Recently, I discovered a new, favorite local eatery called Sun in my Belly. How awesome a name is that? Their literature says they went with that name because legend says when Picasso was asked how he created art, he said: "Sun in my belly." I have always instinctively been drawn to Picasso, and now? I'll always be instinctively drawn to this restaurant's challah french toast stuffed with ricotta and served with brown sugared berries and maple syrup. Those mad kitchen geniuses had me at challah french toast.
But I digress.
Picasso actually said, "the sun is a thousand rays in your belly. The rest is nothing." Then he encouraged people to steal.
Later in my Picasso Google research project, I tripped into a lovely, sweet book called "The Sun in My Belly" by Thich Naht Hanh, about two little girls who get into a fight over a ball. They separate and become miserable without one another until they realize we are all connected, and forgiveness and being together are so much better than petty fights over impermanent things.
I love that. And so you know what? I pulled a Picasso and stole it, all of it, to name this blog. Yes I did.
Now, onto some beginning business.
What this blog is:
A place of irreverant, often incoherent personal life observations. A place to mourn my life, and spew my rejoices.
Educationally sound and un-sound opinions and experiences.
Occasional liberal political rants that may be well-researched but most likely are just pulled out of my butt like every commie pinko earth mama-wannabe socialist Obamacare-lover in her right mind is wont to do.
Shocking (shocking!) combinations of religious and spiritual ideas and beliefs that may or may not mix well. A deep lack of caring what James Dobson and Pat Robertson (and their minions of fans) have to say about that, or about me.
Ass crazy parenting practices and theories I possess that I'm actually perfectly okay having, even if I'm wondering out loud on a blog if I'm perfectly okay having. Because I started this blog to spew cathartically, not to seek parenting advice. Since I'm not here to give it. Go mess up your own kid(s) in your own way with all my blessings; we're good on messed up over here already with or without anyone else's disapproval.
Writing. Or mourning the my refusal to consistently carve out time to write.
Books I'm reading. (See writing.)
What this blog is not:
A place of judgment and condemnation. I've got enough chinks in my chi already, thanks.
A focused blog. I don't have time to stick to one topic. The world is too, too wild and big.
Updated daily (see focused, above). (I do plan to update at least weekly.)
A blog with entries of 140 characters or less. Reason #1 I don't twitter: my head will explode. Asking me to keep what's in my brain to 140 characters or less is like asking a polar bear to survive in a sub-tropical rainforest (yes yes, LOST fans, I know. And my head totally exploded when they revealed that sub-tropical polar bear side plot which is when I immediately got off that LOST plane ride. Tropical polar bears are an excellent example here.)
I think I'm okay if no one comments on or visits this blog. Because I talk to myself in the shower, while driving, in the midst of cleaning (rare but it does happen--the cleaning, not the self-talking), and sometimes right smack dab in the middle of grocery stores, contemplating which brand of organic peanut butter to buy. In fact, I've had whole arguments--out loud--with myself that have started on Monday morning and lasted well into Tuesday evening.
Which is why blogging is a perfect outlet for my purposes. Blogs let you scream at the world, out loud, to be met with silence. Just like at the grocery store in the peanut butter aisle! Awesome.