Today I have a day off. A much-needed day off. I’m tempted to think about cleaning the downstairs, but each time the idea pops up I plug my ears and sing “Row, Row, Row Your Boat” loudly until it disappears. Oh, how the monkey-mind assails us with useless thoughts!

Actually, tomorrow is designated for cleaning. I also have to take my car back to the mechanic, because after $700 worth of repairs last week, the “check engine” light came on again. But today? Today is for my pleasure. I’m going to start slow, with a book and a cup of coffee.

I may also liberate myself from the computer this weekend. We’ll see.

Some family members read my blog as a way of feeling connected, of dropping in to see what I’m up to, to see what stuff has crossed my radar and I made note of.

This is one of those posts where I say: I am alive, I am well enough.

I am also a stew of emotions. Tired. Kind of bored with blogging. Feeling raw. Feeling exquisitely sad. And questioning some aspects of myself, my life, through a new perspective recently shared by someone.

That’s all. I believe tomorrow will be a day off from the computer and web.

My workload continues to increase such that in the morning I feel myself tensing up as I drive to work. I can’t go into details. I’m hoping to get a handle on it somehow. On days when I’m close enough and my schedule allows I’ve been going to the gym mid-day and working later. The break helps hugely.

What this means, however, is that I don’t have much brain left for writing poems every day. Crafting a poem uses much of the same part of my mind that is consumed at work. I think that’s why I was successful with Art Everyday Month last year; it uses an intuitive aspect. I feel peace about letting go of NaPoWriMo. I’ll continue to write this month, but without the pressure.

What is it with cats and paper? Sophie is curled up on a random sheet of paper I was using to draft a poem and let fall to the floor in the living room. It’s been there for a couple of days, but tonight she decided to claim it. I find it endearing to see her paw tucked near her head as she has covered as much of the paper with her body as she could.

Sweet dreams.

Yesterday I went to San Francisco to help my employer move to a new office (in the same building). It was a long day; I almost missed my stop when I fell asleep on the train.

This morning I left the house at 7:30 and drove 46 miles through soupy rain for a 9:30 workshop in San Francisco. I parked at SBC stadium near 3rd Street (only $6 for parking until 6 p.m., and where our director prefers we park if the agency is reimbursing us). Then I walked the 1.3 miles to the location of the class. I could have tried to catch a bus, but I was running tightly scheduled, and I knew I could walk there in 20 minutes. Despite having a raincoat and umbrella, when I arrived my arms and back were soaked, as were my legs from my feet up to my knees.

I reported at the reception desk for the class, only to be informed they CANCELLED it last night. They said they called, but obviously I didn’t get the news. They were very apologetic. I was gracious but felt quite peevish within.

So I went to Starbucks for a cup of coffee and wrote awhile before squishing my way back to my car. And then, because I worked over five hours on Saturday and had comp time, I drove home instead of back to the office in Milpitas, where I read and napped with the cats for company.

They predict two more weeks of rain.

Considering the ways in which so many of us waste our time, what would be wrong with a world in which everybody were writing poems? After all, there’s a significant service to humanity in spending time doing no harm. While you’re writing your poem, there’s one less scoundrel in the world. And I’d like a world, wouldn’t you, in which people actually took time to think about what they were saying? It would be, I’m certain, a more peaceful, more reasonable place. I don’t think there could ever be too many poets. By writing poetry, even those poems that fail and fail miserably, we honor and affirm life. We say “We loved the earth but could not stay.”

–Ted Kooser, The Poetry Home Repair Manual

And I have Alison to thank for sharing this gift. I shall also keep her words handy:

And what comfort in the idea that there can never be too many poets (or writers or artists). We don’t have to earn a spot at the crowded table, because there’s room for all.

the mountains you see on your drive to work wear a cape of snow;
the scent of lilies sweetens your mind the instant you step outside;
several juicy books quietly wait for you to crack their spines;
a pot of hot tea and a honey biscuit are within reach;
the cats pile on top of you for warmth the instant you sit down;
your yarn stash is in danger of becoming tangled;
paints, pencils, and collage papers lie unused in their bins;
friends wonder if you’re alive because you haven’t written back;
your muscles, from tensing against cold, ache for a steaming bath;
the cold fireplace grate is filled with kindling…

…work should be canceled for at least two days.

I guess I’m lucky that the weekend has arrived.

The solution to having to get up at 4:30 a.m. to catch an early flight?

Just don’t sleep! At all.

Oy.

Tomorrow morning I arise too early for my preference and catch a flight to Phoenix at 7 a.m. I’ll be attending a training Monday and Tuesday focused on principles of the AmeriCorps program and Hands On Network goals.

If the scheduling works out, I may have dinner with my sister and brother-in-law who live in Tucson. I hope it does, as I haven’t seen them since 2004.

I will be disconnected from computer and Internet until sometime Wednesday. I rather look forward to this.

Dear Readers,

I would just like to say thank you.

Thank you for caring about me, for devoting some of your precious moments to stopping by just to see what I have to say. Some of you even visit daily!

Thank you for making the effort to connect by way of emailing or leaving a comment. Your feedback is a gift.

Thank you for lurking. You may not comment, but I know you’re out there. I’d be delighted to hear from you, but you’re welcome here even if you don’t communicate.

This is a heavily marketed holiday, but I think the basis for it — LOVE — is worthy. So today I thank you for being part of this blog, my labor of love. I appreciate you!

May you feel love’s spark and share it today… and tomorrow… and the next day. Cherish and express lovingkindness toward yourself and others. It’s a world rife with much negativity, and it needs each of us to provide the antidote.

Happy Valentine’s Day! Will you be mine?

I have chin of stature, an assertive chin. I’m not fond of how pointy it is at some angles, but it is what it is. And according to my husband, it serves as a crucial barometer of our relationship. Over the years he has been able to determine the level of my pissed-offed-ness (not a word until just now) by carefully observing the position of my chin. Whenever I get irritated with him, he’ll say, “Oh, there’s the chin!” Even if I’ve said nothing, apparently my chin communicates for me. Or he’ll say, “I’ve got Chin Level One!” Chin Level One is a slight setting of the jaw (according to him), while Chin Level Two is major chin action. Level Two is as though my chin is set on coasters and just rolls right out. Often times his noting my Chin Stage makes me laugh and defuses the moment. Sometimes I wonder what it is my face is doing, because it doesn’t feel to me as though my face or chin shifts. Apparently, though, it does. The man says he is the World’s Reigning Expert On Kathryn. After six years, I suppose he’s earned the title.

Sophie studies bird activity and suns herself at the same time. Such talent!

I haven’t written much about it, but I’m one week into my new job. So far I like it very much, and I can see I will be quite busy. My work isn’t even cut out for me — that’s how much latitude I have.

Of course, I’m pretty much exhausted. I worked on Sunday (a team project painting the inside of an agency office) and had Monday off. I’m working Saturday several hours, so I’ll probably take half a day on Friday. And tomorrow I’ll be working up in San Francisco into the evening attending a panel on homelessness.

Daily pages haven’t been so daily (I’m referring to the Artist’s Way). A friend was in town tonight and we had dinner… I’d forgotten about the date until late in the day.

Well, off to my bed! I leave you with this:

I’ve dreamt in my life dreams that have stayed with me ever after, and changed my ideas: they’ve gone through and through me, like wine through water, and altered the color of my mind.

–Emily Brontë

Well, I went to bed slept well, and then awoke at… 3:00 a.m. After an hour of attempting to drift off again, I gave up. Knowing me, I’ll fall asleep on the train. Since I’m going to the end-point, at least I won’t miss my stop.

I suppose I could write my morning pages!

Oh, and for science geeks, a little humor:

If you’re not part of the solution, you’re part of the precipitate.

–Henry J. Tillman

Hey, I go to work and come home to find 96 entries by the by blogs I regularly read and subscribe to via Bloglines. How in tarnation am I ever going to catch up with y’all?!

I had a wonderful first day at my job. Lots of paperwork, Thai food for lunch, belly laughs over funny stories shared by staff. Husband is cooking dinner tonight, and I have to figure out how I’ll get into the city tomorrow. I have a project to attend in a part of the city I’ve no idea how to get to. I could drive in, take Caltrain and the bus, or BART, etc. Gotta figure this out.

Other than that, the evening will involve a quick survey of blogs, some knitting, and then bed.

Update, 9:14 p.m.: After examining all the permutations, I decided it’s simplest for my morning-addled brain to just take the 7:02 a.m. Caltrain into the city and then catch the #10 bus to my destination. This means getting up at 5:30 a.m., which means hitting the hay as of right now. No daily pages, no knitting. Sleep.

The last day of Advent.

Santa got an early start. I’m with him on this. Time to enjoy Christmas!

Have a merry one!

My first felting project.

Cascade 220, colorways 7827 (yellow) & 8010 (cream), size 15 needles. It took 60 minutes of agitation.

Pumpkin this time. Here’s before:

And here it is, fresh out of the oven

I even have whipped cream! I made it for a dinner party Saturday night. I’ll make an apple pie too. Everything is from scratch, including the crust. Yum!

Meyer Lemon Buttermilk Pie
3 eggs
1.5 cup sugar
3 Tbsp. flour
1 to 1.5 cups buttermilk
2 Tbsp. melted butter
1 tsp. vanilla
5 to 6 Tbsp. lemon juice
Grated rind of two lemons
Sprinkle of cinnamon

Prepare a 9-inch crust; bake 10 minutes at 450 until set. Beat eggs and sugar; stir in flour and beat again. Pour in buttermilk and mix in. Add melted butter, vanilla, juice and rind and mix well. Bake at 375 for 20-30 minutes until just set. Dust with cinnamon.

Meyer lemons have a delicate scent and taste compared to other lemons. Other lemons can be used, in which case you may want to reduce the lemon juice to 3 tablespoons. Depends on how much you like lemon!

Today is a lazy, cozy day. Winter weather has arrived. It’s rainy with winds blustering at 25-35 miles per hour and gusts up to 50 possible. After the garbage was picked up I had to dash out to retrieve the bins before they blew away.

I stayed up way too late last night (3 a.m.) puttering about the house. We had our thanksgiving meal last night, since Husband couldn’t taste anything last week due to a cold. I don’t mind bragging to you that I make a tantalizing lemon buttermilk pie. I mean, it’s tastebud ecstasy! I used Meyer lemons from our little tree. I’ll put the recipe on my other blog.

Well, I have some packages to wrap and holiday cards to prepare (after I find the surface of the cluttered desk). And I need to ponder what I shall create for my Artella Mystery Muse recipient. I shall leave you with this thought to consider.

What does spiritual clutter look like?
Too busy to pray
Too anxious to sleep
Too tired to worship
Too angry to let go
Too disappointed to hope
Too lonely to connect
Too sure to be surprised

My beloved sister-in-law lives in a wee, small house. To fit a Christmas tree into the house, she needs to put furniture into storage.

We have to make room to let wonder into the house.

We have to make room to let Spirit into our lives.

–Songbird, Set Free