… another harvest moon …

Magical Moon, as we float into Fall and it’s Bounty…


…and another Harvest Moon comes back to me…..






… tonite …

Here I sit, drinking wine, listening to Sting…some old
some new…. he is so Visceral.
Stirring soup, simmering ginger plum chutney, and
delighting in the night.

They say moving is one of the most traumatic experiences
of one’s life…  well, guess I’ve had a few… but
…..this one’s a good move.

Going back to the place where I felt most at home…
going home in many ways.    It is not something that happens
overnight, and sometimes it feels like there’s a drag on my sails..

So guess I’m sayin’….. I know it’s been a while since I’ve touched
in with you, my friends and readers….. but I do have some other
priorities that seem to take precedence…
I’m moving!

Long time ago, I fell in love with a man…a man from Brasil…

A little while later…like 18 years… I went to Brasil to decide
what the heck that was about.
…and what the heck to Do with it…

And still, years later I decided to write this love story about the
strange and wonderful and totally bizarre thing that happened
in my life….
And so….this blog… a blog, and a story which will become a book,
and partly because of Him…because he wanted someone to
write his Story….

But this blog has become so much more…

I’m not sure how good a job I can do on my own.
I do what I can, from Me…. from my perspective.
He is not here any more.
He struggles with his own demons, ensconced within his
own cluster of lessons and movement.  But…
he keeps on moving, keeps on unraveling his gordian knot.
He now has his Boat, and his diving equipment…
…a long time wanting, a long time coming, but finally,  Yes!

He is on his own trajectory….nothing unusual…
and GOOD ON HIM….. no problem here….
I think one of the most important things I want to say tonite is…

Hey Baby…. I do love you… I love your trajectory… I do…
I love how you keep on workin’ it, pushing ahead, no matter.
But I doubt there is room for anyone else but You.
This is sad, of course…..you being the romantic that you are…

I mean….wouldn’t it have been wonderful for one of those
beautiful and delicious romantic moments to realize itself….
and who’s to say they aren’t, in some reality, in some bardeau
on some plane, on some planet somewhere.
For I know you would love to have someone by your side.

Yes….I do indeed Know You….and you always said
I was the most intelligent woman you’d ever been with.
I suspect that is still true today.

But now…. I want it clear…. for…I am clear.
I am new and clear and
we have danced our dance.  I hold no agenda here…

I listen to Sting, to his words and heart… it rings of times and
places that are timeless.  Soon I return to places that hold my
heart, to memories and times that I will now pick up, take hold
of the string and continuum, and hold to my heart…
and it’s all relevant, all current, all now…

Because it Is all now… it’s not linear….it’s all now… so Hello….

I go home to a place that is set in time and will never move…
it is and it will be….and so will I…

You know….sorry that it didn’t work out, but…it did!
It was what it was… and we were what we were….

I wish you well my love… I wish you the fulfillment of
Your Dreams…

And so I say to you all, my readers… here I sit, readying myself
for another move, one of many in my life of chances and
throws of the dice.
Sureness in mind, yet chances none the less…

So hello and thanks for being there, today, tonite, now…
because I know all of you are just hanging on til morning,
hoping the sun rises once again, hoping someone cares.

“For tomorrow the sun will surely rise, and
who knows what the tide may bring in…”





… impromtu …

I would like to write this little Impromtu Invitation

to those who drop by often, and leave nothing to show…

We have large contingencies in both Norway and Hong Kong.

I know about Norway… their agendas and fascinations,

their curiosities and also the encouragement that

may come to some….

I might even say… to the blonde Norwegians…

…and forgive me for the redundancy…

but …don’t start a war of words if you come unarmed.


Beyond that light and amusing comment, may I say

I would Love to hear from you all, each and every …

Writing is a lonely vocation, and any encouragement

is highly valued and always welcome.

Thanks…. and Peace to all………….





… coming home …

It’s an interesting time for me now, this return
to a place that holds my heart…
Twenty Years of roots, grown strong,
dug deeply into rich soils…
Roots strike cashes gold and silver,
nourishing soul, feeding mind.

Soon I will return to the NorCal Coast and
dear ones once again…
a place of crashing surf and haunting Redwoods,
filled with the calls of
Raven and the wild,
mushrooms offering themselves to me.

A cabin waits, set in redwoods,
creek nearby, both quiet and
company for tasting once again.
Beach walks and winter wilds,
Oceaned eyes, cold pint with friend,
abalone dinners, prying
mussels off of stone,
brisk dog walks on winter days,
tucked in tight
when storms invade.


… a bora bora story …

Just this morning,  while waking to cups of strong steaming coffee
colored of cream, for some reason I remembered a little tale that
Alcir told me many years ago…

This was in the early days of our story, back in 1987 when he was
diving for urchins in the little Point Arena town in Northern California.

He’d come west from Lake Tahoe, where he was living, hearing
about the cash and thrills of that gold rush time…
It was a free-for-all, no limits, with ice trucks standing by to rush
the fresh treasure off to the Japanese buyers, who have deep
passion for that succulent, creamy delight.

He could earn a great deal of money any day he dove…
I remember one day he said he got over $1000… that was the day
he came in, surfing the top of that tan van as it drove into my
driveway, that familiar broad grin of his painting his face.

He often mesmerized me with his wild tales of adventure, and
this one became one of my favorites.  It wasn’t until this morning,
gazing at the clear blues of the BoraBora lagoons, that suddenly
this little story floated up and surfaced in my mind.

When he fled from Brazil, back in the late seventies, it was because
there was a price on his head.
He had been robbing banks “to finance the Revolution”, he told me…
“An then a cople of peeple got Keeeeled…. An I had to Leeef”…

His grandfather gave him a boat, which according to legend, he
took around the Horn, and escaped before they could throw him
in jail and likely kill him.
He was 19 or 20 then.

He landed in Bora Bora, and stayed there for a year, as I recall.

“At first, they deedn’t like me…. I spoke French, an they
Hated the French…

“They stayed away.  I lived on the beach an dived, an ate feesh….

“After a while, they figured out I was a cool Brasilian, an then
they began bringing their girls to me…
“On Sunday mornings, there would be a knock at my door….
…an there would be a woman with a beautiful young girl…

(knock knock knock)
‘Scuze mee….? Could you fertilize my daughter pleeese?’

“What could I doo?” … a sly smile joining his shining eyes…
”I could not Insult them……

“I theenk I haf to go back to Bora Bora someday …
….an veesit my cheeldren…”



… september sigh …

I fullwell know

That snow will blow

But now the sun does smile

So leaves please stay

And with me play

Til cold comes after while


The winter winds

My warmness finds

And turns it into chills

And what was once

My joyful bounce

Is once again my ills


The greatest fun

Of winter’s sun

Is simply that I know

As soon it’s done

My battle’s won

Kind sun melts all that snow


And flowers dance

The birds entrance

Their songs uplift my heart

And this here girl

Can dance and twirl

Another year will start.