driving in my own show of humanity

hello my friends,
happy almost new year.  i am hoping given my new job and the fact i have been moved to do more writing might mean more blogging for me.  all my thanks as always.  i hope the new year brings true happiness in a way disney and fairy tales could never imagine.  and that people would understand the power they have to do good in our world.  not too much to ask for.  not much at all.

Am commute how you change just as I get used to. Yesterday, my eyes sanded down by too much melatonin taken at midnight for I must sleep.  They now heard the call of the day screamed in tones by my I phone. I got up from the sleeping bag of my sleepover for one. The warmth of the water awoke me enough for my peanut butter toast breakfast with a side of a homemade cookie. Breakfast of my champions for a Monday. One might say.  No coffee. Today. And onto the maze of the city from my home in the mission to the oasis of the presido. 

Each day I take a different route. Based on the cars almost kissing each other. Based on the time. Based on an errand. Based on an experiment. Every day, I roll down the windows and blast music and sing terribly, an one woman's karaoke just for me. Or possibly for some spectators along the way.  Yesterday I saw a man projectile vomit on the corner. The image was hard to shake from my brain that is used to playing on repeat like teenage days past. What saved me was the air and the lumineers. Hey ho. And probably a deep breath or two.  And away drifted the old Asian man in a jump suit barfing water. 

But today. Today was different.  The light of sun in the clouds. A moment in time a camera can never fully capture.  No justice served in trying.  The coffee as my companion. And as I drove. I saw the mom and toddler with panda hat walk across the street while the toughish looking stranger looked down to the little girl to bid her hello. Smiles splash their faces.  I saw elderly friends of familiarity meet on the corner. And the kids bubbling race to the end of the block. 

 And as I sit in this car disconnected from others somehow I am watching my own show of humanity. I am not the star. Today. Just the observer of a Tuesday am. As I sit at this light, again, the flock of birds move in unison again and again.  The circle of their kind. They keep moving as one. Quietly.  Again and again.  And I'm okay waiting at this light. And watching. It all.  I might have missed it. If I hadn't been watching.

facing my greatest fears. motherhood. redefined.

i am back on the writing train.  enjoy-all my thanks always.


Fear. I fear many a thing. Like tight places or being in a crowd and not being able to move or being trapped.  A no exit of my own making, my own reality, no longer a play I read in honors English over a decade ago. I used to fear tanker trucks and would avoid them at the fear I might blow up at gas stations.  On the road.  But never did I. Blow up. I still get warm when I cross a bridge.  The no exit and the no return part makes my heart pitter patter and deep breathing my only refuge. Classic- my abnormal psych professor said of someone who had been abandoned.   Somehow comfort missing from the equation in this knowledge.  I fear loss. And being left. And being alone.  And not finding the right person.  To call my home. 

I used to fear I'd become like my mother- not in the typical fashion into a nag or choreograph into her. More like I might one day be crazy like her. Certifiable.  One day be an addict like her. But crazy isn't always inherited and addiction can live and breathe in your body and not ever be yours. I feared I wouldn't break the cycle. The cycle of loss.  The cycle of abandonment   The cycle of  my mother losing her mother tragically at 13 and me losing my mother starting at 8 and more permanently at 18.  My greatest fear is I would be a mother and I would leave.  

One of my goals written across this fearful and hopeful heart was to break this cycle and be a mother. But I haven't been a mother.  Not yet.  I haven't found that love of my life to make babies with.  But this isn't about birthing babies or the tanker trucks or bridges of my life I  have crossed.  It is about much more.  I am surprised.  Surprising myself is I don't have to birth a child to love a child part of me just the same. The gift of helping to raise children is more than the greatness of it.  It is the realization that my greatest fear that I'd be a mother a mother who would leave won't happen- won't happen to me. It is a choice.  And I choose in a way -I always have. In the raising of my brother and my choice of profession and my work of always being around the children.  

Time lines thrown away.  Clocks forgotten.  I may not have that luxury of the regular textbook mothering-but as I look around I can't help but be certain I will be called mom one day.  A mom who stays-a mother who doesn't play out the perfect fantasy of undoing of her own childhood to better her own.   Mothering isn't what I thought it would be. A child looking at you to feel safe and loved and seen and to truly bask in the beauty of childhood.  I am already doing that.  My fears.  My fears aren't permanent.  I can mother and mother in a way-in a way that works for me. And stop being scared that I will leave. Leave.  

the meaning of a word on a beer label

hello all,  i wrote this last summer in a notebook outside a cafe transferred it to the computer and decided to hold onto for awhile.  i let go of this man a long time ago.  and never thought he would provide me more than enough material.  writing and otherwise.  he also made me realize what i really wanted.  and for that i am thankful.  i think this will be the last piece he will be a part of. okay enough reflective words on the past.  without further ado- the meaning of a word on a beer label.  all my thanks always!

As I stand in the aisle, feet planted in the front of the multiple colors bottled with labels and letters spelled out into words, more words, into the word: Parabola. It stands before me. Boxed because its special. My eyes reading the book of beer bottles scanning left and right and left and right-typewriter swinging. Until it stops on the one word I had forgotten until it stands there with its paper colored box and the description underneath-attention beer geeks and this will go fast. And the flashback of the year earlier roams through the maze of my mind and lands on my chest. 


I pause. I pause. And think about the bottle I still have sitting in my fridge. With the same name. The one released in 2010. Sold out but I got one of the last bottles to call my own. I bought it to share. But never did I. It transferred from my old house in noe to soma to inner richmond and back and where it lives and has lived since september in the mission. I had bought this to share with someone who I'd stop seeing more than once, twice to be exact or was it three times, the last being a drift of little to no contact to calmness of the still pond.

So this most recent time and this bottle of beer. When we started again in the causal of coffee and parks and dog watching and playing. This time it was my own investigation that resulted in the meeting. My own curiosity and needing to know he was okay. Because the rumors that touched my ears didn't tell the words I wanted to believe. So I had to do what I needed, what I always felt I should and went into see for myself. The recon of inquisitiveness and instinct. 

He had told me before. People tell you who you are but we are blind and deaf and gullible and have a possible male version case of selective or the i am on my cell phone and can't hear you- hearing intensified in wanting to believe that damaged goods doesn't mean a permanence of forever. We look into the eyes- I look into his eyes and want to believe. Believe in the fairytale of trauma resolved by doing little work. That white lines were once in awhile. That him saying this conversation is over, abruptly, coldly, right now- would stop. That the fact that he wanted to die, he had, all could fade away in my embrace.

In my potential seeing grasping wanting to believe that we all could be different because I was different and I hadn't let the twists and turns of my childhood paint a dark D upon my chest. I had brillo padded and scrubbed and massaged and crossed over and spray painted it to form a S. I worked hard to keep that letter there and showed it more than I should. To anyone who might need it.  I did this again all feeling new with my glistening sparkly S upon my chest. I believed I could save him. Save him from the despair of loneliness while saving myself in companionship. 

But the pull, the tug on the fish line from my heart to his hands upon the pole, the sparkly distraction was just so tempting. Tempting to let that shiny S show again. I didn't want to save him. So I told myself. I wanted to make sure he was okay. Not too skinny. Not too close to the edge. I never thought it through what I would do with my google results of how do you tell someone has a cocaine addiction or might be suicidal? What to do other than see if these rumors are true. 


And if this man who I loved. Even if it wasn't warranted. I had to see if he lay on pieces on the ground, his potato head nose and eyes and lips and hands to feel needing to be put him back together. But with my hands. For me to help him form into completion. Into the real him. The real him he could be. It wasn’t just about him. It was about me. Me feeling I was important. Me feeling indispensable. Me saving others to make it feel better I could never help her. My mother. I guess if I saved enough people it would feel okay giving up on her. Another notch on the superhero belt of humanity might make me feel more alive. Less guilty. More alive.

So our visit at the park gave birth to more. My google searches and my own evaluation resulted in results uncertain. Uncertain I was. I needed to do more research. But objective I couldn't be. He might be broken, broken. Beautifully broken but he was comfort still, the familiarity of him, us, warmed me. The familiarity of him and me and the story of how dysfunction and addiction and missing parents can perfectly end so very differently.  My own fable of my making. 


 The park became phone calls long bubble gum outstretched ones like ones when we were in the thick of our love affair. And for a brief moment, I paused and fell back in not caring about the future but the now. Only the now. So I did what anyone who didn't care for the importance of the future. I had sex with him multiple times and once on backyard swing. But somehow our romp on that swing allowed it to end. Really this time.

He called soaked in worry that I would want to be together and he couldn't give me what I needed. I didn't. Not in a cold callus way but in a way of knowing the truth. I thought it was fun.  I don't regret it. Words falling out of me from my script I had written. I guess I should have thought this through. He would say. Surprised by the swings change in me. I should have thought it through as well. 


Thought about what grabbing onto the shiny lure would mean. Meaning. The word. Parabola. Glistening in the florescent manufactured lights above. It sits there and reminds me of the buying of it in the limbo of a beginning of summer stickiness of the heat wave san francisco summer of before. The accident of the weather and sleeping together and diving into to it again. And the bottle I bought for us to drink together.

And as I stared at the bottle- I remember we never drank it, not together, I never did drink it not even alone. And I think maybe I should buy it. Buy this new version limited edition again. I stare at it the only way you can feel nostalgia for a bottle. For a moment. I stand. And stare. And he is standing next to me again. 


For just a few moments. There was only one choice left. And as I walk away from this bottle brightly light and perfectly packaged- still not knowing what was inside but knowing more than enough. My eyes turn slowly as I span out until it is in the distance of the corner of my eyes. I didn't look back. 


 Until. A few days later when I was shopping I happened upon this aisle again. But this time I wanted to buy it. Maybe. But it was gone. And so was he. It was as if they have never been there. There at all.

it was over 365 days ago when i choose to keep my heart in one piece

It was over 365 something days I decided. I decided. To keep my heart in one piece. And I succeeded. I did it. My heart stayed inside this very chest. It did not fly on to the floor in a million something pieces. I did not need a bungee cord or super glue to put it back together. I did not lay on the ground kicked in the stomach saying why me again?  I did not need a therapist to hold my hand to walk outside. Alone. I did not lay in a puddle of my own despair. Not anymore.  What happened? It is not a disney story. For those only exist in the confines of tvs and screens and movie theaters not the reality of every day. Storybooks of childhood of happy endings made easy.  What happened? It was not sexy. It was boring. It grew tired. I grew tired from the lack of excitement without the crash and burn and the quick fire repetitions of love affairs. I grew lonely. Boredom. Now. It was not pretty this keeping together of this heart. Loneliness foreign.

What happened next was. Was I learned how to play hide and seek with boredom, I let loneliness become my friend and no longer an enemy sown together-it lost its power. I let the desire for the excitement bubble outside of me in other ways. I said out loud what I wanted while my heart was held together in all its entirety. I stopped looking. And somewhere along the line, I surrendered. My own rendition of a child's pose.  In this game of love. And turned a new page, created a new story.

A new story of my attempt at love. For the first time in the history of Kate. I kept my heart in one piece and allowed life to happen in a way I did not take every opportunity and make it happen now. Right now. Because what if it was our only chance?  But I let go. Because I could not stomach another heart wrenching demise. And I woke up into. A new story. Of a relationship. Possibility. Just because you get a new story, does not mean you get a new ending. It does not just work that way.

But could be breaking the curse of loser guys and dismantling not getting what I need and the storyline of falling for ideas of people-outlines of real men- being over. Be enough. Could my heart being in one piece. And me being okay. Even if this might be over. That in this ending. My heart staying in one piece. Might mean. It all is different. In a way I wanted. In a way I have always wanted. In a way I had never dreamt. That goodbye might not be the shatter of the pulse and core of me. But instead. Letting go. To see what might be next. For us. Or just me. But no matter what this pitter patter that stays with me enclosed in its home of protection. Hasn't left.

I said over 365 days ago I could not survive another heart break. And as I stand here. Thinking of what will be next. My heart is in one piece. And knowing there is more. More of this to come. Might be the greatest gift. Of all. By myself or with him. Or someone else. I know I am not broken. Anymore. So many times it took. For me to stand here. Really stand here. And my promise to myself unbroken. And this story engrained on my heart has changed and so have I.  

one line a day in 2011

i have been writing but not posting much. my apologies. sometimes i am not ready to share. i started writing one line or more like a few lines a day during the summer. so the last six months i have captured a snapshot of my life. i thought as the first post of the year- i would share the highlights. happy new year! i look forward to another year of writing and capturing the beauty and complexities along the way. all my thanks always!

July 19- Me: Why do pigeons mate for life? 10 year old: Because there is no pigeon divorce. Good point.

July 22- I love when you put on a pair of shorts (blue corduroy op vintage variety) and find sand in the pocket. It is a reminder you have been somewhere.

July 30- I answered the door in short shorts and braless to jehovah witness who were looking for spanish speakers. They got me instead. I said lo siento, neciesto practicar and they gave me their brochere in espanol.

August 4- I am swimming in a sea of people making reservations for dinner. Outside. In the sun. Writing. Not knowing what I will eat. For dinner.

August 11- Note to self drinking too much beer on a stomach of tuna and chips and kimchi might produce tears on a bar stool and gas the next day.

August 30- Have you ever barfed in Disneyland?, asks the 10 year old upon me seeing her. Strange hello.

September 1- First date canceled. Why can't I catch I break in the love department? Best excuse ever- broken arm. He might be my kind of man- accident prone.

September 12- 8 yr old: I only did my homework so I could spend more time with you.

September 13- Overheard at school- ways to recycle, reuse condoms! 8th grader turns around in shock to see my face as I say, I wouldn't recommend it.

September 15th- Today I saw an awkward group of middle schoolers in a circle- they were staring at girls underwear on the ground. Its underwear they exclaimed. Weird I usually keep mine at home I say. Faces uncertain respond.

September 18th- Perfect morning in the sunset. We rode our bikes to the beach. She escaped death after I said something nice to her. Me on a fixie for the first time. I rode home in a bikini top in the usually foggiest neighborhood in this city.

September 25- Today I went on a date long time coming and wasn't nervous. 7 hours later. We say goodbye. With anticipation. We kiss in my doorway with the door open. Then closed. Then locked. Slammed against the wall- my leg reaching up. We devour each other while standing up.

Sept 27- I walk on clement street at a livable pace while eating a pork bun as the sun beats on me. Fog now foreign. I gave a pork bun to a homeless dude. I see it later. It lays splattered in the middle of the cross walk.

October 1- A surprise to see someone outside and together no hesitation of what has already started. To drinks then shots then me cutting line to go to the bathroom in the men's. High Five. Steal kisses in front of his friends. After hours. To I just stepped in barf. Don't worry everyone did. To kiss me on this street corner to home. No one sleeps. We just explore the maps of each other.

October 23- A sunset as my friend and sand as my bed is a nice way to say hello and goodbye to a weekend.

October 26- Learning how to tango from a 10 year old and a singing telegram from an eight year old entitled you are the best babysitter is a place I call home.

October 27- Sometimes you have to seize the day and drive across town just to see someone for a few moments. Sick or not. Note to self- if you make out with a dude with a fever- you will most likely get sick.

November 9- If you care enough to help the environment to buy a prius, care enough for humanity to stop at the stop sign when in the middle of a crosswalk near a school. I'll take a kind gas guzzler any day.

November 23- By 8 am I smell of pumpkin pie because of a pie mishap. By 9am finish grocery shopping. By 9:30 am realize i did not wear underwear with my yoga pants. Explains the smiles I got. Sometimes you are too busy for your chonies.

November 28- The game of getting it all done. Living in the library. Again. Spotted a woman missing part of her shirt and wearing a purple bra.

December 1- Death planned by my brother includes a family vacation to disneyland- no kids- no alcohol- no thanks.

December 8- There is nothing better than still be invited to a 11 year old party. And being called Kate the Awesome.

December 10- The worst time to get diarrhea is while in a squat during yoga.

December 15- What happens when you put 2 divorced people and their significant others together- you make the nanny- me- sit between the two dudes- the dad and the boyfriend. That sounds like a great plan.

December 17- I love when I run into students and they are still in college and doing well and I get free fries to boot.

December 19- The best way to end a night shift. Solved.

December 22- I go to a corner store to get re-enforcements for a road trip home. Man in a BMW comes inside to sell a tablet. A hot one. Merry Christmas!

December 27- Quality time with my dad entails him flying model airplanes on the high school football field in the boonies. He usually crashes but he didn't this time. What if I shrink you to fit inside? He asks. I would be sick. I'd go slow he responds.