and just like that

And just like that, everything is different.

built in fascinator

Sleeping outside is suddenly full of more risk, more animate consciousnesses; flying things like lumbering beetles and sometimes mosquitoes, and lots of baby bunnies and mousies and the cats on the prowl and the helicopter, searching for miscreants every night now.

Is there more crime in summer than winter, even in a temperate zone?

I moved inside three nights ago, but find that in the heat of the mid-afternoon, I once again have the yard to myself and I can siesta in the garden bed. There is a red mosquito net, if I want. But the nights, they might be finished for now. Too many creatures.

Last night, due entirely to a wave of stupid that either now lives at or hit Rincon Market like a virus (they simply cannot survive if this is all that they have to work with now, but looking at their online menu and seeing terrible grammatical errors I fear that they are lost) I ended up at Brooklyn Pizza, in the market for a slice with basil.

There was all manner of excitement in the street, the doorway, the air, as a robbery and an apprehension had occurred, and en scene was the Perfect Detective in a lavender shirt. I was mesmerized.

Perfect Detective 1

A photograph could never capture him; no picture could, because he has stillness. He was almost completely still until he moved, and when he moved, he moved without waste, and when I was watching him, he knew it, even when I was inside a building. I could watch him forever and my eyes would never go hungry, trying to absorb the secret.

I will do all of us (but especially him) the favor of forgetting him immediately. If he is lucky he will never see me again.

Perfect Detective 2

Bill and the boys were in Chicago this past weekend, visiting the Art Institute of Chicago, where Liam plans to go. It’s so exciting, and Liam is quite taken with the Loop and the feel of the city. I’ve always loved it there, of course. Chicago was my favorite American city until I met Boston.

Evan and Bill went out on the glass Skydeck at the Willis Tower, 103 floors up.

Evan up high Chicago

If your nerve deny you
go above your nerve
he can lean against the grave
if he fear to swerve

Emily Dickinson

we saw the swallows and the martins… the horse, prancing in the fields

cooper cactus fest

also, it’s cactus time.

Cactus Moment

I could listen to Nick Cave tell me stories all night, or forever, or until the world ended.

What an odd day here at the Ranch, here inside me. Even Orangelina is behaving strangely, suddenly bonding with the western-facing gryphon.

She is getting ever so orange; her eyes and lips are spectacular. Soon she will be pregnant enough, and it will be hot enough, that she will be flat out on the wall, napping under the honeysuckle blossoms.

A strange day at the Ranch

I’ll have to make something for Nick Cave, perhaps I could start here.

Ferry Window


It’s a grey, cool day again, soft and slow.

carlisles roses

This month has been all about patience. I’ve been waiting for my left hand to start working again (almost, I am so grateful) and I’ve run out of the ocean of extra energy I almost always have.

This happens from time to time and almost always through carelessness on my part; I get carried away with the work and fail to save enough life force to start again from nothing, or I stay in one place for too long, or my focus narrows, or I am set aside, either by circumstance or a failure of love or behavior.

As my life has no structure, if I accidentally stop moving, everything stops around me except the machines of life. The plants grow, the cats prowl, the lizards bask, the bills come on time, but the living world of my deeper mind comes to a halt like a carousel without electricity; a layer of cosmic dust forms.

Applying what I know about being me/human, I am heading straight for Bill and the boys. It’s spring in the Midwest now, and we can all tunnel into it together, and Bill can love me until I’m all powered up again, and ready to lock again into a bigger bandwidth.  Patience.

clear spaces

This morning broke cool and overcast. My magic is out of me and flying in pieces like birds on the wings of my little ideas or on improbable reaches across the space that divides us as human beings.

That space flexes; it is sometimes nothing and sometimes impossibly vast, like the distance between an atom’s nucleus and one of its electrons. Who knows how close or how far apart they will be? You can’t tell from the candy shell, just like with people.

We each move within a range, a field, maybe. I try to extend my own by finding the edges and staying near them, watching for shimmering spots. I work at being a better attractant for events; I can apply what I know to the systems that surround me, also the ones that might define me.

I learned from watching Jack that if I see a clear space, I might look nearby for the disturbance that created or maintains it.  And if I see a tanglement of activity, I know that surrounding it there are probably clear spaces with different rules.

Jack and Bill by Kate

Bill says it’s why I like to stir up trouble, so that I can watch what happens all around it.

everything is made of flowers

cactus flowers


everything is made of flowers


The lizard I’ve named Puppy scatters flowers in a circle as he cavorts around me. Today I called him over to the outdoor shower for a photo. It was hard for him to stand still. He required six worms first. (The worm bag says “feed your lizard 1-2 worms daily.”

Puppy blue puppy

The aloe spires below are taller than I am, and numerous. The front garden has grown in so magnificently I can hardly believe it; I think that the sunflowers will be ten feet tall this summer.

Giant Spires

I am making headway, but the list grows in front of me and it is suddenly towering over me with insistence, taller than I remember.

I must not show indecisiveness.


boston photos

I’m finally stealing a few hours to work on the Boston photos. Or I was, but now I’m very very sleepy. Here are a few.

This is Rob van der Hilst, sternly reminding us which part of his building we are going to see next if we screw up unsupervised on the roof; the basement dungeons.

Be Safe Or Else Rob van der Hilst by Kate McKinnon

And this is me photobombing Jack Wisdom, photos by Kyle Cassidy.

Jack Wisdom and Kate McKinnon by Kyle Cassidy

Bill, walking out from under the Longfellow Bridge.

Bill McKinnon Under the Longfellow by Kate McKinnon

I surrender to the golden

Each time I think that the B40 cannot possibly get more golden it gets more golden, and more awesome, and I have wisely given up saying “this is the most beautiful day I’ve ever seen.” The scent of the flowers commands my senses; I can no more forget it than the full moon at night.

I surrender to the golden

Today I was a steamroller, a typhoon, a monkey of love, and I got everything done that had to be done, and I hope that tomorrow I’ll get the things done that ought to be done. And maybe tonight before I fall asleep I’ll be able to get the thing done I want to get done, which is the PDF and shared folder of Boston photos.