Slipping

An unfired, dried vase whirls
upon the potter's wheel. Silky,
wet slip spreads slowly up and over
each of her curves -
waist, hips, thighs, breasts.

I blush. I want to
be the vase.

Pedaling Tandem on a One Seat Bike

I'm finally comfortable riding my bike fourteen miles without stopping.
I'm learning how to shift smoothly, right before I need the change.
I'm enjoying the trail, able to notice the flora and fauna -- while breathing simultaneously.
I'm no longer a heavy drag on Craig.
I'm not noticing any difference in my weight or body structure. This matters not.
I'm feeling the warmth creep into my muscles, and anticipate it.
I'm looking forward to that G-Spot on the trail. The part where sacred waits for me to return.

I always yell as loud as possible -- I LOVE YOU GOD -- with no hands.

The deer, eagles, mice, rabbits, slugs, and woodpeckers stop everything - concurring with holy silence.

Then He breathes on me his pleasure. I feel it begin on the top of my head. It drips over me like a
wide nozzled shower head, covering all of me.

I hesitate to confess -- my brain throbs in time with my swollen heart and tingling skin. My body melts.

Great sobs of joy erupt, enlarging my rib cage. Tears blind me. I can barely breathe.

It's alright, because in that place on the trail I find myself clinging to Someone else, a tandem tangle.

Cork and Apron Dining

Last night we dined at Anthony's on the Edmonds waterfront for Loverby's company Christmas Dinner. I had packed two simple gift bags for the other two wives. A candle, a little paper chain wreath, a box of Anna's ginger cookies.

Before we left, I kept having this niggling thought bubble bumping and prodding me. It came fully texted. "Give Christine one of those aprons you made today." Weird.......OK. At the last minute I wrapped one in tissue paper and dropped it in her bag, then had to mark it so I remembered which one was hers.

We had a wonderful view of the docks lined with boats all decked out for the holidays. The lights reflected and bounced merrily off the water. A sailboat with a tall mast lit up is a breath catching sight.

Our waitress was elegant. Experienced. Composed. She left us to discuss ordering a bottle of wine. My table companions remembered the story of my first embarrassing wine experience/fiasco when I was young. For a joke, the boss pointed to me when she brought the wine to the table. I almost had a stroke. She looked puzzled as everyone howled. I told her the short version of my infamous wine cork licking.

She compelled me to look her in the eye. She said she could heal me, redeem that wounded moment. With panache she took the dreaded white towel off her arm and laid it on the table, showed me how the cork was correctly moist, poured me a tiny bit and taught me the proper swirl (flat on the table) to release the bouquet. She said wine should be accessible and friendly. (I mused how opera used to be the same to the common people.) She then showed me the clear edge of the puddle against the white towel as she tipped the wine in the bowl of the glass. That is what the white towel is for! If it has a brickish/brackish edge, it is 'off'.

This was all done, not in a whisper. My lesson was for the whole room. More than our table was mesmerized with her poise. She signed the cork for me. Kit. I'm keeping it. Maybe framing it.

She told us her most embarrassing dining story. Her husband took her to a high end French restaurant in Canada for her birthday. The waiter asked her if she wanted to savour the champagne? She said yes. He then took a sword off the wall and laid it and the champagne ceremoniously on a table he pulled over for the occasion. By this time, she realized he had asked her if she wanted to saber the champagne. The restaurant was full, all heads turned as she severed the head off that bottle. Thankfully, it was the real deal. In spite of her hyperventilating performance, they didn't drink any glass particles. :)

During our lingering meal, Christine, the youngest wife and mother at the table, mentioned how for five years she has begged her husband to get her an apron for a Christmas present. He put his head in his hands, moaning at his failure at fulfilling this impossible task. Bev and I both love aprons and started holding hands in excitement under the table and slapping each other's knees. I knew she was thinking of making Christine an apron as soon as possible. I knew what was in the bag. Shivers went up my spine as I felt this supernatural love flow toward this young woman. I was so glad I hadn't dismissed that strange thought bubble by pushing it away.

I asked Christine to unwrap a certain package. She wiped tears of happiness away as she realized what it was. I told her the back story. It was one of those perfect moments. Divine. Thanks Maestro. I love how you orchestrate and make music of our lives. I love how you love us.

Our waitress happened by as Christine was holding her apron up. She said, "Looks like two miracles happened this night." We all agreed.

Easter Morning Breakfast

A bunch of us foodies gathered to make breakfast early Sunday morning. We didn't cater to vegans, vegetarians, or anyone on a no carb diet. For the gluten or lactose intolerant, I hope they took their pills.

It was straighforward-farmboy-comfort-food. Heavy. Buttery. Food that stays and sticks in ways unapproved of by the health/weight conscious  ~  biscuits, sausage gravy, potato casserole, bacon, scrambled eggs, strawberries, blood oranges, orange juice, and milk. We felt no guilt. There was no force feeding this sort of warm fun down anyone's throat.

Loverby had the dutch ovens stacked high between layers of briquets. A circle of us hovered around them to keep warm. The biscuit steam curled up to catch and mingle with the bacon's perfume.

If we all had gone out to plow eighty acres, milk the cows, hoe the garden, feed the stock, or hand scrub nine loads of laundry, it would have been good fuel for the work ahead.

Instead, singing and hugging each other was the most strenuous thing we did afterwards. We wanted to take 'carb' induced naps, but the good news we were hearing kept us awake.

He's alive! For me, it's true. I happen to believe the grave is empty. 
I often wish I could have been that Mary, the one who first saw him. I imagine grabbing his ankles in the dust, not wanting to ever let go. I imagine his look of fondness, unembarrassed by my too intimate, too passionate, public display of affection. 

The building where we gather doesn't have a kitchen. Boldness and desperation made me ask a favor on behalf of the camp kitchen set up outside. Weather favors are risky. Asking for good weather when it is supposed to rain is crazy. I'm crazy. I asked, plead, begged, and persuaded.

As the line formed to eat, we were scrambling to make do with plastic forks for the bacon and strawberries. Christine hurried to the front of the line and put down two pairs of tongs. "I washed these last night and planned to bring them today, but don't know why." She had planned to bring them, even before I planned to forget to bring them!

Because she listened to the prompt, I felt overwhelmed with love from the one who held back the rain, and the one who stretched food for seventy to one hundred and thirty or so.

As the last canopy was taken down and stowed, it started to sprinkle.

Love like this gets my attention. And eternal gratitude.  

There's no lover like the one who strategically and deftly makes plans to pleasure his beloved. 


(Thanks to Loverby, Paul/Kimmie, Tracy, Frank/Trisha, Brita, Renee, and Dave.)

Doing It

I'm rereading Eugene Peterson's Practice Resurrection, a title he borrowed from Wendell Berry's Manifesto: The Mad Farmer Liberation Front. 

"....the subject is 'growing up.' In dealing with something so critical and personal, so full of consequences for all of us, here is a surprise. This...places us in a cosmos in which God starts everything. Everything. There is not a single verb commanding us to do something, not so much as a hint or suggestion that we are to do anything at all. No requirements, no laws, no chores, no assignments, no lessons. We are born into a cosmos in which all the requirements and conditions for growing up are not only in place but in action."  

I couldn't go to sleep tonight, so grabbed the camera to find the bulbs popping up in our yard. Daffodils, crocuses, and specimen tulips are all practicing resurrection - in the midst of a dark, cold, wet winter's night.

They just do it. So also will I.

Rocked by Love

On the beach I noticed this foot sized heart shaped rock. Tip your head or screen sideways and you'll see what I noticed. It is still laying in the sand on an island in the South Pacific. As I was downloading the album, editing and rotating pictures, I saw the embossed heart and the indented heart side by side. 

Please tell me you see them. Love rocks!

I found these the next day. Everywhere I walked..... 

Asking

Tugging on his sleeve
i take my thumb out of my
mouth long enough to ask
for another kind of comfort
which he must ask father for.
A miracle actually, a big and mighty
sort, rivaling or equal to the Red Sea
splitting or feeding five thousand.
This one needs more than a man
to fix. Two months of black oil
spilling in, out and through the water
main of living, a killing poison
heaving slick, black clad carcasses
one by one and two by two
lay dry caked with sand on
beach slick with tar balls.

This is no ark for the living, but a casket
without a silk lining. Close the lid
we can't look. Wait. Open the lid, please
do! Looking will bring courage to
ask for help supernatural. Someone
bigger, in control, who may choose
to act on our behalf in spite of and
anyways ~ someone who
might choose to grace us. This would
go down in history as a great story too.
Don't you want to be famous once
more, daddy? Can you hear my
plea, feel the tug on your heart?
I don't know this angry part of
you that sits back, looks away.
Show them the you I know.
The one who makes me feel favored.
Protected. Provided for. Helped.
You are I Am. Listen. Hear. Act once
more.

Let Down

Nursing human mothers and every other lactating mammal experiences let down. Let down is in between the time of bursting breasts anticipating the release of milk and the actual flow. Breasts actually ache to do this marvelous thing that nourishes precious offspring.

Calves, kids, lambs, and colts nuzzle around to latch on, then bump the bulging bag to start the flow coming as fast as they are able to guzzle.

Kittens and puppies rhythmically pedal the full sac with their forepaws, while making contented moans or purring.

Babies often put the up hand on the fullness that is giving them the answer to the question of the moment.

Let down is a combination of sensations, mostly a primal ache of release.

Without agonizing effort, this amazing miracle feeds one and provides reciprocal relief and satisfaction.

Sunsets and moonrises, eagles, bumblebees, butterflies, hummingbirds, shooting stars, water, art, music, poetry, gardens, words, stones, mountains, and love ~ these are the teats of God.

Nuzzle. Latch on. Suck. Butt. Nudge. Guzzle. Don't wipe your mouth so we'll see you lick your lips and purr.

When we see your milk mustache, we'll want some of what you just had.

Love Rocks

A hummingbird landed close to my barefoot. He stopped whirring his wings, cocked his head and looked me in the eye. He looked like he was trying to tell me something. The moment lasted long. When he darted away, tears were streaming down my eyes. It was one of those moments. 


It seems like when I'm out at the river, there are many such moments. It could be that I have come to expect them, therefore my noticer radar is on high alert.


As I walked up the hill, I choked up, barely able to get words out because of the lump in my throat. It was an incoherent plea to the lover of my soul, to be in him. For him to be in me. To have him look me in the eyes. Take my face in his hands. To see him. Feel his touch. I wanted us to climb inside each other. Closer. 


As the words jumbled into the meadow, I looked up to see two mammoth cloud shaped hearts each lying on their side. One had clean, sharp definition at the edges. The other was soft and fused at the edges. They filled the frame of periwinkle blueness. Any words coming out stopped.


The meadow laid out before me filled with daisies and clover, and this above it. I stood silent taking it in. Receiving the gift.


Maggie and I headed to the truck. As I turned the key on, the radio was starting to croon this song. You might think I'm making this up. Crazy. Go ahead, it is hard to believe. Sometimes I think I've gone clean off the edge, too. 


The only thing I know is that sometimes God sounds like The Atlanta Rhythm Section. Really, really. 

When you walked into the room 

There was voodoo in the vibes 

I was captured by your style 

But I could not get your eyes 

Now I stand here helplessly 

Hoping you'll get into me 

I am so into you 

I can't think of nothing else 

I am so into you 

I can't think of nothing else 

Thinkin' how it's gonna be 

Whenever I get you next to me 

It's gonna be good 

Don't you know 

From your head to toe 

Gonna love you all over 

over and over 

Me into you, you into me

Me into you 

I'm so into you 

I'm so into you...

I am so into you 

I can't get nothing else 

I am so into you 

I can't get to nothing else, no, no, no 

Love the things you do 

Listen, baby 

You're driving me crazy

Come on baby

I'm so into you 

Love the things you do

Dearly Beloved

Steak. Asparagus. Cucumbers in vinegar with salt and fresh ground pepper. Simple green salad. Baked potato with sour cream. Ice water. Stories of the day. Dreams of tomorrow. Full tummies.

Family sitting together around the supper table. Dog at our feet hoping something drops. Hummingbird at the feeder. Garden popping up. House clean. Chores done.

Today had rest imbedded. I didn't hardly budge from reclining. I am grateful. Content. And heavy with tiredness. I'm thankful for a life that allows me to indulge in rest when it's needed. My heart, soul, body, and mind needed it. No guilt or shame induced activity happened.

Here's what it looks like. A long soak in a hot bath. Coffee with my favorite mug and thick warmed cream. A down throw to keep the chill off when I dozed. I wrote a little. Read some. Mostly just let my mind wander. A crying jag looped around surprising me in a flash flood. It was wild white water. I kept
afloat-rode it out. More day dreaming. Dozed off again. Sorted out the heart stuff from the head stuff. It's important to know what to purge and what to keep. I only moved from the couch to the love seat, to the porch swing. Dragging my blanket around like Linus. I kept from sucking my thumb. Only just.

Me 'n God needed to love on each other. We needed a belly up, tummy scratchin', foot thumpin', tail waggin' time. I don't know about him, but I'm purring, finally. It took all day and the entire evening to arrive, but I'm here now; at a blissful afterglow. Not exciting, but a peaceful place of quiet rest.

And if you're reading this, I most likely talked with him about you. There was plenty of time today.

We decided again, you are dearly beloved.

They Said Yes

 Zechariah laughed before stuttering yes nine months later. 

 Elizabeth's baby boy kicked yes hard against her surprise.   

Trembling, Mary opened her life to yes.

Embarrassed, Joseph embraced yes. 

The wise men mapped yes by traveling far. 

The shepherds nodded yes as they followed the star. 

The angel chorus sang in unison yes.

 John the Baptist almost missed saying yes. 

The disciples lost everything by saying yes. 

Judas kissed yes as a trick. 

The thief died sighing yes. 

Mary listened yes while being. 

The Magdalene's perfume spilled yes across history. 

The Samaritan woman nodded yes to living water.

Peter's yes collapsed before becoming rock hard.
    Zacchaeus opened his home with a yes. 

Paul's yes restored his vision. 

The bleeding woman secretly touched yes.
Yes to mud and spit cured the blind man's eyes. 

Lazarus wept yes as he untangled death.  

The children smiled and nuzzled yes on his lap.

He breathed yes when he left home to show us Love. 

What they said, I say.
Especially the Magdalene's. 

Music For Us Commoners

Yesterday, Maureen Doallas posted a video of an aria of La Traviata being sung at the market in Valencia. The produce venders / singers come out one at a time from behind vegetables and fruit, in their aprons, to mingle with the puzzled crowd. The atmosphere slowly becomes attuned with the offering. Wine is handed out; hands touching hands. By the end people are wiping tears, smiling and singing along with the musical manna falling around them.

One of my favorite words (Italian) is lagniappe; a beneficient kind of extra, an extra we weren't expecting but immensely glad to have.

I don't have to crane my neck or get my knickers in a knot to have lagniappe. I don't have to race or shove anyone to have it. I don't have to worry when the next time is. I can't buy it. It doesn't store up or save. I only have to be here. Or there. It will find me.

It is always a surprise, generously provided by the loving hand of the Artist who created artists who create art.

To enjoy it is simply to notice. I wonder if noticing is one of the deepest and most profound forms of worship.

Diffusing Colors

The sun peeked out for the morning,

enticing me to the river Saturday.

Bundled up, sitting with the quiet,

I noticed the sun embracing a sundog by his side.

She snuggled under his arm dressed

 in colors of violet, orange, blue and pink.

Almost, I heard her humming contentedly.

The grass, sprinkled with clinging iridescent teardrops,

 mirrored the same colors.

Color; is it bestowed?

Gladly I borrow the gift lent,

 letting it infuse me, satiate me.

Later, I will translate it, diffusing it again.

Lending it to another.

First receiving, then bestowing in turn.

 Receiving is always first.

The fullness then escapes over the rim.

It must.

Embossed Heart

La Jolla Beach ~ Seeing love ... as solid as a rock. Feeling like the best beloved. Noticing the gift.

Planes and Sunshine

The sunshine broke through for 2 days in a row. When this break in our PNW drizzle happens, I'm outside, dressed warm, hunting down water and blue skies.

On the way to my favorite spot on the river Friday, I told the lover of my soul to pour it on, I was so empty and tired, whatever he gave, I would gratefully receive. Refreshing love...

First I saw an eagle milling around in the sky with a flock of snow geese. It looked like they were playing. It might have been more sinister than it looked, but it was unusual.

A few miles on another eagle swooped over the road, letting me admire him.

The rhythm of the river sang and laughed for me, smoothing all the parts that had become weary and ruffled.

On the way up the path as I was leaving, right when I reached the clearing in the meadow, 4 planes in formation flew right over my head. I did my customary wave.  They all turned around and put on an air show for me.

Now, you might think they didn't see me at all. It might seem narcissistic for me to imagine they would go to all the trouble, for one speck of person on the ground.

They zoomed over, framed their tricks against a puffy white cloud, then went beyond me, returning with a new routine. The sky above the meadow was full of playfulness.

I couldn't leave, didn't want to. It was wonderful enough that applauding, laughing and crying out there all by myself didn't seem ridiculous. I have seen them before; they have put on shows for me before. They seem like friends, responding to the same invitation to play in the sun.

Never underestimate the enjoyment and pleasure you give; even if it's to an audience of one.  I'll never know if they did it for me. They will never know how loved I felt.

It doesn't matter. It is a pretty story anyways.

Wellspring of Life

"Guard your heart, it is the wellspring of life"


This was a natural formation at the seal rookery in La Jolla. It was over a foot in diameter. Noticing is a gift. 

Three's Not a Crowd

Remember that old song, "Torn Between Two Lovers"? I have two lovers. It isn't a hard thing to confess. I'm not ashamed of this, embarrassed or torn. Neither am I breaking any rules.  

They both waited for me to realize how much I loved them. Both chose me for bride. They made me the girl in the story, lavish me with goodwill and see me as the apple of their eye.

I will never have to be a widow, as I will be able to live with both of them forever.

They offer comfort and security. One of them is able to disappoint me and fail me at times, the other one never will - he is incapable. He's lover number one, which doesn't faze number two!

They both offer me their strength. I believe and trust them both with my life. Not only are they good friends, but they make great fathers for our children. Involved, engaged, and connected.

It is unbelievable, but in this love triangle we have going, no one is jealous or threatened. We are all secure, knowing there is more than enough love to wrap around the bundle that is us. That old saying that a cord of three strands is not easily broken, fits perfectly.

I have to mention this; the man at the top of our little love triangle is the son of a king. Royalty. It wasn't common knowledge when he was born to a poor unknown village girl. We can't keep quiet about it.

He has many names, but we call him Emmanuel.

Ask

I asked. He did. Touch that spot. Bind that wound. Caress this place longer. Move me to tears. Soften my heart. Don't leave me alone. Give me compassion. Teach me empathy. Stay longer. Enjoy this part. Pour me another cup. Scratch this itch. Mend this tear. Glue this crack. Applaud this effort. Play with me. Want me. Laugh with me. Be with me. Speak to me. Remind me. Show me how. Create a new thing. Lead me along new paths. Whisper sweet nothings. Sing songs which seduce me. Never stop pursuing me. Let me know what makes you sing, cry, and laugh. Invite me. Dress me. Fill me. Infuse me with vision. Infect me with hope. Inoculate me against despair. Anoint me. Let me swim in the ocean of your love.

Maker's Mark Instead

The term brand is repeated all over the Internet associated with social media/marketing. Everyone is frantically trying to boost and build their brand! Nobodies, Somebodies, and Wannabies.

Exposure, trending topics and viral are the catch words. Every one wants a viral website, tweet, brand or blog. Sounds likes rabies a bit. The most viral wins. Big it seems. A brand ends up being about money in the end. Influence too, sometimes good and needed.

If you google it, the words associated with it are; generator, abuse, social networking, social media, Internet marketing, image, loyalty, development, label, advertising, pirating, squatting, identity, equity, registered, domain, audience, platform, positioning and strategy, to name a few. Dizzy yet? Like putting your 10 point 'z' on the triple word square in scrabble, it's about strategy.

Little known bloggers and small companies seem panicked about having a brand. Saving a domain name for your children is highly encouraged. Get them a twitter account while you're at it so they will have a brand.

On a ranch, branding time started by rounding up the cattle then separating the bellowing calves from their frantic mamas. They were thrown quickly to the ground and a sizzling hot iron with the ranch's brand/logo was stamped through the burning hair to the flesh, forever marking the animal as being owned by that rancher.

Slaves were often branded or would have an ear slit by their owner, marking them as owned.

A maker's mark is different.

When an artist creates something beautiful, usually the last thing he does is puts his maker's mark on it.

Looking for a maker's mark on antiques is like finding treasure. Wooden furniture, porcelain, pottery, silver, ceramics, statuary, silver, jewelery, paintings, wrought iron and more will have the maker's mark.

One of the most curious things to look for in some of the old finely carved pews in the European cathedrals is the maker's mark. One artist carved a small mouse somewhere in every piece he did. The marble work also always has a quirky signature left. Some artist's leave a blue dot in their painting. Each artist has a unique mark, leaving their imprint, their signature.

A friend of ours who is a blacksmith, presses his maker's mark in each original piece he creates. Finding it and rubbing your fingers over it is part of enjoying the art.

A maker's mark signifies we are finished, loved. I like that better than a mere brand. A maker's mark is about love, in the end. The artist and the created piece, satisfied.

Mark me all over. Stamp it, carve it, press it, emboss it, ink it, scratch it in. I'm yours.

Secrets of a Bride

Here are a few secrets. I very rarely go to Costco. Never like standing in line with all the other bulging people pushing fat carts. I don't really like it when we Christians say stupid stuff either. I'm twittering and love some of the movies and sights that make fun of the ridiculous things we 'followers' say and do. "Stuff Christians Like" and "Lord Save Us From Your Followers" a movie I can't wait to see. Us is the key word. I'm a follower too. I have and do and will say thoughtless things. Cliches. Have habits that I fall into by default. Empty religious behaviors that need ruthlessly shaved off.

Following is great. We should. We do. But there's more. We're the bride. The girl in the story, the princess, decked out, bejeweled, all eyes on us, stunning. Or we could be if we lived like we believed this part. God wants lovers to love on, but the church pill we have been taking has taken our spiritual libido away. To say that we go to church is as ridiculous as saying, "Let's go to bride".

My husband of almost 21 years loves to please me, treat me, serve me, surprise me and show off for me. I'm his bride. He loves it when I eagerly respond and notice his overtures. I'm his lover and he is mine. Sound familiar?

Think of us as the bride in a spiritual way. Lovers. We need to keep discovering, exploring each other. Craig can't mindlessly rub that spot under my ear that used to tickle. My response is his guide to loving me.

Craig struts when he knows he has completely satisfied me. He can't wait to do that thing again when he knows I'm content and grateful. He feels like a studmuffin when he knows he's my hero. When the kids were little, he would gift me with dishes or let me have a long bubblebath. He has new ways of loving now that fit the context of our 'new normal'.

Giving the lover of my soul mere human attributes might be lessening him, but in the context of being His bride, it won't degrade him.

In "Anna and the King" when Tuptim is given to the King as a gift, a concubine, the first wife reassures her that 'he is a kind and generous lover'.

We have one also. Along with being kind and generous, he's passionate, strong, hungry for us. Like the spanish word quiero. Love like desire, a craving. Think chocolate.

Change out some of the soggy white bread 'christian music' once in a while. Turn on some music, listen to good art. Period. Turn it on LOUD. When your very favorite love song comes on, belt it out to Him at the top of your lungs. Listen with your whole heart and you will hear Him seducing you. Lean in................

At times, it might sound like Bryan Adams or Cyndi Lauper, but don't be confused. It's Him.