Blog Index
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Making a living from love

Anyone who’s spent any amount of time with me since the remarkable weekend I spent at Misfit Con has heard me go on and on about the conference. I still can’t stop talking about it. And it’s not just coming out my mouth. Nope. The greatest thing is how that experience is continuing to express itself in every single thing I do now. It’s true:

I am forever changed.

The biggest thing is that I think I am actually doing something I wrote about at least a year ago, when I wondered in a Facebook status, “could I make a living out of enthusiasm?”

Thanks to that long weekend in Fargo, North Dakota with a hundred or so new friends and co-conspirators, I’m taking it a step further.

I’m making a living from love.

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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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