September 30, 2005

Something Blue...

If you have been looking for me… I have been lost in a personal labyrinth of worry and illness. It seems I caught the office cold.

I shall write more… soon.



September 25, 2005

Eyes Drink In The Open Road

Osoyoos - Abandoned

Osoyoos - Door

Osoyoos - Window

Osoyoos - Introspect

Osoyoos - Big Sky

September 22, 2005

Eyes Drink In The Open Road

Grand Forks - Truck

Grand Forks - Padmorof Truck

Eyes Drink In The Open Road

Grand Forks - Jam Factory

September 21, 2005


“You all a glow
from the love he put in you”

It’s like that.


I want to articulate it. Press it down into words so I better can understand this fire that is lit in me. And perhaps with understanding I can temper it. Stoke it so that the flash is not followed by cold.

Not that I want to rid myself of the heat. No No No.

I don’t think he understand this ferociousness. Instead, he questions how he can behave badly and I just shrug it off. I have asked this of myself too… is it that I have lowered my expectations? Or is it hat I have finally gotten real. Now my affection is tempered with reality.

Love is an action word.

I have said this to friends so repeatedly that I feel like a cliché. It’s my quintessential relationship advice.

J. can try and test me… attempt to calculate my endurance, but what he has not figured out is that it does not matter. There is the man inside his actions that speaks louder and more clearly than his silliness. (And I secretly like the silliness.) When we get down to it, J. is not disrespectful or ignorant of my boundaries. In fact, the quiet sweetness under it all is what I love the most. It is uncontrived. There are no diamonds here. Only amber agates. Muddled and varied in color, but always something beautiful.

Often, as women (and yes, men are guilty of this too) we misrepresent action. We read into each little scrap far too intensely, forgetting to look at the entire picture. A few pieces of garbage will not disfigure the beauty of a beach… it’s only the eyes of the beholder. (Yes yes, eventually we have to take a hard look… but I am not speaking about that.)

I spent four days away for my Birthday. We explored together, laughed… had moments of silence… endured one another’s’ driving… slept in a terrible bed… shared a bathroom. And I am still in glow.

Oh wait… there WAS that parking ticket……


September 18, 2005

Eyes Drink In The Open Road

Jeff - Grand Forks Hotel

Grand Forks Hotel

Russian School - Grand Forks

Birthday Girl

Something Green


I turned 33 today.


(YES, that is a confession......)

September 14, 2005

Something Blue..........

From the mountain peak to the bottom of the river. How easily we are thrown into the dark depths of ourselves. Fragile skin. Fragile egos. We are weak in our hearts where we pretend to be anciently wise.

A lie is a lie.

The Achilles heel. We make these choices rationally… with concise reasoning. We build those words in our mind with the same contrived ness as sculpting a house of cards. And then one day, we are faced with that same fragile architecture. The lie causes the rift… that eventually will fall you.

From mountain to river bottom.

Karma. It will get you every time.


September 11, 2005

Other Stories, Other Windows............

A Case of You - Joni MITCHELL

Just before our love got lost you said
I am as constant as a northern star
And I said, constant in the darkness
Where’s that at?
If you want me I’ll be in the bar

On the back of a cartoon coaster
In the blue tv screen light
I drew a map of canada
Oh canada
And your face sketched on it twice

Oh you are in my blood like holy wine
Oh and you taste so bitter but you taste so sweet
Oh I could drink a case of you
I could drink a case of you darling
And I would still be on my feet
Oh I’d still be on my feet

Oh I am a lonely painter
I live in a box of paints
I’m frightened by the devil
And I’m drawn to those ones that ain’t afraid
I remember that time that you told me, you said
Love is touching souls
Surely you touched mine
Cause part of you pours out of me
In these lines from time to time

Oh you are in my blood like holy wine
And you taste so bitter but you taste so sweet
Oh I could drink a case of you
I could drink a case of you darling
Still I’d be on my feet
And still be on my feet

I met a woman
She had a mouth like yours
She knew your life
She knew your devils and your deeds
And she said
Color go to him, stay with him if you can
Oh but be prepared to bleed
Oh but you are in my blood you’re my holy wine
Oh and you taste so bitter, bitter and so sweet
Oh I could drink a case of you darling
Still I’d be on my feet
I’d still be on my feet

September 10, 2005


I wanted to write tonight, but know that I should not try when I am missing him like this. I would only write the same poem over again.

All I really want to say is...
I want to curl up against your back and fall asleep.


Letters I've Written, Never Meaning to Send

Old Barn Doors

(I had this feeling when) He said
“take this and throw it like a stone,
further than the last”,
so I
would stand still long enough
for stars to dissolve the night sky.

Dreams are just forgotten
reality, (fantasy and reality
are too far apart, I lie)

when released, they stretch out
across the thousand light
arcs of heaven, and feel the latch
to the door I keep closed

(just against the cold, I lie)

(just against the loss in the dark,
I truth)

He feels the barn door in me,
the reassuring iron taste
of the old latch tempts me
with a familiar safety;
but this
silent ease with which
we unstring our remembering
is more gentle in the soft
light of the new moon.

The door is opening,
letting in the bloom of summer sky
and the still of quiet.

September 08, 2005

September 07, 2005


This is my hundredth post. And to be honest, I can’t believe I have made it this far. Who would have ever thought that I had so much to say? That there were so many windows to peep into…

I am asked why I write here… why I have abandoned the poetry and the novel. We write what we know. Simple as that. But isn’t it interesting how what I know is something of what you know… of what you feel. What you have experienced. Someone once said that there was nothing more to write. That all the great writers have done it all. There is nothing left for our generation. No tale “stone” left to be turned.

It’s not that there are no more stories… they all sound familiar due to commonality. We are the same despite geography and bank accounts, skin color and faith. There is nothing separating us, really. Except our own perception. But interestingly enough, if you feel me in bone, it’s because you have felt it before behind your closed doors.

Perhaps there are no new secrets.

So… I will keep writing and peeking into lit windows at night. Discovery is what we make of it.


Be Still.

National Gallery

September 06, 2005

The Littlest Birds Sing the Sweetest Songs...

It is strange and wonderful how time progresses. Slowly. Time is a train that I don’t think even the ticket seller knows the destination.

Time for me moves so quickly, due dates and flex days. Yet somewhere under a dark sky time moves slow enough to lose hope.

It’s been three months since I had my personal space invaded. Three months, how many freak outs? There is one thing that stands out in all of this that I have not experienced before and that is the profound sense of “naturalness”. There is no manipulation of time here.

And my sky is filled with light.


September 02, 2005

Something Blue..........

I think we are all sick of the news lately… watching the same horrors unfold over and over again. But fuck your bitching. I have to comment.

Here is the richest country in the world, the most influential. The bad ass. The first to put its hand out when it needs help, Iraq…. 9 11. And yet, so terribly slow for those living and dying in Louisiana. It amazes me. Watching the news coverage. All those black faces. It looks like Haiti not the southern states. Shame. God, it’s shameful.

The stories that are coming out of this are amazing. Terrible. As bad as the Tsunami. Interestingly enough, Canadians have not been so quick as to donate money. Perahps we think that Bush has spent billions on his war against terrorism, there must be deep pockets to clean up the US back yard.

I wonder how this will affect those people down there. What the long term implications will be. Interestingly enough, it’s the poorest and most uneducated population that voted in Bush. How sweet he was when he was courting them, how non existent when they needed his support the most.

I am so proud to be Canadian.


September 01, 2005

After All, You're the Only One Who Can Turn Me On...

(Iron Workers Memorial)

Steel cages to bind
the river with architectural obedience;
high up on garters
strung tight
she whimpers
under the cargo

the wind whips her lace
tattering the blinking lights
against the clouds

and from pediments we taunt;
come now
fall, thrash us to the gray water
of our disillusionment

prove yourself unworthy
of this grace


those broken backs
of men
who made you
forged the raw
molten earth
to carve your name
in the sky,
echo your curved back

blue and black streamers
ribbon cutting
the mayor,
we celebrate her wanton ways

and this beautiful iron whore
with her thighs spread
welcomes you
to an emerald city.