31 March 2009

fluttering words

"My sensitive little butterfly"

my gorgeous swedish jamaican friend
from london {we met in paris} who recently
relocated to toronto, sent me an email
the other day, it began:
"My sensitive little butterfly,"

and i was immediately touched
and elusively enlightened by the gentle
nature of her words, the image fluttering
in my subconscious, their delicate resonance
in the back of my mind ever since.

so deeply, impossibly, sensitive, i go
through life, just coming out of a cocoon
not sure how strong these wings are
or how far they will carry me,
i know they sparkle in the sunlight,
at times i know their colors, yet
if fluttering wings could stumble,
then certainly that would mine,
feel as though, they've been heavy
sitting on this branch forever, watching.

the delicate flapping wings of delightful flight
the world finds its purpose
and the wind carries it with pride
at times i find the momentum
to fly, in moments you fly beside me
yet too often i wish
the cocoon was still there and i
could crawl back inside and disappear.

you know how they say,
the exact words don't come to me now,
but something to the extent of,
the butterfly effect, and the notion of how
the effect that the gentle fluttering
of the colorful wings, a single butterfly
can change the winds of destiny...

so too i find, even the smallest of my actions,
have the effect of something that,
though i hardly meant to flutter,
is so greatly felt by others,
in the furthest from intended, desired of ways,
the gentle flapping, propels a painful force

and yet in moments when i least expect,
the soft quiet of fluttering changes
and subtle movement, delight
in a refreshing breeze stronger than
initially perceived, a breath of hope
for the next, the fateful winds of discovery.

such fluttering effects of both winds, perpetual,
occur multiple times in one single day
the direction becomes, for the next moment
unclear, no clear path in the expansive sky
the brilliant colors of my wings seem, to me, dull,
lifeless, powerless, without significance,

then from the secluded darkness,
pressing walls of my cocoon, that hold me here lost,
the lull, the words of a proverb
permeate, find entrance to awaken me
Just when the caterpillar
thought the world was over,
it became a butterfly.”

and when awakened, the words
spoken in a flutter by thoreau,
float past me too, and enter
my deepest of longing, my lonely cocoon
“Happiness is like a butterfly:
the more you chase it, the more it will elude you,
but if you turn your attention to other things,
it will come and sit softly on your shoulder…”

and i stop fluttering my wings for a moment,
in reflection, not fully convinced but all at once
in benevolent anticipation,
in desperate hope that the next
faint flutter will mean... that something
...that soft something of my waking dreams

in my subconscious, their delicate resonance
if fluttering wings could stumble,
and subtle movement, delight
at times i find the momentum
the exact words don't come to me now,
my deepest of longing, my lonely cocoon
"it will come and sit softly on your shoulder…”
...that soft something of my waking dreams
"My sensitive little butterfly."

image 1} here image 2} here

28 March 2009

last night. in 140 characters {more or less}

so last night i twittered:
subtle, quiet relief. suddenly saw things in a different light & no one knows but me. not sure how i'll feel tomorrow..but somehow it's ok.

then later i wrote
.. 4:28am. sometimes people let you down.

and then.."arrange whatever pieces come your way." virginia woolf

followed by.."life is in between the trapeze bars" helen keller

then..and tonite it was time for plan b.

and finally....
"one of the great discoveries a man makes, one of his great surprises, is to find he can do what he was afraid he couldn't do." henry ford

oh ya, then i posted the post before this one, that says..

......and so goes any typical day {or late night} in the life of moi, up - down - twittering - around the corner - and back again for more.

images: 1}
leigh, jkldesigns 2} julia galdo 3} debi treloar 4} katya de grunwald

5:50am. must be a reason.

{image here}

26 March 2009

pencils, papers, poems.

ahhh!! just had the best time with one of my writing students. we spent well over an hour together writing a furry of poems. we both feel pretty confident in our ability to transform ordinary moments, mundane objects and everyday situations into delightful works of poetry ;) and we seriously fed off of each others inspiration it was a great mental and creative workout! we would give each other topics such as 'bathroom sink' {yes, that's one olivia really gave me!!} and 'red wall' and we'd scribble like mad on lined paper from the back of olivia's binder, scribbling pencils trying to keep up with the pace of the poems swirling about in our heads, scribbling down those poems on paper until our pencil lead wore down, then with eager smiles, we'd share our brief creations. here's a sample of our best work from today:

i gave olivia the subject of red wall, she gave me the subject of bathroom sink, here's what transpired....

red wall

The pictures sit upon
the big red wall. The wall is
steady so they do not fall.
So much depends upon
the big red wall
for if it
was not there the pictures
would fall.


{a poem literally written in 3 minutes}

that bathroom sink!

uh! that bathroom sink!!
you know the one!!
gets me every time.

minding my own business
looking in the mirror
i turn the faucet on
water soaks my tshirt
water splatters my pants
walk out of the bathroom
feel like everyone's looking
feel a little silly

uh! that bathroom sink!!
you know the one!!
gets me every time.


{i know she had the idea to give me this topic
because the bathroom sink in the cafe where
we meet is very temperamental!}

and then she gave me the word croissant which was perfect {ha! did she see my last post?!}

croissants in the mail

croissants in the mail
warm from the sun
sitting on my front porch

croissants in the mail
she sent them yesterday
sitting on my plate
now breakfast today

croissants in the mail
taste of butter, and better
than any other
in the mail
sent with love


and one more for the road by olivia, i called this one 'a poem in 2 minutes' because, well, it was....

A Poem in Two Minutes

So much depends upon
the wind blowing through the
trees. It moves through the
air blowing through the leaves.
Blowing scraps of trash
through the air. Sometimes
i you're not lucky it
will mess up your hair.


anyway, we enjoyed ourselves immensely, think we both walked away inspired. perhaps we'll start a poetry collection together. and i will be posting these and all the others on the website i'm creating for my students. the blog is a collective space to share their work! check it out: writing from the rooftops. olivia even has her first fan on her three-part saga about a super hero called Super Brick.....

images: 1} robyn glaser 2} lightbulb chandelier 3} moleskine reloaded

special delivery

"inspiration arrives as a packet of material to be delivered." john updike

opened the front door yesterday and there was a package from santa barbara on the steps. my sister had sent an overnight delivery of croissants from my fav french bakery in sb. a french pastry chef and his wife moved to santa barbara last year and opened a very small, always bustling, line-out-the-door bakery called
renaud's patisserie and bistro. these are hands down the best croissants, pain au choco etc... that i've had in the states. mmmm had one for breakfast today. merci nini!

{image by a new flickr fav littlegirlblue}

20 March 2009

melting perfection

"I wonder–if no one’s perfect…how do we know?
Those times when you watch masks melt off of people’s faces–
they must be perfect then.
Because there’s a glimmer of a second, every once in a while, that’s pure, that’s perfect,
when you wish you had a pencil and the corner of a napkin.
And then the lead breaks and you need to wipe your nose."

l a u r a
{a friend who is brilliant with words.
i believe she should start a blog of her own!}

perfect images thanks to leigh {jkldesigns} etsy shop here

19 March 2009

dear abby

robyn glaser

i confessed to abby, one of the 12 year old girls that i tutor in writing, that i'd never finished reading the book island of the blue dolphins {that was back in 4th grade, mind you} she looked at me in disbelief, "you mean you never found out what happened to her?!" abby was reading the book again {on her own accord} for a second time. she proceeded to pull a copy of the book out of her bag, "i have two, you take this one so you can read it again and finish it" and she put it on the table in front of me. and so, i will be reading island of the blue dolphins. the whole thing this time. i'd say i learned my lesson, but really, the reason i so firmly remember not finishing the book, lies in the fact that this was when, at a young age, i discovered my own reading style. i don't generally read for the story, i read for the words, the crafting of the sentences, and if i can't get something out of almost every sentence, i'm often not compelled to continue reading it. and if i do get something out of almost every sentence {virginia woolf!!}, i read each sentence over and over, and forget what was happening in the story. this sort of reading i like to call métro reading, as i often read the same book in the métro {mostly virginia woolf} because i could get distracted, the lights could do that momentary dimming thing then come back on and i'd be right back on enjoying the same sentence. {hmm..writing this now, i hesitate to wonder if this could potentially be deemed a.d.d. reading, but i dismiss this thought, because i do in fact concentrate on every word, often getting lost in the rhetoric somewhere under the streets of paris...}

julia galdo

anyway. i'm in the middle of maybe 15 books and enjoy them all in their own moment. this is not to say that i never read books for the story, and that i never finish, because on occasion i do both. but all through high school and college as a dramatic art and english major, i don't recall finishing many books. one night i had a paper due the next morning on shakespeare's love's labour's lost, and though i'd acted in it, i'd never fully read the text {but talk about a writer whose every line can stand alone} so, at about 2am i decided to write the paper on the placement and meaning of the apostrophes in the title. we proceeded to spend the entire next class researching and discussing the importance of the apostrophe in this play's title and the professor was very pleased. this was more of a creative attempt to get that paper written without finishing -- or even starting -- the reading process, and it was a time issue more than anything, as i adore shakespeare and getting lost in his sentences... and really, i've seriously been know to take interest in the use of apostrophes... but this is neither here nor there.

julia galdo

i just have the image of abby handing me the book and i was so enthralled and delighted with the fact that there's a 12year old out there who reads for pleasure, who doesn't live to spend every free moment on that wii thing, who adores writing as much as i do, and who {as i came to discover} reads multiple books at once and enjoys them all in their moment. we both believe that we get something different from the same books every time we read them. when abby and i work together, i sit across the table from her in the cafe where we meet, and i see myself in her, and know exactly how the spinning mind in that shy, genuine, sweet head is mulling over the details and the fantasy, the spectacle and wonder of everything that dances before her in her reality and plays in the imagination....but anyway, i should go, i have another book to read...

17 March 2009

My lover asks me

My lover asks me:
'What is the difference between me and the sky?'
The difference, my love,
Is that when you laugh,
I forget about the sky.

Nizar Qabbani

twittered moments

i twittered this just now, and then kept thinking about it,
and anyway, sometimes, there are just those moments,
or hours if you're lucky, you know, moments when everything's
the same....but it's all somehow different.....maybe i'm not making
any sense, but, well anyway those moments when you're in them
and even when you turn around and look back again and watch them..
those moments can be pretty good.

{image, again, by julia galdo..my new fav..}

15 March 2009

...and i'm still holding my breath

i've been searching for perfect photos of roller coasters for the past few weeks, as that's the only real description of where i am right now. this has been one long ride and just when i think i've gotten up there, the hill suddenly appears fantastically higher...and i'm on the down side again......then the other day i saw these turk + taylor images and suddenly, i'd found my roller coaster photos. but the serendipity was that, in this small turn of events, i discovered a new brilliant photographer called julia galdo, who did not only this shoot but a variety of others {check out her site and flickr} that i just adore.

i'm drawn in to her view of the world and her perspective of place, the dramatic wash of color in her photos, especially against darkness, and her obvious wit and sense of humor in the details. thanks julia, i know i've said this already, but really great stuff!! within minutes i was a fan and i think i looked at every image in her flickr sets! i don't know how to not show you all of her stuff at once, but i must restrain myself, because i want to display them slowly so as to savor and appropriately appreciate how unique they are, and thus, i'll be patient!!!!

and so, the roller coaster continues. in moments like this things seem like they might look up after all, but i can't help but be terribly nervous for the next turn of events in the moment to come....

but then...i recall moments like last night for example, and i enjoy the rush...and it all seems worth it once again, it's really been a gripping ride...and i'm still holding my breath.
x c

bonne nuit.

robyn glaser

“I love sleep. My life has the tendency to fall apart when I'm awake, you know?”


12 March 2009

good on paper!

my favorite mexican boy and bff sergio made this portrait
of me for his design class, it looks computer generated but
it's actually the good old-fashioned art of cut and paste,
he said it only took a copy of the original photo,
construction paper, a knife and rubber cement!
....and i said... new project!!

11 March 2009

exile is not an easy art to master...

debi treloar

bits and pieces of the latest..
long weekend in santa barbara and other things i found along the way....

music i loaded on my ipod for the ride:
....a fine frenzy {great lyrics for listening to over and over while looking out the car window at the ocean} and lady gaga {to distract me from what those other lyrics made me think about...} and yes for my walk tonight...kelly clarkson....among others like lily allen and the killers are the songs that for one reason or another seem to repeat on my ipod again and again these days...and again..

katya de grunwald

books i discovered in the corners of chaucer's
{my favorite bookshop in santa barbara}:

poems of turkish poet nazim hikmet, wonderful book,
words from the pages therein floated into my subconscious like...

"it is my fate
to roam the world without you,
what can we do..."

"exile is not an easy art to master..."

"all i wrote about us is lies
all i wrote about us is the truth"

and sweet words that melt off the pages like honey.....

"because of you, each day is a melon slice
smelling sweetly of earth"


"suddenly i cling to the day
i started out as if it wouldn't end,
and every time you float up to the surface..."

i also found a new collection of updike essays and literary criticism called due considerations and another book called other colors essays and a story by the brilliant turkish writer and nobel prize winner orhan pamuk. good stuff. reading all of them at once. and listening to my music.
and drinking coffee. and walking. had to come in from my evening walk early as the sun was shining so bright {now that we've advanced an hour here in california} at 6:30 {and with a headache}
the sun can be painfully strong. on my way now to recover
and get coffee with the algerian...more later.

hessa alfalasi on etsy

06 March 2009

143 friday

"that time was like never, and like always.
so we go there, where nothing is waiting;
we find everything waiting there."
pablo neruda

ok so this is a photo from santa barbara, only it's not from today, but from a few years ago, as i forgot to bring the cable that connects my camera... and despite four years of college life and thousands of sb photos since those days, this is the only photo i had of sb on my new macbook dearest {didn't really transfer anything yet.} anyway, regardless, it's 1:43am, {hey 143, when i was in university back in the day we still used pagers ..before cell phones.. and had to use numbers to write messages, remember that anyone? 143 = i love you, am i the only one who remembers that?? haha i still think of that every time i see that number} anyway.
same hours, different place...

enjoy your friday. 143 c

05 March 2009


debi treloar

packing for a long weekend in santa barbara with my sister...well, no, actually, it would appear that i'm instead sitting here writing this at 12:56am....yes, comme d'hab, things as usual falling into place in the early hours of the morning...putting it all off until the very last second. well i'll write more later from sb, just wanted to thank everyone who's sent kind words lately, much much much appreciated. and it would seem that after almost a day's break, the rain has just started falling out my window, increasing in momentum with every second, but that's fine with me, i quite like the sound of it. bonne nuit, c

03 March 2009

blowing in the wind

"Aerodynamically the bumblebee shouldn't be able to fly,
but the bumblebee doesn't know that
so it goes on flying anyway."

Mary Kay Ash

02 March 2009

...to walk through this and come out again

and then this morning, after a cup of coffee i, quite by chance, re-discovered this thought:

"The wise man in the storm prays to god, not for safety from danger, but for deliverance from fear.
It is the storm within that endangers him,
not the storm without."

01 March 2009

to walk through this and come out again

took a walk today though stormy conditions would have otherwise prohibited it, or at least strongly cautioned against it, but the storm outside was no match today for the storm that's been brewing within me this past week, and thus the forceful winds and smattering of rain were the furthest thing from my mind, in fact, i almost felt like i belonged. and even if i'd had them on hand, pen and paper would have smeared and soaked and blown away, thus i wrote this as i walked and sent it to myself on my archaic {and now wet} cell phone by text message. during the walk i had this image the bird has flown by irene suchocki floating about in my mind, the loveliest part of my stormy walk.

another stormy day, slightly worse than before
but i'm rather unaware, empty streets birds
gliding above alone with the wind today walk
through this storm with a careless desire
no storm outside could compare to the one that batters me within
didn't really notice just wanted out, doesn't touch, brutal winds
the storm within me that i can't seem to weather heart racing,
reluctant soul, to walk through this and come out again is the only
victory here seen through blurry eyes of tears and rain
and a blueish glow that stains the sky, another stormy day
slightly worse than before but i'm rather unaware, empty streets birds
gliding about alone with the wind today and thoughts of
you walk through this storm with a careless desire you're here
with me like it or not though stubborn and resistant winds slow my pace
with strength, they never cease, touch my face brutal winds the storm
within me, heart racing, reluctant soul you're somewhere
by my side to walk through this and come out again,
and a blueish glow that stains the sky
another stormy day.

hope your weekend was rather less... tumultuous......... c