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February Rains

February 25, 2018 in Art Matters, City Matters, Essays, Feminist Matters, Harriet Matters, Music Matters, Sabboytical, Weather Matters

I wake and for the third morning in a row hear Joan Armatrading singing these lyrics in my head:

If you’re gonna do it do it right
Don’t leave it overnight

Also for the third morning in a row–more like the sixth, who am I kidding?–the rain is pounding against my window. I can tolerate this much rain in the spring–there’s a point to it, even a gift–but in February it’s just mean. Cold and wet and mean. Which is how I’ve been experiencing everything, including myself. Take the dream from which I’m waking. It’s as rough as the weather. Continue Reading →

A Witch in the Wardrobe

November 19, 2017 in Age Matters, Sabboytical, Style Matters

Things I have learned from pruning my entire wardrobe over the last three days: 1. I never wear turtlenecks–so claustrophobic!–though I periodically think buying them is a good idea. 2. I never wear pure wool–so itchy!–though people gift me with it all the time. 3. I’ve kept one prized garment of each of my past lovers, none of which I feel the need to keep anymore. (Neither the lovers nor the garments.) Continue Reading →

Blood in His Tracks (Indigo Grownups)

August 25, 2017 in Age Matters, Cat Lady Matters, City Matters, Ruby Intuition, Sabboytical, Spirit Matters

I have come to accept my sadness as holy. I don’t mean to fetishize depression. I don’t even think the great grief I experience is depression–it’s situationally appropriate and does not rise up to wall me from my day, duties, you.

But I think of my sadness—this heavy, grave stillness—as holy because it is true and because, after all these years, I am grateful to feel even when it is very, very hard.

As a young empath my daily prayer was to not stop feeling. I worried that I’d grow as numb as most adults, that I’d stop registering the sorrows and struggles and triumphs of bugs, birds, plants, people–of every soul quietly hurtling on its forcefulm fateful path. I felt everything so deeply that it made me cry in fast food restaurants and plastic playgrounds paved over meadows, at birthday parties where the parents didn’t seem happy their kids had been born. Oh, Lisa, she’s so sensitive. That’s what they always say, isn’t it, when we can’t block out the miracles and savagery of everyday life.  Continue Reading →

"All, everything I understand, I understand only because I love."
― Leo Tolstoy