I don’t know what I’m doing
I don’t know how to adult
Waking up everyday to
Some new unknown challenge
I’ve been told that God doesn’t
Give you more than you can handle
They don’t tell you God lays out
A buffet of mild to spicy experiences
I don’t think I’m a fan of buffets
-gws
I want to revisit the joy of cartwheels in summer grass
Serenaded by the wing beats of bees and the chorus of hummingbirds and sparrows
I want to drowse amongst dandelions while playing
Warshak games with passing clouds in azure skies
I want to hide beneath curtains of willow branches
Making friends of the trees with whispered secrets
I want to run time backward
To when summer days were never ending
And daydreams frolicked in the warmth of long lazy unburdened afternoons
I want to sit suspended in the amber of youthful memory
Its glowing lens casting every scene in warm nostalgic hues
Golden hour light cast upon fading Kodachrome images
That compose dust mote-filled summer slideshows of my heart
-gws
I am no longer funding
The luxury of familiarity
It has cost me too much
And offered questionable ROI
I am only entertaining thoughtful investment
In quality platonic companionship
For those interested in applying
Limited applications are being accepted
A nonrefundable fee will be assessed
And a thorough background check performed
I reserve the right to cancel the requisition at any time
And invest in my own peace instead
-gws
If you were to ask me to describe “home”
I would tell you:
Home is big, cotton candy banks of white fog in the late afternoon rolling over the northern Santa Cruz Mountains like an ethereal sea crashing silently down into Crystal Springs Reservoir then running like a river down Highway 92 until it meets San Francisco Bay
Or
Cascading over the central Santa Cruz Mountains gliding over Palo Alto to meet up with San Francisco Bay
Or
Flowing over the southern Santa Cruz Mountains getting caught in the pines like ephemeral fabric woven of spider silk before blanketing the Valley of Heart’s Delight beneath its majesty
Home is the sound of the miniature train in Central Park clacking steadfastly along its track to the delight of small children
Or
The sound of a CalTrain whistle as it approaches Hillsdale Station
Or
The puff and squeal of the air brakes of a SamTrans bus pulling up to a curb full of chittering teenagers leaving Hillsdale Mall
Home is the tea-colored, glowing hills full of gossamer, golden-hour light on the northward drive through Los Altos and Palo Alto on Highway 280 in the autumn
Or
Being greeted by The Cats standing guard overlooking the winding, redwood-lined drive on Highway 17 to Santa Cruz
Or
The moment when the Pacific Ocean becomes visible while driving Highway 92 to Half Moon Bay knowing any minute Pastorino Farm’s pumpkins patch will appear
Home is the gazebo sitting over the lagoon at Leo J Ryan Park while kids run up an down the cement and grass risers while watching the windsurfers on the water
Or
Walking or ridding along the levee bike path surrounding Foster City, under the San Mateo Bridge and its fisherman until you arrive at Coyote Point
Or
Remembering which way to curb your wheels while visiting friends who live on or near the insanely steep hill that is Alameda De Las Pulgas
Home is the book of memories stamped upon landmarks, imperfections and inconveniences forgotten due to time or will and held in reverence in the heart forever
My home has no walls, only the beauty of time and familiar places
-gws
Curtains of branches and leaves cascade to the ground
Creating a sanctuary for childhood dreams beneath
The somber sway of weeping willows
Hides from common eyes the magical worlds they held for me
I made friends of willow trees
The trees of my childhood spoke to me
They greeted me every time I played in their park
There are less of them today
But a few still stand
Providing mystical playgrounds for new children
I wave hello to those trees when I pass them by
Hoping they remember the little girl who loved them so well
And always will
-gws
Among my dark tresses
Magic is sprouting
So many threads of silver tinsel
Adorning my head like glittering filaments
Filling my hair with starlight
-gws
I loved blanket forts as a child
I would live in a blanket fort
For as long as I could get away with it
Inside was my temple
Soft, dark, warm and safe
Outside was an adventure
Sometimes the real world
More often, though, anything else
Other worlds filled with
Villains and friends
Hazards and wonders
Mischief and magic
Infinite possibilities
Stood beyond my blanket walls
My plush sanctuary
Existing in two places at once
A world within the world
Transporting away from and rooting me to
Home
-gws
What is this nightmare?
Acne
Joint pain
Mood swings
Hot flashes
Night sweats
Insomnia
It's a good thing that men do not experience
The joys of menopause
I'm pretty sure that we would have
Destroyed ourselves long ago if they did
Because this experience is madness
It's like the upgrade to puberty no one wanted
I HAVE SO MUCH RAGE
This has to be the reason women stop
Putting up with intolerable things during midlife
Because I'm ready to take a machete to all of the bullshit
I have zero patience for anything
When my hormones tumble out of wack
All stupidity enrages me
And so many things are branded with
A blinking neon sign that reads
STUPIDEST THING EVER
DO NOT TOLERATE
Now don't get it twisted, gentle listeners
There are no excuses planted here
Do not dismiss my disgruntled reactions
As merely hormonal storm surges
These hormones are the reason I can see
The bullshit so clearly
They are the reason I will not abide the bullshit
One second longer
As I once let go of the Maiden's mantel to take up the Mother's mantel
I now start letting go of my Mother's mantel
To assume the mantel of the Crone
Her knowing look
Her sharp witted smirk
She has seen it and rejected it all
She understands that societal norms
The expectations that sit like weights
Upon her back are not hers to carry
She understands that she is a force
She stops caring what others think of her
And starts caring about what she thinks of herself
I feel these changes calling to my core
Calling the taproot of my soul to descend
Into the tides ruled by my will and Grace's wisdom
Tides that my ancestors waded in
And tapped into before me
The wise women
The grandmothers
The healers and midwives
The matriarchs
I am about to inherit their legacy
But first
I must walk this gauntlet called menopause
This thrill ride is only just beginning
And I already want off
If you meet me and see a feral glint in my eye
Or sweat on my brow
Know it's best to just walk on by
My grasp on my self-control
Is not a secure one
I run on resentments and judgment
Not tightly moored to my higher self
This base self more worldly
Guiding me through this transition
Steeped in ragged ugly truth
So that when I emerge
My crown of silver
Is earned
-gws
Forty-eight orbits of the sun
Forty-eight birthdays celebrated
Some happy
Some not
This morning I turned my face
To golden, gossamer sunlight
Filtered through cool, blue fog
I was showered in love notes
Sung to and hugged by my children
My pockets may be empty
But my heart can't be much fuller
-gws
I want a closet full of ball gowns that I wear to the grocery store I want a shelf full of outlandish hats that I wear to walk the dog I want a drawer full of adorable fandom socks that I wear with bedazzled sneakers I want a collection of cloaks, coats, and sweaters handmade from mismatched scraps of fabric and yarn that create random, joyous patterns I want to dance on curbs and twirl in open spaces I want to speak random bits of spontaneous verse in the park I want to compliment the charismatic child and the quietest person at the party so they know they are seen I want to be the joyous crone who says sage things and knows that life shouldn’t be taken so seriously I want to be unequivocally, undeniably me -gws
Words Wishes and Wisdom 