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Showing posts from 2011

Meeting my Inner Child

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I had a very spiritual experience the other day. It was my third session with Kate Jones at Mind Body Movement as I work on healing a fractured childhood. This particular day I had no expectations and I started by letting her know that I was feeling anxious, like something needs to change; this feeling of entrapment; living in an American suburb where I feel like I am suffocating every day that I am here. I explained I was feeling no peace and how I had literally experienced a panic attack in my kitchen on a recent morning and almost fainted. There has never been that feeling of..."sigh, I am home...." You know; that feeling when you know you don't need to move anymore, because you have found the place you want to live, for a while, or forever. I have never felt that. Every place I have ever lived has felt temporary...sometimes I don't put pictures up on the wall, or unpack boxes because I feel I won't be staying long. It has always been this way, I expect because

Stay Hungry. Stay Foolish.

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I was deeply saddened to hear about Steve Jobs passing. He was always my hero, not only for his innovative ideas and brilliant mind, but for his long battle with cancer and illness. His commencement speech to the Stanford graduates in 2005 really hit home for me. He inspired me. To me, he was the Einstein of our generation. A true genius. If you haven't heard it, click on the link below and prepare to be inspired. Steve's 2005 Commencement Speech to Stanford Grads

Letting your children go.

One of the hardest things I have ever had to deal with is being a single mother to a teenage boy. My son just turned 17, and although I should be thankful that he's not in a gang or getting bad grades at school, or drinking,  there's that letting go thing. You know, when you still think he's your little boy, and he wants to be as far away from you as possible. No matter how cool of a mother I might be, i.e. ride a motorcycle, attend Burning Man; does NOT wear "Mom Jeans"; I am still not cool enough. He laughs at everything I do or say. Sometimes he drives me up the wall because he's making fun of something or other and not being serious or listening to me. Lately he has been acting like he's the man of the house, a peril of not having a father around. He is also a Leo, as am I, and for some reason we have this love-hate thing going on. You see, he's one of those crazy-makers. Yes, you know the ones. Those family members you love intensely, but they m

Sadness is...not going to Burning Man

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And so it is, with great sadness that I realized some time ago that I will not make it to Black Rock Desert this year for Burning Man . Needless to say, I am extremely depressed, and have been for about a month, when the friend that was saving me a ticket, broke up with his girlfriend of eight years and informed me that the extra ticket apparently got lost in the break up. I have had a particularly hard summer financially and was already contemplating the very real possibility that I wouldn't make it this year, followed shortly thereafter by the announcement that, for the first time in Burning Man's 25 year history, tickets had sold out, and that the amount of people allowed had reached capacity.

Meadow

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Love. Blooms as a rose, or a blossom in the springtime. Fresh dew on blades of grass, like diamonds in the early morning mist. She walks, barefoot to a grassy clearing in the woods; dew drops sprinkle her blood red painted toes, daisies kiss her ankles. She stands still and listens to the chirping and whistling of early birds, filling the otherwise heavy silence through the trees. She breathes in the sweet smell of dawn; closes her eyes and dreams of ballerina steps and love hearts, wishes and tears, joy and bittersweet pain. And then she remembers. Remembers his kiss, remembers his touch, remembers their passion, remembers the way she can still smell him when she flips her hair, and her heart opens up. If he were here now, perhaps he could smell the sunlight on her skin. And there are tulips and daffodils and buttercups. And melancholy all but disappears and hides away. For a while.

A day at Petroni Vineyards

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One of my favourite Italian restaurants in San Francisco's North Beach is the aptly named North Beach Restaurant , located at 1512 Stockton Street in San Francisco. The ambiance is relaxing, in a Tuscan style with imported Italian tile decor and original works of art. The menu is prepared with the freshest ingredients, in authentic Tuscan style, and a wine list with over 500 bottles of wine with Grappas, Ports and Cognacs. (Yum). Lorenzo Petroni and Bruno Orsi founded the restaurant in 1970 and it is now renowned for it's authentic cuisine and celebrity clientele. Lorenzo happens to own a winery in Sonoma called Petroni Vineyards which won the Golden Award at the Golden Glass Competition in San Francisco, as well as several others. I love this place for the food, the wine and all else mentioned above, but also because of my penchant for young waiters. I know, I know, crazy right? Well, there are only male waiters here. In fact the only female who seems to be on staff is an incr

Butterfly

These wretched wings frustrate me, the urge to fly is more desirable unto my soul than water for thirst. But fly I must; dance I must, bathed in silvery shadows of the moon, catching stars as they fall around me.

Somewhere Over the Rainbow

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=V1bFr2SWP1I And perhaps another. Dare to dream.

Possibly one of my favourite songs

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yFTvbcNhEgc This song speaks to me. In volumes. Enjoy.

Confessions of a Commitment-phobe

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So I decide to go to Paris in April because 1) I can't stand being away from my most favourite city for a long period of time, having only been there a few months prior (you might have already gathered that; and 2) I bloody love that Billie Holiday song " April in Paris " and figure I simply must experience it, because Billie must have been inspired in Paris in April if she sang about it. As usual I have no expectations and just want to BE here. I rent an apartment from a very cute gay couple, Jean and Olivier, in my favourite neighbourhood, the 11th. Responsibilities are on hold.  I can hardly contain myself. Since I have been to Paris several times now, I have more than a few handsome men I can call upon should I wish; however, my better judgment tells me it is always better to experience new things instead of go for the ones familiar, so despite my half-hearted attempts at contacting guys I have slept with that are "friends" now, I don't try very har

Dancing the Futterwacken

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Courtsey of ohjohnny.net Like the Mad Hatter from Tim Burton's Alice in Wonderland, if I just danced the Futterwacken when I felt the utmost joy or pain, couldn't that just be ok? Sometimes in life, don't you ever wanna dance the Futterwacken? I do. All the time. Even now. For Alice has long been my hero. I don't know about you, but I was often in Wonderland and was Alice whilst growing up in my often scary and oppressed own life as a child. Back then it would have been brilliant to run off when there were important decisions to be made and float into a world of my own imagining. As I often did. Where friends could have been hookah-smoking caterpillars with sage advice; where a somewhat lunatic red headed, mad-eyed, light-on-his-feet dancing Mad Hatter - (now in my mind, Johnny Depp) was perhaps my best friend that just "got" me. Let us not forget Tweedledee and Tweedledum, always there disagreeing to disagree. We all know these characters, now, as we

Photos from my favourite City

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Montmartre Flowers A French Bloody Mary? An afternoon in Montmartre Summer in Paris French balcony railing Flowers in Paris And if you let yourself be surprised? The hood Moulin Rouge Deserted Strumming strings near the Louvre A summer day in Montmartre Graffiti near Richard Lenoir metro station Where to this afternoon? Passing by a church near Hotel De Ville Haussmann Architecture A photographer...and a marriage Walking towards the river Shopfront in Montmartre Montmartre Time for a glass of Rose Bikes in Montmartre Le Metro! Japanese restaurant on Rue De La Roquette Cafe near Notre Dame

A Rite of Passage

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I have often wondered what exactly a " Rite of Passage " is. It's not something you think about every moment of every day, right? But it seems my whole life has been somewhat of  a rite of passage. From getting thrown into a "Children's Home" at sixteen back in the outskirts of London, to being thrown into single-mum-hood to two boys at the age of thirty-five in San Francisco. Was I prepared for either "rite"? I don't think so. But it wasn't a choice.

Falling in love with Paris - Part 1

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Nothing could have prepared me for the beauty and magnificence of Paris. There is a magic here that I feel as I walk through the old streets. A freedom that is difficult to grasp or describe. It feels as if all my life I have been searching for something that I had lost. I think I've found it. It fills me with wonder and a joy that I haven't felt in a long time. Yesterday I got out of the metro station at Les Halles in the 1st arrondissement and came out in front of the L'eglise Saint-Eustache, simply a masterpiece of Gothic architecture. As I looked up, my breath got caught in my chest as I inhaled deeply. How could I not be in awe? Mozart chose this place for his mother's funeral. Richelieu was baptized here, and Moliere was married here in the 17th century. Surrounded by culture and history so deep, so rich was I and all I could do for this moment was to sit  down on a bench and stare up at this beautiful church just as Enya's Deora Ar Mo Chroi played on my

No labels please!

I write, does that make me a writer?  I paint and draw, does that make me an artist? I sell real estate (for now) for a living. Am I simply a real estate agent? I have two boys...I am a mother. I ride a Harley Davidson and a Vespa...some might say I am a biker! I practice yoga, am I a yogi? What's with all the labels? At work I am surrounded by people who define themselves and their lives by what they do for a living. But the fact of the matter is, what about the rest of our talent? I believe we are so much more than what we do to make money. I am surprised by the amount of people that I meet that do not do anything else. Just go to work, go home. And then all over again. How does one find oneself if all they believe they are good for is what they do to make money? I used to buy into all of that. I used to even go one step further and let how much money I had in the bank either give me confidence or make me feel like shit, depending on the balance...I look back at that now and

Freedom

Life seems strange, it's ups and downs, Try to forget, move to different places, towns Hoping one day the past will be gone But it's too late, the damage is done. Run away run away, close the door To your heart that's felt oh, so sore For all those years of hurt and pain You must find the strength, somehow gain The knowledge that you will be alright To be able to sleep undisturbed through the night To know you were innocent, but innocence was lost, Trapped in a dark web, wishing freedom at any cost. Tell me do you feel free now? Well, my pretty, take a bow, For you've survived more than most Can you forget? Kill the ghost? Be what you can, live to the full; enjoy For now you are yours and no longer his toy.

The Moment I Knew it was over....

I wasn't sure how long it had been since I didn't feel like I was choking from lack of oxygen whenever he was in the room. It might have been when we sat in the marriage therapist's gloomy purple office, and my husband said, "I feel like I am drowning in a river, and she's standing at the edge, throwing rocks at me." I wanted to scream at him. I wanted to smack his face. I wanted to shout, "I was throwing you a lifeline motherfucker!" This was after months of spending sixteen hours a day away from our children because I had to work two jobs to support us because he couldn't get just one. Trying to motivate him, support him, inspire him, help him help himself, but all the while resentment was building up until the Great Wall of China was between us. All because he was "getting ready to get ready", or because he was depressed or unmotivated. And I would come home at night and he'd be sitting in the same spot on the sofa, with a beer