, like there’s anything else I’d rather do than this…flying. It’s only an hour from Los Angeles through a rainstorm with clouds.
We talk it through, air pressure holds us up it’s like a wave on the ocean. Turbulence is safe, we’ll be fine… we’ll be fine.
I wore you out today so you’d be knackered on the flight, oh that’s sweet of you… my jaw is full of peppermint gum
And I held Christine’s hand like it was the only thing keeping me calm. She’s taken me on 10 flights, something I once thought was impossible. I love the ground, I love my predictable little life with plenty of warm lemon water and herbs. I love to rest and care and nourish plants and plan whatever I like to do with the time I give myself. Wich is always way too much time because I love to be slow. I choose to be a sloth woman, patient beyond belief. Expanding awareness and understanding of piece and soul.

At this age I’ve become jaded to feeling anxiety or pain as it’s washed away after years of holding too much of those things. I was asked if I have anxiety and I don’t. I’ve made my life so that I don’t have fear.
I feel I can regulate and navigate through. Over money this is the most valuable thing to me, knowing that I’m strong for knowing I can calm myself through any situation so I am able to be there for loved ones and  eventually hopefully soon a dog named Larry.

A lot of things have been difficult for me hat are normal to other people. As a younger person I used to fantasize about being left alone so that no one would know I’m different.
I wore all black with Levi’s and standard shoes. Basic, inconspicuous. Plain.
I cared for growing a family and nothing else.
I cared for pregnancies and my baby, milking, caring, watching, I had the thought “ someday I’ll be free but not today. Someday I’ll have to tell people I’m gay. But not today, today there’s the sweetness of Rays young childhood and the family I’ve wanted to grow year by year…the dedication.”
There was the home with its valley orange grove charm sunny and covered in trumpet vine. Its roses and land. 
I was so sick there. Every night I prayed to angels in the closet. And that’s really true I didn’t know what the purpose of my life was I really am no one.
I’d given up on school to play in the garden and sit on lawn chairs all day siting in my hot tub watching the sky.
I grew a farm and had exotic fruits.
This was a distraction from what I knew I had to do. One more season. It’s almost time to plant, keep quiet. Keep quiet. Keep quiet. 


Now that I’ve been living in home, home as my body and home in my home. I have this question. What’s really important. I feel blessed to be given myself the opertinuity to even ask this question.

I want to move to Pasadena. I want to go to yoga and make pots in the detached craftsman garage. The power bill will be low. The house payed off using methods I’ve alternatively gathered as a dyslexic woman to flourish, so that I can be slow and left alone…or selectively choosing to filter who I allow to see my slowness… I am really very different.

I hated school so much I checked myself out of any shred of the patriarchy, the system the…
Establishment. I figured out right away that I’d need freedom from the world that hates me right away.

A friend system. A partner, a child named Ray. Dogs. Love and nourishment. 

All I want is to love and be loved for who I am. With that I can do anything.

I’ve never had that before…. I told a therapist in 2021… I’ve never been loved.
Not genuinely, no. 

I love my soul. I love the way I love my soul. I feed my body rest and vitamins and food and water. I bathe and moisturize and joy fills the areas that were once so hurt. 

I love myself.

Sprouts become plants that feed me.
These peppers all summer will grow and eggplants will swell up for curry.
To share. Everything for sharing. I share my soul. 

 

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Vent. Moms rug and drug container

-
Image
 Out with the old. 2006-2023  My mother bought me this rug while out of her mind on Drugs. We went to the Scandinavian furniture store on Thousand Oaks boulevard. Her minivan was tilted taking up two spaces. Before exiting the front seat with a heavy purse loud with shaking pill bottles she said one of her favorite things “the squeaky wheel gets the oil”  I knew I was in for it when she said that. It was like a cue. We were in the empty store (or I hoped) as She started yelling at me, saying I was gay with gay style and demanding sale prices that didn’t exsist. I felt guilty for her and embarrassed. Are Levi’s and clogs really that gay? She knew about Rachel. One more thing to pick at me for… No bathroom to escape to. She started to imagine scenarios where our house would have great furniture and look like a showroom. She’d just covered our house in industrial navy blue airport carpeting that week. The whole house. She put a giant roll of Astro turf next to my bed “for the ceiling of y
Read more

Note. A.A….note. Childhood

-
It’s December 2023. In the back of my mind snippets are here to organize or ponder. They float around to process quietly. I Rough draft over this time in my life. It will be art. I know the process now. How my life filters itself into art. I roll with it using my writing as a file. From parts of my body art releases itself. Kickwheel. Clay. Writing.  ++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ There’s a fight brewing between us.It’s A cold fight and I cannot speak because I shouldn’t. I take herbs and stay hydrated. Keep busy. Keep focused, keep happy. Happy is a choice. I listen to Sarah mcglachlan and think about angels. Violet rabbits… totems to ground. Examples.  It’s this old family. They hate. I always was confused, it’s such a strong word. Maybe I didn’t want it to be true. How I deal is my deal…so I choose to write. In times like these I think about if anyone really can life a conflict free boring life with nothing but love food shelter and coziness. It’s a fantasy I used
Read more

The story of grandmas AA boyfriend

-
Image
 My grandfather was a short alcoholic painter with thick glasses. He had some success in the world of fine art and art academia. For a while he was Dean of Otis Art Institute, he drove a red MG-B and had a high pitch voice like Mickey Mouse. Among other quirks he had (like physical violence without hesitation) what always creeped me out, was his voice.  One day in 1960’s early 1970’s Canoga Park my mother moved in with her highschool boyfriend to avoid grandpas nastiness (her boyfriend became my father). Her brother my uncle Tim got involved in drugs and biker gangs associated with hippies like the Manson Family to avoid being home. It was During this time in desperation My grandmother Fran started taking grandpa to AA meetings. In Canoga park at a usual looking white brick church with polished floors and folding chairs it was during one of  these AA meetings when she first laid eyes on Hank. (Story told to me by cousin Doug out of my own curiosity about the Belt:) “Hank was a cowboy t
Read more