You’re looking at f***ing determination and truth and creativity. You’re looking at loss and sorrow and the effort for a deeper perspective. You’re looking at satisfaction and happiness. You’re looking at a manifestation of a connection so deep and rooted that it’s more real than I am. You’re looking at my face.*

FACE: One Square Foot of Skin by Justine Bateman


Know Thyself

Robert “Bilbo” Walker

“I didn’t want to open in town, because in town, they got too many rules. Out here, we ain’t got no rules.”

Robert “Bilbo” Walker, Founder of Wonderlight City (a juke joint)*


If you build it, they will come. Just build it to your specifications.



*From Great Big Story






Fierce – adj., 3. Furiously Eager and Intense

When I was in my early twenties, I lived in San Francisco and wanted to be a writer. To be a good writer, you have to read a lot. I was forever changed when I read Natalie Goldberg’s Wild Mind. In it is a passage about feeling “wild” while you sit calmly, writing. I completely identified with this! I made up my mind to have a Wild Mind from then on.

Being “wild” mentally naturally helps my writing and my creativity. However, I noticed that when I feel sluggish physically, I am pretty dull inside, too. So I force myself to exercise. Believe me, I am never excited about lacing up the work out shoes. But I make it a habit. I get my shoes on, turn Jillian on (the DVD, not her…) and I go to town. It’s hard. I sweat. I look forward to it ending. But I do it. And when I’m done, I feel SO GOOD (not just because it’s over). The endorphins kick in and I feel more energized and positive. I am on top of the world!

On some Sundays, I like to go roller skating. I’m almost as fast as Apolo Ohno. This gives me a great high, too. I feel fierce.

Image result for apolo ohno skating

What makes you feel ferocious? What can you do to make it a habit?





Sunday Funnies #2 – Father’s Day Edition

The Setting: San Francisco, Mt. Vernon Street

Me:  Stay-at-home mom to two young babies, both in diapers. I keep a vigilant eye on the girls, change them as soon as they soil their diapers. Feed them healthy food and push them on swings in the park.

You: Your usual goofy self – the “Mayor” of our street; very sociable. Your impressions of famous people make everyone laugh.


By the time you get home from work, I’m in serious need of “me” time. You swoop Ava under your arm, carrying her like a football. Josie walks under your feet and so does Maggie our Labrador. With your one free hand, you carry a cabernet and say, “Bye honey, relax. Enjoy some solitude. I love you.” You and the family are out the door, to visit the “Different Boys” – a group of young, single party guys up the block.

The silence in the house is deafening. I don’t know what to do with my free time. I’m glad to have it, but also miss you, the girls and the dog. After a bubble bath, I get worried. You are not as “obsessed” as me when it comes to safety. So I get dressed and walk up to the boys’ house. No one answers. The front door is unlocked and I walk in. There are papers and clothes piled up everywhere in the house. I walk some more. On the pool table are Josie and Ava, wearing only diapers now. Where are their shirts? Ava has the 8 ball in her hand. She holds it up to her mouth and slobbers all over it. Josie has a ball and chucks it off the table and onto the floor. The ball bounces off the hard wood floor.

You are in the next room, lying on someone’s bed, drinking and talking to Matt-the-Artist. Maggie lies next to you.

“Uh, Willey, I think I’ll take the girls home.”

“Why? Honey, just stay. Relax. Grab a beer.”

“Oh, thank you. But the girls need their baths, their books read to them…we need to get ready for dinner and then bed.”

You look at me adoringly.

“Ok. I’m going to finish my wine here. I’ll bring Maggie.”

I take the girls home. You come home shortly, and we eat dinner right after you tickle the girls silly.