Golden apples from a dark garden...

I still need more time to write this and hope to edit it soon, just like the rest of my life. It's ever changing, ever evolving... stick around and read a bit, you might see it happen.

Essentially, I'm a cranky old Lady who lives in a cave in the middle of Seattle... I come out to feed cookies to the neighbours, hoping to fatten them up for my own nefarious purposes. I have waaaay too many interests, more than the capacity of this listing allows for. They make me too busy, too often, or worse, not often enough, but they do keep me pretty entertained.

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I like to read. Sometimes I read sappy poetry. Sometiems I write it. Some of both are actually good, but you have to sort through a lot of crap to find the tender bits of tasty good stuff. This one I particularly like. It accurately reflects a lot of my feelings about journaling, especially public journaling.


Poem for Everyone

I will present you
parts
of
my
self
slowly
if you are patient and tender.
I will open drawers
that mostly stay closed
and bring out places and people and things
sounds and smells,
loves and frustrations,
hopes and sadnesses,
bits and pieces of four decades of life
that have been grabbed off
in chunks
and found lying in my hands.
they have eaten
their way into my memory,
carved their way into
my heart.
altogether
-- you or i will never see them --
they are me.
if you regard them lightly,
deny that they are important
or worse, judge them
i will quietly, slowly,
begin to wrap them up,
in small pieces of velvet,
like worn silver and gold jewelry,
tuck them away
in a small wooden chest of drawers
and close.

John T. Wood, 1974