Stealing from William Carlos Williams because I don’t know the deepest way to give thanks.

If I get my original birth certificate, I would finally be real. This is too much to take in at the moment. What would I do as a real person on the planet? What if my name were part of my biological family’s lineage? Of the real history of real life?

Some of my favorite memories were times when I was not being exactly good or right. Some of my favorite times were when I said Yes to what felt wild and slightly dangerous.

The movements are generally tiny. Imagine yourself lying on the floor, moving your head one inch to the right and to the left. Do you think you can do that? Then welcome to Feldenkrais, where movements help rewire your brain, your nervous system, your body, your sense of self in the world.

My friend’s cat loves to sit at the window and watch the birds in the Japanese maple. Every morning he stands on his back legs, reaches up, catches the top of the blind, and uses his weight to drag it down so he can drive himself crazy with longing. 

I spent two hours writing this blog post, and then it disappeared. That has never happened to me before. I am taking that to mean I didn’t get it right the first time. So here goes—I’m going to try again:

It’s hard to write about my experience with Burleigh and Portside Paddle without sounding like either a giant Hallmark Card or a hardcore salesperson.

I like it here with me and P.H., and I am grateful for all the wonderful ways there are in this world to make and break bread.

When they say Keep Santa Cruz Weird, they mean it.

A long time ago, back when writing seemed as dangerous as playing with knives, I went for a walk on the beach with Lidia.

I think it would be well, and proper, and obedient, and pure, to grasp your one necessity and not let it go, to dangle from it limp wherever it takes you. Then even death, where you're going no matter how you live, cannot you part.

I like writing my gratitude lists on black paper because I feel like I'm talking to the night or my subconscious or that I'm writing in a language that's visually special, a quiet prayer. Star scratch on the sky.