Mermaids and Flying Panthers

My friend Allison Ray Benevides and her husband Rob own this amazing tattoo place in San Diego called Flying Panther. I drove down on Saturday afternoon and into a world that I really have never experienced.

So much beautiful art on the walls and on the bodies of those working. Here's Sue:

Do you feel a little shaky? Do you have a presentiment?

Art by Rob Benevides

Do you remember what I was going to do by my 50th birthday?

That's me and Allison. I can assure you that I had already downed not one but two shots of straight vodka and thus look a bit bleary, but in real life, I swear my head isn't that big nor hers that small.

Why the vodka?

Whose arm is Sue gripping?

Take a break, Sue says, it hurts the most when you're close to the artery.

So, yes. I finally got my mermaid tattoo. That smile is a gritty one because it hurt a bit, but I did a whole lot of deep breathing, reminded myself of three childbirths and that time in ninth grade when I had a whole lot of packing in my nose after surgery and had to have it pulled out, and then -- to tell you the truth -- the pain felt sort of exhilarating.  I understand that there's a rushy kind of feeling while being tattooed and afterward, and it's distinct from the buzz of alcohol. I felt it.

Lest you think I've gone completely mad given the circumstances, I'll remind you that I'm 52 years old and have wanted to do this well before I was firmly middle-aged. So, I'm only partly a cliche. Still, it's a radical departure from the me that is me. Next thing you know, I'll be running in the Los Angeles marathon, swearing off pastries, vaping weed and avidly reading those books about the different shades of grey.

Well, maybe all of it except the marathon.

Who Mocked My Firepit Parenting Idea?

So, a couple of weeks ago I revealed a picture of our new backyard, grass-stripped and re-designed with drought-tolerant and California native plants. I also described my intent to keep my teenage boys at home with their friends as opposed to carousing the streets of the big shitty in low-rider cars, smoking pot and drinking beer. Last night, there were friends, marshmallows, Hershey bars, graham crackers and carols 'round the fire-pit.

Just kidding on the carols.

In other news, my friend Allison Ray Benavides of Pediatric Cannabis Support has written a remarkable post about caregiving, epilepsy and what she calls both Chronic Horrific-Trauma Integration Experience and just fucking bullshit. She describes some very interesting resources, too, including Neurogenic Yoga and Trauma Releasing Exercises. Check it out.


I'm laying low these days as we transition to two households. I won't be writing about that sort of thing, but please know that we'll all be okay. This morning was the first that the children set out with their father for breakfast in different parts. I thought I might want to drive myself around the big shitty in my sexy white Mazda, smoking pot, drinking vodka and listening to Van Morrison, but instead I'm feeling quite peaceful here in my beautiful, quiet house.

Julian of Norwich said, All shall be well, and all shall be well and all manner of thing shall be well.