Drove an hour to a funeral. She requested burial next to her late husband. He died years before. beat her regularly and cut up her clothes. Saw a photo of them at her wedding and surprised to see he was so light and she the dark one. At burial in her late nineties. Drove to the country to meet the rattlesnake man. He looked ashen at arrival and asked how anyone could live up there. The curvy road and cliffs got to him. didn't find rattlesnake in the house. wonder if it had to do with me smudging for spirits.

Drove an hour away to a chiropractor who says he can fix me. Everything that he says makes sense so far. He just might be popping me into shape. His last adjustment took me back four years from post-menopause to pre-menopause. Wouldn't mind if the wrinkles would erase, too. Son and daughter-in-law think it's all quackery. Don't tell them half the stuff I've tried for healings. Forgot about driving back from the country last night and staying up trading ghost stories with my sister. We have the same scary dreams about a hallway in our childhood home. Very eerie coincidence.

Don't you know that your children pretend to be like you only because they want you to like them? It goes the other way as well. Your parent may pretend to be like you but in reality have nothing in common with you other than genes. In some cases not even genes. If you don't care much for people what makes you think you would be a good parent? If you're a single parent, you most likely will hear about your deficiencies. They negate your sacrifices which are meaningless because stupidity put you in your circumstance in the first place.

There are amazing people out there. You stumble across them when you don't expect it. It's why I have to pick myself up and keep trying. To make sense of the world. You always hear the pep talks about beyond all odds. But the talks go above your head most of the time. I just read Project Girl. Now I have to read all of her other books. Hopefully, one day I'll have my books organized and there will be a whole shelf for her. It is true that since I moved to the suburbs there's no time to organize.

Unrolled parchment paper which was already partially unrolled. In the garage in the country. From an old architectural design class. I'd treasured my old drawings. There it was. A footprint. Dainty. Narrow. With a pointed toe. And a pattern on the sole unlike any of my shoes. Next to a brown pencil thin scrawled line like a child would make. I stepped on the footprint in my sock. The heel mark disappeared. Soft dusty dirt. He lied. Constantly. To make me feel crazy. Good thing I changed the locks. Hopefully it's a lover. Not a victim. Imagination works overtime. Scary.

loading videos onto a website. They are from my friends' wedding. I knew him from grammar school. Special people. He's a talented musician with a lovely family. My own son thinks I'm insane. I know I'm not. When I was young my family made me think I was crazy because I could tell that someone had been in my room even though they all pretended noone was there. Now they laugh about it. Brothers and sisters were in there all the time moving my dolls. Found solid evidence that my ex really was in the country house with a woman.

Would like to live in the present. The dryer is loud. Room too hot. Mind drifts back to a hospital. I was a teenager. The elevator. Hallway. A young man who in my mind was a casualty of war. Vietnam. In a wheelchair. His face lit up. I pretended to not notice. I didn't trust a guy. Always looked through them. I try now to return hellos and force myself to look at faces. How could a young man in a wheelchair have harmed me? Many faces haunt me sometimes. Those who could have been truly kind and not cons.

Can't decide whether to drive to the country tonight or get up for a 6:00 a.m. yoga class and leave directly after. Maybe I should do that and try to shift my internal clock so I have longer days and shorter nights. Would make sense. Sorry to say that I still find suburbs pretty ugly. I'm a city/country person at heart. The rolling hill outside my window here will surely be ploughed up within the next few years to fit in new structures. Condos or fake French villas. Not good with change. Like old grey cities or wild land. Shoot.

always let family intimidate me. Have to say less. road up here only seems treacherous if you're not used to it. Drove the husqvarna thing around to cut the brush. Only took a couple hours. Been putting off changing the oil. Powerwashed the porch. Found the dead mouse under the fridge. The white dog came. The stillness is beautiful. The chiropractor thought he cured my tailbone problem but it's no better. His last adjustment made kinks. Unkinked a little doing fish pose. Used to know the sanskrit. Matsyurasana? Sadness still over the ex. Seems it had to be a scam.

leave in an hour to make it to the Congolese dance class before work. Last week couldn't keep up. Guest teacher was difficult to follow. Too advanced. been inspired to not care how I look. One dancer has physical impairment due to thalidomide. another is missing part of an arm so has no hand. They are great dancers. Always a different city to drive to for something. Don't seek out danger like family suggests. All the life affirming things just seem to have risk. Suburban street fairs don't seem to do it for me. Male akita howling in the distance.

Maybe we're genetically predisposed to watching our dreams on an invisible television screen. constant commercial interruptions, occasional power failures. hoping that what is on the screen is the reality. off the screen our bodies sitting there or lying spread out on the couch are empty carcasses similar to phantom limbs that seem real but aren't existing. except in our minds. which could be the television that looks like a soulless box of wires and tubes instead of an invisible energy puttering around inside a bloody throbbing gelatinous brain. I reach a dream and it sifts through my fingers like sand.

Went to see Amma the living saint. She hugs. She was vibrating as though she had a motor. For years I rode the horse on the adjacent property and down the dirt road toward Amma's. I'd turn at the end, cross the wooden little bridge to go back to the stables. I loved that horse. Didn't cry today because Amma said something on the video playing that shifted me from sadness to a step toward joy. Too many blissful disciples, though, and I worried about someone possibly stealing my shoes. And why wasn't Jesus vegetarian? He was prejudiced against pigs.

Think the chiropractic treatments have caused creaks. Cousins have crawled out of the woodwork. We're finding connections to American Indian ancestry which we knew we had. found census records showing the reservation. Interesting, though, that research turns up other facts. Indian or European who moved onto the land to push them out? Did I write about the James brothers? Don't want to be googled. What can I write? An article said that it takes two to three years to recover from divorce. So I'm not crazy. Hard time again. Miss my old life. Someone cut 52 flowers outside my condo.

It's not age that makes life harder. Living space is shrinking. Grew up living in huge houses. It was normal. Then small apartments as a single mother. Then larger flats with gardens. Then huge loft. Then a drop to a tiny apartment and up a little to a small flat with small garden. Then a big expansion to country property as an addition. Then a drop from the flat to a tiny condo. And now family think I should sell the country place? And just be in this teeny condo with no space for books? Where am I? What happened?

Used to think that the loft was too far from work when it was only 20 minutes on a busy day. Now when traffic is diverted due to construction the detour goes right in front of the loft to reach the freeway. That street is even darker and there are more homeless. Now guns are banned in that city so if I had a break-in like years back I'd have no protection. I remind myself of the downside to stop my whining. I'm spoiled. Always find fault. Troublemaker. Just tired and too hot. There are crickets here in the suburbs.

I should have a boyfriend like Oscar or Jobe in Arrested Development. But there's no time. Maybe I should put myself in a picture with Jobe and give it to my son for his birthday. To get back on his good side. Or maybe Oscar. That series has softened my son toward me. He thinks he's like George maybe. What's the matter with this place? It's like an oven in here. Can't write up here. Guess I'll have to go out and take a walk. Before it gets dark. All the heat rises from downstairs and hovers around the computer.

Why is it that people who survive against all odds often destroy themselves with drugs or alcohol? Thinking about toughness. In their background. Like maybe Mafia connections or maybe their great grandmother loved it when the James brothers brought food and money. Or they hung out in the cities with the highest crime rates yet never had real trouble. It's like a miracle that they haven't been killed ten times. So is it a death wish that they're born with or a sick curse? Now they say coffee can cure cirrosis of the liver. And wine prevents heart attacks. True.

Went outside in my red pajamas this morning with a raincoat covering. My cellphone was in my car. It's a yuppie town but I seem to be in the one pocket that looks like converted projects. Four condos to a building but every building looks the same. Many renters. Some owners. It's also a racially mixed pocket. A red car was behind me coming into the entrance last night, slowed down next to me when I stopped for mail, took off and out after looking at me. Too ugly to accost? Puzzling. Cities/suburbs shift. Who is pushing who out? Odd.

It's hard to not jump from one thing to the next, one book to the next, one thought to the next. Not able to keep up especially since my world keeps unraveling. Happened to drive by the old apartment and just like I thought the pine walls were pulled loose in the first room. The front door was open. Wanted to stop the car and knock on the door and ask if I could pick up the walls tomorrow in a u-haul. Part of my soul is in those walls with parts of souls of many relatives. Unbelievable - the change.

A cook at work is always traumatized when he looks around at crowded streets and freeways. He's American Indian. his family lived on land in the area. He sees a tiny bird perched on a tree branch in the middle of chaos. it makes him sad. We all have sadness when we trace where we are now back to our past. I wasn't happy in the past which looks so great now in retrospect. must be how life goes. can't wait to get out of where we are and when we do we mourn that we can't get back in.

Just purchased earthquake insurance online. Been upset for no reason all day. Nervous. Wandered on and off freeways trying to find a pigment printer. Found it. Need to print old photos and seal them in an aluminum box. Have to get up to the country. Babysitting a chihuahua next week. Can't understand why I'm always upset. Remembered how it took years to get over old boyfriends who weren't even real boyfriends. Too tired to write even though my energy is back. Just too darn late. What else? Out of bottled water. Who would ever think we'd be stuck on freeways

Someone who's been on a most wanted list has been captured. had a job where I work. Everyone thought he was a nice guy. knew he had an issue with women. I told another woman at work to not tell him what to do or anything. He was extremely hard-working. I had heard that he complained about too many hours. told him he could work whichever shifts he wanted because he was so good. Told him he didn't have to work splits. could choose his hours. That angered him. complained that I was trying to take hours away from him.

I'm an old white woman. Old to some. not old to others. felt old when I was twelve years old. I'd have my hair done in a beauty parlor. puzzling that I'm more and more influenced by black people. Feels like everywhere I turn there's a book, or a voice, or a teacher from Congo or from Oakland or from Paris. Wish I had their direction when I was twelve but I guess to have a full life we need a wide spectrum of influences, so pink tutus aren't complete wastes. Even if you hate pink tutus. must mean something.

This was my day: early morning yoga class, Congolese dance class, wished a happy birthday to ......, food shopping, work, and probably more but I can't remember because I'm too hungry and it's too late to eat. Bought a $2.00 garage sale book of quotations. Maybe I should go get it, flip it open, and write one---hold on---Canada and Canadians Look here You've never seen this country It's not the way you thought it was Look again Al Purdy Maybe quotes aren't allowed here? Ok I'm deleting every other word if I go over 100 words -oops 98

We are products of mass brainwashing. All of these categories just become silly. Thirty years ago my grandson would be categorized as black even though his skin is not. Black turns white in a single generation although years back you'd be black if you were white if you didn't cover up your ancestry. The black white thing gets confusing because sometimes black and white turns you to Mexican so you could change your name to Lopez if Mexican is in vogue which it's not right now but could be sometime in the future. Who really can trace their ethnic background?

I am the typical white lady from a Janet McDonald book. finished Twists and Turns. geared toward young African-Americans but speaks to me. Here I sit in this teeny condo in 2006. Can't get my thoughts together. catch glimpses of images from memory. Victorian houses on wheels being moved. Don't know where they were going. was the ‘60's. think the Fillmore was being re-vamped? Think of the dream loft I couldn't afford. To keep. Try to look at the world but shut down overwhelmed. My son would yell "stop it I can't stand weak people." That thought snaps me out.

still google my ex-husband's name. news on the internet shows a house that collapsed. The newscaster asks if people were screaming. Earlier I went to the bank to send money for three necklaces. They will be woven by the spiritual daughter of a houngan. I lived in beautiful houses when I was growing up. Mansions. We had Blessed Mother in the entrance of one house. Her candle caused a fire once. We had Jesus on the third floor in another house. I have a picture of my sister and my son next to him making peace signs with their fingers.

Dogsitting the chihuahua. She backed out of her harness which had the potential to drastically change her life and push me over the edge. I was careful and yet... All the odors around the garbage cans helped to slow her down. She's a sweet little thing. Can't stand drastic change. Drastic. What kind of word is that? Drastic. Shouldn't the r be rolled? Chinese food. Dang nab it. Like a cartoon. Sesame seeds and some kind of sauce. A head stand. Cartwheels. Potstickers. But I ate French food? A little bistrot like in Paris but here in the suburbs. Sleep.

just turning the key in the lock to the door of the tradesmen entrance when I heard someone behind me call out my name. Another old boyfriend. For a recluse, I sure do have a lot of these men coming out of nowhere. Hadn't seen him in 34 years. It's like spiders coming out of cracks. A nice man. Always was. Dark hair turned grey. Maybe incubator babies are predestined to be alone. I got out of the incubator and a nurse held me up to the glass wall while pinching my cheeks and making me scream. Revealing old film.

Lived my life wrong. Never needed a man for a darn thing but always hooked up with one. All that brainwashing about a woman being a man's rib bone. Sacrifice was beaten into our heads so we didn't learn how to take care of ourselves. My mother said I'd have to marry a rich man to do any of the things I wanted to do. I always married poor so it would make sure to be for love and not prostitution. But poor men expect you to sacrifice so they can trade in their old white trucks for silver Lexuses.