On the Occasion of Getting the Results of a Biopsy a poem by Jene’ Jackson I lifted my eyes to the sky after hearing “all clear” at a dreaded follow up To see two hawks circling between contrail X’s hallways the high ways. The hawks circled each other together but
JOURNAL 11.21.2012 Last night, I sat with my mom as she struggled through the worst night of pain thus far in her fight with cancer. Her abdomen was sore from throwing up, the morphine was not working well, and her thirst remained unquenched fearing more nausea. I felt completely helpless. I
This is an excerpt from The Oat Project, from the rock concert chapter. It may or may not make the final version (coming this summer!!!). Enjoy…and now, back to it. It’s like World Wide Wrestling. What is that fake-fighting impulse? Do we all have it in one form or another?
The kitchen is where my inner science geek and slapdashing artist get to dirty dance…pure alchemy. Cooking has always given me energy, yes; but it also requires a focus, effort, and sense of play that I haven’t been able to muster often over the last year and a half since
I do not watch television. I do not own a tv. If I watch tv, it shall never be in the daytime. If it is in the daytime, it is only because I’m sick. These are my rules. The medium stresses me out. I hold my breath when in suspense.
T-Mobile thinks I’m in Mexico. Last night, as I arrived at the unexpected gift of two nights in a condo on the beach, my phone pinged. I wondered who might be texting so late and looked to find T-Mobile’s cheerful message: “Welcome to Mexico! Texts are $.50 and calls are
I have learned to avoid announcing my intentions. The following through, the doing, the making good…they seem to hear my words and spiral away, in and out of me, up, down, or into some other dimension. Maybe my dad was right. I must have a rebellious nature. And sometimes, I
The last week or two, a sort of time warp has wrapped every moment in as intense a grief and dark a depression as just after my mother and sister-in-law died a year and two months ago. It’s as though some parts of my mind and body have moved through
It just hit me. I’m living my dream life. Do I mean everything is perfect? Nope. That I have all I want? Nay. Then how? Well, it has to do with cooking. When people ask me what I “do,” I say, “I’m an Artist.” And then they ask which medium,
Do you have kids? Students? Family? Friends? Please read or listen to this story I heard on NPR’s Morning Edition today (then share it!). Its core: “For the most part in American culture, intellectual struggle in school children is seen as an indicator of weakness, while in Eastern cultures it