The Furious Spinner

Snow covers the Gorge hills in blotches. Pretty blotches. Picturesque blotches. But it's raining here. Rainy and foggy. It's 9:00 a.m. and it looks like it's almost night time. Yesterday a HUGE storm storm was moving in. Turns out the weather people exaggerated, totally. (This morning I seem to be channeling a Valley Girl.) But you never know in the Gorge. Everything can be fine in the winter and then a few flakes fall (I'm talking snow flakes), then it gets a bit warm and melts, then freezes. Very dangerous. So I stayed home. No acupuncture. No Portland. And now this moment, I need to put this computer down and just walk away...I got things to do. Or not to do. OMMMMMMMMM.

If you haven't been checking out Starhawk's website lately, you're missing some inspiring stuff! (I'm so literary in my description, aren't I?) They're down in NOLA cleaning up the right way—the sustainable way. Her work in permaculture is something we're all going to need to know if we're going to survive what's probably coming—or what's already here in the form of global warming. I did a short workshop a couple years ago with her on permaculture, and Mario and I were signed up for the Earth Activist Training (their link isn't working so I won't put it up) 2001 but canceled after 9/11, deciding we needed to stay at home and be active in our community organizing against the war, which we did. I'd like to do the training some day.

You've heard Bush and his cohorts have been planting stories in the media again. Again. It's called propaganda, people; nothing new. I think what's new is that they're paying journalists—although I could be wrong about that. (BTW: I don't feel like calling Bush the Emperor With No Clothes today. He doesn't feel so emperor-ish today. I feel as though they're all unraveling. Yeah!)

Had a reading in Portland the other night with a few other contributors to this year's We'Moon It was nice and cozy. I was by myself and almost didn't stay when it seemed no one else was there except two young men talking loudly and looking like they wanted to rumble in the feminist bookstore where the reading was held. I wasn't looking for a fight. But then some women came I knew, and the boys—outnumbered by women—got up and left. They would have been welcomed, of course, had they wanted to stay and listen and participate. But they had the vibe of "whadayagot?" rebellion, and the Mothers shooed them away with nary a word or a look. They (we?) just filled the store with us and they left chagrined, it seemed. The reading was good; I left early because of the weather.

OK. Here we go. The day awaits.

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