I’ve been nesting. Deeply. Since summer. I rarely leave home. Sometimes it gets hard around here. But mostly I can deliver myself to the poem of it. Life, I mean. And love. And musica. I keep redesigning my dining room. There are so many things in my house that I have collected over the years that are gone and destroyed. People came in and took things and moved things and painted haphazardly over walls and broke pottery and stole tons of little items and put holes in nearly every piece of clothing that I owned. And I got the bedroom and the dining room and the kitchen painted in winter 2021 with my stimulus money and now it’s partly destroyed again by my ex-husband because the walls and ceilings peeled and he painted them with white paint instead of matching the paint and doing it right like I asked him to. He’s owned the house since I was in the hospital in 2018 so he gets to do what he wants. Oh God, if you only could really see the things that happen to me. It’s not just a monthly shot. It is so many details you’d be shocked. Not anymore really. But nothing has gone away from back then at all. But like I said, I’ve been nesting. I take my very limited social security income every month since July and I improve my house. I got all new linens and all new clothes. I have an extra bedroom with lots of things that are waiting to be thrown away but most of it is already gone. The mountains are still ancient. So are the trees. And one day a few weeks ago there were two huge hawks with white and tawny/rose feathered chests across the street and an eagle flying in the sky as I sat on the front porch early in the morning. I don’t know why the sky is so blue. But I do know what I am in love with. And most of it is still deeply separated from me. Because I can’t see it or touch it or move into it or experience it fully. But I can hear it and sense it and love it with all my heart. How about you? I did have a wonderful Christmas and Thanksgiving. But the world was still divided into two for me. Now it is 2023. And all of this started in 2017. That is six years of time. And also 22 years since the beginning. Well, my daughter is almost 23. So I’d have to say twenty-three years have gone by and I am still working on it. And I know what it is more than ever now. It’s like full-time mountains and trees and music. But somehow God still expects me to be part-time wounded. Mountains and trees and music have a different language than people do. So do condors and hawks and eagles and mockingbirds. And their language abounds in my life in ways that I can see and hear daily. Where are you still? Not on my email. Maybe or maybe not in my sight. My heartline is full. Permanently full. And I know it. My bank account is empty. It is already the second of the month, so the money is spent and spoken for. Okay? Do you know where you are going to? Do you like the things that life is showing you? Where are you going to, do you know? I do know, yes. And I love those mountains that sing, and those houses that sing, too and I can move a mountain when a mountain moves in me. And the mountain is constantly moving in me. When I wake up I know what I want to be I want to be the one that wakes up next to you. And I would walk five hundred miles and I would walk five thousand miles just to do it. And I have. And I still do. Daily. From my turquoise chair in my terra cotta painted dining room with the orange lily painting on the wall and the nests on the desk and from the back of my lyft cab and from my chair in the consulting room at the pharmacy where I go every four weeks to get my shot. Because I am expected to. And because I am not going to lie down and do nothing. It is simply not my way, even though I have been forced into it millions of times by the hospital and covid and being on endless disability instead of having an opportunity to participate in the world again as a successful person. There must be a plan here. Even though I have been convinced at times that the plan is 2018 or 2022 and it wasn’t either of those things. Are you quite bored with me, yet? It is rather endless and everlasting. I am totally aware. It’s not what has been expected. And I am still expecting. And I wouldn’t begin to go into what that means here. So, I just choose not to write at all for you anymore. But here I am writing again. Nothing new to say. Shots, cab rides, a world of love and a world of barely existing. Which is true to you? Well, my blog says I have five of you that follow me. So, alas. But facebook says I am unlimited. Or at least it did a long time ago. I don’t know. I’m done with it. I am not done with you unless you want me to be. But I have moved onto something else. I am writing A Rooted Nell, Too. And I am concentrating on family, houses and music. No coaching, no law (please, what am I but the one that goes into the system repeatedly against my will to deliver the law with my very own body and life circumstances?), no consulting, very little blogging and I have written all my programs already. Just music, beautiful houses, family and a book about saying yes to the moon, the cycles and the seasons. That’s about it, peoples. We have passed into the new year. I don’t really know how that feels to me. I can no longer count on 22 with my daughter and her math. And I’ve never been able to count on the goddess. Because she’s something of the mystery constantly even though she speaks real pretty most of the time these days. I still lie down a lot. But I rarely leave love. I am devout and devoted. Are you, as well? Well, nevermind. I made borscht yesterday. And I already ate nine bowls. So, let me either lie down or sit in my chair once again and check back in with the sight. There is little to say but there is so much to say. Does that make sense to you? It probably does. Okay, the five of you, let’s agree to talk someday. When faith allows for it. Happy New Year, my friends. We shall overcome this another old lang syne someday. Not in 2022, obviously. I’ve got nothing on 2023. Thanks, love, peas, carrots and some homemade general tso’s tofu with short grain brown rice. The best that we can hope for is everything beautiful. We just don’t know when.