The Butterfly Effect

It rained.

From the sky...
a gabillion drops free falling, prancing like wild horses on my tin~can metal roof...
and  then leaping into sudden death...
or freedom...
flying face first into the muddy earth....
and tumbling wildly downhill
to the river....

Monsoons....

I took a shower.

Steadied my hand on the make-shift rail,  leaned up against the vintage vinyl and stood under the warm waterfall....
Crying.....

Maybe wailing.....

It 's the seven o'clock sadness....
It just happens...

Each new day is a gift...
and a Mountain....
and for just a moment,
I have weak knees...
the fleeting moment after you've been cold cocked, but just  before you stand up again,
spit blood,
and say "I'm OK".......

I should have known she'd be here...
     the encore after my hissy fit.....


The yellow Butterfly....
   

      reminding me

 to Believe.....

Tarantula

I sat indian style,
in tattered cut offs,
dirty bare feet tucked under
opposite ankles,
and I colored in peace...

It was hot
and the rusty ceiling fan rattled
and tattled,
the incessent chirping of yet another thing broken,
hanging on,
hanging in there,
doing it's job.

I smeared colors.
Smudged them,
blobbed them
into irredescent
and muddy puddles,
convinced that when I stopped
an image would appear.

Mother Mary,
a Peace Sign,
anything that meant something...

I dipped the paint brush to my right,
in the stupid plastic Tiki Bar Cup...
and leaned towards the blue...
tainted water dripping on my knee...

and then she
waddled,
crab crawled,
out from under me...

The Tarantula.

Just give me peace.

And if I have to live with bugs...
send the butterflies
the dragonflies,
and
the praying mantis....

Through my lookin' glass....

He's crying. It's too much. 3 miles home on a dropped foot, a dragging, lagging, "Good-God, it's killin' me" foot. 6 foot shoulders, skinny now, slumped. He's whipped. Done.

And yeah, the truck blew up. Smack. Pop! Poof and it was gone.

I smile and say I'll fry the steaks.

In my world, his life was saved. Tomorrow we'll call a tow truck.

She dials my number 6 times in a row. Leaves a raspy, breathy message every time. I hear her gasp between beeps, between the canned voice reciting "You have 5,4,3,2 more new messages". I call her back and she collapses, homeless for the night, desperately driving in circles.

I smile and say I'll turn the porch light on.

"Not tonight, baby. You're not homeless tonight. And tomorrow the sun will rise and we'll figure it all out"

I fall and knock my teeth out. I cry. And laugh. Fall into the arms of my new best friend forever that I've never seen again. I rack up a phenomenal bill with my next best friend, the dentist next door.

I smile and don't drink koolaid.
Don't ride anything upside down.
Don't hang out in bars with black lights...
Kiss with the abandon that only comes with age and accidents and peace.

I go to bed with the big stuff rocking my world
and wake up
a thousand times spinning,
twirling,
hurling if I could....
And then the sun rises...

And I smile again...

Tomorrow is the gift of peace.

This House Believes

Sometimes I see things...
Faces...mermaids...faeries...
Out of the corner of my eyes,
for a flash, an instance...

Or maybe, sometimes....
Things see me....

Photos taken last night at our little Hippie Slumber Party. These are the walls and windows to Kimbies world....

Steam trapped forever, frozen in a glass box at the bathroom window...And we all saw it...

A delightful painting of an English Garden, tucked behind glass in a Victorian frame....
And we all saw it...

The Faces....

We weren't haunted. We weren't afraid.
We danced.
Drank beer.
Told stories.
Cried.
In their company...

And somehow I'm sure, so did they....
In ours....

The Crying Moon

"Watch your step" he bellowed as I threw one clutsy foot out of the truck door...the second fringed moccasin hit the parking lot floor before I could quip over my shoulder "I know"....

Of course he knew I wouldn't remember to be careful...
couldn't,
it's not in my nature....
And before landing at our last stop,
I parachuted out the door
and landed in a pile of pick up sticks on the gravel driveway.

He cringed. I laughed. And we called it a night.

In the morning, black and blue, and hobbling yet again, I remembered falling in slow motion... the click clack of the door opening, the billowing waves of wind as my ruffled and crumpled skirt sailed behind me, the smile creeping up fast, frozen laughter captured in polaroid color, right before I hit the ground.

In the morning I remembered,
that sometimes,
I just like to fall....

Face first into the moment.
Kiss the gravel goodnight.
Take chances.

And sometimes,
I skin my knees.

It was a crying moon,
And I could have cried,
but it wasn't in my nature.....

I needed to save that for a day I was steady on my feet....

Pinnochio and other tell~tale stories

I was fat. A dumpling with cold black hair and an indian nose. I was a girl. Samalama Singleton. And my Father adored me.

He nub~nubbined my head, and pinched my nose, threw me in the air and caught me football style, just before I kissed the ground.

At four, my hair was blonde and he had squeezed my nose so many times, it had almost disappeared....

At ten, I ran face first into a concrete wall, sprinting out from under a Christmas tree....and set that nose straight again....broad and bumped...

And then I was 32. Exhausted. Sacked out on an empty living room floor. Two toddler loves waddling in circles around my head, little feet knotting my hair up in piles of angel speghetti on the Berber carpet. I closed my eyes. "Here we go round the merry go round, the merry go round, the merry go round".......

"Mama!" he said. A three year old's world breaking the rhyme. I opened my eyes just in time to see the bottom of his size four pretend Nike's leap in the air. I closed them right before all 38 pounds of Boy jumped in the air and landed on my face.

Broader and bumped again.

My nose grew and grew and grew.....

When my soldier left for war, I bit my bottom lip . I couldn't let him see me cry. Not out the airplane window. I waved and smiled. Turned. Ran.

I kissed the door head on. Knocked myself out silly.

Six months later, the black eyes faded....and the bump was all but gone. I had the most perfectly straight broken nose anyone had ever seen.

When I tell the story, sometimes people think I'm fibbing.....
But I'm not....
It's broken, always has been.

Only now I can crinkle it.
Wrinkle it.
Screw it up in a magical "I dream of Jeannie" spell....

If you don't believe me, ask Skinny....

The Purple Stapler

I woke up almost late. Not quite. But not early enough to lounge in my jammies. Have two cups of coffee and daydream.

And so I rebelled.

I camped out on the porch smoking cigarettes and sipping one cup of coffee, coloring tiny matchbook size scraps of paper, watching the sun rise. From where I parked my fanny I couldn't see the only clock in the house on the near~right time. I could only kinda tell the time by the world around me...The footsteps of the lanky 9 year old across the street, running, book bag heavy, chasing the dotted lines on the street. The tires of the bus grinding to an unexpected halt. "Yeah, he made it Dad!" Three little birds dumpster diving in my garbage cans, splashing in the unexpected puddle on the lids. The cats, stretching, raking their little paws on the screens....fingernails on a chalkboard Monday through Friday, but ahhhh, if it's Saturday, we're just stretching....

And then....

I raced....

Jumped in the shower...

Left with wet hair.

Rat packed into the city...did the nine to five plus some...and played bumper car home.

I yanked open the screen door and there on the worn out carpet ,tossed carelessly, lay the teeny weeny little matchbook size scribbles of the morning. I stepped over the color and went to fetch the stapler. All I needed was the little purple stapler and walah! somethin' out of an accidental nothin'... a teeny weeny notebook....

But it wasn't where it was supposed to be. It wasn't in the kitchen cabinets. Under the couch. It wasn't in the bathroom. The pass the trash Christmas Closet. It wasn't in my underwear drawer or the guest bedroom. It wasn't in little house or the laundrey room. It wasn't with the pots and pans or the kitty litter. It wasn't anywhere.

I pulled out the flashlight and looked in corners, emptied drawers, tumped out boxes....

But it wasn't anywhere...

And I cried.

I could go without making my house payment, skip breakfast and dinner, wear clothes still wet from the line...
but I needed that little purple stapler....

to make
something
outa
nothing....

Funny, but it was the laughter I remember....
And I miss that.....

Overflow......

It's an old house and I'm an old woman. Things are bound to fall apart. And so it goes....

I turn the blue and silver cap slowly, a delicate twist of my wrist, less the bottle neck shatter into a thousand pieces.....
And then, I chug good and hard....

It's beer time, baby.....

The shower gurgles up into the toilet and the toilet runs until the pump gets hot. When the pump gets hot the cold water stops flowing and I've scalded myself silly three 5 minute showers in a row. It's OK. I don't need to rinse off, the wayward boys took off with the soap and the shampoo and I swim with tadpoles, remember?

They disconnected my internet for non payment and I promptly took care of the problem and they politely turned me back on Thirty minutesbefore lightening struck the telephone pole, scampered down the cable and knocked the whole system out. There's a post~it note on the screen now,
It says "don't you dare".....

My broken foot is broken,
and tomorrow I'm wearing combat boots to work,
My key got stuck in the broken kitchen door and I had to break the plywood to crawl through the already broken glass to let Georgia out the broken back door.....
and there's a post-it note there too....
it says "Lock the broken door or the cats will get out"......

I pulled my clothes from the washer and hung them on the line and it rained. Thank God the sky is broken. The rust from the washer was smeared all over my new "I am free" T-shirt and I'm hoping the heavens will rinse it out.

The house is 3 inches deep in cat hair and dog hair and the confetti of my life. The vacuum makes loud noises and spits at my shins.

It's dark here, every 1000 hour light bulb blew out at once and I used all my candles for the hurricanes 3 years ago. I have to keep typing or the screen saver comes on and I can't see a damn thing in the living room.....



Everything is broken,
but the circle.....

Fireworks

I dated a nice boy. Once. He opened car doors and brought me donuts on Saturday. He wore khaki pants and golf shirts. Had a retirement plan and took good care of his parents. When he kissed me the first time, I almost fainted. From boredom. And then he sweet talked me. In baby talk.

"Why can't you just find a nice guy and settle down?" She said to me, slurping her McCoffee.....

"Lemme tell you why" I giggled . Remembering.

I like to have fun. I like to laugh til I cry and cry til I laugh. I like to dance. Low and fast. Touching and no touching. In the streets and in the rain. I like to dress up and dress down. I like to be shocked and to be rocked. I like to be IN LOVE and I love to be liked.

I believe in butterflies.....

Swimmin' up hill.....

I fall in face first. Imagine the blue Kool~aid waves crashing on the blow up shoreline. Slip into my mermaid skin and day dream. Five more days. My hair billows out on the surface, a thousand golden sea snakes swimming in a halo.... I open my eyes wide, wider, and wait. My contacts float off, tiny cavier eggs finally free. I smile for them. Five more days. And then no more counting....

I float in a circle, upside down and backwards, the current finally catching up to me, and then turn around and plow into it! This is how it feels when you take off from the seawall running, running, running and the ocean finally laps you up, whisks you away, slathering you with kisses. I can't wait. To be free......



To sit perched on the edge of the earth, a sandpiper, digging to China....
To dance under the mist machine and the neon light of the moon, 17 again, but wiser....
To hear the sea monsters rumbling, grumbling, tumbling in the night and watch them wallow backwards, foamy tails between their legs, when the Sun comes out ....
To slurp beer can oysters
and spurt salt water to the sky....
To build Peace Castles and scribble sand graffiti with my toes....
To sing in the choir, the next rock~n~roll band, the outside shower....
To paint henna tattoos on the legs of strangers
and the backs of friends....
To play driftwood, floating until I wash up on the shore...
To feel the love.....

I climb up the rickety plastic ladder and laugh. Peace is comin'..... Five more days, baby!

And we all fall down.....

It was late. Skinny and I had been on the phone for hours. Literally. It's the way we bridge the miles. Reach out and touch each other. I piled into bed, four beers and probably eight brainstorms later, and crunched under the covers, heavy and smelling like rain....line dried and fresh. I stretched. Ran the Friday numbers by. How to make payroll. What to pick up at Winn Dixie on my home. How much catfood is behind the bar.... And I listened. One child out for the night....celebrating at Kobe's....

Drifting, just barely, slightly....I heard her key. Her high~heeled feet ballet stepping down the hall. Water running. I even heard her comforter being thrown back, her body flopping down, comfy cozy....into slumberland. I fell asleep immediately, whisk into that maternal peace that rocks a Mama....

"Safe", she's home safe and sound.

Georgia flew. Her claws digging into the orange quilt, needle banging my shins on her way out....unearthly growl growing as she took flight. The banging. The incessecent banging on my doorbelless door. She howled, barked, danced in a dark circle, and I spun in the same circle, grabbing joe boxers, freaking.....at that sound....strangers at the door.....in the middle of the damn night....

The front door rattled, bumped, slammed....."Oh, God, we're being raided"....and I flew out the kitchen door....where we meet friends, family, stray dogs.....as an army of one, ready.....and then I saw them....fraidy cats in headlights.....crumpled, coming, moving, falling into me with words, stories, frantic noise.... that suddenly sounded like coins dropped underwater.....and reaching, I couldn't catch them,worthless tokens falling heavy and distorted, gobbled up by the bottomless sand.....but I could see them, Jonah's roomate, his girlfriend....their faces.....

My youngest child had overdosed.

911 had been called.

He was barely breathing.

His blood pressure was nothing.

His heart was exploding.

When I touched him, he rolled his eyes. When I held his hand, nothing. When I said "I love you son".....I dreamed he answered me. When they told me "There is nothing else we can do" they went about their business and I prayed......

JSYK, in our world, if they breathe again and they're over 18, there is nothing you can do but pray......

I prayed hard......

You're only little once......

We've waited forever. Marked X's on the calendar. Counted days.

Watched the weather
man.

Ta! Dah! This is it!

Hippie Camp-out Night! Kimbies and I and our elfin little grandbabies goin' Woodstock for the night..... And feelin' the love......

My little heart-n-souls rode backseat, buckled up for 400 miles to spend the night in the latrineless green castle in the back yard. They came toting pillows, fuzzy blankets, yoo-hoo's, flashlights and smiles the size of martini moons. Kim's little Alana packed her Cinderella sheets, a sippy cup, and Me'Me's beer and we were off! To never-ever land, 18 steps from the back door. We played AARP Twister......Kimbies and I moaning, groaning, stretching, hoola-hooping our bodies into "left hand on green" pretzels.....tumbling in a pile of laughter. For every beer we drank (Hippie gramma's are allowed!) they ate a cupcake, a chinese fortune cookie, a puff of cheese popcorn....We built a cardboard house big enough for two......We colored, we painted, we glued, and ran barefoot in roundy-rounds through the backyard! We stayed up until 2:18 (That was the exact time according to Stone, the keeper of the battery operated clock!) and we never chickened out. The winds blew left and right and in mighty circles, 60 MPH, and we waited for the house to lift and send us flying.......we laughed, and oohed and ahhhed, and achoo!ed, piling under covers......

We woke this morning, to the same magic we fell asleep too. Alana saw it first. "Look she's fwying, dancing....... the yewwo buttahfwy...." We stretched our camp-out necks, squinted towards the window...."Where?" we chorused......."There!" she pointed...... And then we saw her......

The first ray of sun, glittering through the window.......

Put your money on the table....

And feel the love.....

It's amazing what an army can do....

Sunday morning, the dirt parking lot of our corner bar was swarming, purring, rumbling.....black boots, ponytails, bandanas, lots of leather, tattoos, and engines revved......a baby needed surgery, and the poker run began.

At 2:00 the masses came. The Indian, there, frying fish from all his early mornings out. Pink stuff has him whipped, but not enough to keep him down for this. The circle is in need. The band, after an early morning catnap, back again to play for love. And deep pockets everywhere. Smiling. Toasting. Giving.

One day.Two precious toddler twins. One in desperate need. Two parents. 60 bikes. 300 people. Ten thousand one hundred dollars by dark.

Two heads shaved: one male, one female. Sheared for the tiny sum of $3,300
Two locks of love....priceless.

One pair of 1970's men's disco shoes auctioned for $3.00. Price to watch the first guy they fit tap dance to Eric Claption: $300.00

Matching polyestor suit $15.00. Price to watch the tallest biker there strip down to his boxers and model it, $300.00

I have never felt so much love inside the same four walls in my life.

Perhaps, that's why, when the band climbed over the tables and shelves from the auction and started warming up....and a sea of arms and legs rushed behind them to clear the dance floor.....we all knew what the first song would be....

"And the house is rockin' tonight....."

May the spirit of yesterday carry on, the circle be unbroken, and the little one heal and laugh and play.....

Love grows.....

The Ghost of Christmas Past

I churned the gears down the river road, churning them out until they made a metallic moan, 1st, 2nd, 3rd, I'd never hit 4th before the red light. One baby booster-seated and one baby "I'm so big!" seated into the back seat, sleepy faced and oblivious to the ritual morning ride and Janis Joplin seeping from the console. And I was a little panicked.

The digitial dashboard clock was timing us, if I made the green, I had time to smoke a cigarette with Kimbies before dropping the children off, if it caught me on red.....forget it.

The Red light came quick and our seatbelts hiccupped. Snatching all three of us a little closer to the back of the ride. Three days until Christmas. And there in my rear view mirror were my sock-footed morning children, content, lazy, at peace.

"Dear Santa,
Don't worrie abot us. We ar good. We onle wont one thing. A camputeer. For Mommy and us. We love you a bunch and have oreos. And Moonpie wawnt bak at you, we told her not to, so you can come in our hawse.
Love,
Haley and Jonah"

Oh dear God, I thought, they picked only one thing. No hot wheels, Barbie dolls, puzzle ships, bicycles with frillies. One thing. For Mommy and them. The tree was decorated and dying already, we had lugged it home the night before, needles falling everywhere, on mighty clearance. I didn't have the nerve to put lights on it, and didn't have the heart not to. So I plugged it in anyway, and willed it not to burn the house down. They were thrilled.

The light turned green and I zoomed. No time now for a cigarette. Kimbies met me in the driveway to fetch them, in their pajamas, little square boxes of cereal in their backpacks. Another day at hippie daycare. I kissed them and slammed in reverse, free to smoke now, windows wide open. 1st gear, 2nd, 3rd.....

And then I saw them. The fireman's boots. Standing proudly next to the three matching garbage cans. It was trash day in our world. And I stopped. Reversed again. And stared at them.....

"I believe"......

So I snatched them.... the black rubber boots, Santa Clause's gear, and hurled them into the back seat. At lunchtime, Joe called me at the office, I panicked. He never called me here. My neighbor, my friend. Surely I forgot to unplug the tree and the damn house was on fire. I pictured him standing next to his pick-up truck calmly watching the flames, choosing his words carefully, as he watched my home come tumbling down.

"You said the kids only wanted a computer, right?" "Uh, yeah, but Joe, you know that ain't happenin', is the damn house on fire?" "Nah....it's okay, but I just picked Patty up from work and the hospital was throwing out all their old units, they're empty, you know" "What the hell are you talkin' about, Joe?" "Well, they're empty, they deleted everything from them, but Patty climbed in the dumpster and we grabbed one, and I'm pretty sure by tomorrow I can load it up with something" .....

Christmas Day....

My little ones awoke to the green glow of an institutional monitor in the hallway, the screen saver scrolling these words.....
"Love, Santa"......
it was fully loaded with battleship and checkers, and nothing more......

and the black rubber boots were under the tree....
with a note that read.....
"Now that we made it as far as Florida, we decided to barefoot it from here on......"


KJ....thank you for stirring this memory up, I'll explain the bottlecaps later.

Spells

I never put my boots on, not once. The army, smaller in numbers, but just as determined arrived in dribbles in my backyard. Time to build the castle. I smiled a little bigger each time I heard a door slam. And watched as these fellows, working 14 in a row, 6 in a row, lumbered out , yawning, but ready to work yet again. Two had to lean back in, reach far into their backseats, and unbuckle the very thing that made them who they are today. That made them go from boys, hell on wheels, to men….standing in the driveway, building a home for a stranger…..

Their daughters. First borns. And four year olds.

So on this Saturday, instead of digging trenches, dragging scraps, fetching nuts, and bolts, and beer…..I got to play….the girls and I. We went to hippie daycare….And I learned that my daughter ( 20 almost 40) is so silly when she mutters “Ma, you’re not eighteen anymore!” (afraid I’m going to slip, fall, get into trouble) because I know now, I’m forever four…..

We water colored and palm painted and ate potato chips with lettuce. We made up cheers to keep the troops going… “Go~Go, Daddy, Daddy, Sis Boom~Boom, Bah, Yeah……!” Jumping in Mick Jagger circles for the tah-dah! We rolled on top of the exercise ball, making giant blue somersaults in the grass….and of course, thunked a head or two on the down slide!

In the heat of the day (Nap time at hippie day care) they piled onto the hammock, balancing in the middle, toe to toe. And this is what I heard….

“You awe a good witch awen’t you?”
“Cowse she is”
“She’s going to spwinkle magic dust on us and we a goin to fall asweep fowevah”
“And a handsome pwince is gonna wide ovah here on his white howse and wake us up”

And so I did, of course…..

Abbra Kadabared them to sleep, with the wave of a right hand filled with golden glitters, left hand rocking the hammock into slumber land…..

Nap time at hippie daycare lasted exactly four minutes, the spell broken by a handsome dad whiling by on his way to the sawhorses …..
Then four flailing legs and four silly arms scrambling later,
Two little princesses tumbled off the magic carpet and onto the cool green grass….. “Yuah tuwn, yuah tuwn” they pleaded, guiding me onto the hammock.

And they whooed me to sleep with sweaty little handfulls of pink and gold glitter, blobbed on and rubbed in like neon beach sand. “In yuah haya” “pwetty wittle pwincess”….

And then they stood back and watched….

“we haff to wait on the pwince”
“what if she sweeps fowevah?”
“well he’ll come an wake huh up with a wovely kiss”

And they waited.
And I waited.
And finally, in cahoots, they ran and fetched the green baby doll and snuggled her up to my neck and “Hooway, hooway, yoah filled wit love now!”

From the deck,
The handsome prince~dad smiled,
“They forgot to come and get me”…….

Ask...

I was devastated. I believe in what is meant to be, and what never was, and if something doesn't happen, something else will. But I was devastated. "Are you kidding me?" "A thousand dollars to just spruce up the juice to the wanna be studio so we can make a condo out of a boys-night-out?" "Well, yeah, if you want it to be safe, and good, and to work right".....

I was devastated. We had recruited an army of willing arms to swing hammers and dig trenches. To barbeque chicken. To run ice. To hang drywall and pour concrete. We had scavenged the streets for donations, asking for the world, and being gifted over and over again. And, then, "are you kidding me?" we couldn't make it safe.....

Strong enough to power the air conditioning in triple digit heat, the coffee pot balanced on the makeshift counter top.....
the oxygen machine when it came.....

"Are you kidding me?"

Today, we shifted gears.

We started asking strangers.

Peace~love

Tomorrow everything we need to wire up the sound will be neatly packed in the back of Chey's pick-up truck. Friday night we'll pow-wow. On Saturday we'll tear the walls down. On Sunday we'll put them up again.

May the circle be unbroken.

Sometime soon,
I'll have a friend in the backyard....

And he will
have
an
army of new friends...
clinking!
Praying for the healing.....

The Window Whisperer

"Why are you whispering?" He said, leaning in. I tossed my head back and laughed from the throat, not from the belly, not from that place where he learned to live again. He smiled. It didn't take him long at all to learn to read my lips when mid-syllable the husky, raspy, cigarette lined words disappeared and no sound at all came out. Silence can be very, very loud when you're listening carefully. He listened very carefully.

I perch backwards,balancing on bare feet, on the porch bench. Stare through the wide open walls at the wind sneaking between the houses, at the squirrels changing lanes in 5:00 traffic on the broken fence top. "You're a bird, balancing on a wooden wire" he mumbles. The time has come. He knows it. I smile.

I reach over and push him out. It isn't me that's been caged. Caught in a wire meshed pre-fabricated world. His wings are working now. They were never broken, just taped together, leaving him motionless, toddling in circles, at the bottom of a wallpapered world. He turns and pleads with me, but I nudge him further...down the drive-way, the highway, into the very sunset we fingerpainted in the sky.

"Be free" I whisper. "That's what they made windows for".....

Tides....

The moon was nothing more than a pale green lady, her face thinly veiled; a woman in mourning. The few stars that climbed out of bed for the funeral were sleepy, lazy, and cast no more than candlelight on our procession. But they watched. As they always do....


And the ocean roared, flapped her frothy wings furiously at the shore, the rocks, anything in her way; spitting at our feet. She had come for us....


"Shhhhhhh" he whispered, throaty from too many late night cigarettes..
"Listen"......


I couldn't see his lips, but tasted the words, salty feathers moving slowly up and down my own.

"This is what we heard".....
"yes"
"That night".....
"yes"


We held hands tighter, our fingers chained this time,

and
simply
walked back into the water....

Spray paint...

My house is graffitied. I’m allowed to paint on the walls. Years ago, I started with a simple little scribble board in the bathroom. That’s where everyone is inclined to ink it. And it just grew. Down the halls, up the walls, carved into the tree trunks and benches, stick drawn into the wet concrete. The things people say. Thoughts. Moments. Memories. Souveniers glued in crevices. Shadows spray painted on the curtains.

Yeah, I know it doesn’t add to the property value. I had to bribe the appraiser recently with beer and stories and sunshine to find tiny un-vandalized corners for his photo shoot, and judge me on my cover and not my contents…. But, he did me good…. “My sister is a hipppie in California" he winked at me when he left…..

But it adds to why I value my house….
Why I call it home….
The painted house….

And why the people that visit here
Are free

To be themselves…..

Eighteen today

I wear love beads and I believe...




Some things never change…..