I have an idea....

Wednesday, July 25 at the International Quilt Festival in Long Beach, CA Today I rode on a tour bus. Met a fabric designer in her chic little store named French General on the corner of Allesandro and Riverside in Los Angeles. Had coffee with her mother in the alley behind the shop. Toured the Alexander Henry design offices and shipping warehouse in an old Coca-Cola bottling factory located in Burbank, CA.  Watched the artists work on designs for fall and winter of 2013. Watched the history of a line a fabrics called the Ghastleys from the first sketches to the finished products. Had a shift in perspective towards whimsical, holiday or children-oriented fabric. Never realized how much artistic design and hands-on work went into light-hearted themes. Ate lunch at Phillippe’s, home of the French dip sandwich (unfortunately, this did not mean au jus.) Ate lunch at red linoleum topped table while seated on a stool. Enjoyed chatting with other quilters. When they left I ...

I’ll buy my own house and paint it pink. I ‘ll have a small Christmas tree and a huge family table  and as many friends as the house will hold until they spill out onto the lawn. I will sew and read and bake and smile. I will have women for lunches, families for parties,  and students for all the meals they can eat. I’ll serve grits and eggs,  sausage and biscuits,  tea and hot chocolate  and popcorn. I will celebrate my children’s lives,  and welcome their friends into my home. And when I am through with the past,  I will walk into the future.

To clueless on the cellphone walking her dog I saw you coming with your prissy dog and I moved my solid dog twelve feet away from the sidewalk  where you'd pass by  knowing that  we'd be less likely to cross paths. But you came my way anyway. Y ou brought your little sofa dog  three feet away from us  and upset mine.  He jumped without warning,  wrapped his leash around my knee, sliced the tender back of it  with the nylon webbing, threw me into the tree that stopped  him from running after you. Did you even take the cell phone away from your ear? Hey, hey! Watch where you're going with that dog! "Not my problem!" you yelled back. Right. Next time, my dog won't give way to your expensive rug rat. Next time, you can fall into the bushes. Not my problem.

When I finish reading, could you not do that old beatnik thing where you snap your fingers to show your appreciation? How about you hold your breath while you digest words and then let it out slowly with an ever so softly mouthed "wow..." Dont just listen to the words. Inhale them as you might the fragrance of fresh cut grass on the hottest day. Or breathe the words in, then spew them out as though you've driven through the musky sweet fog of dead polecat  two days old. 

I’ve written words since I found out that those graphite sticks  could form them and wrote my name on the top of a kleenex box  when I was four. I’ve written words since I learned that each one  held a meaning I could hear in my head. I’ve written words since I realized that writing releases them from my mind, so that I can hear myself think. I’ve written words because numbers run away from me, just out of grasp, teasing me with  their teamwork and rigid cooperation and parenthetical expressions. I’ve written words never read by anyone, words which embarrass with their frankness words which I’ve burned thinking they would die. I’ve written words which I longed to share because they fit together better than numbers and made my skin crawl with their deliciousness. June 27, 2012 7:30 AM

old checkbooks sales receipts gas bills insurance cards love letters college transcripts repair estimates project ideas garden plans teaching certificate resignations copies of copies greeting cards collection letters red light ticket pencil drawings broken dreams rental agreement prescriptions church bulletins life

I want to take a vacation, road trip like we used to, get in the car, drive till we're lost and find our way back again. But there's no point. It would just be me and Joy. And while we'd have fun, we wouldn't have loud singing and Clay fretting and Patrick wheezing, and Cole staring at his gameboy and Anna Li staring out the window. and you wouldn't be there. We wouldn't have slamwiches. We wouldn't drive as long or as far away and I might not find our way home again.

I was married for 31 years, 5 children, 27 years as a full-time homemaker. Comfortable living in a comfortable house, but not elaborate. I spent countless hours deciding what to put into each room, what it's purpose was, how to make it prettier and so forth. It was my job to make the box we lived in a home. Then I lost that job when my husband fired me and moved out.  Now, I've given away, sold or donated roomfuls of furniture, trinkets, art, plants, brand new appliances. My two daughters and 20- year old son and I are living with two dogs and a cat in an apartment with less than 900 sq.ft. After a month here I'm still trying to find places to put things. All we have are twin beds, a sofa, a cushy chair and $99 stainless steel shelving units from Sams. You'd think that with 2000 less square feet would be easier to keep clean but it's still a struggle. Even so, it has become home because my children are here, their friends come to squeeze in with us. We watch tv, ce...