Afternoon driving tune.
You can’t take a picture of this. It’s already gone.
His words are lingering.
He told me no one has ever treated him so well, and with such high regard.
He is so gentle, so earnest.
I simply cannot imagine someone hurting him. Ever. At all.
I feel a welcomed weight of responsibility.
I need to continue to show him what is possible in a space of safety, trust, love, and dignity.
He has no idea that the way he treats me is beyond anything I have ever imagined or experienced before.
This. Right here. This is full-on connectedness fueled by desire to see the other truly fulfilled. This is love as it should be - undefined and not categorized.
This is simple. This is easier than I thought it would be. The hardest part was letting go of the past, the weight of words and memories and prior experiences in order to be fully, truly present.
GOD HE LOOKS SO POLITE
- “oh is this for me? really? are you sure?”
- “well okay if you insist. i hope i’m not taking too big of bites i know some people think that’s not gentlemanly”
- “oh this is really delicious, thank you so much i mean it”
- “mmm let me just savor the taste for a bit, mmmm oh yes thanks again for that”
- “yes that is very tasty. oh no you don’t have to give me anymore you’ve done so much already i couldn’t possibly accept so much kindness and generosity, you are an angel”
beard and tattoos
Photographer Mattias Klum from National Geographic gets up close and personal with a lioness.
I had a bit of a meltdown last night with Ray about the ex. I told him that this will not stand in our way, should things with him progress.
He squeezed my hand and reassured me that it’s not in our way and that he was behind me as I took on this part of my past.
Pizza, wine, and probably the most intimate and meaningful conversation I’ve had in a while ensued. We both have pasts that still shake us up from time to time. We found each other, though, and are both realizing just what having the other in our lives means to us.
He’s got some big things on his horizon with regards to work. I am back at looking for a teaching gig. We are moving forward. It’s all moving forward.
I have waited.
I have been patient.
I have stopped both of these things now.
My ex-husband promised me a formal divorce this month. His life-drama, as has been the case since 2010 when he decided we were done, has gotten in the way of this formality again. Promises broken. Again.
Getting myself in the mood to drive.
I work with a fabulous lady of color who always calls me grumpy, which as you all know, makes me warm and squishy inside.
Today, I noticed that she has a One Direction kid’s umbrella.
As far as her HRH title, she’s born with it.
To Be Real
Chantal Regnault’s Ballroom Portraits
Chantal Regnault's portraits captured the emerging and vibrant ballroom scene in Harlem, 1989-1992.
Amazing, Amazing AMAZING. For christmas I got Tim a really great record to add to his collection. Voguing ‘Voguing and the house ballroom scene of NYC 1976-96’. Its so good.
Exploring Portland’s Cathedral Park
In the northernmost part of Portland, Oregon, the iconic St. John’s Bridge extends across the Willamette River. Though the bridge has become known for its green hue and distinctly pointed towers, the park underneath has also come to enjoy a fame of its own.
The bridge’s stylized architecture continues even into its soaring concrete supports, which resemble the arches of a Gothic cathedral. Taking its name from the supports, Cathedral Park opened in 1980—a stark change from what had nearly been a junkyard beneath the bridge a decade earlier.
Now, the park’s lush meadow spaces, proximity to the river and dramatic backdrops create a special draw for local and visiting Instagrammers, making the space a favorite for creative outings and InstaMeets.
Totally my favorite park in all of PDX. And my favorite bridge, too.
Here are the two states in which you may exist: person who writes, or person who does not. If you write: you are a writer. If you do not write: you are not. Aspiring is a meaningless null state that romanticizes Not Writing. It’s as ludicrous as saying, “I aspire to pick up that piece of paper that fell on the floor.” Either pick it up or don’t.
Chuck Wendig (via fables-of-the-reconstruction)
So, a little Facebook connection may have just turned into a steady writing gig…maybe. Fingers crossed!