I suffer from a most terrible dichotomy or duality or whatever you’d like to call it – the desire to communicate and the desire to be alone. It must be an undiagnosed disorder reserved for writers – for whenever I have a revelation, an insight, a realization that changes how I move in my world and how I think, I love, more than anything to share this with people. For want of a better, more sophisticated way of saying things – I love dialogue and seclusion in equal measure. It can however be a schizophrenic way to live, but if one possesses the tools for discernment of truth from fiction, anything is possible. And this, I am in the process of acquiring.
If you had told me a couple of months ago where I would be today, I would have called you bonkers. Cadbury’s fruit cake nuts. I’m grand where I am, I would have told you. But truth was – I wasn’t. Life had stalled, quite a bit and I had no idea how to jump start it again.
I mean; I’ve always had the escape plans. Well one in particular, aptly named “The Chihuahua/Pit bull Convent Plan”. You know – the one where I pack up everything and take off to the hills of Switzerland, Von Trapp Style, adorned by a unitard made from my old curtains, singing “We are Family, I’ve got all my Pit bulls and me, we are family – get up everybody dance” – with various dehydrated meat treats dangling from my backpack, selling copies of my books for spending money along the way. Do you know what happens when you type Pit bulls and Convent into a Google search? Fascinating stuff. Continue reading
My landlord’s a good chap. He quite possibly deserves “Landlord of the Year Award”. Come to think about it, all of my previous landlords deserve a little something for their Lizzy tolerance. You see, I’ve never really paid much attention to that little thing called a Rental Agreement. I make it very clear animals are my career and somewhat pay the rent, but truth be told, they don’t and probably never will. They’re unemployable. If you don’t believe me, read “Manifesting Mongrel” and get an insiders view…. Continue reading
Well, you know that’s not true, but they should come with a warning. “Clicking on a picture of a shelter dog can be hazardous to your sanity, pocketbook and social life.” You know it. So this is how the story goes. Once upon a time, in a far off place, not a long time ago there was a dog in a shelter in LA. Surrendered by his owners, he sat on a cold concrete floor, waiting for them to return. As the days turned into weeks, his body getting thin and sores and wounds erupting on his legs, he began to lose hope. Continue reading
I suffer from a condition, an Irish one. No matter how many years I’ve lived in America, I still long for home and beyond that I long like a madwoman for gray days. Clouds are to me what sunshine is to a reptile, coffee is to cup, toast is to tea. I’m not myself without them. I pretend to be. I pretend well. Gray days are my seductress. I am transformed into the person I know myself to be. Not the one California has fashioned. Continue reading
This morning as I watched the sun rise, lovely coffee in hand, dogs walking through the park, I contemplated my place in this world and the difference I allow myself to make within it. Many years ago, I put the opening quote on my phone “I can change the world.” I didn’t know exactly why and how I thought I could do that. Many years later, I still don’t have much of an answer, except when I stop and listen to the mystery of my life and step back and watch it like a movie trailer – I have a notion or two. Continue reading