special reflexology at Japan Town mall on grey humid but chilly Saturday, very cheap and the massage lady very kind, even if the man proprietor did talk to Isabel about me as if I were her daughter. I speculated that maybe disabled women don't go out on their own sans family members in Japan, so he made an assumption. or it could have simply been that both Isa and I went into the same pink, single stall bathroom and never stopped talking while we both took turns peeing.
then we had ice cream for lunch, chocolate wrapped in a waffle crepe, the way Isa and I eat chocolate. Pointing out parts of it to each other hours later--"Lick that spot on your arm, unless you've suddenly acquired a mole."
later, meeting Anna in her every day hair flower (versus the bedazzled black hair flower clips for burlesque days) at Sunflower. experiencing the good garlic pain of Vietnamese noodles. which may mean that, in our early 30's our digestive systems are profoundly aging.
finally had a chance to rid myself of guilt for having twice had Mission Pies without Kyle. This time, he was with us in the Outer Mission when we passed it by, and he ate raspberry pear.
met Michelle and Amee at a jazz club near 24th. an elderly Chinese lady in a beddazzled blazer was swaying drunkenly up and down the length of the bar. she saw my scooter and pointed, I want that! I want it!
i, yet again, told A and M the story of Isa and Bananna scraping a molten chocolate chip cookie off the wall of the Alhambra and shoveling it into their mouths. This is as exotic as my when-I-was-20-and-a-Eurotrash-hippie-in-Spain stories gets. Mychelle said, Why? because she assumed, what with my eagerness tot ell the story and all, that there was a bigger point. Isa answered, earnestly, plaintively, "There were no other cookies around...!"
Sunday, I remember drinking wine and feeling egregious for exceeding the word limit on this blog post I am supposed to be doing for the Labor Day posts. also, a brief post-gamelan concert interlude with Lex, in which we laid in bed and tried not to be fatalistic about social entrepreneurs who are aggressively courting. What matters is what Lola, the Ethiopian hound, thinks.
Monday, today, my manager gave me "permission not to obsess about X until July" and this felt like a revelation. She chose just the right words for me. Permission to think that i am doing what i can for clients right now, even if it is a bit of a mess.
And then, Words and Deeds class 3. Tonight was led by
i am thinking blogs allow us to be childlike (syntacticaly) and real, a permissive space to use our ordinary language towards the sharing/encouraging of extraordinary patterns and rhythms.