… she's not coming down 'til it all makes sense again…

A Poem…

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(this sad little unfinished draft shows a  bit of my “process” lol, this is from last year, when I had time to pack lunches… the phrases at the bottom were supposed to be fleshed out into supporting or juxtaposing paragraphs.. but alas, I have no idea what they mean anymore!) :



Oh, the leftover slices of orange,

that have sat on a plate on the kitchen counter for two days,

alone, forlorn and forgotten,

exposed to the ravages of the cold, dry January air…

who eats those slices of orange so they don’t go to waste?

Do you even need to ask,

why, it’s MAMA.

Mama gotta eat the old raggedy food nobody else wants.

The ripped-off and tossed-aside bread crusts,

Oh, like a happy little scavenging mouse she trips about,

gathering them from plates,

but that is her BONUS, for the bread crust is always the best part of the loaf.

They just don’t know it yet.


Hooooboy… guess who’s been listening to Lewis Carol Alice in Wonderland audioCD in the car… I keep hearing that lyrical kinda language in my head… how doth the little crocodile…

Zack’s been having mid-terms this week, which means he doesn’t need a lunch for school, they get out early. Which means I haven’t been getting up and packing his lunch. I usually try to pack it, unless I’m working at the high school that day, and have to leave super early, in which case he kinda has to help… I don’t mind packing most of the lunches in the house, I really don’t, even though they’re all grown at this point. Usually I’m not working, and I’m up feeding all the other critters every morning, two little bowls of dog food (one with a dob of peanut butter spread into it, so that persnickety Boo will take an interest in her breakkies…), two little bowls of mini horse grains, one diet-lite for chubby horse, one super-high-protein-power for growing baby horse, one little bowl of cat food, elevated on the stack of rubbermaid containers, so that Chicken can perch up there and eat without the dogs bothering his food, one pinch of goldfish flakes for Zack’s fish, three tiny pellets of Beta food for CAssie’s fish… bucket of fresh water for the horses, and out I go for the hay… open the little barn door up, and there they are, two little furry faces, blinking up at me, blink- blink.

I’ve come to love this little routine. And I’m not just saying that to be quaint. I never thought I’d get to this point in my life, where such simple things would be so… important to me. I remember when we were first looking at the mini horses, must be 8 or 9 years ago, and the lady we bought them from, she was talking about “turning the horses out” each day, which meant she trundled out the the barn and let the horses out to pasture, and then later THE SAME DAY trundled out again and gathered them back in the barn! And this wasn’t just a few times, this was EV.ER.Y DAY. I was AMAZED! I thought, my GOSH, what discipline! How on earth do you faithfully do the same thing over and over and over EVERY SINGLE DAY??? Me, at the time, due to circumstances of my disordered thinking and general over-all unrest, agitation, discontent, and mixed up priorities, I was all over the place, and couldn’t imagine myself being that reliable for anyone or any thing.

Why did I get horses in that state of mind? I don’t know. I did it. I wanted what I wanted. Right THEN. I had some notion they would help me, and my family. I had a pony when I was growing up, and I remembered his furry little face, and that sometimes it was just him and me and I could tell him anything.. that’s what horses are… I always believe horses can heal…

So we got them, and I cared for them. But not with a sense of joy. I did the minimum I had to do.

Franki gets up and before she even goes into the bathroom, comes into my room, snuggles a dog, and says, “Ooooo.. I gotta show you something I learned last night on guitar!” Runs for guitar, and at 8:05am the most beautiful song appears, and she finishes with a flourish and I say that’s beautiful and she says I made that up! She says everything great that I make up happens as an accident! I said, yep, it’s gotta be kinda organic? her hair springs in wild giant looping curls off her bed-head, the kinda curls I would BURN INTO MY HEAD WITH HOT IRONS IF I COULD, but hers appear naturally in her sleep, and I want to tell her to just go to school like that, let the hair do what it wants, it’s so pretty and wild… but I know…


bathrooms for coffee exchange

wei wu wei action without action


And what about Naomi?

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