Since starting this blog I've been asking myself what I want to write about. I've realized that I would like to use this blog as a jumping off point just to see what comes out of me. If I sense a theme coming on, I will start a new blog. So for now, Peanut Butter Basquiat is a mosaic of whatever comes to me.

Last night I went to a writing workshop that a new friend (in my neighborhood!) hosted. What follows are some samples of what came out of me.

There is a deep sense of peace that I've found. It's been here all along, and I've known it, but somehow didn't trust it. Until my mother died. It's almost shameful to say, but at the same time it's absolutely not. I keep reminding myself of all the things I miss about her, and I DO miss her,but for all except the last year of my life, I've missed me.

And another sample..

The fog makes me feel extremely content. Especially (but not only) when I get to be home. Especially (but not only) on a weekend when it's morning and the house smells like pancakes and coffee and my kids and I are in our pajamas and in no hurry to get anywhere. I like to play with them, sip my coffee, look at the paper and giggle at the silly dance they've performed to get my attention. I love living in the hills when I look out the window, seeing nothing but trees and the mystical-seeming fog floating around and blocking out everything in the world that is not central to my love. The fog has a way of heightening my senses -- music sounds crisper, blankets feel cozier, breathing feels more nourishing.

One more..

There's an astronaut who lives in my house. He used to be a little bear, but that was another time. Though sometimes, when his curiosity has taken him out into the wasteland of rage, and he must negotiate the foliage of his fear, he must alone find his footprints that lead him back up the hillside to the place where again he can steady his pulse, and look in my eyes, and gently touch my eyelashes until again he's my little bear.