For some reason the whole time my mom was here this week, I kept thinking we were like in Grey Gardens. My middle-aged spinster ass in weird outfits and her widowed, and oddly talkative. But Southern. We kept having all these long conversations about things neither one of us can quite remember.

Everytime I walk past my refrigerator I start laughing:

"Give me something to give in to.
It will be weird. It will be so weird." --Mike Young

Reza's class must have been really good because I can't even finish half my butternut squash raviolis. There is always something really creative in his class that I would never have thought of. We were climbing/leaning against the side of a wall in half moon pose and it helped a lot to get my shoulder back, which never wants to move. It is weird that Crunch yoga is more creative than studio yoga. Silvie too, once had us doing lunges but with the top of our back foot on the ground - it looked hard but wasn't and felt great. Also, opposite of my studio yoga experiences, where the longer I went there the more invisible I seemed to become, at Crunch, the more they see me, the more the more I get adjustments! Which is really the only reason to ever even go to yoga...

Seems like the old studio is mostly dead, but a few of the former teachers started a new studio in the same style I hear. Looks like even with carpet. I want to go but then I'm suspicious for some reason, that weird harshness - now that I'm away from it, I can see it more clearly, they are so tough. Also since I left The City I just see SF as really tough and harsh too (except Mission!) but I do miss the funky poses, and I guess the funkiness of the city, I miss that too (but not the funky smell).

I was just reading from a book with this quote:

"The fact is, I have been dead so long & it has been simply such a grim shoving of the hours behind me as I faced a ceaseless possible horror, since that hideous summer of '78, when I went down to the deep sea, its dark waters closed over me & I knew neither hope nor peace; that now it's only the shrivelling of an empty pea pod that has to be completed." Too bad I'm not depressed this winter, or good thing!

Dreamt I was eating a peanut butter jelly sandwich in Tom Clark's house and it wasn't very good but I kept eating it out of politeness, and then this girl with a huge white cat in her arms called up to Tom can she come in with her cat, and he said no.

I'm also reading Sheila E Murphy's 600 page book of poems called "Collected Chapbooks". The concept itself or the very fact that this exists is worth the price.

From My Sister's Blue Accordion:

All my life she has been simple, cheerful and athletic
as I slaved over the yellowed texts of Garibaldi,
Boehm and Hindemith.
I rehearsed in steamy practice rooms
as she stood effortlessly in yards of beer and hotdogs,
performing personality like a habit
smiling past my smiles.

Makes me sad and happy at the same time. Like what a twisty perfect way to describe the bittersweet path of poetry...