Thursday, April 19, 2018

Last one for tonight

“Meredith,” he says, “I want to tell you something.”
           He used to be a drunk. I knew that. It’s not like he told me explicitly on the train, but I figured it out easily enough. You don’t speak at an Alcoholics Anonymous conference if you don’t have some experience in the subject matter.
           “I loved someone once,” he says.
           I lift my chin and look him in the eyes. This sounds like Confession Time. I like confessions.
           “We were never together. We were friends. But we were way more. We would sit in the car and talk until two in the morning. We texted constantly. She helped me get sober. She helped me to see that there was more in life than a bottle.”
           My stomach starts to hurt. But why?
           “I mean, she wasn’t perfect. She was demanding as hell. She’d text and get pissed if I didn’t respond straight away. She wanted honesty at all times. I mean, she wasn’t easy.
           “But I loved her more than I think I may ever be able to love anyone again.”
           Oh my God. How old is Paul? Nineteen, twenty? And they say kids my age are dramatic.
           “You’re looking at me like I’m crazy.”
           “You are crazy,” I say without thinking, out of some weird form of anger that I can’t really figure out. So this guy loved someone. So what? “I mean, you were never even together.”
           “Sometimes those are the ones that hurt the most. Look at your situation.”
           And that is why my stomach is hurting. Would Matt be able to say the same about me? Does he even love me? And at this point, what exactly are we to one another?
           “Yeah,” I say. One-syllable words. That’s pretty much all I can handle at this point. Except curiosity comes up and the question comes out before I can figure out how to stop it. “So what happened with you guys?”
           His face slams shut. Something turns a key, locks it. But he speaks anyway.
           “You know, Meredith, sometimes a relationship gets bigger than the people involved. That’s what happened with us. There was just too much to handle. Too much between us. We couldn’t be just friends. We couldn’t be more. We just couldn’t be. You know?”
           I don’t know. If there was so much between him and this phantom girl, woman, whatever, how could they possibly let go of one another?
           “Who ended it?”
           “I did.”
           He’s obviously in so much pain. How could he do that?
           “Sometimes,” he says, “the person who ends it is the one who loves the most.”
           “They have more invested, so when they’re not getting their needs met for whatever reason, they call it quits.”
           “You miss her?”
           This time he doesn’t say anything. His face shuts and stays shut.


I had some sort of blackout. That much is clear. Something happened. That’s obvious. I have to keep repeating these facts to myself because it’s pretty much what I know.
All else is a mystery.
My worst fear has come to life.

From the book

“Meredith,” Matt says, and turns my face to his.
It’s about the least romantic thing you can imagine. His fingers on my skin feel like the fire has shifted, been blown upward, embers dancing across every bit of territory they can find. At home, fires like to jump the freeway, blown by winds whose only job is to hurt.
His lips on mine: an invasion.
His tongue in my mouth: terrifying.
And yet I respond. Why?


Editing BEARDED LADY and understanding exactly what got me here. It was a hell of a lot. A lifetime, to be precise.

Stepping out

I'm usually a lot more bullish on parenting than I am at the moment.

I took Baz to Fourth Street for lunch. He whined and refused to eat anything I got. Then my shoulder bag snapped in the middle of paying for everything. Then this woman with a giant stroller kept blocking us at Peets.

Then ... Totland.

Enemy territory. I hate Totland with ferocity. While I was pushing him on the swing, one nitwit was trying to scare another nitwit about preschool. "You're already late," she said, gesturing to the other nitwit's year-old kid. "I mean, when people find out they're pregnant, that's when it's time to get on the list."

Aw, bullshit. We got into New House without a problem when Baz was 16 months. No muss, no fuss, no crying or promises of undying loyalty and awesome Yelp reviews. Just a shitload of paperwork and there you go.

Right now he's eating his second round of peanut-butter toast -- pretty much the only thing he's eaten today. Actually, it's peanut-butter hamburger bun because that's what we've got. And Jack is coveting it. Actually, no. He just ate it.

Jesus fucking Christ.

Stirring the oatmeal: from BeliefNet

Stirring oatmeal is a humble act–not exciting or thrilling. But it symbolizes a relatedness that brings love down to earth. It represents a willingness to share ordinary human life, to find meaning in the simple, unromantic tasks: earning a living, living within a budget, putting out the garbage, feeding the baby in the middle of the night. To “stir the oatmeal” means to find the relatedness, the value, even the beauty, in simple and ordinary things, not to eternally demand a cosmic drama, an entertainment, or an extraordinary intensity in everything.

Tuesday, April 17, 2018

Counting Crows, "Einstein on the Beach"

What you fear in the night and the day comes to call anyway.

Those who stay by you will stay by you. End of story.

What I was discussing with Adam this morning

From Daily OM:

Parenting asks us to rise to some of the most difficult challenges this world has to offer, and one of its greatest paradoxes arises around the issue of attachment. On the one hand, successful parenting requires that we love our children, and most of us love in a very attached way. On the other hand, it also requires that we let go of our children at the appropriate times, which means we must practice some level of non-attachment. Many parents find this difficult because we love our children fiercely, more than we will ever love anyone, and this can cause us to overstep our bounds with them as their independence grows. Yet truly loving them requires that we set them free. 

Attachment to outcome is perhaps the greatest obstacle on the parenting path, and the one that teaches us the most about the importance of practicing non-attachment. We commonly perceive our children to be extensions of ourselves, imagining that we know what's best for them, but our children are people in their own right with their own paths to follow in this world. They may be called to move in directions we fear, don't respect, or don't understand, yet we must let them go. This letting go happens gradually throughout our lives with our children until we finally honor them as fully grown adults who no longer require our guidance. At this point, it is important that we treat them as peers who may or may not seek our input into their lives. This allows them, and us, to fully realize the greatest gift parents can offer their offspring --independence. 

Letting go in any area of life requires a deep trust in the universe, in the overall meaning and purpose of existence. Remembering that there is more to us and our children than meets the eye can help us practice non-attachment, even when we feel overwhelmed by concern and the desire to interfere. We are all souls making our way in the world and making our way, ultimately, back to the same source. This can be our mantra as we let our children go in peace and confidence.

Monday, April 16, 2018

Birthdays and no regrets

I turned 44 yesterday. For some reason I wanted to revisit this shot, which was taken at last year's fete. It was taken by someone who knew -- and no doubt still does know -- me very well, as evidenced by the composition.

And from Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young: Wasted on the Way. Beautiful.

Saturday, April 14, 2018

Editing this

             Sometimes we know when a moment isn’t just a moment. Standing here in this ridiculous space that doesn’t even feel like home, that’s exactly what I’m experiencing. The sun dims slightly, as if it can’t compete with the heat inside this house, bouncing off the ugly bamboo and against the stupid chandelier that is a serious earthquake hazard, mark my words.
            I never just wanted a mother. I wanted a mommy. Same was true with my father. What a nice, neat conclusion to my tale if only I could upgrade Nails to Mom, Rooster to Dad. What a pretty ending that I can only dream of, not actually experience.
            The words press against my throat, but they go no further. “I’m busy,” I say, and start to head up the curving staircase, up to my room where I actually do feel at home, where I can lock the door and sit on my window seat and think my thoughts and possibly, probably, cry some more, from sadness and hope and the weirdness that is life.

            Nails lays a hand on my arm. It’s been so long since we’ve had any sort of contact. This isn’t exactly what I’d been hoping for, either.
            “You could have had him,” she says. “You blew it. Now he’s paying the price.”
            Um, I’m sorry. What-what-what?
            “Matt is cute,” Nails, my mother, the person who cried into the void and gave me life, says. She says it like it’s the world’s most important thing, and to her maybe it is. She wears an oversized sweatshirt and leggings, like Flashdance is about to call and ask for its outfit back. She looks at me like I’m one of those dust motes shimmering in an irritating way, just something else she’s going to have to ask Elvira to wipe from the balcony.
            “Let me tell you,” she says, and you just know she’s about to lay down the intel. “You may never get that chance again.”

            I know this is supposed to hurt. I’m aware that it’s an insult. I’m supposed to find a sweet dark corner and lay down my head and cry for all the opportunities missed because I’m not only a dork, but an ugly dork.
            Instead I feel amazing. Matt? He wanted me. It’s obvious. He can’t just leave this alone. He can’t let me be. He’s going to keep worrying it like the dogs at the shelter gnaw after their frozen Kongs. Difference is that they eventually get their peanut butter. Him, he gets nothing.
            Finally I’m sure of it.


I don't have any pictures of either of my parents reading to me. I'm not saying it never happened. I'm just saying I don't have proof.

Baz does.

Five lessons from Words with Friends

One: Play. Don't hesitate. Just play.
Two: Don't be afraid to swap if what you've got isn't working.
Three: Try. Don't cost nothing.
Four: Don't engage in small talk with strangers.
Five: Sometimes you've just got make up that shit.

Friday, April 13, 2018

Editing this

The oldies station is playing Michael Jackson, “Rock with You”. I was just a little kid when he died, but I remember Nails crying and Rooster trying his best not to laugh at her, which is the most you might expect from him.

Man, the most talented people are the ones who are also the most messed up. The guy could sing like there was no tomorrow, but if Nails was to be believed, his personal life was an entirely different story. “He liked the little boys,” she said between sobs. “He was a freak.”

Freak, always one of Nails’ favorite words. There have been so many times I’ve wanted to ask her if she sees me as a freak, but I’m terrified of the answer.

Editing this

After Nails had reported to me that Matt had been accepted to UCSB – early, as planned – he showed me the email on his phone. “Check it out,” he said.

Check it out, like it wasn’t that big a deal, like it wasn’t his future, right, Mrs. Love? Except it was a huge deal. Every time I thought about it, my stomach tightened to the point where it felt as though water couldn’t even pass through. My throat constricted too as if to keep it company, making me feel like I was being strangled from the inside out.

He wasn’t leaving for months.

But he would leave.

And I would never have the courage to tell him I loved him.


Last night's Why There Are Words. Holy shit. There is a reason that every Bay Area writer wants to read there. And I got to do it.

Fucking amazing.

Thursday, April 12, 2018

Sold the car, kept the dude

From tonight's Why There Are Words reading

An excerpt of what I'm reading at tonight's event:

Nails never cried about what happened to Raffie, how we neglected her, how she died in the backyard without being noticed for nearly a day. She never even talked about our dog. It was as if she’d never existed, that she didn’t spend more than a decade as part of her family. And maybe in Nails’ mind, she didn’t. She was just some piece of the backyard, something akin to the pool and built-in barbecue.
She wasn’t she. She was an It.
Just like me.

Wednesday, April 11, 2018


Of course not talking about it doesn't mean I'm not thinking about it. It's that for once I don't care to share my thoughts with the world.

Daily OM wisdom

Our role as masters of our own destinies is cemented when we choose to make change work in our favor. Yet before we can truly internalize this power, we must accept that we cannot hide from the changes taking place all around us. Existence as we know it will come to an end at one or more points in our lives, making way for some new and perhaps unexpected mode of being. This transformation will take place whether or not we want it to, and so it is up to us to decide whether we will open our eyes to the blessings hidden amidst disorder or close ourselves off from opportunities hiding behind obstacles. 

To make change work for you, look constructively at your situation and ask yourself how you can benefit from the transformation that has taken place. As threatening as change can seem, it is often a sign that a new era of your life has begun. If you reevaluate your plans and goals in the days or weeks following a major change, you will discover that you can adapt your ambition to the circumstances before you and even capitalize on these changes. Optimism, enthusiasm, and flexibility will aid you greatly here, as there is nothing to be gained by dwelling on what might have been. Change can hurt in the short term but, if you are willing to embrace it proactively, its lasting impact will nearly always be physically, spiritually, and intellectually transformative.

Sounds of this morning

Oingo Boingo
Dead Boys
Tracy Chapman

Only I need to know why.

Tuesday, April 10, 2018

With my baby

Two of Bazzy's greatest hits

San Rafael Community Center, April 10, 2017.

Alta Bates Summit Medical Center, September 7, 2015.

Junot Diaz in The New Yorker

This isn't simply about childhood trauma, nor is it only about rape, though those elements of course figure largely here. It's about finding oneself, and finding the person who can hold that person without reservation.

Balance Project series!

Thrilled to be part of Susie Orman Schnall's Balance Project today!

Monday, April 9, 2018

Some great quotes here

Right here.

This one in particular:

 Maybe I’m just a dreamer, but I believe that love should be easy, it should be simple and clear. It shouldn’t be all questions and games and it shouldn’t leave you wondering or waiting.

My baby's sick day

Sunday, April 8, 2018

Editing this

Reason Number Three: When something disappoints you, why would you return to it like some sort of lost dog? Some Pit Bull maybe, banging its face against the bars in fruitless hope? The promise of love, of care, of commitment, only to be leashed, walked, and killed?

Wherefore art thou? Thou art euthanized.

I gather my books and stuff them into my bag. Time to leave the classroom, go find my janky Civic, get behind the wheel, and drive over to the phony-swank spaghetti palace, except it feels like my Converse are Super-Glued to the floor. Super Glue does no good Rooster always says. Duct tape. That fixes everything.

Why am I thinking about my father’s opinions on household adhesives?

Why can’t I handle the fact that the roof is coming down, that the walls are closing in?

Matt’s gone, Romeo too. The best friend I trusted waited until my back was turned and then hand-crafted a KICK ME sign.

The places I went to for help instead harmed me. The doors I knocked on for support stayed closed. 

Thursday, April 5, 2018

The Bazzy playlist

The child likes what he likes:

Elvis Costello
Beach Boys
Mark Ronson, "Uptown Funk"
Portugal the Man, "Feel it Still"
Beatles, "Love Me Do"
Harry Belafonte
The Bangles

I've got to get this boy on The Cure and The Doors, stat.

The value of discipline

I'm learning that many parents are too lazy to discipline their kids. Take right now, for example. I'm at this cafe with a play area where I take Baz and he behaves himself like a little gentleman. I'm not saying that because I'm his mom. I'm saying it because it's the truth, because I lay down the law otherwise.

I am not a pushover. I don't let him get away with shit. He not only says please and thank you, but he treats people the way they should be treated: with respect. Not every kid in this place is like that. It's not my job to control them, but if they don't watch out, they may find my foot up their collective ass.

Tomorrow is 10 years

Wednesday, April 4, 2018

Carmel and Monterey

Carmel Bakery.

Kissing the doggie.

Somewhere where there were lots of flowers and fountains. Like, everywhere.

A really cool paseo that was brought to you by, um, Thomas Kinkade. Can't have it all.

I driving!

Dennis the Menace Park. This place actually scared the shit out of me because it's insane, but he loved it.

Santa Cruz and Monterey

Bean Hollow State Beach.

Bookshop Santa Cruz.

Abbott Square Market, Santa Cruz.

Abbott Square, Santa Cruz.

Moss Landing.

Moss Landing.

Cannery Row.

Cannery Row.

Lily Mae's Cinnamon Rolls.

Monday, April 2, 2018

Can't go home again

The other day I asked Adam: "Do you think people can ever return to what they once were?"

He shook his head.

This picture makes me cry. Taken at Prizefighter. I was four months pregnant, radiant, and so damn naive.

Sunday, April 1, 2018

Home run A's!

Or, as Baz says, touchdown Patriots!

Bradley Whitford on hope

Infuse your life with action. Don't wait for it to happen. Make it happen. Make your own future. Make your own hope. Make your own love. And whatever your beliefs, honor your creator, not by passively waiting for grace to come down from upon high, but by doing what you can to make grace happen... yourself, right now, right down here on Earth. 

Friday, March 30, 2018

Tuesday, March 27, 2018

Perma-rolled eyes

Watching Daniel Tiger's Neighborhood with Baz while contemplating the lentil-rice bake that is tonight's dinner. I am the most boring fucking being on earth in this single second. 

Counsyl blog post is now live!

Hopefully they will correct the misspelling of my name soon. It's here. Disclaimer: "This is a sponsored conversation written by me on behalf of Counsyl. All views and opinions in this article are my own."

Monday, March 26, 2018

Watching my kid read

Three-thirty in the morning, and the Angel of Sleep Death and I are sitting on the couch. I'm writing something related to real estate and he's reading his train book, reciting most of the pages from memory.

Am I tired? Oh, fuck yeah. But I will remember this.

Sunday, March 25, 2018

Doesn't matter how much I tell you

I'll always have secrets.

Conversation while Baz is in the bath

And I'm looking at a bunch of stupid vegetarian dinner recipes, though I'd rather be looking at international plane tickets, and maybe that's next:

ADAM: I'm thinking fried rice.
ME: Yeah?
ADAM: It just popped into my head.
ME: Man, most food photos look like vomit on a plate.
ADAM: Snort.
ME: I'm serious. They look like chunks.

Saturday, March 24, 2018

Barcelona, New Year's 2006

Adam's and my first trip to Europe. I'd been here before, this city of whacky art and hidden Spanish delights, but this was the first time I was here and happy. We'd flown in from London that morning, having spent all night awake to catch our o-dark-thirty flight from Stansted Airport. Then we checked into our hotel and slept all day, waking up in time to catch the city's last taxi to Placa Cataluyna, where the action was. They were drinking down there, hooting and counting it down, smashing bottles in the street.

Too loud. Too boisterous. Too much. Fear lurked in those dark gothic corners and so we retreated to an Australian bar where men chanted bebida bebida bebida. As we walked toward that place, hand in hand, life imperfect and fairly perfectly so, we heard this song. So did the guy who was smoking outside the bar where it was playing. When it came on, he blurted: "I get knock down!" and beat a path back inside.

Almost 10 years married

As I changed my profile picture from yet another one of me and Baz to one with me and Adam, "Right Down the Line" by Gerry Rafferty was playing:

You know I need your love
You've got that hold over me
Long as I've got your love
You know that I'll never leave
When I wanted you to share my life
I had no doubt in my mind
And it's been you woman
Right down the line
I know how much I lean on you
Only you can see
The changes that I've been through
Have left a mark on me
You've been as constant as a Northern Star
The brightest light that shines
It's been you, woman 
Right down the line
I just want to say this is my way
Of tellin' you everything
I could never say before
Yeah this is my way of tellin' you
That every day I'm lovin' you so much more
'Cause you believed in me through my darkest night
Put somethin' better inside of me
You brought me into the light
Threw away all those crazy dreams
I put them all behind
And it was you, woman
Right down the line
I just want to say this is my way 
Of tellin' you everything
I could never say before
Yeah this is my way of tellin' you
That every day I'm lovin' you so much more
If I should doubt myself 
If I'm losing ground
I won't turn to someone else
They'd only let me down
When I wanted you to share my life
I had no doubt in my mind
And it's been you, woman
Right down the line


"If there is a book that you want to read but it hasn't been written yet, you must be the one to write it." - Naomi Wadler

As posted on Facebook

I just had to leave a birthday party held by sweet people because I had a major anxiety attack. Baz was running all over the place and I was freaking out thinking he was going to run through the mud and into the street. First I got physically sick, then I told Adam I had to go. The specter of loss is so fucking strong.

Thursday, March 22, 2018


Today is Thursday, which means Baz is home from school. Juggling work and him is a learned art, though he is certainly one of the easiest kids I've ever met. Still. Ya know?

I was just ruminating over whether parenthood can fuck your marriage. The answer, of course, is both yes and no. In our case, I think it's made us stronger but also underscored some weak spots. That's to be expected. It's not always easy to deal with. The last couple of days I've said to Adam I'm not happy, meaning circumstantially. Things are challenging at the moment.

And yet there's Baz, cawing in the other room, saying whoop! whoop! sock it to me! and Hi, Tahoe Bear!, and that's just pretty cool.


Everyone wants a piece. I've rarely felt so overwhelmed in my life. I need time to sit and stare at the wall, to lie on the couch and think about nothing at all. This is not debatable and it is not optional. The fact that he's in day care three times a week does not abate it the way I had hoped.

Wednesday, March 21, 2018


I'm not able to put one articulate word to paper today. Hence, I'm blogging. But I can't even do much here either. I'm not burned out on my own stuff. I'm just burned out on everything else.

Gualala, 2012

Tuesday, March 20, 2018

"A good old Landa rant"

Last night I went off on how certain diseases just seem out of fashion. Think about it. Typhus. The plague. Who dies of these things any more? Since when did disease get trendy?

Yeah. Think about it.

Shit. It's too early.


Monday, March 19, 2018

Pot brings serious perspective

Also, thank God for spell-check.


We don't watch a lot of television around here. It's just not really something we do. However, I flipped on the tv just now as a last resort so I can get a little work done. But my kid? He'd rather read a book. :)

Because working at home is easy

Dear Client:

This is how I'm pounding out the words today. Don't worry, he's a great creative consultant.


Facebook this morning

Ask a Toddler Mother:
Q: Why did the kid hit me with a book and then start crying?
A: Ouch.
Tiffany Johnson I didn't mean to laugh out loud.... 😂

Sorry bout your morning...
Ken Jolley Because toddlers are caught in a constant struggle between world domination and wanting a hug.
Allison Landa I am so quoting you.