Great Tonic


“Some Girls Acting Kinda’ Sassy”, 30×50,m/m


Here’s a really simple daily practice I’ve been playing with:


Say “Hello” or “Good morning” to two individual people with whom it feels really easy and natural to extend yourself in this way.

Then find someone you really would rather not have any contact with because they look different than you, seem sad or depressed, whose appearance is off-putting; whatever turns your energy away and gets the judgey-you activated.

Instead of curling your energy in and retreating from them, consciously bring your full presence (not 1/2) including soft eye contact to a “Good Morning” and just move on.

Notice what happens.



Cookie Cutter Connection



One of the most valuable gifts disability or illness affords us is the luxury of time to really muse on perceptions, beliefs, habits and the general behavior-by-rote afflicting us all.

Few of us have the time or inclination to clear the slate and look with new eyes.

We seem to change only when we have to or the pipes get too blocked and Roto-Rooter (enter therapist or re-hab or solitary retreat or detox or, or, or…) is summoned.

My own waning energy reserves have forced me to look at relationships quite differently.

In my teens and later (fairly recently truth be told) if I met a man who interested me, prompting extra makeup or a new dress

You could be sure somewhere in the murky recesses of my mind the fantasy of what my wedding dress would be like was festering in there.

I’m a girl, ok?

Some of us are good at one-on-one intimate relationships and some not so great.

I have come to know and be more accepting of myself for a history of divorce, downright BAD man-picking and inept relationship wrangling.

Don’t get me wrong…I adore men and am not with one but goodness knows I’ve tried.

For too long I’ve wondered why I can’t seem to get it right; that thing everyone seems to be looking so hard for.

I love men…and dogs and women and my friends and trees.

Mostly I love God.

I really have been afraid to say that for fear of being too “God-ey.”

But that’s me. Spirit comes first and always has but I didn’t really know it.

I am a God Girl.

I love.

Other stuff too,

But essentially my own and anyone else’s personality holds scant interest when God is at my table.

What I am finding is that we ALL are “IT”

Meaning: If given half a chance I can find God in you.

And it will be VERY good.

THAT is the thing that has had me prematurely picking out wedding dresses.

Sometimes we find a soul we want or need to hang with for an hour or a day or a lifetime or more.

The people I share my life with have each contributed to my wedding dress..added pearls and antique lace and fitted my feet with satin shoes.

They stand by me and throw yellow rose petals for me to tenderly tread on, sing when I’m sad and paint pictures to decorate my rooms.

I am a God-girl.

No white and black habit or cross hanging from my neck.

I want for nothing.

I love.

That is all.

Transparency! Yikes….



In the four years I have written this blog I notice the distinct stages of creativity emerging

Just exactly as they did in my old life creating sculpture and painting.

First comes just the wee twinkle of an idea; a bare scratching at my door.

After awhile the thing becomes less amorphous and the form or direction of thinking is available enough to begin translating to words in my case.

Sometimes I get so excited an innocent and underdeveloped idea goes public before it matures.

Then I am embarrassed but know to trust the process when I remember which soothes me a bit.

I am fueled by this embarrassment to refine my art.

Maybe within this stage I am so in love with creating that I drop into no-mans-land and sort of speak in a trusted, unedited, kind of channelled word-smithing.

This is always the best and the worst stage.

Truths are told.

Often new to me.

Often too without the buffer of my conscious dollop of grace.



It is so dog-gone comfortable to know what we know.

An artist or a person skilled in the art of connectivity and relationship are all to familiar with the mess the life-path of authenticity ensures.

To be authentic means carrying your bib with you and tucking in while you make your way through a really dreaded conversation or young idea.

The languaging is never perfect or refined or often even acceptable while we are growing our most true selves.

But is there anything..I mean ANYthing more interesting to do?

Risk the mess…and find the best—-my motto.

Sit Down

my photo


I received an email from an old friend recently in which he tells me how he feels about our country after doing some pretty heavy duty traveling to and fro:

” It is damn near impossible for me to live in the US now. There is an energy field in the US that feels creepy to me. I don’t want to belabor the point, but I’ve grown very disappointed with what I see here. The political scene. The mindless and blindness consumerism and the general violence. I do my best with what at times appears to be an impossible way to live. It is what it is. “

I understand him and share much of the sentiment. Many conversations or articles include some form of the question “Where in the world feels sane, clean and forward moving and could we move there?”

Having been pretty much the queen of keeping -the -back -door -in -sight- at -all -times -as -an -exit

I know a bit about avoidance and turning toward comfort no matter what the cost

With the assurance we’ll get a way better life that way.

Here I sit in this chair with really the only back door being choosing to end my life.

To be sure I’ve contemplated it and I pray each person gets the privilege of choosing the possibility of re-upping into life.

Because when we make a choice to really BE HERE no matter what

Is when the good stuff really starts happenin’ ya’ all….

I can’t deliver myself out of this chair by changing locations.

My life is SITTING HERE WITH IT whatever “it” is.

We’ve got “Cathy’s IT” and “America’s IT”, Santa Fe’s “IT” and my dog Emma’s “IT”.

Then we’ve got “Trump’s IT”, “Norway’s IT” and my sister’s “IT”.

What the hell are we to do with all these tapetries intricately woven connecting us all?


I choose peace.

With just a wee bit of vodka.

Can you feel it?

The End of Nonchalance

fine line

detail of painting on wool flannel


On the plaza this morning three men in off-white perma pressed shirts were selling God.

Pigeons of the male variety were poufing themselves up making the darndest guttural wooing noises

As they annoyingly shadowed the poor femmes.

Recalcitrant children tried running down the mating birds.

Some lonely older gentleman perched hungrily on a bench near me trying endlessly to engage in chat.

Emma and I moved on.

I was just settling into wondering how the groundskeepers kept the grass so healthy amidst all the summer foll-de-roll that happened atop in in the height of tourist season

When I heard the word “Homophobic!” shouted loudly from somewhere near.

In that moment my state of curiosity and rest turned to an involuntary armoring up.

It happened to everyone else too.

You could see the slight hardening in fear.

The paling of faces.

I was reminded of what I have learned about the qualities of deer.

The herd just goes about grazing as a group. Casually munching.

What deer do better than most any animal is register the slightest energetic shift which could possibly put them in harms way.

They survive because they move as a group and each of them registers the world so acutely that SOMEone will surely pick up the danger to ensure enough warning time for all.

It seems,as humans we must up our hyper-vigilant skills and pull in together so we move more as a WE and not so much a ME.

Deer do this proudly, capably, gracefully.

We can too.

Time To Take Ourselves Seriously

my friend Nymphe and me


Fuck false modesty.

I am tired of giving energy to people I love who say: ” I don’t know why people keep wanting to buy stuff from me” or ” I’m not sure I’m making a difference” (this coming from me).

I feel I’m being held hostage when my beloved friends can’t own up to their own particular genius.

Time to embody our greatness..our unique gifts we and we alone have the privilege of offering to the world.

I am surrounded by greatness.

All around me are representations of genius quality beingness; brilliant thinkers with bursting hearts of generosity, style mavens unafraid to take up space and therefore are community contributions, women adept in friendship, self-care and who inspire me to become more. Creative contributors of intelligence, capability, integrity and compassion.

I will always love a sister by reminding her the particular magnificence she embodies when she forgets.

The thing I wish for us all is to take responsibility for the genius we each carry. Men and women.

We can’t cave into the shadows or wait too long for a pat on the back.

The world is in dire need of each and every one of our unique selves.

We must stand now in our light. Alone. And together.

We’ve got to risk everything.

Say: “I AM.”

Safety seems not so much an option anymore.

Darkness is too close.


detail of ceramic urn, 20″ d


In the deep winter-spring freeze I saw her standing there.

On my way to Starbucks I was bundled tightly with Emma warming in the heat near my stomach.

We were zooming fast to avoid the weather when I saw a waifish beauty

Wringing wet with past rain and curled in on herself.

I recognized her because we have passed one another over the years;

I would say: “Hi.”


That is all.

Except yesterday in the early morning on the plaza as I sat with Emma on my lap

With my fancy coffee

Just perusing

And appreciating

How the city wakes up

She walked up to me.

Shyly and with head down

She said: “You bought me lunch in the winter when I was so cold and sad. I wanted to say thank you.”

“Please sit down” I say.

“I am half homeless. I live with my husband in a tiny trailer parked on some land. It’s ok. A roof….
He was taken to Albuquerque last night because he was having seizures. I can’t visit ’cause I have no car. I am sad.”

Slow huge tears.

I reach for her knee to give solace.

I expect her hand to cover mine but it stays put.

Her nails are dirty.

I feel her so deeply.

She can’t get to her man.

“My name is Laurie.”

“Cathy” I say.

“You are so nice to listen to me.”

I say: every time I see you I feel good. I think you have a very fine heart.”

“I feel the same about you” she says to me.

“Don’t forget you are not alone” was all I could offer as she wandered weakly off.

I wanted to mend her.

I bent my head down and gave love to Emma.

It was church on Tuesday.