the cat.

Yep. Thats what we call her. The cat actually came from the shelter five years ago with the name Zazu (from the Disney-animated film “The Lion King.”) After a few glasses of wine one evening we began changing her name to Vanetta-Patina (long story).

The name “cat” stuck. She answers to it. It’s easy. And we still drink wine.

Zazu first shot



Happy New Year 2016! So Natalie Cole died today. At 65, this velvet throated song goddess fell off the face of the earth. Apparently plagued with health issues for months. Years. She “succumbed” to them and just left.

I obsess about death more often than most. I’m thinking that’s how it works. Born in a minute or two. Dead in the same. I mean the process of death can linger longer, but the actual act of dying is minutes. Seconds. 

Seems somehow trite that we get this seemingly expansive chunk of time to work with. Time enough to pay bills. Fix things. Fix a few people. Create relationships. Drink coffee, beer and maybe wine. And sometimes we get to sing. 

Mortality at my age is looming. Not on my lap mind you, but certainly in the same area. It’s like he’s staring at me from the very back of a doctor’s waiting room. Like a toddler who stares at a man with one leg. It’s cute. Innocent almost. Then easily distracted by a sudden burst of laughter or a bag of peanut M&Ms. 

I often feel the need to constantly throw mortality a bone. A carrot. I’m always tirelessly thrusting images of me evolving. Growing. Learning. Of not just sitting on a sofa waiting to go. I subconsciously (or quite purposefully) want Le Morte to forget about me. Skip over me and move on to someone else.

And then I see. He does.

This time.


in morning.

The morning belongs to dreamers.

Who watch the world come alive

Through sleep-blurred eyes.

Before the doers wake

As dreams are born

In heaven’s promise and coffee’s warmth.

Hidden light plays with shapes

As lack of motion echos sound

Sky’s puzzled pieces shift and slide 

A dizzying dance

As wispy clouds whisper

Together. Then apart.

While doers still slumber

planets and stars glisten

as they shine on faith,

And hues of blues

Paint the day with promise

And with hope.

As bedroom lamps

blink on.

The world


And dreams begin in morning’s light.