Saturday, October 15, 2011


From the sea, to the mountains and finally back to the sea...
and now?
Without even looking for it, or asking for it,
we are offered a new life in the
of this country.
A new start, a new era.
I feel in my bones that it is the right choice for us,
that it is our destiny,
inevitably rolling along and we are but passengers on this glorious ride.
But my heart is breaking...
I guess no one can have EVERYTHING they want, eh?
True Love?
Living in Maine again after all those years of yearning?
Having enough money to thrive here?
And I find myself wishing that money didn't matter.
Because I sure as hell know that it doesn't matter as much as my love for this rugged and harsh landscape,
finely detailed with rocks and trees and winding roads that take my breath away every single day.
And I damn sure know that money doesn't hold a candle to the amazing friends and family I have here--the people I've known my whole life, the people I missed for the half of my life that I lived in the desert west and the people I've only been life-long friends with since meeting my True Love.
Living here these 3 years has been an oasis in the journey that is my life, the adventure I get the chance to live!
Instead of being bitter that we couldn't "make it" here,
instead of feeling despair at leaving the full-body warmth that comes with familiarity so deep it's in my bones,
instead of resisting this change that is vital to our survival,
let me rejoice that I had this chance at all!
Let me praise the mysterious ways of the universe around us
for granting me this stay in paradise.
My paradise.
To you paradise might evoke images of white sandy beaches and azure waters, palm trees and cabana boys.
For me, paradise is the rocky coast of Maine--green trees so lush you have to fight them for some land to build a house, water so cold and blue dotted with green tufts of islands on the horizon, lighthouses and lobstermen...
Bearded, gruff men with accents--the backbone of our tiny, glorious coast,
seafood and amazing restaurants,
sailing and skiing...

Shiiiiiit, I'm homesick already.

But yes.
I will try to remember to be grateful for this chance...this chance I had to reassert my roots, to reconnect with those I love, and to wallow in the utter perfection of this landscape!!!

Iowa...get ready.
Cuz I expect to be bored, restless, and still madly in love with my husband!!

Thursday, August 25, 2011


It really is quite lovely...

I have little bursts of inspiration lately.
But it seems like I am never near a computer.
So, those little bursts pop like bubbles,
and instead, I bury myself deeper in the piles of books inside my Kindle.
I read and read and read and read and read
and pretend that it is as good as writing.
I read and read and read and
pretend that it is more important than watching tv
or playing Angry B!irds.
Pretend that I am superior in my time-wasting choice.
But I'm not.
I'm lazy, too.
Because I should be writing.
i SHOULD be writing.
I picture myself--standing on a skyscraper, grey sky behind, wind whipping my far-longer-than-my-real-hair hair, and I am shouting those words with a wide-open mouth, a mouth far larger and able to open than my own. For, as my dentist says, "If anyone tells you that you have a big mouth, they're wrong." Ha. Funnier than he knows, because I am
a talker.
I'm a talk
Just ask my husband.
He'll tell you...if his voicebox hasn't faded away from lack of use.
I'll tell you, if you ask.
But don't expect a short answer.
what you should expect
a novel-length,
I talk so much to make up for all the words I don't write.
Which just seems silly.
Perhaps I should take a vow of silence for a year...
or, like, an hour and a half...
and see how many wonderful and wondrous things I can write.
Probably I would spend all my time IMing with my husband and friends...
instead of delicately constructing the world's next devourable read.
Which I don't think I even know how to do.
But at least
if I keep writing
(every day, they suggest)
then maybe someday...
I'll reach the tipping point--
where my taste and my abilities are in sync.
Or 98 degrees, or whatevs.

Because a great lady recently told me that I am a writer she admires greatly,
and I figure if she's great and she admires me greatly...
well, that's just redundant or, rather, stating the obvious.
But what I meant was that she is amazing and she admires me a wicked lot,
so that reminded me that maybe I should gothefuckahead and make something of myself??
Cuz what the hell?
Why don't I want to HAVE what I want?

Eh. Bleh.

I'm afraid.
But it's what my beloved Ira Glass said, about taste and talent being out of sync, and he said to just hang in there and keep writing and one day my abilities will catch up with my high expectations of authorship.
Not to imply that he said it to me, personally. It was a clip of an interview that they played on

P.S. Once upon a time I was a badass motherfucker. Just like Samuel L. Jackson. Except really, nothing like him. At all. Except maybe the inclination to use the fuck word, but otherwise, I only know his characters, not his character.

And right now........
I feel like that Lisa you all once knew.
Which makes me believe that some day I will write that book.
And that some day is closer than it sounds.

Thursday, August 18, 2011

Inspiration vs. Perspiration

I have been getting little flashes of inspiration lately...
But, alas, the perspiration is winning!
It has been a weirdly hot summer, and
I have been weirdly unable to stand the heat.
I've never been one to revel in the sweaty, humid weather or to enjoy baking under the dry sun, but this summer, I feel like I've gone to a different place with my heat aversion altogether.
I loathe the heat.
It cripples me.
It wraps me in its soggy, heavy arms and sucks me down
into the rabbit hole of foggy mind and droopy eyelids.
My brain refuses to think quickly or sharply,
and mostly just sends out messages to the rest of my body, "Sleep...sleep..."
And so.
It's been a fast, busy, slow, empty summer...
Also, my newest pet peeve of the Text Age:
people who elongate words in order to show emphasis, but do it by adding extra consonants, or other letters that have little to do with how one might pronounce that word in an emphatic fashion.
For example, "Duuuuuuude!" works for me.
While, "DDDDDDDDDDDDude!" doesn't really say much.
Or, "I llllllllovvvvvvveeeeeee you!" just sorta looks...well...STOOOOPID.
But, "I looooooooooooooove you!" kinda says something.
Am I nuts?
Or too eccentric?

And also, while I'm ranting about things that show my literary superiority, whilst writing goofily myself, let me just remark upon self-publishing of books.
I'm a huge supporter of this trend, by the way, but here's a suggestion:
If you're going to publish something and present it as a finished work?
Try some light editing, a smidge of proofreading, perhaps?
It really just makes reading so much more delightful.
Also, if the story could be SLIGHTLY interesting, that would help, too.

I'm pretty stoked that summer is almost over.
I know...I'm probably the only one!!
But that means the leaves will change, and got-down-sat-on-a-bench, I loves me some fiiiine (see?) New England autumn weather!!
It's downright delicious.
We will go pick apples, and go for hikes.
We will continue to kayak and bike ride.
And then?
Before you know it!!!
It'll be time for Pie Night and Thanksgiving and my new skis will be ready for me, and the snow will fall and it will be time for skiiiiiiii-ing!!
And. Yeah.
I guess I'm kind of a fan of winter.
Not that I don't enjoy the hell out of summer, too, but...I hate the heat.
I love the rain and the snow and the cool and the cold.
I love boots and coats and snowshoeing!

Ok...I'll return from my happy winter wonderland fantasy and go lie on my bed with three fans blasting me and hope that I can sleep through the night.

Also, I think my whole point of writing this was to whine about the fact that I keep being struck by inspiration, only to end up at my computer with nothing to say. But of course, I never have "nothing" to say...I just happen to not be in the mood to write the fiction that has been rattling around in my brain cave. C'est la vie.

Friday, August 05, 2011

Oh, digital age, why have you let me down?

For three years, my Blackberry and I have been very happy together. We have laughed, played, worked, planned, and remembered together. My Blackberry has been part of the tapestry, weaving together my True Love and I, as we shared love notes with each other every day, and stayed in close contact even when apart. My Blackberry was able to call all of my dearest friends and family with the touch of ONE button, and I was able to type in texts, reminders, and grocery lists with the speed and agility of an Olympic athlete.

Why did I forsake this beautiful artist's tool? Why did I think the bells and whistles of a touch-screen android would be BETTER?? I even waited until the one I wanted offered a slide-out keyboard, so that I could avoid the touch-screen typing that had always looked so painfully slow to me. My brain is not wired for this. I am not able to think slowly enough to type as slowly as this new "phone" makes me. The typing needs to be second-nature, so that my thoughts can flow freely and quickly, but this new monstrosity is so laborious that I forget what I was going to say before I even get it half typed! And forget about proper is SOOOO hard to fix mistakes or add punctuation that any speed gained by Swype technology is utterly lost. I hate this "phone," this abomination of communication! This communication abomination. That's what I'll call it. I may have to have my Blackberry reactivated. I will give it a few more days...but I have never felt so utterly hobbled, so completely bound-and-gagged. I feel like I'm living in a foreign country where I don't know the language or anyone who speaks my own.

Fuck Droid.

Thursday, June 30, 2011

Poems, or the muck rattling around in my brain cave

Because maybe
what I need
is to purge my inner thoughts and feelings and all that

Because maybe
even though life is beautiful
sometimes there are things in it that aren’t.
like being a child of divorce,
and rather unexpectedly
at the age of 36.
Wondering if I’m as selfish as my
because I already know I’m like him
in some less-than-flattering ways
and I don’t
to be.
And maybe it's more fair to say,
that he is kind and good-hearted,
but right now,
it's the selfish that really
stands out.

And maybe sometimes
it makes me too sad even to cry
if I think about my mother
at her age.
She should have been widowed, not abandoned.
of course
I don’t mean to say
that I would prefer my father had died,
It would have been sad in very different ways.
And he has still left her.
Left all of us.
Because he’s not planning to come back
from California.
Who could blame him?
(Well, besides my sister and I?)

I am angry at him
and I am angry
and I am ANGRY!!!!!!!
The font doesn’t grow large or red enough for me to express the depth and breadth and inexplicable fieriness of my anger.
could have stayed
should have left sooner
would not have made her happy if he had stayed, anyway...
But she was happy.
She is content and sure and grace-filled.
She didn’t need him, ever
and maybe that’s why...
He wasn’t able to stay.


Twin Fever

I am obsessed with
immersed in
riveted by—
the videos of my boys as toddlers.
I lose myself for long chunks of minutes
inside these scenes from my past.
I listen to myself narrate the video,
giggling at their antics,
(myself in stereo:
laughing then, laughing now),
the love I felt for them palpable,
visible in their shining dark eyes.
The love is still here, of course,
but it’s easier to gush over toddlers than tweeners.
They fight it far less.
Watching their first steps,
their first words,
their first, toddling wrestling match...
I want to live inside those moments,
indeed, it feels like time travel.
I want to bury my face in the soft skin between chubby cheeks and tender necks.
I want to lift them onto my hips,
two at a time, like I did then.
Ten years have passed in the blink of an eye;
those just-walking babies will be 11 next week.
Those 4-pound preemies are now each 5’ 1” tall.
They are smart and funny and are
turn into People.
It astounds me.
They astound me.
Those soft little cheeks and giggles and rounded words.
They are everything.


A seagull stole my mango yesterday
From the deck of my sailboat
as we rocked in the salty air.

I leapt to the dock
and chased him down.

I got my mango back.
--for Captain Chrissy

Friday, May 13, 2011

I think I'm ashamed of being a blogger drop-out...

Kind of like how I dropped out of college--
just sort of got caught up in new currents,
ya know?
Wandered away...
And the guilt! Oh, the guilt!
I miss blogging all the time,
but I know that so many of my dear bloggy companions
are as long gone as I am.
Which makes a return far less enticing.
Besides the fact that I am not
connected-like-Keaneau-in-the-Matrix to it anymore.
It was certainly an addiction for a while there.
Woven into the fabric of my daily life,
like oxygen and cat hair.
Oh wait, that's NOW.
Well, the cat hair infiltrating every aspect of my life, at least...
But I digress.

Maybe when I get a little more distance,
I'll be able to write a book about the two lives I lived.
The first marriage, and the second--
survival and thrival, respictively.
(and yes, thrival is a word...ahem...)
The way I rebelled against Utah and felt trapped in my uncomfortably-fitting marriage vs. the way I settle-with-deep-contentment into Maine and glory in every moment I get to spend with my True Love....ahem...yes, well, now you remember why I haven't been blogging, right? Hehe...
Yes, I've settled into Real Life, but he's still,'s like he's oxygen and cat hair to me! Wait...what?
Seriously...I live and breathe this guy.
Three years we've been together, and he still gives me butterflies,
I still CAN'T WAIT for him to get home from work every day,
and send him love notes all day...
So, anywho.
Where was I?
Cuz now I'm just sitting here smiling into the blue...

Have a lovely weekend, kids.