Listening to: Some massively awesome mix sent to me by Mamacita for the troops but I've claimed first dibs on listening, et tu?
In her latest post, Mamacita claims she writes bad poetry. I claim the same for myself, but I don't think her poetry is bad at all. In fact, I think her poetry rocks. Take that as you will as I write wretched poetry - but more on that later.
A couple of weeks ago, Vicki bowed to Mamacita in the same way I have for, well, as long as I've known her.
I came home from a glorious weekend with TOOMA to discover a box, Mamacita the sender. About 100 CD's, love in every one of em', unconditional love, the only real kind of love, the "I'll bet they'll like this!" kind of love that does it just because there's a satisfaction in the notion of creating smiles and opening minds and no afterthought, no reason for it: the deed is done.
This was a very long day. Having torn myself away from TOOMA's world and having to rush back into my own (sans kids, thank you), Mamacita's package was a talisman back to whence I came, a reminder that true hearts have no limits and that love is wherever it is expressed.
Just keep nurturing it, she says, in her emails and her blog posts and her deeds, and it never dies, it just keeps growing. Indeed it does. I just took a ride to Edwardsville and it feels as if the span of eastern Colorado, Kansas, Missouri and Illinois is verdant, that wherever my love and I were at any given moment, love took root and grew.
So it was like walking in and discovering a little potted Aloe, Mamacita's package. It was like, welcome home again, even though you're heart's still there, it resides here, too. Hearts can be that big.
Yes they can.