August 13, 2016.

Dump (last few wine bottles from garden project). Break the fast. Weird here without the dog. Weird without WiFi…but, whatever. Radio all day. Bag hanging clothes. Box last few breakables, pack odds and ends. Break down sofa. Rapid and merciless assessment of garage (not much packing, mostly organizing). Confirm start date of new job (Tuesday?)…

August 9, 2013. (Journal)

If Saturday is the last day of any week, then Sunday is the start. That said, this has been (is still) a rather nice week, in all the weeks of this year. A little travel, a little cooking, a little exploration (some unintentional, some very intended). One plot came to a close while ideas spring…

June 6, 2016. Journal entry.

Winding down work.  Most loose ends knotted.  House on the market; the agent’s sign hangs tall at the bottom corner of the lawn. Mapped out my packing plan between now and moving day.  Scheduling dinner dates, drink gatherings, letmeseeyouoncemore times. It will be weird not going to marching band rehearsals; weird not witnessing the steady…

June 1, 2013.

When I wrote this piece, I had returned to New York from my first visit to Virginia, less than one week home.  Torn in two, yet mending in ways I could not then label nor identify. Today, four years on, we are a “we”; not distanced by separation nor divorce, space nor inconvenience, fear nor…

Welcome Mat. May 26, 2015.

Someone to come home to.  What a novel idea.   Why didn’t I think of this sooner? Singlehood and I have been a haphazard pair going on 13 years next month.  Twice I seriously tried to cut bait and try a new, real, partner but neither of us were ready.  So, we have rabbleroused and…

Destination. May 26, 2015

Heading north this morning. I try not to say “heading home”; leaving here is leaving home, and so is leaving there.   I come home to both places.  A life not divided but widened by space and time, and the exciting horizon of possibilities for all of us.   #charlottesville #amtrak #alwaysheadinghome

Moth. [NaPoWriMo 2017] 24 April 2014, journal.

Midnight sweeps a quiet exhale adieu the gentle vale drops mist across the moon kissing shoulders they turn away seamless pivot and undulation  peace, deep under the stars. The pause and kick reset of the old refrigerator familiar mechanism, hum a sentry centered in the dark downstair snoring lightly, pointing ground birds to flight the…

NaPoWriMo. On This Day. (Prosery. 8 April, 2014)

This life? This blustery calm circus of vibrant color and deepest freewheeling emotion? This wild Bossa Nova in 3-6-5 tempos of random kindness and distempered change punctuated by groaner punchlines whose menus never serve the same fare twice? This life where invisible wisdoms and sweeping awkward gestures of sweetest affection hold our hearts in most…

Winter Blanket. March 18, 2013. [Poem]

  It is a falling-asleep sound snow turning unheard to blustery icy tiny cannonballs against the panes separated by damask curtains of black and white we go about our evening alterations one to blanket one blanketed both to rest a spell one to melt one to manifest desires and epiphanies in tomorrow’s light. DJD 2013

Wishing. (The last one I had.)

All I ever asked for [sitting in a darkened car alone on a night nearing Christmas 2012, dreading – yet, again – being the only single adult family member, the only divorced person, the only single Mama – and crying like I have never cried before] was this: Whoever is listening, and I’ve been told…

The Evidence of Love.

It’s good to remember that so much of who we are and how we behave stems from how we were raised. I grew up in a family where our Mom basically dreaded every holiday.  It was a lot of annoyance and overwhelm and effort for so little reward, was the annual message.  Despite this script,…

Obia Dobia Shmobia.

Philemaphobia or Philematophobia- Fear of kissing. Philophobia- Fear of falling in love or being in love. Fear of missing out on something good/great/fantastic because you’re afraid you’re in too deep, getting too close? Is there a word for this?  (And, no, that’s not it.  Not the words I’d use, exactly, but close.) Not too deep…