One-track mind

Over the weekend, I finished reading Slash's eponymous biography. Oh man, have you read it? The book had me hooked from the first page. There is so much debauchery in his stories, the envelope pushed over and over, way beyond what a normal stretch would be. His story is one of decadence in the midst of fragile creativity and determined drive, and the read is a wild ride. Before I picked up the book, I had respect for him as a guitar player and was intrigued by the curls pouring from his head and hiding his eyes, but I had no idea who the man was. Now that I've read his story in his own words, I know he's not the only one living his life - now I have boat loads of respect for his guardian angel, because he or she has put in overtime with that boy, that much I know. And God bless his mother.

I'm going away for four days on Wednesday and finishing Slash's book has left me at the end of my summer reading list. So today I ordered, for July 2nd arrival ,three more books: Tommyland, by none other than Slash's competition in true debauchery but Tommy Lee; Storms: My life with Lindsay Buckingham and Fleetwood Mac, by the poor woman who dated Mr. Buckingham after Stevie Nicks and before his wife. (Talk about crap timing.) The third book is, I'm with the Band, Confessions of a Groupie, a story I always wanted to tell because a groupie is something I wanted to be. Thank goodness I was never given that opportunity because, you know, I think that would be a very short career path, and besides it's not as if you can announce that goal to the school counselor, or your parents.

Here I sit, atop my high horse

My friend emailed this to me Wednesday. I'd like to have a bumper sticker of this so that I can slap it on the back side of every Hummer that I see parked necessarily over the line in the parking lots of wherever I may be. I'd like that very much.

Speck update!

In an email, Speck's adopted Mom tells me, He's really funny! She writes that Speck has a custom built condo in the kitchen that connects to the back doggy door and he has learned to go in and out as he needs/wants. She tells met that he has her back yard mapped out like a pro and that I should see him chase the ball with the other dogs, as he rarely runs into anything. She writes that he is really learning to key in on what's going on around him through sound and smell, and that she just can't tell me enough of how much he has matured and how very smart he is. She writes that he's growing like a weed, eating like a pig and playing like a puppy, and she closes with, he's enjoying his life.

He's turning into a very handsome dog. It makes me smile for this lucky little guy. I bet it makes you smile as well.

Solitary

I found this leaf on the ground beneath a Cottonwood Tree during my morning walk with Cheyenne yesterday. It was bright green then and its colors have changed substantially. Still, it's a beautiful leaf. I like the lines of nature against the smooth curve of the glass vase.

Salty kisses

On Friday night, I danced barefoot in the Gulf of Mexico waters of Galveston Beach. The watery night was spread out dark and wide like spilled ink, with a full and heavy moon spilling its light over the crime. It was the eve of Summer Solstice and I stood not worshipping the sun but the moon and her illumination of those dark waters. I felt very near my father, standing there with the rhythm of the small waves curling past my feet and breaking onto the shore. He's part of those waters, and in his life he could navigate by the very stars and moon shining over me. I gazed at that moon that somehow connected me there to him then, and breathed deep the salty June air, felt the warm Gulf breeze moving across my body and through my hair, and held my arms out wide to him.

Do you believe in magic?

Dribble

The weekend before I took the train to New York on a Sunday in May, I stayed with my good friend Shannon and her family in New Jersey. Shannon and I met at work when she lived in Houston. That was years and years ago. Not only do I adore her and her growing family, but I also adore her parents. They live a couple hours from Shannon in a little town in Pennsylvania in a neighborhood with great big trees that Shannon's father can identify which makes him hold a special spot in my heart since my Father could do the same thing with trees. I don’t always get to see them when I visit Shannon but this time they drove up (over? down?) for the afternoon and dinner on Saturday. In the late afternoon, we were in the driveway putting the children’s toys away for the day when suddenly I found myself in a little game of hoops with him. I lost of course but the thing I want to tell you is that I have never done that before, never played basketball with friends in a driveway, never picked up a ball and tried to toss it in the basket at dusk. And every time that scene unfolded in a book I read or movie I watched, a bit of envy and also disconnect would unfold in me. But not anymore. Shannon and her mother brought out lawn chairs and sat to the edge of the driveway and for a little while, life was nothing more than the camaraderie and play of that little game in the driveway. And that was perfect. Today my friend emailed me a couple photos of that slice of American Pie.

Gifts given

This gem in my in-box. I love the gems in my life!!!

Alison,

Hey, I meant to send this to you yesterday, but the day got away from me. I was thinking about you, and about Father’s Day without your dad, and I came across this quote:

Children honor their fathers by repeating the things that they did, even unconsciously, by patterning their own lives on their fathers’ values.

I thought of you when I read it.

I hope you had a good day.
-Shannon

Sunday, little brown bed hog

It's that very look, that coy look of hers that helps her get away with, well, with everything.

And I did

Text from my personal hurricane this morning: It's June and you should be here waking up to the Croatian sun. Think of me as you walk with Cheyenne this morning. Big hugs.

Though not waking up to the Croatian sun, that text was still a pretty nice way to begin my day.

Sunday morning, a bit tired from Saturday afternoon

Morning

The thing about June is that not only does it launch summer onto the scene, but it is when Spring lingers slowly in its final dying breaths. There is a transfer, a change of the guard. The cicadas come out in the evenings, their sound rising to a cresendo and shrinking back, rising and back again and again, like the rhythm of the tides. Inbetween, there is a hammock lull. I enjoy summer's arrival. Summer doesn't jump out at you with big changes, it lazily yawns and stretches into being. Where Spring mornings inspire me with the daily discovery of change, summer mornings stun me with their show of early morning light. I watch the honey-colored ribbons stretching across the park to areas that go untouched at any other time of day. I watch the rays pass right over me as a miracle on my skin, and suddenly the day is fully lit, and fully hot. And so the day begins. Good morning.

Recommended

This book is so full of information, so well written and easy to read, so eye-opening and potentially life-changing that I want you to go out and get it for yourself just as soon as you can. And read all about the amazing body that you have.

Minutes apart and inches away

I had hoped to see you. I'd heard you would be there. I felt you there but never caught a glimpse. Someone asked about you and I leaned to hear the answer, He was just here, not sure where he is now. Like evaporation, you are, a constantly disappearing presence.

When I left, suddenly you were there before me. And I, I was brushing my hair and singing to the music while you, you watched me in your rear view mirror.

It was all yellow

This picture is of the field across from the house I rented Memorial Day weekend. I cut a bunch of these flowers and put them in a pitcher of water atop the picnic table on the back porch of the house for us to enjoy all weekend. And we did.