Kon ta bai? Mi ta bon.

Sky(Water?) Line

at Hook's Hut

Willemstad Colors

in honor of the Jackster, so far away : (

WINNING in paradise : )

Willemstad is the one and only city on the island of Curacao. We went there today, thinking we were headed to the infamous “CENTRUM” market. We can’t find it ANYwhere, and I want to go!! ARG!

On the way to Willemstad we got lost and loved it. We stopped at an out of the way restaurant called “Hooks Hut,” loved by locals and tourists alike (as our slightly rude waitress told us).

Afterwards we headed to the capital city in our stick shift vehicle. I can’t drive stick, so Omar has to… I like to snap photos out the window though : )

The best way I can describe Willemstad is a tropical Amsterdam with out rain and sexed up window ladies. The colonial buildings are extraordinarily preserved, and are washed with vibrant blues, greens, pinks and yellow. The people are nice, everyone sounds like they are singing… shopping was like taking a time machine back to the 80’s.

Tonight we are making shish kabobs and Omar doesn’t know it, but I bought some marshmallows, chocolate and graham crackers – S’MORE time!! Yet another childhood treat.

I have been writing every day, and feeling more clear than ever. I think I am finally letting go of the past, my recent break up especially, and embracing the present.

more later, now it's chow time <3

Filling the well with: Marilyn Hacker.

Rondeau After a Transatlantic Phone Call

by Marilyn Hacker

Love, it was good to talk to you tonight.
You lather me like summer though. I light
up, sip smoke. Insistent through walls comes
the downstairs neighbor's double-bass. It thrums
like toothache. I will shower away the sweat,

smoke, summer, sound. Slick, soapy, dripping wet,
I scrub the sharp edge off my appetite.
I want: crisp toast, cold wine prickling my gums,
love. It was good

imagining around your voice, you, late-
awake there. (It isn't midnight yet
here.) This last glass washes down the crumbs.
I wish that I could lie down in your arms
and, turned toward sleep there (later), say, "Goodnight,
love. It was good."

Curacao, first few days...

from the plane,

our private beach-

Omar's sandy feet-

losing (mini putt) in paradise!

bon appetit : )

Curacao is unbelievable! I am writing this in my air conditioned house-for-two-weeks, looking over a turquoise cove Curacao is unbelievable!

This is an island of rugged juxtapositions. Cacti line the white beaches, pink and orange bougainvillea colors the sparse grey landscape. Rocky hills nudge the calm Atlantic coast. Even the language, Papiamento, is a bizarre mix: Spanish, English, French, and “something else.”

Synopsis of today’s adventure:

… We awoke after a 12-hour sleep. I felt incredibly refreshed, having slept off my plane weariness. For breakfast I ate stolen miniwheats and wrote morning pages in the “outside living area,” what Omar calls his “naked place” (he has delusions about nudist living, NO they aren’t realized). I wrote, I read, I photographed our surroundings. He jogged the rocky hills.

Later we reconvened to hit the beach and float on fraying rafts in the clear Caribbean water. Nobody is here; we have the place to ourselves. Down the road there’s a hotel, and we are permitted to use their facilities for $5. They have a charming staff whose language sounds like a song. Combined with the crashing waves and whistling winds, this place is absolutely paradise.

After baking for hours we played mini-putt-putt and guess who won? Moi. Victory is sweet : ) but the pina colodas we drank afterwards were sweeter.

Hope you all are having a great July!

i scream, we scream, we all scream for icecream.

from Anna.

Describe five traits you like in yourself as a child:

Little Robin is,

- energetic
- happy
- creative
- loving
- carefree/ free

What are five childhood accomplishments?

- always knowing directions to places
- directing many, many plays with my little sisters
- building forts and creating alternate realities
- being favored by Mrs. Basil
- playing Beauty in Beauty in the Beast

What are five favorite childhood foods?

- chocolate ice cream
- mozzarella sticks
- green apple with diet coke
- chicken fingers and fries
- watermelon bubble gum

(the bottom two are still my favorites)

what are your answers to these questions? I would love to know : )

I merely took the energy it takes to pout and wrote some blues. – Duke Ellington

on second thought

zzzz

AM flight tomorrow morning

It's no coincidence that in no known language does the phrase "As pretty as an airport" appear - Douglas Adams

Why have I always loved airports?

Hundreds of thousands of people congregate in one spot before departing for hundreds of thousands of places.

We join one another in line, on escalators, in the high speed trams zipping from terminal to terminal– We eat $20 burgers and sip $5 Starbucks, click clack our laptops, wearily scan crowds for that maybe-terrorist.

A fusion occurs. You become one with the crowd - you are a worker among workers, a patron among patrons.

I find this comforting.

I am watching a young Mom try to control three kids under the age of four. Deep circles sit like dark puddles below her eyes. Hairline cracks crease the thin skin around her mouth. She orders “Sandra” to pull up her pants and “Ian” to sit down, all the while bouncing a red-faced baby on her knee. I think, where is her husband? Where is the father?

So I repeat: why do I love airports, this den of germs, confusion and chaos?

Transit. Mass transit. The crowd is constantly changing, never static – only the airport employees stay put, those shadowy figures ringing up our magazines, our trailmix, our cashew shaped pillows.

Airports contain the best and the worst of humanity. Nothing beats it. Except maybe the gym.

I arrived in Miami safely, and have been hanging out with Omar's family the entire night... we watched the show "Wipeout," has anyone seen it? It is HILARIOUS, but prepared to feel seriously guilty.

more later. sweet dreams, mundobello.

tonight,

I am watching Sex and the City with Jackie and Max, making s'mores, drinking La Croix.

Tomorrow I'm headed to Miami!! And then sunny Curacao : ) 

things are looking up.

today I got my nails did at a grungy frisco salon. bright "big apple" red in honor of my sister's new residence. then mums and I went shopping at Wallmart like true americanas, went a bit nuts and bought our two "kids" (dogs) matching bandanas. oh and i had a diet coke/rootbeer combo from mickey d's. finished off the evening eating at a five star restaurant and playing nintendo wii.

sian tipped me off to a great site called "wordle" - my wordle shows the words I use most on this blog... interesting, eh? 

going, going, gone.

steady posting on this blog restores my sense of routine and stability. so blog on, little bird, blog on! 

i have yet another poem to share with you all, one i hold close to my heart. this recent death has resurrected my feelings of love and adoration for a certain man in my life and despite efforts to keep my heart silent, the love is loud. 

and with this? i am spent. 


I Have Five Things To Say

The wakened lover speaks directly to the beloved,
"You are the sky my spirit circles in,
the love inside of love, the resurrection-place.

Let this window be your ear.
I have lost consciousness many times
with longing for your listening silence,
and your life-quickening smile.

You give attention to the smallest matters,
my suspicious doubts, and to the greatest.

You know my coins are counterfeit,
but you accept them anyway,
my impudence and my pretending!

I have five things to say,
five fingers to give
into your grace.

First, 

when I was apart from you,
this world did not exist,
nor any other.

Second, 

whatever I was looking for
was always you.

Third, 

why did I ever learn to count to three?

Fourth, 

my cornfield is burning!

Fifth, this finger stands for Rabia,
and this is for someone else.

Is there a difference?

Are these words or tears?
Is weeping speech?
What shall I do, my love?

So he speaks, and everyone around
begins to cry with him, laughing crazily,
moaning in the spreading union
of lover and beloved.

This is the true religion. All others
are thrown-away bandages beside it.

This is the sema of slavery and mastery
dancing together. This is not-being.

Neither words, nor any natural fact
can express this.

I know these dancers.
Day and night I sing their songs
in this phenomenal cage.

My soul, don't try to answer now!
Find a friend, and hide.

But what can stay hidden?


Love's secret is always lifting its head
out from under the covers,


"Here I am!"

Rumi 

hope you all are taking care of yourselves and your loved ones <3 

There is no pain so great as the memory of joy in present grief.

Dad's Mum, my grandmother, died this morning. She was a beautiful woman who exuded strength, humor, and quiet grace. She will be missed by the entire family and many, many more. I know she is in a better place, a more peaceful place. Other than that, I am stunned silent. 

Death XXVII

Then Almitra spoke, saying, "We would ask now of Death."

And he said:

You would know the secret of death.

But how shall you find it unless you seek it in the heart of life?

The owl whose night-bound eyes are blind unto the day cannot unveil the mystery of light.

If you would indeed behold the spirit of death, open your heart wide unto the body of life.

For life and death are one, even as the river and the sea are one.

In the depth of your hopes and desires lies your silent knowledge of the beyond;

And like seeds dreaming beneath the snow your heart dreams of spring.

Trust the dreams, for in them is hidden the gate to eternity.

Your fear of death is but the trembling of the shepherd when he stands before the king whose hand is to be laid upon him in honour.

Is the shepherd not joyful beneath his trembling, that he shall wear the mark of the king?

Yet is he not more mindful of his trembling?

For what is it to die but to stand naked in the wind and to melt into the sun?

And what is to cease breathing, but to free the breath from its restless tides, that it may rise and expand and seek God unencumbered?

Only when you drink from the river of silence shall you indeed sing.

And when you have reached the mountain top, then you shall begin to climb.

And when the earth shall claim your limbs, then shall you truly dance.

Khalil Gibran

We see things not as they are, but as we are.

What is the recipe for a perfect day?

A hike through the mountains - romping above the tree line with my Pops, Jackie, Sampson and Sophie... waiting for Jack’s adrenalized boyfriend to get in from Conneticut. No makeup, no nice clothing, my Dad's old socks. Reading and writing in the evening. Then a burger joint with the fam, my Mum included, laughing over french fries and sparkling water.

I feel at peace with my family, and I am lucky, because it wasn’t always that way. The recipe for a perfect family? Beyond me. But for a day, for a day, maybe.

a hike and franz wright.

Admission
by Franz Wright


Like much-loved music things
(when I am at my gladdest)
physical objects themselves
appear to represent
something I can't see
(not yet)—
something
I cannot recall or imagine
yet whose presence I clearly perceive
the way perhaps the born blind do
the sun.
Like words
most masterfully uttered
these concrete things stand for
invisible things, while
remaining themselves,
their dear selves, without which
I just can't imagine my life;
I believe in a higher unseeable
life, inconceivable
light
of which light is mere shadow, and yet
already, at times, and with desolation
with bereftness no words can express, miss this light
of the earth, this bright life
I yesterday only began to love, to understand.