Dear Antioch University Los Angeles (draft 5)

Last Sunday I attended the graduation ceremony of the 2011 MFA Creative Writing program. I thought I was there to celebrate my two friends Gina Loring and Dasha Kelly who are two powerful warrior writers, poets, storytellers, performers, friends, spirits, women, beings. I am sure they made a great impression on you with their work, beauty, style. I sat there, maybe fifteen rows back with my Nikon in hand ready to take pictures of my friends as they walked across the stage. But as I sat I was more and more inspired speaker after speaker. I didn't expect that. Well, not to the degree that I was inspired. Thank you.

One of the student speakers put a particular thought in my head. I wish I could remember his name. He was an older white haired gentleman with a good sense of humor and big stomach. I related to him. I'm kind of funny, my stomach could be smaller and I'm a little older than most college students. Hmmmm. In his speech he talked about what he imagined the admittance board discussed as they read his letter requesting to be admitted into your fine program.

I thought about that. What would the board think about any letter I would write about myself? What would I write to a group of seven or so people to sum up why I should be chosen? Where would I begin? What would I leave out? Who would I ask to review my letter? Dasha? Gina? My son? My bill collectors? What would you be looking for? How long should it be? Is the abortion too much? That I call myself a feminist but feel the need to explain that everytime I say it, is that not smart enough for someone you would consider? That I cringe as my stomach turns when I hear hateful words that intend for a group of people to be made small. Nigger, fag, those Mexicans. You know the words and phrases. All of them. Would you want a list of my ex lovers? Some of them will not say the best things about me, but some of the most awful things will be true. Would you want to speak to my husband soon to be or some poets in my arts community? They will describe me in the most honorable ways. And that will be true too.

I am just freewriting here. Have never written a letter like this before. Never even thought about it. I have spent years in college but still don't have my B.A. yet. Long Beach City College, some business school in the valley my mom thought was a good idea, a summer at Spelman, Grambling State University, Strayer University (an online school, my favorite. I work well in pajamas.) Then Everest College where I studied to be a nurse's assistant. None of this is impressing you I'm sure. Just thought you should know. Like I said, I don't have my B.A. Yet. I have been saying yet for a very long time. But I have lived most of my adult life as an artist. A storyteller mostly. A writer. A performer. I have told my stoies on stages throughout this country. I have written seven books and published two. My favorite is a collection of short stories I haven't published yet called WOMEN IN THE VILLAGE GO 'ROUND AND 'ROUND about a young woman who goes off to college and has an assignment to create a story about where and how she grew up. She chose to interview several women in her "village." These women. These bold, ordinary women one at a time sat in the comfort and discomfort of their kitchens and back porches and poured out the sensitive parts of their scars to Phoebe Sunday Morning Waters (Sunny). I hope you and the world will read my collection one day. I am feeling stuck with this collection. Don't know where to submit it yet. I am so protective of this baby and have held it close to my heart for too long. It's time, I know, to let these women fly. These women told me their stories while I lived in McDonough, Georgia. I was alone in my home and they took space in my head and would not stop talking. Whispering. Chatting. Scaring and soothing me as if finally they had a portal to escape and be heard. These women in the village of my head. In addition to my stories I have three cds featuring a collection of my poetry. But this is sounding more like my bio than what I really want you to know about me.

I want you to know that I am a mother to an awesome teenager who has spent much of his life in the audiences, backstages and in greenrooms of poetry and music events. He has been awesome at every stage. When he was seven years old he sat in the back seat of my car and stared out of the window and asked me where babies came from. "Is this a conversation about sex?" I asked. "No." He said. "Where do they come from even before that?" I thought about my response for a moment and said, "People believe different things. I believe that babies are in heaven, choosing their parents, choosing the best situations to be of best service to the world." To which he responded, "Ok, I don't know if I believe that. But that is very interesting." Around this same time in his life one summer he was up very late at night playing checkers online. I fell asleep and I felt him shake me and ask what year he would have had to be born in to be eighteen years old. I sprung awake realizing that he was online alone playing checkers and thought some checker "buddy" was chatting with him or something. But no, that wasn't the case at all. Earlier that day we were shopping and he wanted a video game that I refused to buy, mostly because it cost sixty or so dollars. Well, he saw a commercial for DeVry and they advertised a course on making video games and also said that they offered online education. My brilliant son went to the website and was filling out some questionaire or appliciation and the age box kept coming up red because he was afterall, only seven. He figured he would take the online video game couse. Online so that they wouldn't know his true age. He guessed the course would take ummmm, maybe a few hours, how hard could it be? And that his videos would look like any game he would play on his XBOX or whatever system he had at the time. Brilliant! I am honored that such an inquisitive seeker came through me. He is amazingly kindhearted and strong. Handsome and funny. The best blend of his father, me, God, his sister, step mother, cousins, grandparents and all who love him.

I want you to know my passion for writing and why I zone out during conversations and dinner. Movies and lectures. Strolls in the malls, beaches, in line at the Gas Company. There is always a character I am creating, a stanza I am rewriting. A paragraph I am deleting, a villian I am killing off or giving power to. Creative non fiction is my favorite lately but depending on the season it's fiction, poetry, freewriting in my journal or blog. Yes, I'm a blogger. I want you to know about my passion for justice for all human beings on the planet. We are all connected. All of us. Black and white, gay and straight, democrat, republican. All of the labels and boxes we put ourselves and others in only seperate us from ourselves. But I could go on and on about this. I want you to know my relationship, my oneness with God. That I am constantly praying, constantly giving myself more to God's will and steadily increasing my circle of compassion so big that no one is left out. No one. That I am ever trying to see love in the gap where I see separation between me and any other human being.

This might be an interesting exercise for me to take on. To write a letter to you. You seven or so folks sitting around a table who don't know me at all. A letter from me, about me. I am encouraged to take it on. The letter, maybe not sending it. My guess is that I will discover more about myself than you may care to know.

In addition to the student speaker I mentioned earlier, I was also greatly inspired by the main speaker. I don't remember his name either, Father Somebody. No disrespect. He talked about the work he has done in the community and I was thankful to God that he was inspired and carried through on helping the young men that he has helped in our community. One story he told was of a young man who had spent time and put in work in one local gang. The man was finally out of the gang and trying to do good work. Father was talking to him at the bottom of his steps one evening and asked him what he wanted out of life. He said the young man closed his eyes and thought hard and when he opened them he said simply, "To be a good father." He had a new wife and a new baby and wanted to be a better person for them. For himself. Not long after that conversation that young man was shot. While in the hospital his wife carefully placed photos of family and friends where he could see them even though technically brain dead. Loved ones came by to visit. Eventually though, the young man died. His organs were going to be donated and as the nurses were taking his body to another room for his organs to be removed one nurse looked at his body and noticed all of the tattoos and said to the other nurse, "Who would want this monster's heart?" The other nurse was angered by her comment and said "Shame on you. Didn't you see his wife, his son, his family and friends? How could you call him a monster?"

I watched the audience as Father told the story and there were tears on almost every row. As I wiped my own tears I was so happy to be sitting in that seat last Sunday morning. So honored to witness what was going on. Thank you. Thank you, Antioch for adding brightness to my day. I am a seeker of bright spots in my days. I hold on to them and appreciate them, relive the moments long after they have expired. I have spent much of my life carrying a sadness inside of me. A sadness I could never explain, or worse, justify. It has become much more pronounced in the last six or so years. As a child I remember once my sister asked me what was wrong. "I dunno. You know how sometimes you just be sad and you don't be knowin' why but you be sad anyway?" Those sad thoughts would land on me and not stay long but I rememer the landing. I am forty-two years old now and can better describe the sadness and predict its coming but no better at its prevention. My journals are filled with these sad brave characters. These over the top happy for no reason talking too fast super humans. But last Sunday, dear Antioch, in the hours I was there in my seat smelling flowers guest brought to graduates, watching happy tears fall and letting my own drop, listening to one encouraging word after another, there were no sad thoughts or happy people talking too fast in my head. No old southern women with freakishly smooth skin spooking me with their stories of dead babies and cracked out mothers. Only my own voice, God's voice, the good witches of stories past daring me to at least write the letter. At least say thank you. At least say one day maybe.

Well, I just wanted to let you know how much your ceremony affected me and I'm sure all who were there. You folks keep up the good work over there and have a nice day.

Love,

Jaha Zainabu

Dear Antioch University Los Angeles draft 4

Last Sunday I attended the graduation ceremony of the 2011 MFA Creative Writing program. I thought I was there to celebrate my two friends Gina Loring and Dasha Kelly who are two amazing writers, poets, storytellers, performers, friends, spirits, women, beings. I am sure they made a great impression on you. I sat there, maybe fifteen rows back with my Nikon in hand ready to take pictures of my friends as they walked across the stage. But as I sat I was more and more inspired speaker after speaker. I didn't expect that. Well, not to the degree that I was inspired. Thank you.

One of the student speakers put a particular thought in my head. I wish I could remember his name. He was an older gentleman with a good sense of humor and big stomach. I related to him. I'm kind of funny, my stomach could be smaller and I'm a little older than most college students. Hmmmm. In his speech he talked about what he imagined the admittance board discussed as they read his letter requesting to be admitted into your fine program.

I thought about that. What would the board think about any letter I would write about myself? What would I write to a group of seven or so people to sum up why I should be chosen? Where would I begin? What would I leave out? Who would I ask to review my letter? Dasha? Gina? My son? My bill collectors? What would you be looking for? How long should it be? Is the abortion too much? That I call myself a feminist but feel the need to explain that everytime I say it, is that not smart enough for someone you would consider? Would you want a list of my ex lovers? Some of them will not say the best things about me, but some of the most awful things will be true. Sorry. I have lived my life as a human being. Would you want to speak to my husband soon to be or some poets in my arts community? They will describe me in the most honorable ways. And that will be true too.

I am just freewriting here. Have never written a letter like this before. Never even thought about it. I have spent years in college but still don't have my B.A. yet. Long Beach City College, some business school in the valley my mom thought was a good idea, a summer at Spelman, Grambling State University, Strayer University (an online school, my favorite. I work well in pajamas.) Then Everest College where I studied to be a nurse's assistant. None of this is impressing you I'm sure. Just thought you should know. Like I said, I don't have my B.A. Yet. I have been saying yet for a very long time. But I have lived my adult life as an artist. A storyteller mostly. A writer. A performer. I have told my stoies on stages throughout this country. I have written seven books and published two. My favorite is a collection of short stories I haven't published yet called WOMEN IN THE VILLAGE GO 'ROUND AND 'ROUND. I have three cds featuring a collection of my poetry. But this is sounding more like my bio than what I really want you to know about me.

I want you to know that I am a mother to an awesome teenager. He is kindhearted and strong. But those words don't have you know him. I know that. I want you to know my passion for writing. Creative non fiction is my favorite lately but depending on the season it's fiction, poetry, freewriting in my journal or blog. Yes, I'm a blogger. I want you to know about my passion for justice for all human beings on the planet. We are all connected. All of us. Black and white, gay and straight, democrat, republican. All of the labels and boxes we put ourselves and others in only seperate us from ourselves. But I could go on and on about this.

This might be an interesting exercise for me to take on. To write a letter to you. You seven or so folks sitting around a table who don't know me at all. A letter from me, about me. I am encouraged to take it on. The letter, maybe not sending it. My guess is that I will discover more about myself than you may care to know.

In addition to the student speaker I mentioned earlier, I was also greatly inspired by the main speaker. I don't remember his name either, Father Somebody. No disrespect. He talked about the work he has done in the community and I was thankful to God that he was inspired and carried through on helping the young men that he has helped in our community. One story he told was of a young man who had spent time and put in work in one local gang. The man was finally out of the gang and trying to do good work. Father was talking to him at the bottom of his step one evening and asked him what he wanted out of life. He said the young man closed his eyes and thought hard and when he opened them he said simply, "to be a good father." He had a new wife and a new baby and wanted to be a better person for them. For himself. Not long after that conversation that young man was shot. While in the hospital his wife carefully placed photos of family and friends. Loved ones came by to visit. Eventually though, the young man died. His organs were going to be donated and as the nurses were taking his body to another room for his organs to be removed one nurse looked at his body and noticed all of the tattoos and said to the other nurse, "who would want this monsters heart?" The other nurse was angered by her comment and said "Shame on you. Didn't you see his wife, his son, his family and friends? How could you call him a monster?"

I watched the audience as Father told the story and there were tears on almost every row. As I dried my own tears I was so happy to be sitting in that seat last Sunday morning. So honored to witness what was going on. Thank you. Thank you, Antioch.

Well, I just wanted to let you know how much your ceremony affected me and I'm sure all who were there. You folks keep up the good work over there and have a nice day.

Love,

Jaha Zainabu

Dear Antioch University draft 3

Yesterday I went to the graduation ceremony of the 2011 MFA Creative Writing program. I thought I was there to celebrate my two friends Gina Loring and Dasha Kelly, two amazing writers, poets, storytellers, performers, friends, spirits, beings. I am sure they made a great impression on you while they were there. I sat there, maybe fifteen rows back with my Nikon in hand ready to take pictures of my friends as they walked across the stage. But as I sat I was more and more inspired speaker after speaker. I didn't expect that. Well, not to the degree that I was inspired. Thank you.

One of the student speakers put a particular thought in my head. I wish I could remember his name. He was an older gentleman with a good sense of humor and big stomach. I was encouraged by that too. I'm kind of funny, my stomach could be smaller and I'm a little older than most college students. Hmmmm. In his speech he talked about what he imagined the admittance board discussed as they read his letter requesting to be admitted into your fine program.

I thought about that. What would the board think about any letter I would write about myself? What would I write to a group of seven or so people to sum up why I should be chosen? Where would I begin? What would I leave out? Who would I ask to review it? Dasha? Gina? My son? My bill collectors? What would you be looking for? How long should it be? Is the abortion too much? That I call myself a feminist but feel the need to explain that everytime I say it, is that not smart enough for someone you would consider? Would you want a list of my lovers? Some of them will not say the best things about me, but some of the most awful things will be true. Sorry. I have lived my life as a human being you know. Would you want to speak to my husband soon to be or some poets in my arts community, who will describe me in the most honorable way. And that will be true too.

I am just freewriting here. Have never written a letter like this before. Never even thought about it. I have spent years in college but still don't have my B.A. yet. Long Beach City College, some business school in the valley my mom thought was a good idea, a summer at Spelman, Grambling State University, Strayer University (an online school, my favorite. I work well in pajamas.) Then Everest College where I studied to be a nurse's assistant. None of this is impressing you I'm sure. Just thought you should know. Like I said, I don't have my B.A. Yet. I have been saying yet for a very long time. But I have lived my adult life as an artist. A storyteller mostly. A writer. A performer. I have told my stoies on stages throughout this country. I have written seven books and published two. My favorite is a collection of short stories I haven't published yet called WOMEN IN THE VILLAGE GO 'ROUND AND 'ROUND. I have three cds featuring a collection of my poetry. But this is sounding more like my bio than what I really want you to know about me.

I want you to know that I am a mother to an awesome teenager. He is kindhearted and strong. But those words don't have you know him. I know that. I want you to know my passion for writing. Creative non fiction is my favorite lately but depending on the season it's fiction, poetry, freewriting in my journal or blog. Yes, I'm a blogger. This might be an interesting exercise for me to take on. To write a letter to you. You seven or so folks sitting around a table who don't know me at all. A letter from me, about me. I am encouraged to take it on. The letter, maybe not sending it. My guess is that I will discover more about myself than you may care to know.

Well, you folks keep up the good work over there and have a nice day.

Love,

Jaha Zainabu

Dear Antioch University (draft 2)

Yesterday I went to the graduation ceremony of the MFA Creative Writing program. I thought I was there to celebrate my two friends Gina Loring and Dasha Kelly. Two amazing writers, poets, storytellers, performers, friends, spirits, beings. I am sure they made a great impression on you while they were there. I sat there, maybe fifteen rows back and was more and more inspired speaker after speaker. I didn't expect that. Well, not to the degree that I was inspired. Thank you.

One of the student speakers put a particular thought in my head. I wish I could remember his name. He was an older gentleman with a good sense of humor and big stomach. I was encouraged by that too. I'm kind of funny, my stomach could be smaller and I'm a little older than most college students. Hmmmm. In his speech he talked about what he imagined what the admittance board discussed as they read his letter requesting to be admitted into your fine program.

I thought about that. What would the board think about any letter I would write about myself? What would I write to a group of seven or so people to sum up why I should be chosen? Where would I begin? What would I leave out? Who would I ask to review it? Dasha? Gina? My son? Bill collectors? What would you be looking for? How long should it be? Is the abortion too much? That I call myself a feminist but feel the need to explain that everytime I say it, is that not smart enough for someone you would consider? Would you want a list of my lovers? Some of them will not say the best things about me, but some of the most awful things will be true. Sorry. I have lived my life as a human being you know. Would you want to speak to my husband soon to be, who will describe in the most honorable way. And that will be true too.

I am just freewriting here. Have never written a letter like this before. Never even thought about it. I have spent years in college but still don't have my B.A. yet. Long Beach City College, some business school in the valley my mom thought was a good idea, a summer at Spelman, Grambling, Strayer (an online school, my favorite. I work well in pajamas.) Then Everest where I studied to be a nurse's assistant. None of this is impressing you I'm sure. Just thought you should know. Like I said, I don't have my B.A. Yet. I have been saying yet for a very long time. But I have lived my adult life as an artist. A storyteller mostly. A writer. A performer. I have told my stoies on stages throughout this country. I have written seven books and published two. I have three cds featuring a collection of my poetry. But this is sounding more like my bio than what I really want you to know about me.

This might be an interesting exercise for me. To write a letter to you. You seven or so folks sitting around a table who don't know me at all. A letter from me, about me. I am encouraged to take it on. The letter, maybe not sending it. My guess is that I will discover more about myself than you may care to know.

Well, you folks keep up the good work over there and have a nice day.

Love,

Jaha Zainabu

Dear Love

Thank you for who you are. Everyday I am more and more thankful for you. For listening to what I say and laughing at my silly jokes. For telling me yours. For being the peace you are. For being protector and friend. Ours is such a beautiful story. One I am honored, so honored to be a part of. Thank you.

Dear Antioch

Yesterday I went to the graduation ceremony of the MFA Creative Writing program. I thought I was there to celebrate my two friends Gina Loring and Dasha Kelly. Two amazing writers, poets, storytellers, performers, friends, spirits, beings. I'm sure you got a sense of that while they were there. I sat there, maybe fifteen rows back and was more and more inspired speaker after speaker. I didn't expect that. Well, not to the degree that I was inspired. Thank you.

One of the student speakers put a particular thought in my head. I wish I could remember his name. In his speech he imagined what the admittance board discussed as they read his letter requesting to be admitted into your fine program. I thought about that. What would the board think about any letter I would write about myself? What would I write to a group of seven or so people to sum up why I should be chosen? Where would I begin? What would I leave out? Who would I ask to review it? What would you be looking for? How long should it be? Is the abortion too much? That I call myself a feminist but feel the need to explain that everytime I say it, is that not smart enough for someone you would consider? Would you want a list of my lovers? Some of them will not say the best things about me, but some of the most awful things will be true. Sorry. I have lived my life as a human being you know.

I am just freewriting here. Have never written a letter like this before. Never even thought about it. I have spent years in college but still don't have my B.A. yet. Yet. I have been saying yet for a very long time. This might be an interesting exercise for me. To write a letter to you. You seven or so folks sitting around a table who don't know me at all. A letter from me, about me. I am encouraged to take it on. The letter, maybe not sending it. My guess is that I will discover more about myself than you may care to know.

Well, you folks keep up the good work over there and have a nice day.

Love,

Jaha Zainabu

Hospital waiting room again

11:15am
I'm at the UCLA Harbor General Hospital. Fibroids. Again. My stomach felt like it was on fire last night. Crazy cramping even an hour after the codine pill. Woke up this morning and the tumors were bleeding. I need to just suck it up and have the surgery. It's not the surgery as much as it is the recovery time. But here I am, getting the process started to get this over with.

Had to say a prayer for the day before I left home because who knows what a day in the waiting room at any county hospital could look like. So far so good though. Stopped at the Rite Aid across the street to get a notebook because well... who am I without one. Had to park pretty far though but that's ok. Borrowed a pen from the security guard and now it's on.

11:32am
Just heard my name called.

11:33am
She put the band on my wrist and I'm back sitting down. Returned borrowed pen and found one in my bag. Cool.

It's not as crowded as I thought it would be. Hopefully I will get called soon.

I called out from work today. I didn't want to do that. I really love the client I work with. I'm super happy I left the agency and got this client. Easier and much more pleasureable all the way around. Actually a few areas of my life are much better.

11:44am
Just heard my name again.
Getting my vitals taken.

11:46am
Back in the waiting room. So yes, the biggest changes in my life happen to be the areas I'm most private about. As far as the blog is concerned anyway. Work and love. Love especially. Still getting used to it really. Being this comfortable. Loving this love. Thank You, God! Thank You! Thank You!

11:50am
We are the 99 percent
these black and brown
these white and old
these young and thin and
fat sickly and happy
faces
waiting for our names to be called
Martinez
Vasquez

Wendy Williams on TV
Access Hollywood at the other end
Korean
Indian doctors wisk by
with clipboards
with pen

Lopez ventanilla dos!
Robin Reed!
Robin Reed?

11:55am
Urine test. Before they can send anyone to OB-GYN clinic they have to make sure the patient isn't pregnant.

CNA: Ok, you have a 2:00 appointment at the OB-GYN clinic but try to be there by 1:30.

Me: Ok, thank you.

12:18pm
At the OB-GYN clinic window. There are about twenty people in the waiting area. There is a red box for patients to take a number but the clerk is sitting there and I don't hear numbers being called so I went up to the window.

Old black man: Um, excuse me now. You 'posta wait yo turn. Thas ma wife over there. We number 33.

Me: Oh ok. Sorry.

Receptionist: Number 35?!

I'm next.

So here's the thing about journaling in waiting rooms. Someone sits down next to you. I don't like that because even if this lady with the blue jacket to my right (yes you) isn't reading what I'm writing, it feels like it. So it's the same thing.

12:56pm
The codine I took this morning is wearing off.

12:58pm
The waiting room has greatly filled up. There are about sixty people in here now. We are in three different sections and there are three seperate walkways feeding to and from this area. It's getting pretty busy. I'm glad I came when I did.

Receptionist: Number 63!

The woman sitting across from me is eating a chilli cheese burger from Fatburger. This whole section smells like a Fatburger kitchen. I guess what's interesting about her eating that here is that it's food like that that has us here in the hospital waiting room.

1:29pm
Receptionist: Number 77!

1:30pm
Robin Reed?!

I couldn't find which door she was calling me from. By the time I did (a whole forty seconds later) she called someone else.

Me: I'm Robin Reed.

CNA: You have to wait until I'm finished with her now.

A simple "Robin Reed door A" would have prevented this wait.

This waiting room is right next to the elevators and everytime the elevator doors open it causes the loudest squeek an elevator door can make. Seriously somebody, put some grease on those doors!

1:46pm
CNA: Robin Reed!

Blood pressure, weight, tempature again. I have got to lose weight. For real. I am 211 pounds now. The heaviest I've ever been in life. Between the weight gain and tumors stretching my stomach it's taking more and more work maintaining a healthy physical self esteem. It's irratating because it's all in my control.

1:53pm
There is a woman in the back waiting room with me who is in a wheel chair. The CNA came in and politely told her that she needed to take the chair. As she (CNA) was helping her into the sitting chair, the lady just went off on her.

Lady: Wait! Don't be rushin' me! I can get up and walk my damn self!

Now how was the CNA supposed to know she could walk without assistance? After all, she was sitting in a wheel chair.

4:35pm
Sitting in the waiting room for my prescription. The byopsy was so incredibly painful! Every uterus exam I take I'm told that my uterus is twisted and pushed back or in some other weird position. Like it's my fault. Like that's the explaination as to why it has to hurt so badly. "Your uterus is like way back there..and it's not in the center so we have to..." Like I'm some kind of freak or something. I am in so much fucking pain right now.

Love just called. His timing is perfect and his name in my phone makes me smile.

Love: You ok?

Me: Not yet, but I will be.

I feel like I have been poked and pulled given a shot in the ass by every possible sharp thing.

Gotta come back in three weeks for results.

Friday Morning Inspiration (for Help Somebody Ministries)

I was having a conversation with a friend recently, really I was complaining about someone else when my friend asked, "I ever tell you the story about the man on the bus?" I hadn't heard the story and she began to tell me. And it went a little something like this...

There was a man riding a crowded bus with his three small children. The man stared blankly out the window as his children made their way up and down the bus screaming and playing and distrubing the other passengers. The passengers were getting furious when finally someone asked the man why he was letting his children behave so badly on the bus. The man sadly looked up and said "I'm so sorry. We just left the hospital and I just found out that their mother just died. I don't know what I'm going to do or how I'm going to tell them." Hearing this, the passengers were less botherd by the children and were sympathetic with the man. They began to play with the children and offer them things to play with.

What the story is trying to tell us is that sometimes when we have just a small piece of someone else's perspective we can see a bothersome situation much differently. Today I am encouraged to know that I don't know the whole story, I only know my side of it. There is always some small piece missing, the presence of which would make the difference in the story.

Happy Saturday

Good afternoon family. It's a beautiful day here in southern California. I'm happy, in love, at peace, painting, getting ready for an event tonight. Still there is always stuff. So what. In the space of the stuff, life is kind and I am well today.

I haven't blogged about the one year anniversary of Red Stories last Saturday which was sooooo amazing. I'm still full. Still cheesing, still a bit overwhelmed by all the love. Thank you to all of you who packed the place and shared your awesome energy.

Love you. For real.

Isn't he lovely

7:03

By 7:15 all three loads will be finished washing
The laundrymat is one of my favorite my time places to me
In line with the 99 cents store
The thrift store
Hardware store
Art supply store

I use a lot of towels
Wash cloths, dish rags
Somewhere along my joruney
I developed a thing about reusing wet cloths
Oddly when I go on a cruise I only pack one swimsuit
And swim everyday

This laundrymat is new to me
So far it hasn't proven itsself
The machines the parking the blah blah blah

Mostly I miss the black faces at my
Real laundrymat
I should have gone there tonight
But I didn't
Next time though
Next time

7:15

Exhale (from journal entry 11-28-11)

There is always much happening
Am I paying attention is a better question
I am a poet and so am given to needing time alone
To be
To breathe
To write
To create
To seperate real life from bullshit

Alone can be anywhere I choose
My favorite alone is outside in a crowd
Like tonight
Where I can see colors
Spinning tires
Where I can make up stories
About the lady with the long pink skirt inside of
Catalanos Pizza

Where I can wonder if Hair Workz & Nails is losing business
Since Star Nails opened up just two stores over

I don't really care about that though
But you know that
I am just sitting here in front of Ralph's
In my car near the pharmacy department
Letting go of my day

A mother is walking into the market with her son
He is five maybe six
He reminds me of Uraeus at that age except slower
Uraeus liked to run and jump
Everywhere

I have other things to think about you know
I'm getting married
Yes, this is my way of telling you

There will be other poems
About love
About him
Though he is much more private than I
And didn't sign up to have his life
Replayed in my blogs my poems my stages

I'm going home now
Just had to run into the 99 cents store to get a new
Notebook
Because something happens to me with no
Notebook

There is a woman in a white Ford Explorer three rows away
Doing nothing it seems
But taking a moment to breathe
Like me