March 2012

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I’ve been thinking a lot about space lately. On all levels, including the final frontier kind, with my favorite Spock whispering those fine words in my ear, especially when I gaze out the front window whilst brushing my teeth on a clear night with Venus and Jupiter, right there, nearly close enough for me to touch. The space between them the coziest of hammocks, and if I run and jump onto Don and Katie’s house, putting some sort of trampoline on their roof, I could spring onto it and lie swinging between their two stellar bodies.

I would watch my house the same way Jupiter does whilst brushing his teeth at night. Or maybe think about how the universe and everything we are is expanding, see if I could observe it from that high perch, all the while not really understanding the concept of dark matter or infinity, save for maybe infinite kindness, which I strive to possess, but come up short from time to time. Probably because I am human and flawed.

But I’m working on it, the human part, every single day, giving myself the space I need to discover all that I am, all that I strive to be. I read Pema and the signs, whatever they may be, and try to get less trapped in my own thoughts and occasional wickedness, watching, sometimes getting very lost, other times dancing like a child, blissfully aware of how damned good it all is.

But it’s all about space. The space to observe myself (and you, dear reader) with kindness. The space to grow. The space to know I deserve every happiness and success. The space to be and learn. The space to mourn something I scarcely remembered losing, yet loving the sweet discovery, too. Oh space, inner and outer, infinite and ever confined, how marvelous you are.

p.s. The hubster works in the tall building at the very left. Hi Buddy!


Don’t ever become a pessimist … a pessimist is correct oftener than an optimist, but an optimist has more fun, and neither can stop the march of events.

Robert Heinlein



Disparate populace of my thoughts

Once unwelcome interlopers

Now fine silken threads: flawed, broken, gorgeous, old

Woven into one

No shame in examining, admiring, pondering, remembering

Touch my cheek

Caress the whole

Wrap my soul

A magnifying glass

A microscope

Ten steps back

Then ten miles

A landscape

A sunset

Moon and stars

This is my life

This is my love

This is what binds my heart

  and makes me WHOLE.


Colleen Sohn




Some ever so random bits and bobs for you today. My mind is a wandering one. Its oft preferred state, which, after some overly obsessive and incredibly tiresome thinking suits me fine. Uh-huh.

First, a little more leg than I anticipated, but whatever. Call me a slut, but my neighbor beat you to the punch on whore. Because if a little leg, using birth control before having my internal lady parts removed (read about it here: 1, 2, 3, 4) , and enjoying sex with my husband make me one, I say, in for a penny, in for a pound. Anyhoo, the socks beg to be seen! They are from Gumball Poodle (oddly, I bought mine at New Seasons) and are perfect for roller skating, even when hidden under cropped pants, with many other neat-o options. Meat, anyone? Beer? Bacon?

Second, a little listening. Do you know about Poking Smot? I must say that I, in no way or shape, like this moniker. Really? That’s the best you got? Well, I shall forgive you because your website is so freakin’ awesome that it nearly makes my head spin. Music, so very much music: new, old, jazzy, synthy, rocky, poppy (currently jiving and toe tapping to Sandy Bull’s “Blend”). Merde et zut alors! This place could be the site of my downfall. I’ll just listen to one more song and be on my way, oh and another, but wait, they’ve got that? Down for the count peeps, d-o-w-n!

Third, a little reading. This is a shout out for local writer K.B. Dixon who sent me a copy of his book, The Photo Album. It is a very quirky, Colleen-style tale. A warm breeze of an afternoon read and well worth the time, it’s an imaginary photo album (hence the title) with captions. What was happening there? What was intended? What don’t we see? Filled with details of places I love and very much home. It made me think, laugh, and sigh with wonder.

Fourth, a little watching. And contrast. First, another one of my man-crushes, Zach Galifianiakis (I’m not kidding), in a supporting role (with Jason Schwartzman and Ted Danson – a fine trio if ever there was) in a truly awesome and also very Colleen-style comedy series, Bored to Death. I think I’ve mentioned this bit of kooky before, but dang, do I love it so. The hubster can’t get enough of it either, I might add. We laugh until we cry and always want more. Luckily we’ve got DVD number two waiting for us to-night. It’s on, bitches! (Just for you, Amber)

Now to the contrast, The Yellow Handkerchief. It follows Brett (William Hurt) after his release from prison, searching for a new hold on life and remembering May (Maria Bellow), the love he left behind. Then there is Martine (Kristen Stewart) and Gordy (handsome Eddie Redmayne), young and inexperienced, escaping home, awkward and yearning for a connection, to no longer be outsiders and first forgotten. They travel in Gordy’s car, through the post Katrina aftermath, taking ill used highways and discovering unexpected places, especially within themselves. Sweet and sad and happy.

Fifth, a little love, for you, sweet readers, and Friday. Have a tip-top, hat’s-off, groove-on weekend!

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