My mind has been on moving over the past week and change. The lease in my midtown tower expires come July, and I’m about to be out.
Usually, when it comes to leaving the states – I say, the further the better; which is partially how I ended up in Australia for ten years.
My heart exploded in Sperlonga, Italy and is beating on the beach’s white sand – waiting for me. Continue reading
I read something earlier today about a fellow other’s “creative process”. While I appreciate the art this human produces, I couldn’t help but get stuck on “creative process”. To me, that sounds like a chore.
The context it was used in, was something along the lines of, “Thank God I don’t have to work a 9-5 because it would hinder my ‘creative process’.”
To me, “creative process” sounds like a laborious task. It makes me really glad I don’t have one. Understanding my soul’s interconnectivity to this mad land of Earth, clearly there is a tappable creativity within that, the same as there is a technical nature I can access and many other components that create how my tiny reflection shines the single source that, I believe, creates all of us.
Working never hinders my writing, nothing does – really. I think I experience ups and downs like everyone else, but I don’t feel like any sort of task I perform could ever impact my artistic nature to an extent where I would stop using written word as an outlet to process the world around me. Continue reading
It’s just after noon in a small Thai joint somewhere in the east 30’s on the corner of Madison.
I enter the establishment wearing a t-shirt with a typewriter on it appropriately labeled “writer” in courier print; a tipped Kangol hat; and a pair of men’s carpenter pants, cut to fall halfway down my muscular calves. It’s hot outside.
The “shorts” once belonged to my second husband, and someone before that because they were second-hand like everything else about him. The t-shirt was a birthday present from the first. Divorce is impossible, I’ve learned. It never goes away.
The restaurant is empty and both of the gorgeous Thai serves, one male, one female – both 20 something – are over the moon to see me.
“You’re open right?” I ask knowing that they obviously are but grabbing the chance to flirt with the pair of them.
“Yes, yes!” they say smiling and speaking at the same time.
“Which table? Any table you like.”
I take off my hat and grab a bench seat toward the front where natural light is still flooding in, prior to when the sun tips too far west and afternoon shadows cast. But before I actually land in the seat I say, “Thai beer?”
“Yes, please.” Continue reading
Namaste blog tribe
I literally kicked my heels last week strolling the puppies down 9th avenue, when I saw the proud banner putting me on about the 9th Avenue International Food Festival taking place this weekend!
9th Avenue International Food Festival in Hell’s Kitchen
Day one was fifteen blocks of global celebration with international deliciousness streaming steady, north to south, day to night. I expect nothing else from today’s festivities: people slurping fresh fruit smoothies, licking powdered sugar from funnel-caked fingers, munching fried onions with horseradish sauce and cheersing cold drinks on sidewalk patios to barbecue delights.
Something like… YUM! Continue reading
Regular readers from way back when have likely read a rant or five about the Retreat I will open one day. I have this whole healing, creative, musical, organic farm land in mind. I think after my first marriage fell apart, I put it on the back burner. Because worse than losing a husband who was shitty to me anyways, I lost a business parter. A potential investor. Continue reading