“Hey Bubble” A moment in time where now fully vaxxed, I whisk a bestie away for a mini adventure down by the sea. A bestie whom I sometimes endearingly nickname bubble- and whose superstar dog I also sometimes call bubble-who both have also comprised the entirety of my COVID bubble, and in this moment of newfound and slightly daunting freedom we find ourselves walking into a sea of…bubbles. What a year. What a friendship. What a thing a bubble be. Bubbles can be made of dish soap and formed from wind and rope by some dude dispensing fleeting moments of joy, for a tip. They can be formed in global pandemics with someone you can truly trust with your life when suddenly other people- even those you know and love – can through no fault of their own, or through denial, become a threat to your personal safety. Bubbles can hold an emergency trip to the vet for a dog that somehow one fateful night beats all the odds and continues to exceed expectations. Bubbles include emergency blasting of the Peter Gabriel song from the John Cusak movie from my car and across an unsuspecting street. And the witnessing of the precise moment the Christmas lights turned on at Christmas Tree Lane; the loud Aahhhh that spontaneously followed in stereo. There’s falling on the ground in tears after our first CDC sanctioned hug. The moment realizing that it was mini bubble’s first time experiencing the ocean. Bubbles can be the effervescent people we love who encapsulate joy like onomatopoeia in motion. The gratitude they inspire might very well keep a heart open long after the dude with the soapy rope packs up for the day. I thank everything holy for my…bubble. Hey, Bubble. Hey.
“Hey Bubble” A moment in time where now fully vaxxed, I whisk a bestie away for a mini adventure down by the sea. A bestie whom I sometimes endearingly nickname bubble- and whose superstar dog I also sometimes call bubble-who both have also comprised the entirety of my COVID bubble, and in this moment of newfound and slightly daunting freedom we find ourselves walking into a sea of…bubbles. What a year. What a friendship. What a thing a bubble be. Bubbles can be made of dish soap and formed from wind and rope by some dude dispensing fleeting moments of joy, for a tip. They can be formed in global pandemics with someone you can truly trust with your life when suddenly other people- even those you know and love – can through no fault of their own, or through denial, become a threat to your personal safety. Bubbles can hold an emergency trip to the vet for a dog that somehow one fateful night beats all the odds and continues to exceed expectations. Bubbles include emergency blasting of the Peter Gabriel song from the John Cusak movie from my car and across an unsuspecting street. And the witnessing of the precise moment the Christmas lights turned on at Christmas Tree Lane; the loud Aahhhh that spontaneously followed in stereo. There’s falling on the ground in tears after our first CDC sanctioned hug. The moment realizing that it was mini bubble’s first time experiencing the ocean. Bubbles can be the effervescent people we love who encapsulate joy like onomatopoeia in motion. The gratitude they inspire might very well keep a heart open long after the dude with the soapy rope packs up for the day. I thank everything holy for my…bubble. Hey, Bubble. Hey.
“Hey Bubble” A moment in time where now fully vaxxed, I whisk a bestie away for a mini adventure down by the sea. A bestie whom I sometimes endearingly nickname bubble- and whose superstar dog I also sometimes call bubble-who both have also comprised the entirety of my COVID bubble, and in this moment of newfound and slightly daunting freedom we find ourselves walking into a sea of…bubbles. What a year. What a friendship. What a thing a bubble be. Bubbles can be made of dish soap and formed from wind and rope by some dude dispensing fleeting moments of joy, for a tip. They can be formed in global pandemics with someone you can truly trust with your life when suddenly other people- even those you know and love – can through no fault of their own, or through denial, become a threat to your personal safety. Bubbles can hold an emergency trip to the vet for a dog that somehow one fateful night beats all the odds and continues to exceed expectations. Bubbles include emergency blasting of the Peter Gabriel song from the John Cusak movie from my car and across an unsuspecting street. And the witnessing of the precise moment the Christmas lights turned on at Christmas Tree Lane; the loud Aahhhh that spontaneously followed in stereo. There’s falling on the ground in tears after our first CDC sanctioned hug. The moment realizing that it was mini bubble’s first time experiencing the ocean. Bubbles can be the effervescent people we love who encapsulate joy like onomatopoeia in motion. The gratitude they inspire might very well keep a heart open long after the dude with the soapy rope packs up for the day. I thank everything holy for my…bubble. Hey, Bubble. Hey.
“Hey Bubble” A moment in time where now fully vaxxed, I whisk a bestie away for a mini adventure down by the sea. A bestie whom I sometimes endearingly nickname bubble- and whose superstar dog I also sometimes call bubble-who both have also comprised the entirety of my COVID bubble, and in this moment of newfound and slightly daunting freedom we find ourselves walking into a sea of…bubbles. What a year. What a friendship. What a thing a bubble be. Bubbles can be made of dish soap and formed from wind and rope by some dude dispensing fleeting moments of joy, for a tip. They can be formed in global pandemics with someone you can truly trust with your life when suddenly other people- even those you know and love – can through no fault of their own, or through denial, become a threat to your personal safety. Bubbles can hold an emergency trip to the vet for a dog that somehow one fateful night beats all the odds and continues to exceed expectations. Bubbles include emergency blasting of the Peter Gabriel song from the John Cusak movie from my car and across an unsuspecting street. And the witnessing of the precise moment the Christmas lights turned on at Christmas Tree Lane; the loud Aahhhh that spontaneously followed in stereo. There’s falling on the ground in tears after our first CDC sanctioned hug. The moment realizing that it was mini bubble’s first time experiencing the ocean. Bubbles can be the effervescent people we love who encapsulate joy like onomatopoeia in motion. The gratitude they inspire might very well keep a heart open long after the dude with the soapy rope packs up for the day. I thank everything holy for my…bubble. Hey, Bubble. Hey.
“Hey Bubble” A moment in time where now fully vaxxed, I whisk a bestie away for a mini adventure down by the sea. A bestie whom I sometimes endearingly nickname bubble- and whose superstar dog I also sometimes call bubble-who both have also comprised the entirety of my COVID bubble, and in this moment of newfound and slightly daunting freedom we find ourselves walking into a sea of…bubbles. What a year. What a friendship. What a thing a bubble be. Bubbles can be made of dish soap and formed from wind and rope by some dude dispensing fleeting moments of joy, for a tip. They can be formed in global pandemics with someone you can truly trust with your life when suddenly other people- even those you know and love – can through no fault of their own, or through denial, become a threat to your personal safety. Bubbles can hold an emergency trip to the vet for a dog that somehow one fateful night beats all the odds and continues to exceed expectations. Bubbles include emergency blasting of the Peter Gabriel song from the John Cusak movie from my car and across an unsuspecting street. And the witnessing of the precise moment the Christmas lights turned on at Christmas Tree Lane; the loud Aahhhh that spontaneously followed in stereo. There’s falling on the ground in tears after our first CDC sanctioned hug. The moment realizing that it was mini bubble’s first time experiencing the ocean. Bubbles can be the effervescent people we love who encapsulate joy like onomatopoeia in motion. The gratitude they inspire might very well keep a heart open long after the dude with the soapy rope packs up for the day. I thank everything holy for my…bubble. Hey, Bubble. Hey.
“Hey Bubble” A moment in time where now fully vaxxed, I whisk a bestie away for a mini adventure down by the sea. A bestie whom I sometimes endearingly nickname bubble- and whose superstar dog I also sometimes call bubble-who both have also comprised the entirety of my COVID bubble, and in this moment of newfound and slightly daunting freedom we find ourselves walking into a sea of…bubbles. What a year. What a friendship. What a thing a bubble be. Bubbles can be made of dish soap and formed from wind and rope by some dude dispensing fleeting moments of joy, for a tip. They can be formed in global pandemics with someone you can truly trust with your life when suddenly other people- even those you know and love – can through no fault of their own, or through denial, become a threat to your personal safety. Bubbles can hold an emergency trip to the vet for a dog that somehow one fateful night beats all the odds and continues to exceed expectations. Bubbles include emergency blasting of the Peter Gabriel song from the John Cusak movie from my car and across an unsuspecting street. And the witnessing of the precise moment the Christmas lights turned on at Christmas Tree Lane; the loud Aahhhh that spontaneously followed in stereo. There’s falling on the ground in tears after our first CDC sanctioned hug. The moment realizing that it was mini bubble’s first time experiencing the ocean. Bubbles can be the effervescent people we love who encapsulate joy like onomatopoeia in motion. The gratitude they inspire might very well keep a heart open long after the dude with the soapy rope packs up for the day. I thank everything holy for my…bubble. Hey, Bubble. Hey.
Cabs and Cooking London 2018 I said farewell to a challenging year in a great way- donning my drag-lite garb that makes me feel my most me, to venture out with a gorgeous cousin I haven’t seen nearly enough, to a fun party. We’d given each other and ourselves permission to hate the night and scurry home early if needed, and ended up home not long before sunrise. It was my one night off in a stretch devoted otherwise to taking care of one of my absolute favorite people who is braving chemo. My antidote for the poison coursing through her veins is all the ways my creativity can express my love and gratitude for her, primarily though, through my cooking. Healthy clean food, bone broths etc. Food as a “love language” though not specifically listed in the books, is a biggie for me. My mum worked late. I craved time with her as a teen. Once she was home from work after doing research in the lab all day, I would sit in the kitchen as she “threw the dinner on”. If memory serves she would explain a bit of the science behind her cooking methods. I learned to cook this way. And now I’m applying all I’ve learned over the years Cooking for her older sister in London, continuing the female lineage of food made with love and as a means for connection. For the past ten years food has been my primary medicine. I pass on now what I can and pray it serves. My eyes welled up as I was making lunch the other day as I thought about what my aunty means to me. “Good,” I thought, “ let that feeling go into this dish. Let her feel in the food what I feel for her, how precious she is to me.” She loved that meal. She’s still talking about it. “Don’t forget that one, so you can make that again” “ I have no idea how I made it. “ ( as long as there’s love in it there will likely be no complaints) I’ve got my feet up right now in a rare resting moment while I wait for my potatoes to get crispy, While the 12 hr Kleftiko (slow roasted lamb) rests a tad. My diet is mostly plant based though I occasionally have some lamb and today is a special treat. I’m about to return to LA. To soften the inexorable grief of my departure for us both, (Continued in comments)
Cabs and Cooking London 2018 I said farewell to a challenging year in a great way- donning my drag-lite garb that makes me feel my most me, to venture out with a gorgeous cousin I haven’t seen nearly enough, to a fun party. We’d given each other and ourselves permission to hate the night and scurry home early if needed, and ended up home not long before sunrise. It was my one night off in a stretch devoted otherwise to taking care of one of my absolute favorite people who is braving chemo. My antidote for the poison coursing through her veins is all the ways my creativity can express my love and gratitude for her, primarily though, through my cooking. Healthy clean food, bone broths etc. Food as a “love language” though not specifically listed in the books, is a biggie for me. My mum worked late. I craved time with her as a teen. Once she was home from work after doing research in the lab all day, I would sit in the kitchen as she “threw the dinner on”. If memory serves she would explain a bit of the science behind her cooking methods. I learned to cook this way. And now I’m applying all I’ve learned over the years Cooking for her older sister in London, continuing the female lineage of food made with love and as a means for connection. For the past ten years food has been my primary medicine. I pass on now what I can and pray it serves. My eyes welled up as I was making lunch the other day as I thought about what my aunty means to me. “Good,” I thought, “ let that feeling go into this dish. Let her feel in the food what I feel for her, how precious she is to me.” She loved that meal. She’s still talking about it. “Don’t forget that one, so you can make that again” “ I have no idea how I made it. “ ( as long as there’s love in it there will likely be no complaints) I’ve got my feet up right now in a rare resting moment while I wait for my potatoes to get crispy, While the 12 hr Kleftiko (slow roasted lamb) rests a tad. My diet is mostly plant based though I occasionally have some lamb and today is a special treat. I’m about to return to LA. To soften the inexorable grief of my departure for us both, (Continued in comments)
Cabs and Cooking London 2018 I said farewell to a challenging year in a great way- donning my drag-lite garb that makes me feel my most me, to venture out with a gorgeous cousin I haven’t seen nearly enough, to a fun party. We’d given each other and ourselves permission to hate the night and scurry home early if needed, and ended up home not long before sunrise. It was my one night off in a stretch devoted otherwise to taking care of one of my absolute favorite people who is braving chemo. My antidote for the poison coursing through her veins is all the ways my creativity can express my love and gratitude for her, primarily though, through my cooking. Healthy clean food, bone broths etc. Food as a “love language” though not specifically listed in the books, is a biggie for me. My mum worked late. I craved time with her as a teen. Once she was home from work after doing research in the lab all day, I would sit in the kitchen as she “threw the dinner on”. If memory serves she would explain a bit of the science behind her cooking methods. I learned to cook this way. And now I’m applying all I’ve learned over the years Cooking for her older sister in London, continuing the female lineage of food made with love and as a means for connection. For the past ten years food has been my primary medicine. I pass on now what I can and pray it serves. My eyes welled up as I was making lunch the other day as I thought about what my aunty means to me. “Good,” I thought, “ let that feeling go into this dish. Let her feel in the food what I feel for her, how precious she is to me.” She loved that meal. She’s still talking about it. “Don’t forget that one, so you can make that again” “ I have no idea how I made it. “ ( as long as there’s love in it there will likely be no complaints) I’ve got my feet up right now in a rare resting moment while I wait for my potatoes to get crispy, While the 12 hr Kleftiko (slow roasted lamb) rests a tad. My diet is mostly plant based though I occasionally have some lamb and today is a special treat. I’m about to return to LA. To soften the inexorable grief of my departure for us both, (Continued in comments)
It’s that thing…where you meditate on a vortex…as the sun is coming up…and because you’re a bit of a dick…you take a selfie. #leylines bye Sedona! Kiss, kiss, wow, wowza
COVID and lockdown sent me into survival mode. And then my inner homesteader emerged. Primal provider panic brought me to vegetable gardening. And then my friend and conscious producer from the pixie realm @ginstar introduced me to foraging: @growforagecookferment and @pascalbaudar Once out of fight or flight I started to see my garden less as another daunting responsibility (amongst many others as a single mother in a pandemic), and more as the extraordinary ally and resource that Mother Earth is. I marveled at the medicine my wild and weedy nasturtiums could be, and they agreed to transform into pesto. I harvested orange blossoms and rose petals just before they fell and pink peppercorns once fallen, and they simmered their way into hedge-witch jellies. Lilac honey became gifts for my separated clan. Jalapeño honey has followed. Foraged chai tea with pine needles and pink peppercorns is probably not everyone’s cup of tea though it proudly has been mine. After years of feeling my pain and my bombastic and needy complex ptsd—as it has presented and looped through my heart, mind, body and spirit—this new hobby has brought me to feeling humble, grateful, enchanted and quiet. I have access to the subtle yet powerful intelligences of things growing just outside my door. And after years of my traumas teaching me falsely to believe that feeling bad was right, I now feel peace and satisfaction as I tinker in my kitchen. It’s a sign of my healing that I am playing and creating this way—I marvel that I am able to be available to it—to put time and energy into it —and what pleasure it brings because it is sustainable, generative and beautiful. #plantmedicine #foraging #ptsd #cptsd #downregulation #sustainability #homesteading #hedgewitch
Papa tomato turns around to see baby tomato lagging behind. He walks back and steps on the baby tomato. “Ketchup,” he says. This joke only works said out loud not read. But it’s probably time to ketchup on #TheNevers on @HBO before the part one finale tonight or you’ll not have a bloody clue what’s going on. I mean, you won’t anyway for at least 5 minutes and that’s the point. Fun fact: this episode actually features a tomato 🍅 Always dreamed of working with HBO and they did not disappoint. Some dreams do come true. More later when my brain is straighter. Enjoy the mind f^ck that is episode 6 🙏🏼🤸🏼🧚🏽♀️👊🏼
I present to you Madonna Mercury. A little Live Aid, a little Ray of Light, a lot fierce. She marched for her family in four inch Jimmy Choos (most of the way) and has ten blisters and many grateful love-filled memories to show for it. Thank you #loveisgreat for your sterling hospitality. Thank you #lapride for the strength we can experience together whilst in our truth and vulnerability. Thank you to loving, open-hearted and open-minded communities who make coming out a thing of true beauty and boundless celebration. I appreciate how rare that is. Our work as a human race is to make that the norm. Life is hard. Living in one’s truth, harder. I love everyone in the world who is risking and supporting that. And everyone trying to find their way to it. Whatever that is for you and yours. Madonna Mercury salutes you and all your courageous endeavors. Lets live and love boldly and radically. Together.
I present to you Madonna Mercury. A little Live Aid, a little Ray of Light, a lot fierce. She marched for her family in four inch Jimmy Choos (most of the way) and has ten blisters and many grateful love-filled memories to show for it. Thank you #loveisgreat for your sterling hospitality. Thank you #lapride for the strength we can experience together whilst in our truth and vulnerability. Thank you to loving, open-hearted and open-minded communities who make coming out a thing of true beauty and boundless celebration. I appreciate how rare that is. Our work as a human race is to make that the norm. Life is hard. Living in one’s truth, harder. I love everyone in the world who is risking and supporting that. And everyone trying to find their way to it. Whatever that is for you and yours. Madonna Mercury salutes you and all your courageous endeavors. Lets live and love boldly and radically. Together.
I present to you Madonna Mercury. A little Live Aid, a little Ray of Light, a lot fierce. She marched for her family in four inch Jimmy Choos (most of the way) and has ten blisters and many grateful love-filled memories to show for it. Thank you #loveisgreat for your sterling hospitality. Thank you #lapride for the strength we can experience together whilst in our truth and vulnerability. Thank you to loving, open-hearted and open-minded communities who make coming out a thing of true beauty and boundless celebration. I appreciate how rare that is. Our work as a human race is to make that the norm. Life is hard. Living in one’s truth, harder. I love everyone in the world who is risking and supporting that. And everyone trying to find their way to it. Whatever that is for you and yours. Madonna Mercury salutes you and all your courageous endeavors. Lets live and love boldly and radically. Together.
John King Books #Detroit #locations thank you Detroit that was fun!
I admit to maybe taking this while I was driving. Maybe. #nofilter
I’m #Wrecked. Had too much on my plate lately. Thought this Halloween costume was a funny representation of my current bandwidth. Though it really makes me marvel At how resillient we humans can be. Self care, resourcing, and rest toward resilliency and “rescue”. Thank the universe for everyone and everything that support my healing, happiness and growth. For all my delicious co-creators collaborators and partners in freedom and fun For all the courageous ones doing what is right for humanity and democracy even when it scares us tires us and wears us down. We can save ourselves We can support each other We’ve got this. Happy Halloween witches!
TeddyHydra
#Detroit #locations #indies I’m so grateful for the time I’m having in Detroit working with emerging artists…story tellers…filmmakers with great attitudes and positive intentions. Who knows what the results will actually yield- so many moving parts. Not the point for me right now. Human potential both at the individual and especially collective level excites me; lights me up no end as I think about and feel into the limitless possibilities. I love being a team member- the culture of the set has to allow for it. And it has here. Thank you guys for inviting me in. I honestly believe we were put on this earth to co-create. I was anyway. To help make story-art babies with collaborators who have big dreams, hearts and minds. I feel really lucky and really full today.
Liminality. May binary systems be invitations to explore that which exists between the polarities rather than restrictions and limitations. Between earth and sky in a soft place of safety what can you make possible today?
