Poster Girl

My amazing friend Kyle Delamarter drew this up as surprise for me! I love it so much. Art is the best gift I could ever receive.

Wonderful things are happening on the book front- I'll keep you posted once I can make some more "solid" announcements.

In the mean time-- I did publish a poem in Hip Mama (where Kyle's picture comes from). You can buy Hip Mama in most places where specialized granola is sold in bulk. Or, from their website: http://www.hipmamazine.com/hip_mama_zine/Home.html

As giddy as Dorothy.

The Emerald City hosts an ongoing battle of witches versus lost girls. Always devout, kind, and honest- the lost girls run around the city with a vial of hope slung around their necks. They careen through the glittery streets, enjoying the whimsical petrichor of this corner of the Earth, and basking in the green glow of trees. Fleeing from the demands of capital.

And, it's the witches who watch, in hiding, from afar, gazing into balls- those guilty monkeys on their backs, itching their hands and watching the lovelies devour life with vivacity. So, angry. Such angry little witches; stuck in a heady cloud of fear, regret, turmoil, loudness. Clutching at the little power they have, they wonder what happened. Broomsticks and broken houses, black and white tights.

Stay Put.

Usually, Nicholas and I are gallivanting all over the Pacific Northwest in the summer. We jaunt up to Idaho, cut to Washington, hang out in Portland. We rarely spend any rooted time in hot Sacratomato during June 1st and August 10th. A week here, a week there-- mostly to check on the burgeoning garden, talk with the house sitters, and catch up on some sleep in our own beds.

In years' past, when we stay too long at our house, boredom creeps in-- I cannot help but become frantic with plans to escape. My mind whirs with maps, calculating how long it would be to get down to Cambria, or how much it would be to rent a place in the city for a night or two. One 4th of July during a "layover," I decided I was going to Seattle, and within three hours was on a plane, with Cal snuggled in my lap.

This summer we stayed. Nich is teaching summer school until mid- July, and I am polishing the final draft of my novel. So, we created a daily work schedule. I usually sabotage any schedule, so the fact that I'm delighting in the schedule (already in place for a full month) and loving Sacramento (also for a full month of stay-put time) is progress on the "adult chart." In my twenties, if you said "schedule" to me, I was silently barfing in my head and rolling my eyes at you. I don't need a lot of structure to thrive, in fact, what I need is lots of creativity and the knowledge that I can break the monotony of daily life at any given moment.

However.

Now, that I'm in my thirties- thriving in my little nest with two baby birds, and fellow partner (should I classify Nich as a dove, a hawk, a kookaburra) -- I'm lovin' the schedule.

Wake up at six, squeeze fresh orange juice with Cal, feed dogs, look at garden with Cal for new growth, feed and clothe the amazing kidlets, go to coffee shop and see beloved friends, maybe take a walk in the park if we have time, get Cal to school, go to gym, work out (I do switch up the workout routine), come home, nurse Kins, watch something On-Demand, clean up kitchen, make lunch, Kins takes a nap, shower, vacuum, and teach online. Then Nich comes home with Cal. We have lunch, talk about her morning, and then I shut my little door to my writing space, or drive to the coffee shop with all my writing stuff, and write for three to four hours. If it's hot we go to the pool before dinner. If it's not that hot, we all cook dinner together. We have a salad every night, and yes, I eat plenty of it.

Even the salad has a routine: lettuce, carrot bits, tomato chunks, cucumber half moons, sliced creminis, walnuts, a dollop of cottage cheese (or my new favorite cheese Greek Manouri), and dressing.

After dinner: bath, books, and bed. For all of us. Nich and I have about forty five minutes of down time after the kiddos are asleep. We dissect the day, watch a little dumb tv, sit on the back patio and determine if the breeze is cool enough to shut off the air conditioning, and after our own teeth have been brushed, faces washed and moisturized, we fall-- literally, we fall-- into our giant, comfy, bed and prep our selves to do it all again. Tomorrow.

Thank you gorgeous little life. I smother you with kisses.

Harbor

"I've started being vigilant about watching my thoughts all day, and monitoring them. I repeat this vow about 700 times a day: 'I will not harbor unhealthy thoughts anymore.' Every time a diminishing thought arises, I repeat the vow. I will not harbor unhealthy thoughts anymore. The first time I heard myself say this, my inner ear perked up at the word 'harbor', which is a noun as well as a verb. A harbor, of course, is a place of refuge, a port of entry. I pictured the harbor of my mind--a little beat-up, perhaps, a little storm-worn, but well situated and with nice depth. The harbor of my mind is an open bay, the only access to the island of my Self (which is a young and volcanic island, yes, but fertile and promising). This island has been through some wars, it is true, but it is now committed to peace, under a new leader (me) who has instituted new policies to protect the place. And now--let the word go out across the seven seas--there are much, much stricter laws on the books about who may enter this harbor.

You may not come here anymore with your hard and abusive thoughts, with your plague ships of thoughts, with your slave ships of thoughts, with your warships of thoughts--all these will be turned away. Likewise, any thoughts that are filled with angry or starving exiles, with malcontents and pamphleteers, mutineers and violent assassins, desperate prostitutes, pimps and seditious stowaways--you may not come here anymore, either. Cannibalistic thoughts, for obvious reasons, will no longer be received. Even missionaries will be screened carefully, for sincerity. This is a peaceful harbor, the entryway to a fine and proud island that is only now beginning to cultivate tranquillity. If you can abide by these new laws, my dear thoughts, then you are welcome in my mind--otherwise, I shall turn you all back toward the sea from whence you came.

That is my mission, and it will never end." - Elizabeth Gilbert; Eat Pray Love.

PA240193

PA240193, originally uploaded by ktmccleary.

Kinsey's life.

Sleep, eat nummies, coo, play in jumpy thing, coo and stand on mama's lap, coo in the stroller, sleep, eat nummies, coo, watch sister, be gaga overed at coffee shop, eat nummies, sleep on mama's lap in nursing chair, coo, cry for an hour, coo when Dad comes home, watch sister, coo, roll over, cry, sleep, snuggle, snuggle, snuggle, eat nummies, cry one last time, conk out in Dad's swaying arms. Sleep.

It's a hard life being five months old.

Grateful Sappiness.

Leilani and I roamed the streets of midtown this afternoon, and after much laughter and commiseration, we ended with a commitment to remember the gorgeous things that deserve our gratitude.

I am grateful for an amazing family who lifts me up every day.

I'm grateful for a mother who fought some rough battles, on behalf of myself and my sister, but for the desire to be a woman who chooses her own life.

I'm grateful for two healthy kids that are spry.

I'm grateful that Nich and I are privileged to raise our kids on our own terms. He is incredibly supportive of my art (and understands the vital notion that my art is work, and not merely a hobby) and helps me hodge podge together my meager living (by working hard to make sure we stay afloat and have a good life).

I'm grateful that Nich and I are truly respectful, polite, and grow/change with one another.

I'm grateful that I don't go to a job I hate every day. Been there. Done that.

I'm grateful that my two dogs taught me some of the joys, and hardships, of motherhood before I actually had to care for a living human. I'm thankful for a dog who sticks his head out the window on the drive to the vet.

I'm grateful to reconnect with an old friend-- whose vision is so unique- and just his presence in my life again makes me want to try harder at capturing what makes life truly unforgettable.

I'm grateful to all the new friends I've made this year in Sacramento- it's the first time in eight years that I feel like I have community here.

I'm grateful to the old friends, old friends who are my chosen family, who keep me really rooted to the earth, who believe in me- and I know I can turn to them for positive energy.

I'm grateful for my writing buddies who share in the same desperate, but beautiful, fight for crafted words that tell the truth.

I'm very lucky. Thanks everyone.