IMAGINE, if you were in Boston
On the day of the flare
and it fired your daughter
and you dived in the dare
Hell rises
and heaven opens
the souls are not lost
they are moments to bare
BOSTON, is the angel
that brought the fire to lair.
Category: EMOTIONAL
mark Walberg and matt Damon
I think that the hospitalized would love to see you there. Try! They would love to
see you. Please go.
WHY WRITE
Dad used to say, the only thing I have to show for my life, is you.
Just cause I write doesn’t mean that I have something to say,
that isn’t already known. I write for everyone that feels something different, and no one wants to listen. 
It’s my life.
Dad in Beverly Hills Court. On a charge for not registering as a criminal. He moved to Bel Air.
MIDDLE CLASS, MIDDLE-AGE MAP TO WHERE??
I rolled the dice this morning; got seven. This always lifts me UN-proportionately to
the triumph. What is a seven going to do? Nothing. The dice don’t do it; what happens Is
I believe it’s a lucky day; like the wind won’t knock down my outdoor writing arrangement,
and I’ll be able to write for hours, and not be interrupted by registered letters, construction noise coming
from the new Drury Hotel, or tenant complaints.
What we all treasure and wish we could stack up in a treasure chest is piles of peace from whatever our lives do to make us nervous, edgy, and cuffed. Or we stop the behavior which I think is more difficult.
If you’re a middle class, middle-aged person who expected to be retired in Costa Rica by now with a book and a bottle, then you have to rearrange the internal map. 
I ‘ll never retire from writing; I hope one day I can live in my home again.
IF
If I don’t forget where I’m relocating all my clothes, books, tapes, CD’s, DVD’s, files and shoes, for summer vacation guests, If Rudy doesn’t get pulled over for driving without a license, If the tenant at Follies House doesn’t break his lease, If the tenants that moved into the Taos house from San Francisco to build a dream,
don’t lose faith, and If the Lexipro keeps working,
I can listen to the musical score from Man and a Woman, tap dance around the house, with the sunlight, the birds, the grass turning green with life, and I’m happy.
MENTAL HEALTH MURDER AND , SUICIDE,
MENTAL HEALTH, When will we take notice that THIS SICKNESS KILLS, I could rage in the streets right now. My eyes are filled with tears, my heart is too heavy to lift me up.
SANTA FE PLAZA
DON’T YOU DARE TAKE CHRISTMAS AWAY.
What is this nonsense? Am I really listening to a national complaint against,
Christmas? Who needs a job? Whoever you are that started this, dig yourself a hole in the ground and meditate for a month.
I’m half Jewish, half Catholic-all I know about my mother’s religion is the holidays. They remind me of her, and how the two weeks transformed our home, because she happy, really looking forward to seeing her mom, and sisters, and nieces and nephews….
Whoever you are, watch Hallmark television. We are saps for comfort.
SACRIFICE
Locked up in the imaginary world of writing. It’s not always so accessible, so effortless, and when it is lock yourself in and give it your life.
The fall drapery from the window teases me with specks of sunlight, and leaves dropping like snowflakes. My spirit is drawn outdoors.
to walk, hike, run in its splendor. Sacrifice is how we finish our plays, canvas, book, song, and poem.
WHY I LOVE MEN
Why I love men Part 3
I think of men as the solid substance in my life; the ones I’ve loved have always
acted as guidance counselors to my wavering fluid steps through the maze of decisions. If you’re a dreamer like I am, you know what I am talking about. We live in a blurred world of reality and what we imagine and the lines are blurry. It’s easy to cross-over to imagination and where that leads us can be more dangerous than the actual occurrence of events.
DEATH, PLUMBING AND LOVERS
Part Two
WEEKS BEFORE RUDY’S, insultingly witty and honest mother passed away, she looked at me over the rim of a Lemon Drop at the Ripe Tomato in San Juan Capistrano
her unfading brown eyes acutely aimed at me.
“You’re too emotional
; it’s going to be your ruin.”
“It’s passion Harriett, and part of my character.”
“It will do you no good. You have to listen to me. I’m 97!”
Harriett learned early on how to wear pearls and refuse pointless suffering.
I write this after a wakened sense of transformation. I didn’t have to go far, or pay any money for this mud bath. It was after reading an email from my former almost engaged to man.( me never!) and the concentrate of my last standing hope for truth between us was treated as a formality.
So my emotions have been replaced with a cooler temper for both love and sensitivity. That’s okay, the real danger is in developing into a cynic; tossing out jazzy lines about, how a man can destroy your life, and all of that. There’s a Middle Aged group of women “men suffrages’’, that live in Santa Fe. Sometimes I see myself in that group, chanting, doing yoga, going to lectures, out to lunch.
What percolated this epiphany? I’ve never been emotionally damaged by a man. There have been sorrowful break-ups, but when we split up, all eight of the men became close friends over the years.
My gal posse offer advise; light a match to his love letters, treat yourself to all therelaxation rituals, and spa treatments, take a trip to visit them and indulge in friendship, and joining Match.com. You see, everyone knows your voice, and even if your thousands of miles away, friends can hear despair.
It’s all very similar to “A Book of Common Prayer .” Witty Joan Didion
, the ways she says, something I am paraphrasing, “I’m not calling at a bad time am I Charlotte? You’re not in the middle of a nervous breakdown or anything? “
I wonder if you lie to yourself it gives you an edge on how to lie without conscience. Seems to be in vogue or something. That is the fault-line innocence and adulthood. Once you cross that line you know it. I’ve always been told I was a late bloomer in everything!
I’m on my way out the door; I rented the house for twelve days. The big white Suburban just drove up. A wide shouldered, grinning forty something just got out of the car. I see a woman, then the two teenagers, and a dog! They didn’t tell me about the dog, but it’s a little limply Cocker Spaniel, so I wave,
“Hi, come in I’ll show you around.”
To be continued. Hariett and I pictured in 2004 at a San Diego Opera Gala.
DREAMS ARE OUR BREATH
My dream slipped out. Has that ever happened to you?
You wake up one day, and you’re watching the Olympics, with a robust cup of Italian Roast, and the bed is empty and unmade, and then there’s London, and the glorious athletes, their smiles crossing the world, and here in my room, I am mesmerized by the champions. I’m
going to look for my dream today.
ADVENTURERS IN LIVINGNESS 