Archives for the month of: February, 2017

Today I did two things that I’ve been putting off – two things I didn’t want to do, two things that, once completed, meant that they were never to be done again.

I wrote condolences for two people I love and admire who died at the end of the year.

And look. I realize that I keep using the present tense for people who are dead, just becuz they are dead doesn’t mean how I feel stopped and is in the past.

I wanted to say the right thing. For both of them. And at the same time, I didn’t want to say goodbye to either of them.

So I did it. Imperfect and grateful. Hopeful and sad.

What I wanted to say was “Thank you”. Mostly thank you. For listening, for sharing you with me. For making me laugh and smile and doing these tiny things that you probably didn’t know you were doing. Didn’t know I needed or valued.

Thanks for telling me about the love you have for your children and grandchildren, thank you for sharing jokes with me, for making it ok to find people attractive.

Thank you for being silly  with me in the middle of our serious work. Thank you for smiling and laughing in moments when I didn’t t believe I could.

Thank you for inspiring me to be quiet in my joy and loud in my pain. 

I just.

You both gave me different things, different gifts and I’m grateful for them all.


Things change, with me barely noticing, incrementally.

Then. Suddenly, the rewards are mine.

The first time I used the grocery delivery service, I ordered some yeast in my shopping cart. It was impulsive, I’m not sure how I found it on the site, but in it went. I forgot about it until I pulled it out of the box. It’s not like I had any flour or anything to go with it. I mean. That same delivery I ordered baking soda and baking powder – what I was doing? Seeing how many leavening agents I could have delivered to my door? 

That isn’t the way a person “groceries”.

The second time, I ordered (and received) flour. And salt. 


I thought about it. Those three things, the yeast in a state of suspended animation, slumbering in the door of the fridge, the flour also in the fridge, staring at me silently every time I opened the door.

In the summer, I took an aerial silks class, which I disliked for many reasons. Including the teaching style, which was basically “Here is a binder – open it, remove a page, read the directios, try to do the trick as the directions state. Try not to die.”


It’s not terribly helpful. And those black and white pictures weren’t helpful either.


Hating the aerial silks class, with so much flour and yeast.

What’s a girl to do?

I could have made some bread, I suppose.

By the time summer ended, I was all about the film festival so things not film-related took a back seat.

The woman who reccommended the aerial silks class to me was patient enough to listen to my complaints about it too.

Then, after some thought, after getting to know each other better, she invited me to try out her trapeze class.

I was ready to hate it. 

Never mind willingly hanging about from two pieces of fabric, two ropes and a mental bar doesn’t seem any safer. Or saner.

I went out.


It’s terrifying. Like. So scary. Cuz you are all “way up there” and the ground is like “way down there”. And there is nothing between up there and down there. Just air.

So much empty space.

I could just fall, actually, fall. 

I got really upset in the fall – the autumn – scared, angry. Felt like the world was just becoming a place I didn’t recognize or understand anymore. Felt like I didn’t and couldn’t trust people that I interact with all the time.

It’s unnerving. To sudddenly feel the world slip away like that. To lose track of the narrative. To fall, metaphorically.

And so I struggled.

And. Asked questions. Said some pretty hard stuff to friends and listened to hard stuff friends were saying. I was clumsy in my words.

And bruised. From trying not to die.

From continuing to fight gravity.

I woke three Saturdays ago and I enjoyed that state where the bed is still sleep warm and you know trapeze class isn’t until 1pm, so you can enjoy it just a little longer.

And. My nose wanted something different. I wanted to smell freshly baked bread.

After class, I found a recipe and got going.

It’s been ages since I baked bread. And it’s funny when I talk about “getting back to it” people make a funny face, as if I’m someone who looks like I shouldn’t know how to make bread.

Truth: I am someone who looks like I shouldn’t know how to make bread.

But I do.

And I’m learning how to do trapeze.

I know that the whole “bread and circus” thing is a metaphor. But taking it literarly is working really well for me. I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Maybe someday I’ll fall. But not today.