I don’t need to walk around in

There’s this story in a book about zen teachings. The story goes some dude argued that his appearance and behavior didn’t matter so much because his inner self was good. The other stuff was just surface.

The teacher offers him a fine wine, and he enthusiastically says he would happily take some. The teacher brings out the wine in a jar (one that functions like a bedpan/urinal in that country).

The point: the container of the content matters.

So I am having difficulty drinking the koolaid. I am aware of their machinations, and while they are spouting superficially good ideas – no. Just no. The container has poisoned my taste for the content.

No. Let’s do that again.

Just start typing. Enough of this thinking.

Waking up to a whirring mind is not optimal.  It would have been better to do a lazy turn and smile at my lover’s sleeping form. I would have taken being licked awake by Ripley.

The intellect is resentful of this intrusion of work in my home.

“Hi. What do you guys want?” Noot and Ripley are watching me type. Maybe they’re trying to snag the heat from the laptop, or just wondering why I’m still in bed and not dragging my ass downstairs to feed them? C awakens. Well, not really. Lucidity is a long way off.

Grounding. I have a love. I have cats and a dog…all in this bed. Well, not the dog. He’s on the floor.

All that stuff that was rattling around sinks into the down. Morning ritual will kill it. There will be the feeding of the animals: the making of the cuppa joe.

I was all set to launch into deep thoughts…fuck it. The baseline is alright.

cleaning house

Every once and a while it is time to clean all the things.

Part of it is leaving mom and dad’s place and seeing all the memory laden things there. Mom is talking selling the house in time. It’s okay, they are only things. We have memory enough.

Makes my own place feel h e a v y. Too much.

Still purging and rearranging.

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21 days to make something a habit.

Game on.

Stretches the hand; rubs the wrist. Nothing there to limber one’s mind.

The going answer to “How are you?” has been, “Creaky.”

Everything. All the joints. Thoughts skip like a scratched record. (Do they know what that sounds like? Have they ever touched one? Played one?)

It’s noise. White noise. Fits with the snow and freakin’ brrrr. They’re related, I’m sure.

Maybe I wear the cats in my bed as insurance. Counteract the brrr with purr.  Maybe they’ll know I need them.

cleaning house


Tabla rasa.  New Year. Figure out the title after I figure out what I’m doing. But then again, that’s a bit of life right there, isn’t it?

Don’t it always seem to go

that you don’t know what you’ve got ’til it’s gone…

Christmas was good. I mean, it really was great to hang out with my brother and sisters. We had a video chat with Beau and met Emily and baby Eissa.


Such a tiny thing. Her head there cradled in the palm of his hand. We couldn’t do the Oyzon circle in meatspace, but managed to do it anyhoo. Benny, Leece, Laine and me huddled around the laptop on our end; Beau on his. Took a video snap.

10869559_10101141956182695_5901598196206875516_oI love them.

The grandboys were loud and energetic.

2014-12-24 23.44.11So, yeah. It was good.

But dad wasn’t there, and his absence is tangible still. I hadn’t been back since the after the funeral. We kept it light and we joked and reminisced and none of it was awful. Zombie dad. I don’t even remember how it started. I think it was Curtis. How dad would be saying in his thick filipino accent, “Gosh almighty, you don’t even have a brain.”

“Too soon?”

Tears from laughing. No. Not too soon. Necessary.

2014-12-27 14.01.47(pretty sure that’s Elaine being zombie dad).

I didn’t lose it until we got home. Like last year, we drove home on the 30th. I remember getting the phone call as we pulled into the driveway after the eight hour drive. Elaine’s tearful voice.

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So New Year’s eve was spent getting ambushed by tears.

I’m almost back. Been thinking about how there was a happy positive person in this being once upon a time. I miss her. She hasn’t been around in a long while.

A long while.

Between bouts of tears, I gathered belongings and trashed or packed up things I no longer used or needed or touched or couldn’t remember or actively forgot. Cleaning house. Airing my own mind.

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What to say?

I made longanisa the other day and found myself singing

Longanisa…Longanisa…men have named you…(to the tune of Mona Lisa)

And I remember dad singing that. He loved Nat King Cole. And it wasn’t sad — a happy memory. Thanks, dad.

Wrapping my head around aging and mortality. Meanwhile, Jordan is 9 months old today. Beau and Emily; Andy and Kimberly are expecting babies any day now. Jake and Rissa have a mini-Jake.

Circle of life, babe.


With the changing weather, the hip aches and the leg gives out in unexpected bursts. Holidays approach and I think of dad


It sneaks up on me in the way I groan in the morning. Geez, just vacuuming the house — because that was his thing. Sometimes it is okay, but more often I am sad


i chock this up to hormones, and weather, and a creaky body, and memory. It’s all jumbled there. The ability to take on others’ anything is not there. So I flee at the end of the day. I hug my boys and hide with a book. Turn off the phone. Turn off the internet. Focus limited to what is contained I can touch in meat space.

I was like this when I was in high school. Maybe this is my nature and I have just returned to my core.

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