The Unthinkable… through a child’s eyes


Walking down Constitution Ave in Washington DC when I was seven, I noticed a woman climbing onto the ledge outside her window. She wore a nightgown and with her slight frame she looked like an angel, or fairy. For a brief moment, the palms of her hands met in front of her heart before spreading into wings as she fell forward into space. She looked light and free as her nightgown fluttered around her as her soft body fell quietly through the air and bounced the way limp dolls do when they fall, a small hiccup and then stillness. I waited for her to get up but she took too long so I knew she was dead. What a waste. How stupid of her to jump without knowing how to land. Why hadn’t her family warned her? As I walked away the image of her soaring ever so briefly lingered in my mind and I hoped she’d liked that part as much as I had watching because everything after that was bad luck.

Ten years old. The first buds were starting to blossom on the trees. Megan and Mary, M&M, were twins living up the hill from me, and eleventh-graders at my same school. Identical twins, a bit chunky and buxom but with two golden hearts, and warm smiles even on the rainiest of days. I don’t think they ever complained, just a wink with a shrug and onward, never letting the world getting the best of them. I loved them. Then, on a gorgeous spring night their baby-blue convertible wrapped itself around the trunk of an old oak tree killing the twins instantly.

The news spilled across pages two and three of the city paper. The pictures of the two looked like police mug shots and the front end of the Thunderbird was an accordion. Paragraph after paragraph made unkind remarks about the girls, troubled teens, rowdy, undisciplined, and too many beers for proper girls on a night out on the town. I wondered how their parents could allow such slander until I saw them quoted in direct. Even they didn’t spare a fond memory or a loving word: what was wrong with them? At least, I finally understood the secret sadness in their eyes and disappointment hidden in the folds of their effervescence. Wrong world. Wrong parents. Wrong life. M&M never cared about the big house and upper crust neighborhood or the fancy schools and holidays in St. Moritz. They rejected the stuffy white-elite, cracker box universe others quickly sold their lives for. The loved the Thunderbird because it was a convertible, the top came down, there was no separation from the sun and wind and starlit skies, in a box but not locked in by the box. Rebels only because they loved life. If only they’d interviewed the cafeteria cooks, they would have set the record straight and said the girls always made them feel special.

The autopsy showed alcohol levels were high. I wondered what had tipped the scales that night; was it being marginalized for their largeness or their unbridled truth? Was it their indifference to prestige or had someone touched them without their consent? Why on such a beautiful night? Had the night sky distracted them or had they chosen to pull a Thelma and Louise and soar past the gated community that housed them? There were no skid marks. Had they been driven by the angst of knowing they’d never measured up, or did they simply want the noise to stop?

I made a pilgrimage to the place where M&M had met their death. Tucked inside a gash in the tree trunk I found a tiny piece of chrome that I clenched in my hand as I hugged the dented oak tree and implored M&M to talk to me. Minutes passed before I heard Mary’s voice tell me not to worry, they were much happier where they were.

“Keep on smiling,” Mary said, “and forget the rest of it.”

I wasn’t so sure I could. “Did you want to die?” I asked.

“No one wants to die,” she answered, “but it happens.”

The absence of attention to human life scared me. It was the first time I realized I could disappear, or die, and no one would care so I spent weeks going everywhere I knew they’d been, looking for traces, asking questions, listening to the silences wishing they’d show up but it was always only me; I’d have to figure it out alone.











How PORCUPINE COOKIES pulled me out of a catastrophic funk!

I’d been invited to a party but found myself wallowing in the waters of righteous self pity at seven in the morning. Even with coffee. What was the matter with me?

The phone rang. So early? It was the hostess of the party.
“What time you comin’ over, sugar?”
“I don’t know if I can make it.”
“Yeah, it’s kind of a weird day.”
” Come on, Tumbleweed, you’ll enjoy it. Besides, I absolutely want to see you.”
“I don’t know,” I hedged, “I don’t think so.”
“Please, please… pretty please?”
“I’m not feeling like party material.”  Party material? I dropped five floors deeper into funk.
“Well, you’ve got all day to rev your motors,” my friend said, “and we’ll be waitin’. It’s gonna be fun!”

Yeah, sure. I wasn’t feeling a match for the interesting and unusual people at her parties.  Hours passed as I moved from my comfy arm chair to my spacious couch, arm chair… couch, arm chair… couch. Then, it hit me like a thunderbolt. I’d become predictable and boring. Same old same old. I never changed it up. I was the delicious, deluxe salad girl and health nut. Yuk!

Time to reinvent. What about a dessert? Yes, I grinned, I used to bake delicious carrot cakes,  cookies, and brownies. My heart sank.  I hadn’t baked more than a baked potato in ten years and I couldn’t remember the last time I ate a dessert.

So what, I said, change it up! So, I googled desserts that didn’t require baking until I found the the one… PORCUPINE COOKIES… quick and easy, and, trust me, DECADENT! And, they were the rave of the evening!

Here’s the recipe:  Makes a dozen cookies… more or less

3/4 cup sugar
1 cup dates ( I pit and dice) – you can also substitute figs or apricots, or mix either with the dates for added taste
2 eggs beaten
1 tsp vanilla ( or other extract you desire – I used Rum)
1 cup chopped walnuts
1 cup flaky cereal (I used Nestle’s FITNESS for this batch but feel free to experiment and use what inspires you)
1 cup rice cereal ( I used Kellogg’s extra Chocolate and Nuts – bending the rules a bit )
1 1/2 cups flaked coconut


Mix sugar, dates and eggs together and cook over medium heat until the batter comes away from the sides of the pan – approx 5 mins
Take off heat
Add nuts and extract – stirring well
Add cereals slowly and mix well
Wet your fingers with warm water ( I keep a small bowl of it to use as needed) and make balls by rolling batter gently in your hands, then roll immediately in the coconut and set on tray.
When you’ve finished making the balls – or any shape you wish – then cover and put in refrigerator for several hours, take out before serving so they will be room temp for your guests.

For a gluten free version go here:


Falling Back Into Me

Keyholebridge Head

no longer rules my universe


no longer pieces of a social smorgasbord


no longer lying to keep the peace

Dead weight

all gone

My arms stretch wide and open

head back

falling away from the catastrophic dying game

into my everlasting dive

cascading through the lightness of Time

emptying the weights of thought

eliminating the drag of all uncertainties

that were never mine to begin with

Cutting loose the bullshit

false crosses burned with the warmth of natural sun

shedding the patents of lifetime betrayal

ripping off the shackles of limitations

brushing away the cheating rules

dissolving the expectations and obligations

Weaving instead

wondrous threads with my unique differences

remembering who I am

touching the earliest beginnings of me

playing inside belonging

being whole space

I am the lightness

I am the ease

falling, floating, swooning, soaring, swimming, singing

as I sign eternity with the breathtaking fullness that is me

A Poem (from my forthcoming book RICE)


Once upon a never time

Once up an ever time

Once upon whenever time

Dropping all the fairytales

and the dots that end sentences

Dropping the copycats

and pretty pretends

for footsteps dancing across my open, endless mind

my vistas, my silences, my sounds

letting my words

flow into verses


Slip out

I sing

Hey, over here

Safe harbor

over here

world citizen

over here

  home is over here

hey, over here I am

free of punctuation

old dresses and barricaded eyes

I see you

through my open door

barely standing

bones crooked

lost limp eyes

creviced lips

barely a breath

barely there

famished to the tip of your toes

 wafting left then wafting right

not knowing which way to go

hey, over here

I wave

my smile wrapping you in softness

easing your barely breathing

steadying your parched heart


your time

I say

feel the safety first

I say

fresh water is under the autumn tree


slough your crusts and water your skin

sip slowly as you listen to the once upon forever

take time

take your time

by the autumn tree water

shedding that cavalier whatever

and those musty never evers

fallen into no i can’t

it is forbidden

let it all go

under the fresh autumn waters

whispering without endings

forgiving the forgetting


when you feel ready


come in




Gentle butterfly with two feet


Do come in

And share your whispers without endings

Let me listen to your honest tales

It is safe to feel here

It is your time

to remember

the once upon forever

time to unwrap the cocoon

shed the chrysalis

and stretch your sinews

inside phrases without endings

now the cavalier whatevers

are gone

all those musty nevers

are gone

head to toe and fore to aft

even the no

is gone

your once upon forever

now unlocked

and you

butterfly with two feet

fresh legenda







Ah, ha, ha… what’s in a grain?


riceshoulderB copyWorlds. Worlds. Worlds.

What do we know about a grain of rice? If you want the nourishment, masticate well. Let the grain be encapsulated by your saliva in order to fully prepare it for digestion in the stomach and assimilation throughout your body.

Chew well. You will biologically connect with the substance of rice and your body will draw from that single grain the maximum potential nourishment it offers. Chew poorly and you miss the good stuff.

No two grains of rice are alike. The resilient, outer ivory covering protects the interior core where the vital elements lie. Take time to allow the external covering to soften -ripen- so your teeth can easily grind down and in to the rich core. Notice the multiple textures. Can you figure out how those textures blend in just the right way to give you the fullness of its potential – to nourish you substantially.

Together. Going the distance. Your saliva and the sequential diffusion of the grain. Allies for life.

Think about how similar we are to grains of rice… share your thoughts… and I’ll come back in a new post to join you in the savoury discovery!

Breaking Back into Life

bodytalk3Moses arrived in my office after a nine-hour, train ride looking disheveled and smelling of old cigarettes and undigested food. Nonetheless, his handshake was strong and steady, his eyes straightforward and warm, and Moses had an engaging smile except for his nicotine-coated teeth and puffy red gums. The room began to feel claustrophobic as he spilled his legacy of rotten life stories but what concerned me most was that his breathing became labored and his skin turned a deathly, ashen-gray. He was talking so fast his words ran together and beads of sweat bubbled across his brow. When the pasty white, broken line of pharmaceutical use appeared at the corners of his mouth I put my finger to my lips for silence and Moses stopped mid-word.

We sat, silent, for a couple of minutes. Energies settled.

“Don’t,” Moses said meekly “please don’t.”

“Don’t what?” I asked.

“Please don’t say that you can’t help me,” he replied.

“Your life sounds like a land fill. Where is Moses?”

Tears welled in his eyes as his fist hit his chest.

“Here, “ he said, lips trembling with conviction, “in here. Moses is in here.”

Four months later, Moses had stopped smoking, his skin had cleared, the inflamed gums were healthy pink, his diet had improved and his doctor had lowered the dosage of his anti-depressants. He’d been true to his word and held to our agreements so each session really clarified and strengthened his new leadership role in life.

One day, Moses was riding the stationary bicycle when I noticed his ankles had very little mobility so I instructed him how to pedal differently with his feet and include the ankle. This proved more challenging than expected and Moses grew agitated.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

“It’s my mother. She’s telling me not to jump. She looks so scared and she says if I jump I will surely die.”

He was eight and he’d obeyed her. Now, at forty-five the command was so well anchored in his ankles that his feet weren’t capable of a full range of motion. The more he tried to pedal correctly the tighter his ankles became and the stiffness crept up his legs. His calf muscles cramped.

When he remounted I told him to begin by pedaling backward. That wasn’t much better but his mother had stopped ranting. I wondered how many ways her remark had shaped the choices and outcomes in his life. As I watched him shift back to pedaling forward and wrestle with the fear and prohibition in his ankles I had an idea.

First I opened the double doors of my studio and then repositioned the bike facing the doors. Telling Moses that I wasn’t interested in how he pedaled, I asked him to take his hands off the bike and spread his arms wide.

“Look through the open doors to the world outside, and say, ‘Hello, world!’”

It was a tender sight to watch Moses’ struggle to coordinate speaking, pedaling and keeping his balance. Everything in the way he moved told me this was Moses, the eight-year old, learning to ride hands-free, his mother in the background telling him to be careful, watch out, slow down. Such angst. ‘Hello, world’ would be the last thing she’d expect to hear from his lips. Most likely, she saw the world was a dangerous place with threat lurking in the shadows, and she’d probably learned it from one of her parents, and they from theirs.

Sweat was making puddles around the bike as Moses teeter-tottered between ‘Hello, world!’ and a landslide of curse words as he searched for the magic combination of sound and motion that would free him.

“Tell eight-year old Moses you’ve got his back, you won’t let anything happen to him. Tell him you’re safe, you know what you’re doing,” I prompted.

Tears streamed down his face. His breath was short. He told little Moses everything was going to be okay. His ankles now moved freely every seventh or tenth turn, that gave him hope.

“Push through her,” I suggested as I raised the resistance enough that he’d have to use his entire body to move the pedals. He looked terrified. “She’s a thought,” I reminded him, “not your real mother.”

With growls and groans through gritted teeth, Moses gave everything he had to claim his physical freedom.

“Hello. Hello. Hello.” Over and over again, hunting for the right sound and connection, clearing the voices and pictures out of his head, totally invested in exorcising the specter forces holding him back, Moses literally transformed into a remarkable instrument of one, and in the blink of an eye, his ankles released giving the diaphragm freedom to release the rib cage by at least half a measure and his shoulders spread. His whole body moved as one seamless whole and his voice changed to baritone as he ushered the words, ‘Hello, world!’ out through the French doors to spacious skies and streets for everyone to hear. Any signs of fatigue had completely disappeared and, to my surprise and delight, Moses then burst into spontaneous song, and spilled a passionate, Italian aria into the streets.

Chaos in The House


IMG_1843   I entered the world in a sea of rejoicing. Yes, those sounds you call screaming were the sounds of my mother working with me – not against me – and I remember how much it helped and how warm and silken everything was as I slithered my way through to the light. I felt safe and whole and absolute. I loved being there. I had an unconditional trust. Then, we went home and things were never the same again. The naturalness was gone. Precarious, uncertain, tense, and scary had taken over. I did not understand – or like – this world.

Many, many times after changing locations I wondered if, somehow, I’d been switched to a different reality. I watched my family closely, looking for clues that they’d been ‘replaced’ by aliens. Where was my real mother? Why didn’t they like me? How did my ‘home’ so quickly turn into a boot camp of absolutes and expectations? Don’t get me wrong, I had ‘the good life’, great house, excellent food, good schools, the right neighborhoods, plenty of culture, travel and regular vacations; we lived a version of ‘the American dream’, I’ve even got picture to prove it, but… all that order in the house, all the rules of engagement, behavior modifiction, the duties that would turn me into an upstanding citizen one day – if I played my cards right – reduced my life to a highly-charged project: turn her into a worthy, respectable denizen. i

But, wait! I thought I was a worthy, wonderful being. Certainly, I was far stronger, wiser, and more insightful than anyone gave me credit for and I was already fully committed to fulfilling my life, I wasn’t going to waste my fabulous self on being ordinary. Did these people have any idea who I was? Why couldn’t they see me?

Why was I being ‘replaced’? Why was I being ‘framed’?

ImageSo, I grew up confused and uncomfortable in this new world and, as far back as I remember, my secret mission was to figure out what happened, how did humanity end up leading regrettable lives full of struggle, disappointment, dysfunction, pain, suffering, and disease when we were so fully capable of lives brimming with joy, health, well being, and thriving? Even the most popular kids weren’t able to keep up appearances one hundred percent of the time. Oh, it was so excruciating to watch them crack because the agony of their fall from grace to despair was far worse than those of us who’d kept some slack in our choke collars. Sometimes it made me feel safe to be a failure; who wanted to live with the pressures of that kind of fame? I had a better idea. I knew sometimes I toed the line with slouch, I knew I could have done so much better – but why, what was the point?  With love, warmth, and authentic smiles attached to performance, accomplishments, and approval ratings Life had been reduced to winners and losers, you were in or you were out, a prince or a frog, beauty or beast, and this was toxic, painful, hurtful and unjust. It was turning us against ourselves, slow suicide, I wanted none of it. My protest was my self-preservation. I knew  because I’d watched my self: when it mattered – and I mean really mattered – I dove in, pulled my share and even doubled up with others, time didn’t matter, age didn’t matter, place didn’t matter. I gave my all and then some, and then I rejoiced. It felt so good.

Why should I betray my own humanity to make society comfortable? Is that fair? I came to live out loud, to wake up excited to spend my life in the exercise of worthy experiences and causes that enliven, enhance and elevate us all.

Didn’t you?

When money gets out of the way…

bread crumbs

Early Sunday morning I set out to walk to Benalmadena pueblo for fresh bread. Winds were strong; I love how they briskly sweep my energy field clean and refresh my cells. To fight the cold my pace was swift and clipped a good ten minutes off the forty-minute walk.

I discovered this panaderia (bakery) during my early explorations of this area when I arrived. The bread is savory, and I was caught off guard when they added a small bun the first time.

“No, no, thank you, I don’t need that,” I said.

“For your child,” she suggested. I shook my head. “What about the birds?” she asked.

“Oh, okay,” I said thinking about the wonderful birds I watched riding the afternoon winds. I could squash it into breadcrumbs they’d enjoy eating. Yes, that idea delighted me.

After that, it became my official bread store. There were other bakers and bread store in town but I felt partial to this one and, as time went on, I’d discover they sold fresh eggs and garden-fresh, local veggies.

This time I entered the store after a long absence and that immediately responded to the sense of welcoming. The server was chatting with a customer about a series of misfortunes that had befallen mutual friends and I noticed she was trying to ease out of the conversation and take my order but I signaled her to take her time. I wasn’t in a rush; in fact, I was just happy to be there. As the stories found their natural ending, I reached into the pouch of my knapsack for my coin purse only to find it wasn’t there. How could I have forgotten to put it in when I’d counted my coins that very morning?

“What’s wrong?” she asked watching me grope the knapsack in case I’d put it in another spot.

“I forgot my purse,” I answered.

“Tranquilla,” she said, “no problem. I’ll make a note. You pay next time.”


She opened her hands. Duh.  “Of course,” she said.

“Thank you, so much,” I said, loading the loaves in my knapsack. “How much?”

“Three euros and seventy-five cents. I’ll put the receipt here,” she pointed to the register,” and when you come back it’s here.”

I’ll come tomorrow.”

“No hurry. Next time you come for bread is okay,” she said with an easiness I knew to mean she trusted me.

I left the store feeling light as a feather. My mind raced. My heart soared. People-to-people trust, that was so cool. Her world did not live or die around three loaves of bread. I wasn’t told  ‘it’ll be here waiting’ and sent off empty-handed. This woman trusted me – and I wasn’t even a daily customer. She understood, things happens, an oversight isn’t the end of the world, we stitch it in to the fabric of life. God, it felt good; no, better, it felt human and I realized how much I missed that simple daily kindness although, like Pavlov’s puppy, I vowed to repay her the very next day.

“No hurry,” she said again. I heard her but I was already running interference on the listening.

I was far too well trained in the virtuous, honorable – and politically correct thing to do - to glean the message in her words.

There is no hurry. I hurried anyway. Making sure I had my coin purse I walked back to town to pay my debt. The panaderia must be empty, I thought, seeing the server leaning against the door with folded arms. And, when our eyes met, she looked tired, or was it peeved?

“You must be thinking only of the money,” she queried as we entered. Her eyes looked sad. Her voice was disappointed. “I said it was okay.”

“I know,” I said, unzipping my coin purse, “your willingness to trust me meant more than you can know,” I said in pigeon Spanish. “That doesn’t happen every day. I really appreciated it.”

“But you are here today,” she said with a disappointed shrug.”You think only about the money.”

I didn’t know what to say so I slid the four euros a few centimeters closer to her. She counted it and asked if it was exact. That’s when I realized there was no receipt.

“Yes, exact,” I lied. And, as I left, I wondered why I didn’t tell the truth. For twenty-five cents? Did it matter? Or was I ashamed?

You think only about the money… only about the money… As I wandered home, I wondered why I didn’t wait to pay until I went back for bread, why rush it? My head spun circles around her generous act. Why had I cut that generosity short?

Quite innocently, I’d missed the point. I’d overlooked the depth of gesture. It wasn’t ever about money. It had never been about the money, my purchase had never been recorded, there was no receipt. The fact I’d forgotten my coin purse proved to be her opportunity… to teach me what?

What had she learned about me in the days I visited their store?

I had a dream

Birthday Crown

When I was ten I had a Cinderella dream. You see, word was out that Ringo Starr was looking for a wife and he was coming to my home town. I adored Ringo, his huge nose, his fingers covered in rings, and his unkempt, motley look. My young heart told me he was good and kind, and the papers said he wasn’t looking for just anyone, he wanted someone real, someone who could be loyal and true. That opened the doors of opportunity to me.

Well, women lined the streets – and I was among them. I’d never known women came in so many different shapes and sizes and ages, the competition was terrifying, but at the end of the day, around 5pm he stood in front of me. Our eyes met. I blushed. He looked surprised to see me, I remember that, and we didn’t speak. Ringo sort of pawed a foot against the pavement as he tried to figure out what he was going to to. We didn’t say a word. People said, “Don’t.” Some said, “She’s too young!” and my mind shot them dead. I wasn’t too young, ten was just a human number, and I wanted to be loved as much as they did. Ringo heard the voices and he looked back across the line of beautiful women wondering what this man would do. And then he took my hand and asked my name. I told him. His large lips parted with an awkward smile. He’s shy, that was somehow a huge relief, I saw his vulnerability and smiled inside.

“You’re the one,” he said in his sexy, cockney accent.
“Will you have me, luv?”
I swallowed hard. “Are you sure it’s me you want?”
“Aye,” he answered, “you.”

And, then he took my hand and walked me past all those other women no longer as beautiful as before, perfumed with anger and disdain, how could he be such a fool, what a moron! The ugly jealousy felt like disease hung in the air. I was scared. He sensed it and put his arm around me. I wondered what my parents would say.

“No! You absolutely will not marry him! Now, go to your room, scat!” That’s what they said.
“No,” I cried.
“They have a point,” Ringo said softly, “it’s really not a pretty life. Another time, luv, another time.” And, then he slipped away.

I crawled to my room and cried and cried and cried. How could they deny me love and deprive me of my dream? Why didn’t they give me acting lessons? Why wouldn’t they let me sing and set me free? And so, I climbed down the holly tree outside my window and ran to Ringo.

“Please,” I cried, “take me with you, I’ll be good, I promise, I’ll make you proud.”
He smiled so sweetly. I knew he understood and my heart soared. Then, he shook his tussled head and lifted my chin with his ring clad fingers. Our eyes met.

“Don’t go and push the river,luv, it might just overflow. Stay safe, take time to grow, there’s plenty of time for the rest of us, trust me.”

I watched the limo pull away. I watched the limo become a dot and then a memory. I had no idea what his words meant. Only time would explain it all.

I climbed back up the holly tree and pulled the princess-pink, satin coverlet over me as I snuggled my teddy bear.
“I don’t understand this world,” I said. “I don’t even know for sure if I like it.”


in gentle reflection of P S Hoffman’s death





The food crazies are driving me nuts. Vegan. Macrobiotic. Vegetarian. Raw. Slow. Carnivore. Light. What ever happened to natural hunger and simple eating?

Let’s get practical for a minute.  Our bodies require nutrition and we need to eat what nurtures us, gives us energy, makes us healthy, and allows us to sustain activity. Your body is not my body but we all need a food supply that satisfies our physical organism and NOT our indoctrinated minds.

Everyone knows that fast food isn’t nourishing although it may be TEMPORARILY cost-effective for the pocket-book.  Down the road you find that crap has adversely affected your body and now you’ve got life-threatening issues like high cholesterol and trans fats, heart disease, obesity, digestive problems, depression, and pain. Once that roller coaster begins fast food ceases to be cost-effective and instead becomes a DEADLY threat.

Yes, I am aware of the financial crisis. I am also aware that the FDA certifies substances into the mainstream that ‘inadvertently’ kill us, slowly and faultlessly, so they are never legally to blame. So, we need to pay attention and get kick-ass smart.  More on that in a moment …

First, I need to address the meat vs. veggies war.  When vegans, in all their glorified, disgust for meat, end up producing fast foods and selling facsimile hamburgers, hot dogs, and cheeses both their ranting and their ratings take a dive.  My vegan friends tell me it’s only a name and a shape but it helps sell product. Isn’t that deceptive advertising?  Aren’t they conning people? Not really, I’m told, it’s for the greater good, all the ingredients are organic.  So, a vegan can eat a vegan hamburger, hot dog, or cheese pizza but I cannot eat a grass-fed, open field cow’s hamburger? Does that seem fair?

 Ever heard a plant sing?

 Ever seen evidence that plants fear humans?

Sure, you can question the validity of Damanhur or Backster, skepticism is vital because everything in our world is shadowed in pros and cons, and scientific bias, just consider how many statistics are time sensitive yet remain in our culture for months, years, even decades later as strategic beliefs and influences in our lives.

 However, I remember lying in the tall grasses as a child listening to the sounds they made with the wind, feeling my body safely supported by the warm earth, and quickly falling asleep, fearless, timeless, just me and them, and when I awoke I was conscious that I’d been nudged awake.  When I was feeling alone and misunderstood, I always lie in the grass and talk to one blade in particular; it would identify itself to me because I was ‘listening’ for it. And, many years later, I was out walking and I heard a tulip tell me I needed to contact a client – urgently. Although skeptical, I made the call and found I was just in time to prevent a threatening situation from escalating. Today, I am aware my plants indicate where they wish to be located in my home and which other plants they prefer nearby. Much the same way, I thank the fish, chicken, or bovine, for sharing their nutrition with me, I also thank the vegetables I relish, even the plants I’m taking my herbs from. 

Did you ever stop to think that your face gets exercise when you let your lips, teeth, tongue, and jaw, masticate thoroughly? Teeth are born to chew and it’s a sensual pleasure for the gums and soft tissues as well. The more you chew the more your saliva prepares the food properly for digestion in the stomach and more effective disbursement of the nutritional values to your whole body. THIS is where we can become kick-ass smart.  The more you chew your food the more satisfaction you guarantee your body AND that creates this cost effective equation: 

LESS food + THOROUGHLY masticated = EXPEDIENT nutrition.


You really do want to take time to take care of your self. You are important. Your body is a vibrant, intelligent organism that speaks – if you will listen. Society isn’t going to properly train you to listen. It’s going to give you fads and beliefs and statistics, it’s going to berate you and then furnish solutions to build you back up – but your body, OMG, your body knows EXACTLY what you need and will point out what’s best. Unlike society, best is not necessarily big, costly, or chic but it’ll be vital and useful and yummy. Guaranteed.

Follow my lead:


  1. RIPE. Buy fruits and vegetables that look alive. Choose wisely.
  2. SAVORY. Buy grass-fed meats WITHOUT steroids. Remember, not too much gristle but a few lines of fat mean flavorful and tender.
  3. TIME SENSITIVE.  If you don’t stock the fridge you won’t stalk the fridge. Buy for 1- 3 days.  No extras or excesses. Take what you need and make sure it uplifts and inspires you.
  4. NO SWEETS.  Don’t set yourself up for trouble. If you want a sweet, or dessert, then you really want that sweet NOW, not tomorrow. Put it to the test. If you really want a sweet then treat yourself to it, make it a special occasion and find the pastry store where you can get EXACTLY what you desire. Savor it rather than devour it. Enjoy eating it without shame or self-deprecation. In this way, when you are through eating so is the need for sweets.
  5. LISTEN. Eat what your intelligent body asks for. Listen. Usually, it’s not what you’ve been trained to eat, or want.
  6. CHEW. Discover the sensual art of mastication and take eating to a whole new – organic – dimension.  No more cravings. No more picking in-between meals. No more hungers.
  7. PREPARE your own foods. The more active you are in the preparation of your food the more your whole organism is conscious of what it will ingest and can efficiently prepare all interactive systems to fully enjoy the upcoming meal.
  8. SAY THANK YOU. When we think of dying we consider offering useful organs in our body to serve others. We know we’ve got a living value to pass on. Well, so do the plants and animals we devour. They provide us with the fuel of life. We’d hope our donation was appreciated so let’s reciprocate and thank them for what they donate to us.