I love you, too

There's not a lot of color in Maine in February. But I've got an audacious florist friend who keeps me steeped in nature's palette. A little eye candy. Thanks, K!

Like this glorious rose above, which opened into a cosmic message of love. Spectacular.

And meet "Shocking Versilia." Quite the strong, masculine rose, don't you think? I love a nice, straight stem. Insert dirty joke here.

He's watching over me as I write...

Fleeeeeece!

I am tired of wearing:


I am eager to wear:


One says cozy, snoozy warmth. The other, lively, sexy movement. I'm finding it harder and harder to feel creative wearing something that feels like a sheep.

Waiting is the hardest part

So I took myself out of the running for the garden house with no ocean view. The homeowners scolded me a bit, saying that I wouldn't find a view at my budget. I've thrown out some lines with local shop owners I met when on vacation last year, and eagerly await to hear back about someone's cousin's wonderful little beachfront gem.

I've also been perusing Craigslist and if I am willing to share, it looks like I could score a great situation at a great price.

More inspiration from my trip last year. This was the view from the hotel's rooftop restaurant.

See why I'm holding out?

Mi casa es su casa

The adventure's got to start with finding una casa. Or even a casita! Here's the view from my hotel in Vallarta last year:

When I finally got to the hotel after the flight, the stress of work still clinging to my edges, I saw this and said ahhhhh! and in the next breath I may never leave. The view is crucial. The view feeds my dreams and my writing. It both calms and excites.

Here's the view from my apartment in Maine:

The ocean is right behind that hotel across the street. When it storms, I can hear the crashing of the waves if I stand on the porch. I compromised with this one. Because if I'm going to live on the coast again, I need to be able to see the ocean!

And have a veranda. On this veranda, with the waves below, I can see myself kissing, mmm, making love to a dark-haired man. Having my tea in the morning. Writing. A veranda is a must!

I did come across an amazing house - 3 bedrooms, garden, in a traditional Mexican neighborhood - for a song. BUT...no ocean view!

I can just hear the birds in this garden and my neighbor's music dancing over the wall!

But I have to hold out for the view. Right? I will land the big fish of the place with the view for a reasonable (starving artist) price!

Hey, you out there: what do you think?

p.s. I have a follower now. Whoo hoo!

A kick in the pants from afar

"Okay, lady, when's your next entry?" wrote my friend, giving me an email kick in the pants from New York City. Yeah, where the hell IS it? Could it be...

1. I am wary of the blog, circling the adversary like an ancient warrior, figuring out my next move.

How do my blog and book fit together? Does the blog replace the familiar paper journal I write in every day? How often am I to blog?

2. I am busy being inspired. Who has time to blog when I need to watch Dead Poets Society again? What a gem of a movie. Boys chasing dreams and letting the humble heart - and grand poetry - be their guide. Yum. Carpe diem! Sounding a barbaric YAWP!

And you have to admit, Lindsey Vonn's warrior skiing was absolutely killer. Her power and determination were wonderful to behold. Getting my book published is my women's downhill.

3. My mother read my blog and said: "you sound like a mixture of Terry McMillan and Erica Jong." I didn't know what to make of that. Is that something I want? Well, ok: assertive, sexy, unconventional women doing what they please and writing about it. Yeah, I'm down with that. Or could it be...

4. I am scared shitless about going to Mexico.

But hold up. February 14 - the day of my blog launch, Valentine's Day - was also the start of the Lunar New Year. It's the Year of the Tiger. And a Tiger person is just who I happen to be. A fact gleaned from countless Chinese restaurant placemats! Tiger people are courageous and outrageous, going for the gusto and - to take a page from the Dead Poets - sucking the marrow out of life.

When the little voice says don't you think you could just go back?, I just turn the Gov't Mule up a bit louder.

Scared? Oh, fuck, no. Fearless.

¡Hola, mis amigas y amigos!

I am rewilding myself.

That is, I am returning to a natural state, the sexy juicy bold brave raw loving savoring celebrating curious cosmic circumstance I would inhabit without the interference of the humdrum and ho-hum. Just like a jaguar dancing through jungle foliage.

Let’s take a look at Kelly in her habitat. Here she is, strolling down the street in some tropical locale, clothed in a pink t-shirt and a floaty bit of skirt, her smile a stupor of joy. Here she is, sitting on a verdant veranda, journal in hand. See her playing in the waves. See her eating guacamole. See her finally finishing her memoir and shaking her hips in front of her laptop…

To get back to my worldly wildness, first I have to get out of Maine!

I am heading to Mexico.

Last February I traveled to Puerto Vallarta on a last-minute vacation whim, drenching myself in ocean and sunset. In May, I left a decade-long corporate career. During the summer, I bounced from friend to friend and wrote like my life depended on it. Which it did, I think. Against a backdrop of flaming fall foliage, I road tripped to Maine.

And then it got cold.

And then it got colder.

Who knew they made fleece pants?

Damn. Is that my big hibernation ass in the mirror? Junk in the trunk!

One day as I gazed out at cars drifting by on Route 1, I knew my winter writing retreat was over. It was time to put up or shut up. I’d quit a job – a career – to do this. Time to put myself out there and go back to Mexico. Puerto Vallarta and I have some unfinished, enchanted business.

Happy Valentine’s Day, me!

I consider my book a love letter. Penning a memoir ties you up and teaches you to love life. All of it. The pain and the laughs, the watery peaks and troughs, the lobster rolls and slippery sidewalks, the breakdowns and shakeups and breakups, the fucking, the loving, the sweet sweaty pleasure of who you really are when you forget yourself.

I’ve already fought my way to the top. Now, I shall surrender my way to the top. This will be easy to do with the spicy, lime-scented breezes of Mexico under my wings.

Come with me.