where's the f*cking portal?

 

September 12 • 2025

For the record, I'm coming off a minute of frothing over posts on Instagram about the murder of a racist purveyor of hate who is now the latest martyr for the cult. While doing laundry and emailing students, I'm intermittently scrolling and posting poems about guns in America and how maybe children should be honored for laying down their lives to protect the 2nd amendment. Emails about marches and protests and pleas for donations to fight fascism keep rolling in and then I remember I forgot to put fresh water in the dog's dish. Which is outside because that's the only place she'll drink water. I get it. 

Follow your weird, Daisy the dog.

I'm wondering where the f*ck is the portal which was all the rage this past Tuesday, September 9, which just happened to be my birthday. It was a 999 day with 2025 adding up to the final 9. Numerology is a thing in my family. It's how we deal with aging. I turned four this birthday which feels about right. I spent hours in the sandbox, spaced out, making roads for our collection of matchbox cars and giving zero thought to my thighs. It's feeling like a portal. 

 My four-year old sandbox self. 

Maybe the portal was me and Daisy walking on Topanga Boulevard this morning. Waiting for the light, I saw a West Hills Towing truck across the street. The driver was gazing at me. Yes, it was a gaze. In this tiny pocket of time, we had a gaze-fest, which prompted us to smile at each other which prompted him to open his window which prompted me to shout, "Have a great day," as the light turned green. He gave me a peace sign and drove away. 

Portal-like, right?

Bring on the portals. They're everywhere.

A doorway, a gate? A way in, way out? 

An entrance to more gazing and waving, more peace signs. 

 love, b xo

Note: Could be a portal in my back pocket where the very cool blue photo at the top of this page was taken. 🌀

we will not break

 

April 2 • 2025

At the end of last summer, it was discovered that my heart was broken. Meaning I had aortic stenosis and no way around it, would need to replace the valve. Or, in another year, maybe two tops, I'd die from heart failure. I had little to no symptoms, except for a slowing down of my usual energy, and sometimes shortness of breath when hoofing it up the hill with Daisy the dog. The steep hill that previously had been no big deal.

Fast forward to last Wednesday when I had what's called a TAVR, replacing the tired, constricted valve with a new one by snaking it up through my groin. Ten years ago, I'd have gone under the knife (or saw?) through open-heart surgery. Instead I came home the next day, resting and reading and a few days later walking Daisy. 

This is the miracle of science and medicine and research. 

Another heartbreak is where we are right now.

Every day, it gets worse and I wonder, how can we be here. 

A month ago, I hammered out a rough draft called: 

I ended up not sharing because of technical difficulties + also because the more I wrote, the more I wanted to break something. We are living in the middle of an active coup.  The current "administration" is dismantling every good thing.  MAGA foreheads remain on the floor, boot licking continues. It's shocking. The very people who get lifetime health benefits paid for by the American people are set on destroying our very way of life, as long as it's not theirs. 

This is not hyperbole. They are trying to break us.

But you know this. It's the cruelty that is killing me. Us. 

But we are not broken. And today, for the first time since I came home last week, I feel a sliver of hope. Besides the people protesting, marching, shutting down Tesla dealerships, I'm feeling the light from the amazing 25 hour and 4 minute filibuster by Senator Cory Booker of New Jersey. I am buoyed by his integrity, stamina, intellect, and huge heart. Compassionate heart. As my husband said this morning, Senator Booker put a boot on the neck of segregationists like the racist Strom Thurmond, who filibustered in 1957 trying to defeat the Civil Rights Act and "held the record" at 24 hours and 18 minutes. Thurmond had a bathroom break and read the encyclopedia.

Senator Booker never left the podium, never sat down. He read letters from Americans imploring him to bring the fight. One letter from a Chippewa Falls, Wisconsin voter.

Which brings me to Wisconsin. Despite spending millions of dollars and buying people off, and looking like the ignorant fool that he is, Elon Musk in a cheese head, Wisconsin voters did not bend the knee. The Honorable Susan Crawford will be seated on the Wisconsin Supreme Court. This matters. 

Every ray, every sliver of light that we can bring to this fight, we must. 

After last week's procedure and all my fear around it, I thought I'd feel chipper, upbeat. But I felt low. Nervous with this new thing in my body, scared that I was going to break somehow. But I woke this morning and felt lifted. We will not break. 

all my love,

B 🐝

i didn't have to do anything

December 1 • 2024

I don't know what to write about except this surprising thing. I remember the sensation clearly. The parachute was tacked to the ground on the hill overlooking Plainfield. All I had to do was lay down on top of the white cloth and let it lift me in the air. The way it lifted me in the air, floating, flying, me doing nothing at all but giving into the softness of it all. A puff of wind lifted me high, a large hand holding this small human. 

Blue sky above me. 

It lay me down on the ground, a green leaf landing on the grass.

My beloved brother was there. 

I remember that too.

The miracle:

I didn't have to do anything to make it happen.

xo b

[There's a photo somewhere of that time in Vermont. I'll look for it]

we waved to everyone

 

Maybe it's September

maybe it's another birthday

maybe it's the full moon, gold coin in the night sky

tiny bats flitting overhead

bunnies still as statues near the Mexican sage

Waving to a dog walker across the street

I remembered the ride Jesse and I took down from Vermont.

We decided early on to wave to everyone:

People on front porches, at traffic lights, 

The whole way down the New York State Thruway,

truckers smiling back at us in their 18-wheelers,

Route 84 west into Pennsylvania, through historical Milford, and

the two-lane road surrounded by forest,

 and the Delaware River on our left,

we waved to everyone. 

xo b

it's a wide net

September 3 • 2024

The last time I was here (February 29th of this year), I was restless, writing about falling back into the waiting arms of strangers = one of those trust exercises 😳, needing to leap, but not like people in squirrel suits jumping off cliffs. 

Anyway, I was feeling pretty squirrely.

What does squirrely mean?

Squirrely is a slang term meaning eccentric, flighty, or slightly odd, as in There was something squirrely about the way the suspect gave his alibi.

- dictionary.com

Yes, like that, except without the need for an alibi. 

My daughters will attest to this as back in Pennsylvania, this squirrely energy would sometimes result in a big-ass bonfire in our back yard. We had a sweeping back yard with many trees. Branches were always falling from wind and storms. Sometimes I'd get struck, like lightning in a way, and go out and start a roaring fire in the middle of the day. This was not a let's make s'mores fire. Clearly it was the outer manifestation of my turbulent insides. 

Claire, help me carry this old dresser out. It's falling apart. Time to burn this baby.

Jesse, lift the other side of this old table. It's done for. Let's burn it.

Or, they'd find their mother in the far back of the yard, pitchfork in hand, tending to a blazing fire and throwing the ball for Chewy, our beloved dog. 

Last night I felt a tad squirrely.

But now I live in Southern California. I don't make fires. California, home of the stunning Pacific Ocean, canyons, redwoods, and raging wildfires. With darkness cooling things down, I went out into the backyard (postage stamp) and moved (more like muscled) the wobbly garden table and dusty pots to a different location, raked leaves fallen from the dry lemon and mulberry trees, + enjoyed an ice cold beer under the smattering of stars when it was all done. 

I'm back here, all these months later. 

Every day I make a list because I like lists.

Today's list included:

Write a blog, it can be really short, about nothing special. 

Part of my restlessness has to do with not showing up here. Simply connecting with you, dear reader. Even if it's just one, that is one more than if I didn't share. Waiting for something special or magical to strike ain't happening. Write about the dog. Or the way my girls still laugh when they remember me like a crazy woman at the bonfire. Write about how you can't believe this is a razor-thin election. Or don't write about that. Write about the woman who walks in the mornings when you're walking Daisy, the new dog. How she's bent over looking at the road, and yet, she's out there pumping her arms and moving. Write about how it feels to have another birthday coming up. The privilege of it. And ticking of the clock of it.

Squirrels, leaping, bonfires, art, clearing the clutter, writing, walkers.

It's a wide net, this being alive. 

love,

b

Like a Human Feather

 

February 29, 2024

What I mean by leap is being on the edge of a cliff, being one of those people wearing a flying squirrel outfit, arms spread wide. Leaping catching the wind currents, flying. And somehow, miraculously not plunging to the hard rocky ground below.

What I mean by leap is that game, leap frog. One person squatting down and another, gently putting their hands on the back of the crouching person and hopping, leaping, over them. Then that frog jumping up and repeating the hop/leap. And on and on. 

What I mean by leap is that saying, Leap and the net will appear. This reminds me of a teacher staff development I went to years ago. It was one of those trust building/ropes courses. I remember being up on a platform looking down at a group of people in two rows facing each other, arms locked together like a ladder on its side. I was supposed to turn around and fall back into their human net of arms. In those days, (and sometimes still) I felt the other shoe was going to drop any minute so trusting people to catch me was questionable. 

Everyone was smiling up at me, waiting. Some part of me said, okay and I turned around, took a breath, and fell back like a kid in deep snow about to make a snow angel. I landed in arms that held me. No shoes had dropped. Just me, like a human feather.

One more thing from that day. My other mission was to climb up a pole, another ladder-type thing, walk across a log, thirty feet up, to the other side. I was hooked to a safety rope, maybe wearing a helmet too. I can still see myself pleading with David, our soft-spoken leader, that  I didn't think I could do it. I was a person riddled with anxiety pretty much every day. It had inhabited me and wouldn't leave. 

David looked me in the eye and said, "I hear you. Trust me. Start climbing."

I climbed and walked across the log high up in the air. My human net people were smiling up at me, again. I remember, vividly in my body, as I write this - walking across the log high up in the air and making it to the other side. A shoe didn't drop. I didn't hit the hard ground. And, as soon as I was back on the ground, I wanted to do it again. I was the kid, jumping off the edge of the pool landing safely in my father's arms. 

I remember that. 

Just doing it. 

Leaping.

This past month, maybe longer, I've been feeling a restlessness to leap. I have zero idea what that means. I can't force it, or figure it out. I don't know. All in right time.

I do know this, for sure. You won't find me in squirrel gear on the edge of a cliff. 

Namaste, lovelies.

XO Bets

like a bowling ball

 

December 24 • 2023 🎄

We had homemade cookies for breakfast + might have more delicious carrot cake for dinner since today is Michael's birthday, our Christmas Eve baby. On top of carrots, the cake has raisins and nuts and all kinds of nutritious things. 🙃 Claire has been baking all weekend and there's more to come tomorrow. Sticky buns w/ mimosas? I will officially be a weeble by the end of the holiday season, rolling around like a bowling ball, or something like that. 

•.  •.  •.  •.  •.  •.  •.  •   •.  •.  •.  •   •.  •   •   •   •.  •

⛄️ 🎄 ♥️

XO b