the hardest to learn, was the last complicated

so much going on at once

tuesdays almost gone

From Tioga Falls Trail

a cats meow

From Crazy cat

sunday

I am still feeling the lingering effect of todays 2 hour group cycle class. The feeling is not as remarkable as it was after the 1st, 2nd or 3rd class but it still speaks to me in spongy-finger like ways. In fact I will be less than surprised if I doze off again before finishing this entry.

I never mentioned how great The Katie Reider band was when was that, last weekend? Or how after their 2 hour show I tossed myself into the drivers seat and made it into the next bar for the last hour of the Blue Umbrellas show. Nor did I mention how unbelievably packed to the doors and blacked out windows that particular bar was. Positively asses to elbows all about the place women and more women everywhere. A fact which is becoming more a rule than an exception when it comes to a Blue Umbrellas show.

The bar or venue where The Katie Reider band played, is more of an open sort of place in layout terms. Sometimes it reminds me of a friends basement sort of thing if their basement was quite of the large variety. One of the best things about the place, is the sitting area right across from the bar, complete with books lined for the borrowing stacked on bookshelves and an ever warming gas fireplace at the end of one of the couches. Oh and don’t let me forget to mention the fitting  ping pong table amid the pool tables. See? Just like a friends basement.

Our weather has become more normal I suppose. Today there were fits of blowing snow flurries almost making it to the frozen ground. But, I think like most of us, the flurries found the 19 degrees accompanied by an underwear searing type of wind a bit to frigid so they didn’t stay around.

Time to move my muddled mass into another chair.

Remember run with it. Even if only in your minds eye.

quiet until the thaw

Her name tells of how
it was with her.

The truth is, she did not speak
in winter.
Everybody learned not to
ask her questions in winter,
once this was known about her.

The first winter this happened
we looked in her mouth to see
if something was frozen. Her tongue
maybe, or something else in there.

But after the thaw she spoke again
and told us it was fine for her that way.

So each spring we
looked forward to that.

~swampy cree indian narrative poem

letters to a young poet – adrienne rich

“It’s not the dejavu that kills

it’s the forseeing

the head that speaks from the crater

I wanted to go somewhere

the brain had not yet gone

I wanted not to be

there so alone.”

~adrienne rich

Numero uno again

Sliding into a new place, quietly, methodically and truth be told, shyly.