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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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Country Mouse Monday: wait, what day is it?

My husband will confirm that the most common question I ask lately is, What day is it?

There used to be this sharp distinction between weekdays (dread, woe, misery) and weekends (relief, freedom, jubilation), but not so much anymore.

Every day now is awesome.

Every day is mine.

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