• Magazines
    Damn the Man,  The Sacred Arts,  This is Me

    Speaking of Fashion Magazines…

    As a recovering perfectionist, in the past I’ve held myself up to very high standards. In fact, my standards were too high. I discovered this last year, when I injured myself by over-exercising. Since then, I’ve made gradual shifts to be more kind to myself, not holding myself to an impossible idea of perfection. This includes how I view my body. Last year I committed to stopping the hate-talk about my appearance, taking care of my body, and learning to see it as beautiful in its own right, without feeling the need to wish it was different. Fully inhabiting my body, with its excessive curves and strong muscles. When I started Operation…

  • breeze
    Damn the Man,  The Sacred Arts,  Writing

    Saving the World, One Poem at a Time

    I just wrote a post that left me in tears. How could I publish something so ranty, so raw and so potentially argument provoking? I hit save, closed my laptop, and walked away to have my cry out. Here I am again. I’m very upset over not just the government shutdown and the lives in turmoil because of it, but over the reactions of people I know. I have never seen such vitriol, such a lack of compassion. It gets to me. But after a good cry and a good think, I decided that the world doesn’t need another rant from someone who has been hurt by what’s going on…

  • Family Dynamics,  The Sacred Arts

    Beautiful Music

    In another life I was a piano teacher. I had quit the piano at age ten, like most kids, in a fit of impatience with my elderly teacher and a disinterest in practicing. I didn’t want to play the songs from my grandparent’s childhood found in John Thompson’s Modern Course for the Piano (circa 1936), I wanted to play the second movement of Beethoven’s Pathetique. I wanted to play beautiful music. After a few years of piano-free existence, at thirteen, using the knowledge I’d accumulated from all those years of lessons, I taught myself Für Elise. It took about a year of unsteady practice, and after mastering that I moved…

  • Hole
    The Sacred Arts

    Breaking Up with A Drama Queen

    Broken hearts – most of us have had them. I, however, am the Queen of Broken Hearts. Not because I’m special or have had my heart broken more than the average person, but because I am dramatic. I can take a little heartbreak and turn it into a rock opera; I have been known to take YEARS to get over a lost love (to be fair, those particular years were times I spent off my antidepressants). So when my excellent friend Jen Kehl over at My Skewed View announced that her Twisted MixTape blog hop theme for this week would be broken hearts, I had to jump in, even though I don’t…

  • IV
    The Sacred Arts

    The Local Record Store

    I live in a pretty eclectic area. There’s an abundance of Vietnamese, Thai and Cambodian restaurants; used clothing stores litter the boulevard; a patchwork of people cruise the streets at all hours. Mike and I take Rusty on frequent walks through the neighborhood, enjoying the snug craftsman houses and lush yards packed with native plants, as well as the colorful rush of humanity. A few weeks back, we first discovered the record store. A tiny closet of an establishment, it sells used music from the ages before iPods and streaming. The scruffy proprietor agreed Rusty could accompany us into the shabby looking store, and we split to divide and conquer. The…

  • Sally Field
    The Sacred Arts,  Writing

    Blogiversary: Unexpected Lessons from One Year of Blogging

    On August 4th, 2012, this space was born. I was away on vacation last week, so we’re celebrating late. Sorry, sweet little blog. I have thought about what I would say in this post often the past year. Much like an actress practicing her Academy Award speech after her first so-so B-film, I thought about what I’d reveal; how much I’ve learned, how much I’ve grown, who I’d thank, etc., etc. Of course, blogging has been a different experience than I’d expected, so I’ve retooled the speech a few times along the way. I’m not a famous, self-supporting writer; rather, I’m a niche-less blogger, one-among-many. Not that I expected otherwise,…

  • Lady Godiva
    The Sacred Arts

    First Day

    The woman wore jeans and a white tank-top, standing against a stark white background. Her mouth was slightly open in a pouty half-smirk, and she looked directly at the camera. “What do you see when you look at this picture?” the professor asked, gesturing to the screen at the front of the classroom. She looked right at me. Of course I was the first person she asked. It was my very first class as a graduate student, and I had no idea what I was supposed to see. A woman? In stylish clothing? She was pretty? “Um, well, she looks well-dressed?” I suggested, because it was the only thing I…

  • heroic tales
    Family Dynamics,  The Sacred Arts,  Writing

    Can You Hear Me?

    “I have a movie for us to watch,” I too-casually mentioned as we crawled into bed after another soul-crushing week. “Oh yeah? What is it?” Mike asked, squirreling around under the bed covers as he did every night, trying to get comfortable. I turned off the bedside lamp, then nestled into a snug cocoon, as I did every night.  “Finding Joe. I saw the trailer. It looks like something we should see.” I neglected to say that I had already watched it while getting ready for work that morning. I was still testing the waters of spousal receptivity. “Wait,” he said, “did you read the reviews on Rotten Tomatoes?” I…

  • Family Dynamics,  The Sacred Arts

    That Song

    Okay, breathe. In and out, in and out… It is Shavasana in yoga, which can also be translated as “corpse pose.” Instead of contorting myself into twisty, impossible positions, I must lie on the mat and try to wipe the grime from my mind. I must be still. Okay, I need to go to the store after this. Eggs, olive oil, tissue. Or should I try to squeeze in some writing first? Gah, okay, clear mind, clear mind… I squirm at the itchy spot on my shoulder-blade, and try again, breathing in and out to the music. Clear mind, clear mind… Then a new song begins. I am clutching my…

  • The Sacred Arts

    On Film

    My favorite movie of all time is Amélie. This has not always been the case, though. At six, for instance, it was The Chipmunk Adventure. If I could magically transport myself into a movie and live out the story, I would have instantly traded my whole future to ride in a hot air balloon in a race around the world. I wanted to see the Acropolis and the Pyramids and South American jungles teeming with snakes and smoky danger. At thirteen Wayne’s World ruled the screen, as my girlfriend and I rewound the tape what felt like every Saturday night to laugh at Mike Myers and Dana Carvey poke satirical fun at grunge culture.…

Follow

Get every new post on this blog delivered to your Inbox.

Join other followers: