fresh cravings


I’m thinking of wishes today and desire and magical things.  Here is the latest round-up of my fresh cravings.

  1. I want a hand-mapping from Isabel.  A constellation of my true lines and thru-lines and lines that have yet to unfold.
  2. I want this print from Alex Franzen to hang in my Airstream trailer.
  3. I want to brunch here with soul sisters in March.  I want to make it to Malibu and drive down the coast to Big Sur and soak in hot springs.  Just because we only live once.
  4. I am so ready for this course with Pixie to begin.  And speaking of wishes and wanderlust, her retreats in Oregon look rather divine, as well!
  5. I have been eyeing this cozy sweater.  Scouting it out.  I think it would be fly with my new black suede leggings.
  6. I want to make this list with my love on New Year’s Eve.  Then drink some Prosecco along with a few oysters.  And call it a year!

What about you?  What are you craving and wishing and scouting and loving?


Solstice, A Birth Story

Solstice and lunar eclipse, she came with so much energy she was unstoppable.

Walking alone, just me and her, for most of the day, through the side streets. Stopping for breath and hugging a tree. Panting under the twinkle lights of the tree, on all fours. Shedding my clothes. Calling him to finally come home. The snow started. And I heard the doula say to him, call the midwife, we’ll have a baby soon, as she moved me to the pallet on the floor.

Dark and light were one and the same. I laid on my side remembering to pant trying so hard to hold her in until the midwife came. When I was scared and lost she said, your body knows what to do. Trust yourself. I breathed some more. And for a few moments everything stopped. Laying on my side, I looked up to the top of the window. Facing west. Out at the fading sunlight. Breathing and panting. Hearing her words. Knowing there was no turning back. Knowing I had everything within me to do this. Knowing I had to. Knowing I would move through this fire, that this fire was moving through me. Knowing, with absolute certainty, that there was no other way. And with one more growl, she was here. On my belly all slick and warm.

They said she cried something fierce but all I remember is the stillness, the end, the landing. All I remember is her warmth and her certainty and that I was just a conduit. A bundle of light. She was so ready to come.

Her Table


What I remember most about her kitchen isn’t the smell of the cigarettes smoldering in the orange plastic tray on the counter. It isn’t the roast simmering in the oven or how I would slink to the cabinet for butter crackers when she wasn’t looking. What I remember most isn’t how my aunt would stand with the hair dye in hand, setting her hair in pink spongy rollers. I don’t remember what the card game was that we played or all the words to “Go Tell Aunt Rhody” that she sang to the littlest ones as they rested on her lap. What I remember most isn’t the bitter taste of the coffee she would pour into the china cup he brought her back from the war and how she’d fill it mostly with cream for me to drink.

What I remember in my bones is the tangle of these women, not always easy and not always soft. But always with love.  A tangle of words filled with small town gossip and the latest from Aunt Bev’s letter and the question of what to sell at the church bazaar. Her table. An everyday altar of love, crowded with these women. Best friends and daughters. Sisters. Coffee and cigarettes. A tangle of the living.

Whiskey and Waylon


On Friday nights, he would come home through the side door and pour a whiskey on the rocks while she cooked at the stove. We’d play at their feet, sitting by the refrigerator where the warm air blew. Dinner of the good food would be slow and easy, maybe it was their foreplay, and as the evening came, they would pour more wine. He would eventually walk to the next room and we’d know he was getting his guitar and my heart would swell. This always meant they were happy. With the dishes and cloth napkins still scattered at the table, he would take his time tuning the strings. We would leave them for a while for our own baptism. Filling the bathtub with bubbles and toys, swimming for what seemed like hours, letting the grit of the week wash away until finally we’d emerge all wrinkly and powdered white. And when it grew darker still, we padded back to the table to sounds of John Denver’s Country Roads or Waylon Jenning’s Mama Don’t Let Your Baby Grow Up to be Cowboys.

Friday nights.  In the green house.  Slow and easy.

My Now, a List


So go ahead, make your next bold move.  Tell us, what’s the next thing you’re gonna need to prove to yourself? Ani DiFranco

October was all about shining the light on the brave souls around me. I turned the tables on myself today and made this list.  My now.  Raw and unedited.

The song I can’t get out of my head:  Ani Difranco’s Your Next Bold Move from her Reckoning album.

My most cherished thing:  The ring my Grandma gave me to use as my wedding ring.  It was a ring my Grandpa had given her; they were married nearly 72 years.  It reminds me of my family of origin and the family I am creating.


Favorite book:  The Giver.  And Desert Solitaire.  And Body and Soul.


Tools of my trade:  Vision books and spirit guides.  My IPhone and Mac laptop.  A Moleskine notebook.  My Golden Earth Chakra oil for stability and abundance.

Studied:  Philosophy and Psychology. As well as tap dancing and violence prevention.

Favorite trip:  Our honeymoon to Tomales Bay in California. Staying at Manka’s Inverness Lodge, soaking in a wooden hot tub outside and buiding fires in our cabin.

My shelter–and happy place:  On the couch with my love watching taped Top Chef and eating arugula pizza. Dreaming of my Airstream trailer on my Pinterest board. Reading to them at bedtime.


I secretly want to be…ten again. Reading Little House on the Prairie after school and climbing trees and playing my boombox in my bedroom where my first vision board hung.

My favorite outfit:  Anything with my boots from Texas.


Best gift ever:  A plane ticket for Christmas to see my sister perform in an opera in San Diego.

I secretly love…donuts. And Instagram. The horoscopes in Elle magazine.

What fuels me:  The stories I hear. My children. One in three. Spirit guides. French pressed coffee.


Favorite movies:  Crash.  Sliding Doors. Knocked Up. And The English Patient.

Things/people/work I adore:  Lists and letters from Isabel. Daily pics from Alisha and Misty. Hannah’s Magic Making Circle. Anything written by Danielle LaPorte.

She said…



Magic words. Whoa.

I can’t wait to know who you are now.

I just love you.


You’ve captured my heart this morning.

I love that dream.

Thank you for teaching me to be brave.

We are soul sisters.

Humbled to feel seen.

Thinking of you and our unfinished dreams.

Thank you for taking me past the tears to the wisdom.

I wish you more bliss, beginnings and magic.

It’s not the same without you there.

You are a warrior woman.

Kindred, we are.

Clearly we rock.

I have loads of love for you.

Let’s be grit and rise partners.

You heal the world in ripples of endless generations.

It is your love language.

You just show up and the world is better.

Come out of the shadows. Step into the light. Enter the fray…Rise. You are not alone.

[Your] story and mine are marked upon my heart.

Here’s to the next brave move.


post inspired from Hannah Marcotti’s Community Grace course

31 Days of Brave Hearts || Day 31, the unnamed


This is for all the brave ones who go unseen.  The ones who we walk by each day without knowing their braveness.

  • For the mom getting cancer treatment in the midst of everyday living.
  • For the two friends who jumped back into the dating scene.
  • For the boy who sent his first love note.
  • For the woman who gave her first public speech to 450 people.
  • For the bartender who stepped in between the two men arguing.

Brave is beginning.

It’s saying yes.

Or walking away.

Brave is feeling it all–and then some.

Brave is sitting with the questions and listening.

It is falling apart and stitching the pieces back together.

Brave is choosing how you will walk through the fire and the elation and every moment in between.

Brave is yours for the taking.

And for everyone around me who is brave and who I do not notice, this is for you.  The brave in me bows to the brave in you.