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Country Mouse Monday: this little piggy went to market

In a couple of weeks, my Blissbug wares – beeswax candles and salves and lipbalms – will be for sale for the first time in a local store. This is huge. I am completely a-buzz.

I’m not even selling my stuff yet -- um, I am still producing it and figuring out the pricing and the display, and and -- and already I’m experiencing such interesting tension between what my vision is and what other people think it should be.

I didn’t expect to feel so challenged, so questioned, so annoyed, but then it dawned on me:

All that squeezing, pushing pressure is forcing me to make diamonds.

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Twenty FIVE Years of Love

On May 26, 1989, Katherine and I went to a party hosted by an old, old friend of mine from the French school whom I'd run into at San Francisco State where I was a graduate student in Russian Language and Literature.  Nicholas lived on Fulton, directly across from the Jefferson Airplane house, in a flat shared with other students.  I picked Katherine up after dropping off The Kid, then 1 ½, at my parents' in the Castro.  I had on a favorite black vintage dress with lace trim at the collar and hips and black Sacha London cowboy booties (still have them).

I was 26.

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Country Mouse Monday: Do, Know, bees...

It’s a glorious morning here on the farm, the birds already raising their ruckus at 5:45am. It’s been light for ages, and it looks like it’s going to be another scorcher.

In just a few hours, a friend is stopping by to see the bees – to actually suit up in the spare bee-gear I keep on hand and inspect the hives with me – so I’m excited in advance, anticipating her delight when she, finally, after wishing and wanting for so long, gets to use her hands to see inside.

It’s a funny thing, this yearning for bees that so many of us have.

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good to the last

I admit it:

I drink coffee every day, on a good day more than once.

And even though it's an everyday thing, still there are just some cups of coffee that stay with you, some cups that just stand out.

I am still thinking, for example, about a cappuccino that I drank from a paper cup in Point Reyes Station a month ago,

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hopelessly devoted to... yes, that's right: Fargo. and Misfit.

Yeah, I know. I don't expect you to understand it right off the bat. I know it sounds strange, right: me, North Dakota, Fargo. 

And it's almost 11pm and I'm writing, and I'm not a nighttime writer generally. Because generally I'd have been asleep for a few hours by now.

But after Day 1 of the Misfit Conference in mind-blowing Fargo, North Dakota, I'm fairly-well buzzing. In fact, if it were possible to levitate, to achieve lift-off just by the power of a mind stuffed with amazing new friends, great conversations, unbelievable food, the brilliant speakers, creativity and inspiration just of Day 1, 

well, fuck: I'd be flying right now.

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