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In times of old, The Furies protected Mother Right. If a mother (or any woman) was harmed, The Furies swooped down and took their vengeance. They were one of the last vestiges of a world that existed before the patriarchy. When we feel righteous anger, it is The Furies who are calling out to us to make what is wrong right again.
Wednesday, December 28, 2005
Wild Things
In Soulcraft, Bill Plotkin writes, "We must face the brutal fact that neither religion nor science is going to save us from our self-inflicted tragedies. Our technologies, psychotherapies, politics, and religious organizations have been leading us further every day from wholeness and soul, and from harmony within ourselves, between each other, and between us and the more-than-human world. It is time for a radical change that can only begin within the wild reaches of our individual lives, each of us asking whether our souls may know something that will help."
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Saturday, December 24, 2005
Merry Meet
More of my winter vacation.
It's the eve of Christmas Eve (or was when I began this). I am happily ensconced at the casita. It's dark. We just played five games of Sorry on our giant table (which also doubles for the bed).
Mario beat me in a tiebreaker (after he served us soy ice cream). We'll go to bed in a few minutes now.
We arrived yesterday, glad to leave behind the pollution of Phoenix but reluctant to leave before seeing my sister who was away on business when we got there. I hope they'll come down here and see us. We didn't have to get as many things for the casita as we did last year. The mop, toaster oven, bamboo cutting board, and pots and pans we got last year were still here. Everything was beautiful, clean, and inviting. I mopped the floor, but I do that nearly every day in the desert, just a quick swipe with a damp mop to get up the inevitable desert dust.
We went and got the library books I had put on hold at home (back in the Pacific Northwest). Then we went to Antigone, our favorite bookstore here and one of our favorite bookstores anywhere, and I picked up a CD I had ordered when we were back at home. Then we had dinner at Maya Quetzal, the Guatemalan restaurant near the bookstore. Felt like home. Funny how you can come to a place, and it begins to feel like home right away.
My nose was very swollen, however, and my allergies were bad. I was very discouraged. I hate meeting people when I'm feeling and looking so poorly. I just want to hide my face. When I'm in stores, and people won't look at me, I figure that's why. In real life (which is different from the life in my head, I understand), no one is probably paying any attention to my disfigurement (just like when I was in high school and had zits all over my face and was so embarrassed). Only then, I didn't realize how ugly I was. It wasn't until a year later, after my face had cleared up (drugs, man) and I saw a photograph did I realize how terrible I looked. I started crying, I remember, looking at that photograph. I said to my mother (accusingly), "How could you let me out of the house looking like that?"
It's the same way I feel now. I see a photograph of myself, and I think, how can I go out of the house like this? As if ugliness is a crime. (It has to be a photograph, by the way. In the mirror, I just look like myself—I look like the person I am in my dreams.) I know this sounds like vanity, and I suppose it is. But it is about identity, too. I think illness, disfigurement, old age—anything that changes our physical looks—can be jarring to our "view" of ourselves. I'm working on it not mattering. I know my life is not a tragedy. I know that despite illness I am indeed most fortunate. I understand that many terrible things are going on in the world and me worrying about how my illness has disfigured or distorted my looks is a trivial thing. I mention it because I talk often on this blog about chronic illness. Ask anyone who has been ill and they will tell you that how they changed physically during the illness mattered to them. It is disconcerting not to be physically who you believe you truly are.
Anyway, I did the pressure points I talked about before, and they helped the allergies, but my nose was still terribly distorted.
When we first got here, I had a couple of surprises. First, a friend of mine had sent me a wooden flute (made by her talented husband) with a coyote totem. She had also painted a coyote on it and sent me a card with a painting of hers on it called, "Sometimes, Just at Sunset, She Dances With Coyotes." I was just so tickled and charmed. I had told her some time ago that I wanted to learn how to play an instrument. I don't know how to read music, and I was one of those kids tested in elementary school and told I should stay far, far away from any musical instruments. Once I went Christmas Caroling with a group from work when I was in my early twenties. After a few carols, my boss told me just to mouth the words. You get the idea. Nevertheless, I love this flute, and I've been carrying it around and playing scales. The horses and my husband don't seem to object.
The second surprise was that my editor wanted a couple of changes on my new book. (Not Mercy, Unbound but the other one.) We still don't have a title, although the publisher (I think) suggested Broken Moon, and Mario and I both wondered why we hadn't thought of that before. It is going to come out as a hardcover, by the way, with the Margaret K. McElderry imprint. I was able to make the changes before I went to bed last night and e-mail them to her, which was nice. I'm a bit concerned they're going to send the copyedited manuscript to me just as I'm about to get the surgery. Oh well. It'll take my mind off of the surgery then.
We slept deep and we slept late. We heard no owls or coyotes, although I saw an owl fly away soon after we got here on Thursday. I had nightmares most of the night but didn't remember them in much detail. I figured it was just my way of settling in to the place.
Two of the horses from last year are still here. Colette seemed oblivious to me the first day but was friendly today. (Remember last year she was sick while we were here and we bonded.)
This morning Mario and I took a walk up in the park. This year a sign warned us about mountain lions wanting to munch on our little bones. As we stepped on the trail I said, "Okay, honey, let's not get eaten by any lions. It would put a damper on the vacation."
"And any other time it would be okay?" Mario asked.
"You betcha," I said. "Now watch out for rattlesnakes, scorpions, killer bees, regular bees, cacti, and lions. And have fun."
The sign said to "look big" if we encountered a mountain lion. Oh yeah, I've been trying to look big my whole life. I am all of five feet tall. But I'm 108 tasty pounds though. Chewy, though, Ms. or Mr. Mountain Lion. I've been around a while.
We rested by the pool today too. Just quiet. The desert can be so quiet. We walked the wash. As the sun set, we decided to go into town again to return some things. We stopped at an Indian restaurant for dinner. We ate here last year too. The food is good, and the owners—who waited on us—appear to have absolutely no interest in us (or anyone) being there. It is quite amusing. I've noticed this at many Indian restaurants. I wonder if it is a cultural thing. Never obsequious. (Not that I require that; I'm just remarking on it.)
We went to Antigone again, the Food Conspiracy (a group of musicians stood outside the co-op playing), and then we headed home, down Speedway, the radio turned up loud, the stars out. Life is beautiful.
Now it is way past bedtime.
If you celebrate Christmas or Hanukah or Kwanza or whatever, I hope you have joyful, meaningful celebrations (or at least good food and no fighting). I love the holidays. Mario and I don't buy anything for anyone during this time. Our parents get cards, and that's about it, so we can enjoy it without the consumptive part. It's a time for celebrating the first light, peace, and stories. At least that's how I see it.
I'm hoping to take some time off now. So you all enjoy yourselves. I'll hang out a "gone fishing" sign for a bit.
May You Celebrate in Beauty!
(Spiral Hand photo by Mario Milosevic.) 1 comments
It's the eve of Christmas Eve (or was when I began this). I am happily ensconced at the casita. It's dark. We just played five games of Sorry on our giant table (which also doubles for the bed).
Mario beat me in a tiebreaker (after he served us soy ice cream). We'll go to bed in a few minutes now.
We arrived yesterday, glad to leave behind the pollution of Phoenix but reluctant to leave before seeing my sister who was away on business when we got there. I hope they'll come down here and see us. We didn't have to get as many things for the casita as we did last year. The mop, toaster oven, bamboo cutting board, and pots and pans we got last year were still here. Everything was beautiful, clean, and inviting. I mopped the floor, but I do that nearly every day in the desert, just a quick swipe with a damp mop to get up the inevitable desert dust.
We went and got the library books I had put on hold at home (back in the Pacific Northwest). Then we went to Antigone, our favorite bookstore here and one of our favorite bookstores anywhere, and I picked up a CD I had ordered when we were back at home. Then we had dinner at Maya Quetzal, the Guatemalan restaurant near the bookstore. Felt like home. Funny how you can come to a place, and it begins to feel like home right away.
My nose was very swollen, however, and my allergies were bad. I was very discouraged. I hate meeting people when I'm feeling and looking so poorly. I just want to hide my face. When I'm in stores, and people won't look at me, I figure that's why. In real life (which is different from the life in my head, I understand), no one is probably paying any attention to my disfigurement (just like when I was in high school and had zits all over my face and was so embarrassed). Only then, I didn't realize how ugly I was. It wasn't until a year later, after my face had cleared up (drugs, man) and I saw a photograph did I realize how terrible I looked. I started crying, I remember, looking at that photograph. I said to my mother (accusingly), "How could you let me out of the house looking like that?"
It's the same way I feel now. I see a photograph of myself, and I think, how can I go out of the house like this? As if ugliness is a crime. (It has to be a photograph, by the way. In the mirror, I just look like myself—I look like the person I am in my dreams.) I know this sounds like vanity, and I suppose it is. But it is about identity, too. I think illness, disfigurement, old age—anything that changes our physical looks—can be jarring to our "view" of ourselves. I'm working on it not mattering. I know my life is not a tragedy. I know that despite illness I am indeed most fortunate. I understand that many terrible things are going on in the world and me worrying about how my illness has disfigured or distorted my looks is a trivial thing. I mention it because I talk often on this blog about chronic illness. Ask anyone who has been ill and they will tell you that how they changed physically during the illness mattered to them. It is disconcerting not to be physically who you believe you truly are.
Anyway, I did the pressure points I talked about before, and they helped the allergies, but my nose was still terribly distorted.
When we first got here, I had a couple of surprises. First, a friend of mine had sent me a wooden flute (made by her talented husband) with a coyote totem. She had also painted a coyote on it and sent me a card with a painting of hers on it called, "Sometimes, Just at Sunset, She Dances With Coyotes." I was just so tickled and charmed. I had told her some time ago that I wanted to learn how to play an instrument. I don't know how to read music, and I was one of those kids tested in elementary school and told I should stay far, far away from any musical instruments. Once I went Christmas Caroling with a group from work when I was in my early twenties. After a few carols, my boss told me just to mouth the words. You get the idea. Nevertheless, I love this flute, and I've been carrying it around and playing scales. The horses and my husband don't seem to object.
The second surprise was that my editor wanted a couple of changes on my new book. (Not Mercy, Unbound but the other one.) We still don't have a title, although the publisher (I think) suggested Broken Moon, and Mario and I both wondered why we hadn't thought of that before. It is going to come out as a hardcover, by the way, with the Margaret K. McElderry imprint. I was able to make the changes before I went to bed last night and e-mail them to her, which was nice. I'm a bit concerned they're going to send the copyedited manuscript to me just as I'm about to get the surgery. Oh well. It'll take my mind off of the surgery then.
We slept deep and we slept late. We heard no owls or coyotes, although I saw an owl fly away soon after we got here on Thursday. I had nightmares most of the night but didn't remember them in much detail. I figured it was just my way of settling in to the place.
Two of the horses from last year are still here. Colette seemed oblivious to me the first day but was friendly today. (Remember last year she was sick while we were here and we bonded.)
This morning Mario and I took a walk up in the park. This year a sign warned us about mountain lions wanting to munch on our little bones. As we stepped on the trail I said, "Okay, honey, let's not get eaten by any lions. It would put a damper on the vacation."
"And any other time it would be okay?" Mario asked.
"You betcha," I said. "Now watch out for rattlesnakes, scorpions, killer bees, regular bees, cacti, and lions. And have fun."
The sign said to "look big" if we encountered a mountain lion. Oh yeah, I've been trying to look big my whole life. I am all of five feet tall. But I'm 108 tasty pounds though. Chewy, though, Ms. or Mr. Mountain Lion. I've been around a while.
We rested by the pool today too. Just quiet. The desert can be so quiet. We walked the wash. As the sun set, we decided to go into town again to return some things. We stopped at an Indian restaurant for dinner. We ate here last year too. The food is good, and the owners—who waited on us—appear to have absolutely no interest in us (or anyone) being there. It is quite amusing. I've noticed this at many Indian restaurants. I wonder if it is a cultural thing. Never obsequious. (Not that I require that; I'm just remarking on it.)
We went to Antigone again, the Food Conspiracy (a group of musicians stood outside the co-op playing), and then we headed home, down Speedway, the radio turned up loud, the stars out. Life is beautiful.
Now it is way past bedtime.
If you celebrate Christmas or Hanukah or Kwanza or whatever, I hope you have joyful, meaningful celebrations (or at least good food and no fighting). I love the holidays. Mario and I don't buy anything for anyone during this time. Our parents get cards, and that's about it, so we can enjoy it without the consumptive part. It's a time for celebrating the first light, peace, and stories. At least that's how I see it.
I'm hoping to take some time off now. So you all enjoy yourselves. I'll hang out a "gone fishing" sign for a bit.
May You Celebrate in Beauty!
(Spiral Hand photo by Mario Milosevic.) 1 comments
Friday, December 23, 2005
Pesticide Alert!
I know it's the holidays, but if you get a chance go here and sign the petition and/or call or write to the BLM and/or your people in Congress BEFORE JANUARY 6. The BLM wants to dump pesticides on our national lands. They are including aerial spraying in this. You or I or a classroom of children could be out in the woods or in the desert when they do this. Even when the government is supposed to notify they don't always do that and they don't always get the word out. Remember, it happened to me. The county where I live was legally obligated to notify me before they sprayed and they didn't.
Here's what's happening: "The Bureau of Land Management (BLM) has proposed to apply massive amounts of pesticides to public lands in 17 Western states. The BLM claims these pesticides need to be applied to forests, rangelands and aquatic areas in order to reduce the risk of fire and slow the spread of invasive weeds. Under the proposal 932,000 acres would undergo chemical application in 17 western states, including National Monuments and National Conservation areas.
An integral part of this proposal involves aerial spraying of toxic pesticides, which increases negative impacts on non-targeted vegetation, wildlife, and people, including recreationists, tourists, and native peoples (pesticide application areas include Alaska, where native fishing and plant gathering is widespread).
The pesticides that would be used include persistent and mobile chemicals, including known developmental and reproductive toxins. The list of pesticides includes 4 new chemicals and 14 other pesticides, including 2,4-D, bromacil, chlorsulfuron, diquat, diuron, fluridone, hexazinone, teburthiruon, triclopyr, and picloram. The proposal would also allow the use of 'new chemicals that may be developed in the future.'
Fortunately, the proposal also includes an analysis of possible outcomes of using nonchemical means of managing these areas and offers an option (Option C) wherein traditional methods of vegetation management are used on public lands, not the use widespread application of toxic chemicals.
Take action now and submit your public comment in support of Option C of the Bureau of Land Management Programmatic Environmental Impact Statement."
Thanks! 0 comments
Here's what's happening: "The Bureau of Land Management (BLM) has proposed to apply massive amounts of pesticides to public lands in 17 Western states. The BLM claims these pesticides need to be applied to forests, rangelands and aquatic areas in order to reduce the risk of fire and slow the spread of invasive weeds. Under the proposal 932,000 acres would undergo chemical application in 17 western states, including National Monuments and National Conservation areas.
An integral part of this proposal involves aerial spraying of toxic pesticides, which increases negative impacts on non-targeted vegetation, wildlife, and people, including recreationists, tourists, and native peoples (pesticide application areas include Alaska, where native fishing and plant gathering is widespread).
The pesticides that would be used include persistent and mobile chemicals, including known developmental and reproductive toxins. The list of pesticides includes 4 new chemicals and 14 other pesticides, including 2,4-D, bromacil, chlorsulfuron, diquat, diuron, fluridone, hexazinone, teburthiruon, triclopyr, and picloram. The proposal would also allow the use of 'new chemicals that may be developed in the future.'
Fortunately, the proposal also includes an analysis of possible outcomes of using nonchemical means of managing these areas and offers an option (Option C) wherein traditional methods of vegetation management are used on public lands, not the use widespread application of toxic chemicals.
Take action now and submit your public comment in support of Option C of the Bureau of Land Management Programmatic Environmental Impact Statement."
Thanks! 0 comments
Wednesday, December 21, 2005
We're Goin' In
We decided not to dally in Los Angeles. We didn’t really have any place in particular we wanted to go in L.A., so we decided to stop at a natural foods store and then be on our way. We took the 210, so we were able to avoid the worst congestion. Ventura Highway was stop and go. I recalled last year driving down the Ventura Highway in my rented car, alone, with the radio turned up. It was a clear, sunny, beautiful day. Today, Winter Solstice, it was warm and sunny, but dirty air hung over much of the city like a coriander-colored blanket. We stopped in Pasadena for a few groceries and then headed out.
My allergies got really bad again this morning. I wondered if maybe the hotel people were lying to me; maybe they really did use pesticides. No way to know. But I did some acupressure again today and it helped. I tried something new, something my acupuncturist showed me a couple weeks ago. I breathed in as I pressed on the point and then released pressure as I breathed out—and for the first time, I could feel a kind of burst or pulse at the point as I breathed out. When I first tried acupressure years ago, I remember reading that I’d find a pulse at the right place. But I could only ever find a blood pulse. What I felt now was completely different from a blood pulse, even though the best way to describe it is to call it a pulse. I think what this process was doing was releasing spent chi. I’ll have to ask my acupuncturist. (Deb?) In any case, I started to feel better.
We were able to get Air America on the radio for a while as we left the L.A. area, but as we headed into the desert past Palm Springs Air America disappeared to be replaced by Bill O’Unreliable and someone sitting in for Sean Hamitup, so we listened to the Power of Now. As we went up hill for several miles, we passed several small reservoirs of water for radiators. Above the circular concrete reservoirs was a sign that read, “Caution. Possible Bee Activity.” Killer bees, we wondered, or Just-rough-them-up-a-bit bees.
We is in the desert fer sure. I’ve lived in the West now nearly my entire adult life. The West is all about water: who’s got it, who’s got rights to it, who can get it. Even in the Pacific Northwest. (Cadillac Desert is a good book to read about this issue.) Los Angeles is the city it is today (for good or bad) because of water—because William Mulholland was able to wrangle (some say steal) water from Owens Valley. Mario and I were talking about all this as we drove toward L.A. in the dark last night, going up and up and up, along with four lanes of traffic, walls of rock on either side of us.
“So Hollywood came into existence after they got the water?” I asked.
Mario said, “No, the movie industry was already out here. They came from New York because the light was better out here. Back then film was not as sensitive to light so they needed the natural bright light. Los Angeles is where they went.”
I hadn’t known that.
At the Joshua Tree National Park, we got off the highway and drove into the park and stopped a couple miles in and just got out of the car and listened. Complete silence (except for the ringing in my ears, of course). After three days or nearly constant noise, it was exquisite. We took a few photos. (I’m a better writer when I don’t use photographs. Photos make me lazy. However, I still like posting them. I like looking at them, so you have two years of my more descriptive essays, so now you can have less words, more pictures.)
We breathed the warm desert air. Ahhhhh. Thank you for the light!
When we got to Blythe, we filled up the car and then drove to the parking lot of a motel to see if we could get online. And we could. We wanted to do a google search to find out how to get to the Vegetarian House in Phoenix. We’ll pick up a to-go order, then rendezvous with my bro-in-law, his mom (Hazel—you might remember her from last year), and my sister if she’s back from Yuma where she went today to do an audit. Isn’t it amazing what you can do with computers now. Having wi-fi has really made this trip easier. We debated whether we were “stealing” from the motel by dipping into their internet for a couple of minutes. We decided we weren’t because we weren’t costing them anything.
We gladly left California. For us road warriors (as Genevieve called us), CA rest areas suck. Prop. 13 impacted even these kinds of state services I suppose.
Now the sun is beginning to set. I feel good being here. Here in AZ. Yesterday I just wanted to go home. Now I’m in the Now, baby.
So I suppose instead of saying “later, gator,” I should say, “now, sow.” No, that doesn’t have the same ring. “Now, Tao.” Better.
We’re now about twenty miles from Phoenix, and we’re in stop and go traffic. The air is so dirty I want to take a shower just sitting in my car. (Yes, I understand I’m participating in the pollution-making.) I’ve got a hepa filter in my car, so we’re hoping that is protecting our lungs. Do you ever wonder what kind of world we live in? This is unacceptable. Yet the people all around us probably do this five days a week. I’m looking at the people around us. Most are alone in their car. AND most of them are driving SUVs. Now let me say this, where we live some people have an excuse to be driving pickups and SUVs. They live in mountainous terrain, have rough roads, with snow and ice. But here in Phoenix (same with the L.A. area)? Just asking.
Traffic has picked up. We’re goin’ in. Wish us luck.
P.S. All the advisory signs all say: HIGH POLLUTION THURSDAY. CAR POOL. TAKE BUS.
Uh-huh.
Ciao, baby.
P.S. No photos today; sorry. I’m at a Kinko’s so I’ll post photos tomorrow. By the way, please tell me no one is falling for the Bushy’s lame protestations that he is spying on us for our own good. 0 comments
My allergies got really bad again this morning. I wondered if maybe the hotel people were lying to me; maybe they really did use pesticides. No way to know. But I did some acupressure again today and it helped. I tried something new, something my acupuncturist showed me a couple weeks ago. I breathed in as I pressed on the point and then released pressure as I breathed out—and for the first time, I could feel a kind of burst or pulse at the point as I breathed out. When I first tried acupressure years ago, I remember reading that I’d find a pulse at the right place. But I could only ever find a blood pulse. What I felt now was completely different from a blood pulse, even though the best way to describe it is to call it a pulse. I think what this process was doing was releasing spent chi. I’ll have to ask my acupuncturist. (Deb?) In any case, I started to feel better.
We were able to get Air America on the radio for a while as we left the L.A. area, but as we headed into the desert past Palm Springs Air America disappeared to be replaced by Bill O’Unreliable and someone sitting in for Sean Hamitup, so we listened to the Power of Now. As we went up hill for several miles, we passed several small reservoirs of water for radiators. Above the circular concrete reservoirs was a sign that read, “Caution. Possible Bee Activity.” Killer bees, we wondered, or Just-rough-them-up-a-bit bees.
We is in the desert fer sure. I’ve lived in the West now nearly my entire adult life. The West is all about water: who’s got it, who’s got rights to it, who can get it. Even in the Pacific Northwest. (Cadillac Desert is a good book to read about this issue.) Los Angeles is the city it is today (for good or bad) because of water—because William Mulholland was able to wrangle (some say steal) water from Owens Valley. Mario and I were talking about all this as we drove toward L.A. in the dark last night, going up and up and up, along with four lanes of traffic, walls of rock on either side of us.
“So Hollywood came into existence after they got the water?” I asked.
Mario said, “No, the movie industry was already out here. They came from New York because the light was better out here. Back then film was not as sensitive to light so they needed the natural bright light. Los Angeles is where they went.”
I hadn’t known that.
At the Joshua Tree National Park, we got off the highway and drove into the park and stopped a couple miles in and just got out of the car and listened. Complete silence (except for the ringing in my ears, of course). After three days or nearly constant noise, it was exquisite. We took a few photos. (I’m a better writer when I don’t use photographs. Photos make me lazy. However, I still like posting them. I like looking at them, so you have two years of my more descriptive essays, so now you can have less words, more pictures.)
We breathed the warm desert air. Ahhhhh. Thank you for the light!
When we got to Blythe, we filled up the car and then drove to the parking lot of a motel to see if we could get online. And we could. We wanted to do a google search to find out how to get to the Vegetarian House in Phoenix. We’ll pick up a to-go order, then rendezvous with my bro-in-law, his mom (Hazel—you might remember her from last year), and my sister if she’s back from Yuma where she went today to do an audit. Isn’t it amazing what you can do with computers now. Having wi-fi has really made this trip easier. We debated whether we were “stealing” from the motel by dipping into their internet for a couple of minutes. We decided we weren’t because we weren’t costing them anything.
We gladly left California. For us road warriors (as Genevieve called us), CA rest areas suck. Prop. 13 impacted even these kinds of state services I suppose.
Now the sun is beginning to set. I feel good being here. Here in AZ. Yesterday I just wanted to go home. Now I’m in the Now, baby.
So I suppose instead of saying “later, gator,” I should say, “now, sow.” No, that doesn’t have the same ring. “Now, Tao.” Better.
We’re now about twenty miles from Phoenix, and we’re in stop and go traffic. The air is so dirty I want to take a shower just sitting in my car. (Yes, I understand I’m participating in the pollution-making.) I’ve got a hepa filter in my car, so we’re hoping that is protecting our lungs. Do you ever wonder what kind of world we live in? This is unacceptable. Yet the people all around us probably do this five days a week. I’m looking at the people around us. Most are alone in their car. AND most of them are driving SUVs. Now let me say this, where we live some people have an excuse to be driving pickups and SUVs. They live in mountainous terrain, have rough roads, with snow and ice. But here in Phoenix (same with the L.A. area)? Just asking.
Traffic has picked up. We’re goin’ in. Wish us luck.
P.S. All the advisory signs all say: HIGH POLLUTION THURSDAY. CAR POOL. TAKE BUS.
Uh-huh.
Ciao, baby.
P.S. No photos today; sorry. I’m at a Kinko’s so I’ll post photos tomorrow. By the way, please tell me no one is falling for the Bushy’s lame protestations that he is spying on us for our own good. 0 comments
Winter Solstice Greetings
Happy Solstice everyone! May your days and nights be happy, healthy, creative, and prosperous.
Blessed bee!
More later, gators. We've got to get up and go out into the L.A. traffic where the air is...moderate this morning. But we've got sun!
Sunsunsunsunsunsunsunsunsunsunsunsunsunsunsun.
Sunsunsunsunsunsunsunsunsunsunsunsunsunsunsun. Sunsunsunsunsunsunsunsunsunsunsunsunsunsunsun.
Okay. I'll stop that now. Oatmeal awaits. 1 comments
Blessed bee!
More later, gators. We've got to get up and go out into the L.A. traffic where the air is...moderate this morning. But we've got sun!
Sunsunsunsunsunsunsunsunsunsunsunsunsunsunsun.
Sunsunsunsunsunsunsunsunsunsunsunsunsunsunsun. Sunsunsunsunsunsunsunsunsunsunsunsunsunsunsun.
Okay. I'll stop that now. Oatmeal awaits. 1 comments
Tuesday, December 20, 2005
La La Land
Hello, Spinners! We're in L.A. Okay, technically we are in L.A. County. We settled just outside of Los Angeles for the night. I called our friend Sylvia who lives in Long Beach to see if she wanted to meet for tea, but she has her darling grandchild Milo on Wednesday, so we might catch her on the way back.
I've always been afraid of L.A. Because of the traffic and the polluted air. Until last year. Remember when I got off the train in LA, rented a car, drove down the Venture highway, and then headed for Sacramento? After that I wasn't such a fraidy cat.
So today. Woke up feeling like shit. Nose swollen to the size of...a tangerine. Allergies. Headache. Bleck. Bleck. Bleck. We stopped in Sacramento at the food co-op, but my flare-up just got worse. I was so discouraged. I just wanted to be home. Then we went to Andy Nguyen's vegetarian Vietnamese restaurant. They made me a clay pot dish with tofu and vegetables (instead of using soy-based fake meat). The name of the dish was something like Finding Faith. I felt much better after I ate.
The rest of the day floated by. Or we floated by. After you're on the road for a while, everything fuzzes away. Or rather, the road gets clear, but everything else fuzzes away. Whatever happens doesn't seem to go into long term memory. I do remember the rest areas we stopped at today were nasty. I took some photos of what we passed. So much of what you see off of I5 is ugly. Industrial looking. Or mile after mile of fallow fields. Mile after mile of orange and almond trees. (This part was not ugly but a reminder of how much pesticides are used here.)
We watched the sky turn scarlet at a gas station, semi-trucks driving all around us. Still we found paradise for a moment as we linked arms and looked at the sky together.
Now I'm about ready for dream land in La La Land. 0 comments
I've always been afraid of L.A. Because of the traffic and the polluted air. Until last year. Remember when I got off the train in LA, rented a car, drove down the Venture highway, and then headed for Sacramento? After that I wasn't such a fraidy cat.
So today. Woke up feeling like shit. Nose swollen to the size of...a tangerine. Allergies. Headache. Bleck. Bleck. Bleck. We stopped in Sacramento at the food co-op, but my flare-up just got worse. I was so discouraged. I just wanted to be home. Then we went to Andy Nguyen's vegetarian Vietnamese restaurant. They made me a clay pot dish with tofu and vegetables (instead of using soy-based fake meat). The name of the dish was something like Finding Faith. I felt much better after I ate.
The rest of the day floated by. Or we floated by. After you're on the road for a while, everything fuzzes away. Or rather, the road gets clear, but everything else fuzzes away. Whatever happens doesn't seem to go into long term memory. I do remember the rest areas we stopped at today were nasty. I took some photos of what we passed. So much of what you see off of I5 is ugly. Industrial looking. Or mile after mile of fallow fields. Mile after mile of orange and almond trees. (This part was not ugly but a reminder of how much pesticides are used here.)
We watched the sky turn scarlet at a gas station, semi-trucks driving all around us. Still we found paradise for a moment as we linked arms and looked at the sky together.
Now I'm about ready for dream land in La La Land. 0 comments
Monday, December 19, 2005
There Be Dragons & Rattlesnakes
I feel like these posts are my contribution to American kitsch. So here goes. I don't promise Steinbeck but there be dragons here...
We drove about five hours today. Going over the pass was relatively easy. For about two hours after the pass we went up and down, up and down, on terrible roads. No ice, no snow, just bad roads with heavy rain. Finally we got out of the rain and passed the bad roads to see Mount Shasta in the fog. Isn't she lovely? Every time I'm in this part of the world (near Shasta) I feel something strange: I feel a wee bit touched.
Here's my sweetie and the car at the viewpoint for Mount Shasta.
By the way, these three always go with us on long trips. The bear is turquoise with a salmon in its mouth. (We dropped it once, and it broke. Mario somehow glued it back together.) A tiny metal statue of Tara is next to the bear. (Mar got it at Artifacts in Hood River for ten bucks years ago.) Then the raven, with green eyes. We've both forgotten what kind of black stone it is.
Here's a warning about rattlesnakes at a nearby rest area.
As we drove along, Mario said, "There's a dragon."
"What?" I thought he was joking—or he was seeing it in the clouds.
"A dragon," he said. "I saw a dragon on the side of the road."
I glanced over his shoulder and just glimpsed something on the other side of the expressway. I had to see the dragon (especially given I'd just had dragon treatments last week), so we got off at the next exit and turned around. Just then a rainbow arced across the gray sky. Soon after I saw the dragon sculpture just yards from the expressway. We pulled off the road, got out of the car, and went to see her. (She struck me as a "her.") We took several photos of her. (I believe s/he is a creation of Ralph Starritt, but I can't say for certain.)
Isn't she gorgeous?
Then we got back on the highway. We were going to have to drive nine more miles before we could turn around again, so we sneaked across an access road instead and were soon travelling south again.
We went through miles and miles of flat land as the sun went down. Hawks perched on fence posts every few miles. We passed hundreds of egrets, their white bodies so close together the field looked covered in snow. We listened to the Power of Now as we went.
Later I called my father, and we talked about Bushy, and then he told me my mother got an operation on her eye today! Last week they started pulling out her teeth. Next week she gets another eye operation. My mom has been through the ringer this year. My parents are not leaving for AZ until January 15, and we're leaving the 20th, so we probably won't even see them.
About an hour from Sacramento, I decided I wanted to stop for the night. Mario had called about 10 hotels and couldn't find a single one that didn't use pesticides. (Truth of it is that California is saturated in pesticides. The majority of the air in California has pesticides in it.) But we drove up to an Holiday Inn Express on the chance they didn't use pesticides and they didn't. Yeah!
Now for the exciting part of the post. I promised you strippers...or organic food. So here goes...
While we're on road trips, I figure Mario does so much when we're at home that I'll "cook" the food on the trip. So I heated up some Amy's pea soup. (Sorry, Tom.) I added peas to it. I also microwaved an Amy's burrito for him. I added some tofu, spinach, and carrots. Mmm-mmm good, eh? Hey, I promised organic food and I delivered.
Now we're going to take a walk...around the parking lot.
3 comments
We drove about five hours today. Going over the pass was relatively easy. For about two hours after the pass we went up and down, up and down, on terrible roads. No ice, no snow, just bad roads with heavy rain. Finally we got out of the rain and passed the bad roads to see Mount Shasta in the fog. Isn't she lovely? Every time I'm in this part of the world (near Shasta) I feel something strange: I feel a wee bit touched.
Here's my sweetie and the car at the viewpoint for Mount Shasta.
By the way, these three always go with us on long trips. The bear is turquoise with a salmon in its mouth. (We dropped it once, and it broke. Mario somehow glued it back together.) A tiny metal statue of Tara is next to the bear. (Mar got it at Artifacts in Hood River for ten bucks years ago.) Then the raven, with green eyes. We've both forgotten what kind of black stone it is.
Here's a warning about rattlesnakes at a nearby rest area.
As we drove along, Mario said, "There's a dragon."
"What?" I thought he was joking—or he was seeing it in the clouds.
"A dragon," he said. "I saw a dragon on the side of the road."
I glanced over his shoulder and just glimpsed something on the other side of the expressway. I had to see the dragon (especially given I'd just had dragon treatments last week), so we got off at the next exit and turned around. Just then a rainbow arced across the gray sky. Soon after I saw the dragon sculpture just yards from the expressway. We pulled off the road, got out of the car, and went to see her. (She struck me as a "her.") We took several photos of her. (I believe s/he is a creation of Ralph Starritt, but I can't say for certain.)
Isn't she gorgeous?
Then we got back on the highway. We were going to have to drive nine more miles before we could turn around again, so we sneaked across an access road instead and were soon travelling south again.
We went through miles and miles of flat land as the sun went down. Hawks perched on fence posts every few miles. We passed hundreds of egrets, their white bodies so close together the field looked covered in snow. We listened to the Power of Now as we went.
Later I called my father, and we talked about Bushy, and then he told me my mother got an operation on her eye today! Last week they started pulling out her teeth. Next week she gets another eye operation. My mom has been through the ringer this year. My parents are not leaving for AZ until January 15, and we're leaving the 20th, so we probably won't even see them.
About an hour from Sacramento, I decided I wanted to stop for the night. Mario had called about 10 hotels and couldn't find a single one that didn't use pesticides. (Truth of it is that California is saturated in pesticides. The majority of the air in California has pesticides in it.) But we drove up to an Holiday Inn Express on the chance they didn't use pesticides and they didn't. Yeah!
Now for the exciting part of the post. I promised you strippers...or organic food. So here goes...
While we're on road trips, I figure Mario does so much when we're at home that I'll "cook" the food on the trip. So I heated up some Amy's pea soup. (Sorry, Tom.) I added peas to it. I also microwaved an Amy's burrito for him. I added some tofu, spinach, and carrots. Mmm-mmm good, eh? Hey, I promised organic food and I delivered.
Now we're going to take a walk...around the parking lot.
3 comments
Play By Play
As you follow this grand and wonderful adventure in the parking lot of a Best Western, we find our hera and hero just about ready to get on the road again. Earlier we took a walk up and down this enormous hotel (motel?): once upstairs, twice downstairs, since it was too rainy to walk completely outdoors.
I'm packing to leave while Mario goes and gets the car. On the door is a map of the place with a red dot on our room. "You are here," it says. Then it adds, "In case of fire, gather by the pool." When Mario saw this, he said, "Is that their version of the superdome?" Seems rather bourgeois, doesn't it?
And the car? They took out the fuse box and found a loose wire. I hope this finally fixes it. We looked at blue book prices to trade it in or sell it, but then someone else would have the problem—and then we'd have the problem because we sold it to them.
With this new schedule we're having trouble finding places to stay. Hotels in the desert nearly always spray for bugs. So we don't know what we'll do after tonight. Maybe just drive straight through to Phoenix. I know this is beginning to sound like a bad letter from home. What I did on my winter vacation. I promise the next missive will be more exciting. Maybe it'll include strippers...or organic food.
Ah well. We're headed over the pass soon. Wish us good luck.
See you on the flipside. 0 comments
I'm packing to leave while Mario goes and gets the car. On the door is a map of the place with a red dot on our room. "You are here," it says. Then it adds, "In case of fire, gather by the pool." When Mario saw this, he said, "Is that their version of the superdome?" Seems rather bourgeois, doesn't it?
And the car? They took out the fuse box and found a loose wire. I hope this finally fixes it. We looked at blue book prices to trade it in or sell it, but then someone else would have the problem—and then we'd have the problem because we sold it to them.
With this new schedule we're having trouble finding places to stay. Hotels in the desert nearly always spray for bugs. So we don't know what we'll do after tonight. Maybe just drive straight through to Phoenix. I know this is beginning to sound like a bad letter from home. What I did on my winter vacation. I promise the next missive will be more exciting. Maybe it'll include strippers...or organic food.
Ah well. We're headed over the pass soon. Wish us good luck.
See you on the flipside. 0 comments
Me & The Bushy
I'm sitting on the bed in the hotel room with the TV on listening to the Bushy. So far he's been bumbling, and the reporters are asking him softball questions. And why is he doing this at the crack of dawn—at least here in the West it's just sunrise. Hmmmm.
Mario is at the Honda place. Before he left, we tried to get our script right to convince them to fix the car and fix it quickly. "Remember to say they'll be the fourth dealer and fifth mechanic we've been to about this. And we got it checked by Honda service before we left. Tell them this has been going on for two years, and we've spent over a thousand dollars and it still isn't fixed. Tell them Honda headquarters even reimbursed us for part of what we've paid because they didn't think it was acceptable. And tell them we're on the road and we're trying to get to a family gathering by tomorrow."
Mario said, "Should I tell him my wife is pregnant and we want the baby to be born in the Southwest?"
Funny guy, my man.
So I'm sitting here waiting for Mario. I didn't go because I haven't learned the Power of Now. (We've been listening to it. Makes sense. We really only have now. We can't live in the past or the present.) Anyway, when I talk with these people (Honda people) I remember the past, and I get a wee bit hot under the collar. Mario is better at cajoling.
It's pouring down pissing down rain, but it's way above freezing now, so if we leave today, it should be all right on the road. If we have to stay here tonight, that's okay.
Here's the view from our front door.
I'm eating microwaved oatmeal. I don't recommend it. We don't have a microwave at home, so I probably don't know how to do it correctly because it tastes like paste.
Ah, here we are. Me & The Bushy. That's the blogger page there. This is so self-referential. Kind of nauseating, eh?
Did you ever notice when you stay in a hotel that it always looks like a hurricane hit? I'd never live like this at home. (Okay, never is a relative word; by never I mean not for more than a few weeks...) But once in a hotel room everything is flung asunder.
The Honda people just dropped Mario off. We'll see what happens now.
Isn't this exciting? Like watching paint dry.
Be in the Now, man.
BOOM! 2 comments
Mario is at the Honda place. Before he left, we tried to get our script right to convince them to fix the car and fix it quickly. "Remember to say they'll be the fourth dealer and fifth mechanic we've been to about this. And we got it checked by Honda service before we left. Tell them this has been going on for two years, and we've spent over a thousand dollars and it still isn't fixed. Tell them Honda headquarters even reimbursed us for part of what we've paid because they didn't think it was acceptable. And tell them we're on the road and we're trying to get to a family gathering by tomorrow."
Mario said, "Should I tell him my wife is pregnant and we want the baby to be born in the Southwest?"
Funny guy, my man.
So I'm sitting here waiting for Mario. I didn't go because I haven't learned the Power of Now. (We've been listening to it. Makes sense. We really only have now. We can't live in the past or the present.) Anyway, when I talk with these people (Honda people) I remember the past, and I get a wee bit hot under the collar. Mario is better at cajoling.
It's pouring down pissing down rain, but it's way above freezing now, so if we leave today, it should be all right on the road. If we have to stay here tonight, that's okay.
Here's the view from our front door.
I'm eating microwaved oatmeal. I don't recommend it. We don't have a microwave at home, so I probably don't know how to do it correctly because it tastes like paste.
Ah, here we are. Me & The Bushy. That's the blogger page there. This is so self-referential. Kind of nauseating, eh?
Did you ever notice when you stay in a hotel that it always looks like a hurricane hit? I'd never live like this at home. (Okay, never is a relative word; by never I mean not for more than a few weeks...) But once in a hotel room everything is flung asunder.
The Honda people just dropped Mario off. We'll see what happens now.
Isn't this exciting? Like watching paint dry.
Be in the Now, man.
BOOM! 2 comments
Sunday, December 18, 2005
Wired
We're in Medford, Oregon. Yes, indeedy. I won't say anything untoward about the place, but I've never had any desire to spend the night here. At the crack of dawn tomorrow, we'll take the car to Honda service and see if they can fix it. I was talking to Mario's mom tonight about her life, and our little troubles ain't nuthin'. She told me about her mother and siblings escaping their village which was burned to the ground during the war. Her mother was barefoot, climbing over the mountains with an infant. Some mothers left their infants on the mountains, unable to carry them any farther, then continued on. Many years later when she was a teenager, Mario's mother climbed different mountains to escape Yugoslavia and start a new life in Italy. (I'm not using her name because I forgot to ask her tonight.) She ended up in an Italian refugee camp living in a tent of sorts before she went to Canada.
So our little detour to Medford is nothing to whine about. (Although I don't guarantee that I won't whine about it.)
It's almost 8:00 p.m. and I am ready for sleep.
Here are some old and new photos.
Remember the rock that came down and crushed a couple of cars in the Gorge? Here's a photo I took the next day.
Walk down Russell Street through my town and you end up here, on this pier. This was a couple of days ago. It was very, very, very cold.
Here's a view of Hamilton Mountain from near my house. You can see part of the roof of our house, near the church steeple. It was very, very cold.
Here's Mario a few minutes ago. (Yes, those are my horses. Last night I dreamed I had two horses and I couldn't find anyone who could take care of them while I was gone. What can I say?)
Two shot
Okay, I guess I'll try to sleep. 0 comments
So our little detour to Medford is nothing to whine about. (Although I don't guarantee that I won't whine about it.)
It's almost 8:00 p.m. and I am ready for sleep.
Here are some old and new photos.
Remember the rock that came down and crushed a couple of cars in the Gorge? Here's a photo I took the next day.
Walk down Russell Street through my town and you end up here, on this pier. This was a couple of days ago. It was very, very, very cold.
Here's a view of Hamilton Mountain from near my house. You can see part of the roof of our house, near the church steeple. It was very, very cold.
Here's Mario a few minutes ago. (Yes, those are my horses. Last night I dreamed I had two horses and I couldn't find anyone who could take care of them while I was gone. What can I say?)
Two shot
Okay, I guess I'll try to sleep. 0 comments
On the Road Again...Maybe
OK. They've opened up the highway. We had our own little community for a while in and around the Comfort Inn. People came in with stories of cars all over the freeway. "It's just terrible going south," some would say. "It's just terrible going north," others said. The hotel let us rent rooms and as long as we didn't use them, they said they'd refund our money if the roads opened up. I thought that was very kind. Mario is driving now. We're in stop 'n go traffic in this tiny town, everyone trying to get on the freeway. We're letting cars in. We're all in this together, after all. Today some guy in a white pickup gave us the finger. Have no idea why. We're driving on I5 with hardly anyone in sight and this guy gave us the finger. Very strange.
Oh by the way, our car is giving us trouble. Did I mention that? We took it to Vancouver Honda for a check-up before we left. Paid lots of money. And lookee here we are in the middle of nowhere, and it’s not working right. Not sure what we’re going to do. Soooo.....oooooeeeeee ain’t we havin’ fun!
My connection is going here. Isn't this a grand adventure? Wish us safety! 0 comments
Oh by the way, our car is giving us trouble. Did I mention that? We took it to Vancouver Honda for a check-up before we left. Paid lots of money. And lookee here we are in the middle of nowhere, and it’s not working right. Not sure what we’re going to do. Soooo.....oooooeeeeee ain’t we havin’ fun!
My connection is going here. Isn't this a grand adventure? Wish us safety! 0 comments
Ice Ice Ice
Hello. I'm sitting here in a parking lot in Cottage Grove, Oregon. About two hours ago we were driving along free as birds and it started to rain. Fine. Well, not fine. It turned the roads to a sheet of ice. Luckily, we were seconds from a rest area. Got off there. Hung out for a few minutes. Then drove a few more miles. Saw a pick-up flung over a guard rail as though a giant's child had wearied of it. We got off to fill up the car. Cars covered in ice everywhere. Just then they shut down the highway. Too much ice, too many accidents. But wait there's more. Our car is not working properly. Took it to Honda a few days ago to get it ready, and they unreadied it. An old problem has sprung up again. The engine light comes on and then the speedometer doesn't work. *sigh* So we can't continue our trip yet. We have to find a Honda dealer—so they'll pay for it, I hope—and see where we can go from there. Please, let us go to the land of sun.
How's your day? 0 comments
How's your day? 0 comments
Saturday, December 17, 2005
Preparations
A cold east wind is shaking the house. Just called a friend to tell her we had a bunch of food for her. Mario wanted to put most of it on our compost pile; I was horrified (OK, perhaps horrified is a bit extreme). He came around to my way of thinking, however. We pay a lot of money for our food. I want someone to benefit from it. We packed. Prepared food for the next three days. Packed our on-the-road kitchen. It is almost 9:00 p.m. That's when we're going to try to sleep since we're getting up at 5:30 a.m. so we can be on the road by 7:00 a.m. Let's hope there's no ice on the road. The big challenge will be first to get out of the Gorge safely. Then next, it'll be getting over the Siskiyou Summit. If we can get over it by mid-afternoon we should be all right. It's over 4,000 feet in elevation. I'm hoping for no freezing rain. You can't do anything in freezing rain. If we have to, we'll stay overnight in Ashland.
Yes, I am nervous. Remember last year we were in a car accident. Ah well. Gotta be in the now. That's one of the books on tape we're taking, by the way. The Power of Now (one of my friends swears by it, so I'll listen), Adams vs. Jefferson by John Ferling, and Beach Music by Pat Conroy.
Wish us luck. Actually, let me be specific: wish us good luck if you would. 0 comments
Yes, I am nervous. Remember last year we were in a car accident. Ah well. Gotta be in the now. That's one of the books on tape we're taking, by the way. The Power of Now (one of my friends swears by it, so I'll listen), Adams vs. Jefferson by John Ferling, and Beach Music by Pat Conroy.
Wish us luck. Actually, let me be specific: wish us good luck if you would. 0 comments
Do Bears?
Do bears hibernate in the woods? When I was a kid I was taught they did hibernate. Later I learned they didn't. I just searched the web and tried to find the "true" answer. Various scientific articles had different answers. *sigh* Wikipedia had different answers. In the article about hibernation it said bears didn't hibernate; in the article about bears, it said they did. I pointed out the error of their ways. I love Wiki. According to researchers at the journal Nature, Wiki is as accurate as the Encyclopedia Britannica—both had about the same rate of errors. Yes, indeedy, the ole Brit is not always accurate. You heard it here...last.
Some good news: The Senate did not extend some parts of the the Patriot Act. You can see how your Senators voted in the linked article. I would encourage you to contact your Senators and let them know how you feel about their vote—especially the Republicans who voted against it. They need to be encouraged as they step away from the crazies. Some bad news: Speaking of crazies, as we suspected "they" have been spying on us, and "they" is the Bushy, and he's copping to it, saying he'll do anything to protect us. Patriarchal bullshit. You do not protect us by spying on those who disagree with you, you fascist little wanna-be dictator.
Anyway, I got things to do. We're on the road tomorrow. I'm a bit nervous. If you'll remember last year we got in a car accident on the first day of our trip to AZ. (See links to Under the Tucson Moon to the right.)
So from now until when I get home, maybe even until after the operation, I won't be posting much news about the world. It'll probably mostly be about me, moi, and me. My intention is to go to AZ, heal, rest, write, hug my sweetie, research the jaguar, hike, and take photos. Create tenemos and allow for healing. We'll see what the universe thinks of my plans.
So if you come here for the ranting and raving, I may be short on that for a while. For Solstice, there's a link to the right and down for Solstice Stories. Dragon Pearl is a good holiday story too.
Talk atcha soon. 1 comments
Some good news: The Senate did not extend some parts of the the Patriot Act. You can see how your Senators voted in the linked article. I would encourage you to contact your Senators and let them know how you feel about their vote—especially the Republicans who voted against it. They need to be encouraged as they step away from the crazies. Some bad news: Speaking of crazies, as we suspected "they" have been spying on us, and "they" is the Bushy, and he's copping to it, saying he'll do anything to protect us. Patriarchal bullshit. You do not protect us by spying on those who disagree with you, you fascist little wanna-be dictator.
Anyway, I got things to do. We're on the road tomorrow. I'm a bit nervous. If you'll remember last year we got in a car accident on the first day of our trip to AZ. (See links to Under the Tucson Moon to the right.)
So from now until when I get home, maybe even until after the operation, I won't be posting much news about the world. It'll probably mostly be about me, moi, and me. My intention is to go to AZ, heal, rest, write, hug my sweetie, research the jaguar, hike, and take photos. Create tenemos and allow for healing. We'll see what the universe thinks of my plans.
So if you come here for the ranting and raving, I may be short on that for a while. For Solstice, there's a link to the right and down for Solstice Stories. Dragon Pearl is a good holiday story too.
Talk atcha soon. 1 comments
Friday, December 16, 2005
Ch-ch-changes
Okay, that's really just me shivering. I know it's almost winter. It's supposed to be cold. However, we are breaking records on how long it's been cold here. I know the rest of the country is having problemos too. But change is coming. Freezing rain might be coming through the Gorge, so Mario and I are going to try to leave for AZ earlier than we planned. Sunday morn. We wanted to leave Saturday, but Mario couldn't get off work.
Today we had to go grocery shopping in Portland since we're leaving early. While there, we went to see Brokeback Mountain. DON'T READ ANY FURTHER IF YOU DON'T WANT TO KNOW WHAT HAPPENS IN THE MOVIE. Spoiler Alert!!!
I've been looking forward to this movie for months. It looked like an unusual story, a love story, two cowboys out in nature. Got good press, gave good trailer. But I was very disappointed. All the critics kept saying how beautiful it is. When Ennis and Jake were on Brokeback Mountain, it was beautiful. But they weren't there very long. I wanted a love story. I wanted more lovin'. I don't mean I wanted to see explicit sex. I don't care who they are, I'm not interested in watching graphic sex on screen. Ain't my thing. But people loving each other, being tender, or whatever. That's cool by me. How this movie treated gays reminded me of how mouthy women were treated in books and movies for years: they were either dead by the end or alone, depressed, and living in squalor. (See Madwoman in the Attic for more info on broads coming to bad ends.) You can guess from that description what happened in the movie.
I know, I know. You're saying what did I expect from a movie about two cowboys in love with one another in 1963 in Wyoming? I expected more. Something unique. I didn't want a Hollywood ending. As Mario said, this was a Hollywood ending. Two men fell in love with each other and their lives were shit from then on. Not that their lives were that grand before each other, but you get the point. I think it's great the movie was made and lots of people are going to see it. I just wish the writers had been more imaginative with their storytelling. (Plus, could we have had more than one kiss?) I am in the minority here, I understand. I guess I just wanted more for the guys than the screenwriters gave them.
It was a very sad movie. So sad. Made me want to work on Butch. She and her buds will have some difficult times, but it ain't gonna be that sad. Or squalid. Or tragic.
Anyway, just my opine. Now I've gotta get ready to leave this burg. 0 comments
Today we had to go grocery shopping in Portland since we're leaving early. While there, we went to see Brokeback Mountain. DON'T READ ANY FURTHER IF YOU DON'T WANT TO KNOW WHAT HAPPENS IN THE MOVIE. Spoiler Alert!!!
I've been looking forward to this movie for months. It looked like an unusual story, a love story, two cowboys out in nature. Got good press, gave good trailer. But I was very disappointed. All the critics kept saying how beautiful it is. When Ennis and Jake were on Brokeback Mountain, it was beautiful. But they weren't there very long. I wanted a love story. I wanted more lovin'. I don't mean I wanted to see explicit sex. I don't care who they are, I'm not interested in watching graphic sex on screen. Ain't my thing. But people loving each other, being tender, or whatever. That's cool by me. How this movie treated gays reminded me of how mouthy women were treated in books and movies for years: they were either dead by the end or alone, depressed, and living in squalor. (See Madwoman in the Attic for more info on broads coming to bad ends.) You can guess from that description what happened in the movie.
I know, I know. You're saying what did I expect from a movie about two cowboys in love with one another in 1963 in Wyoming? I expected more. Something unique. I didn't want a Hollywood ending. As Mario said, this was a Hollywood ending. Two men fell in love with each other and their lives were shit from then on. Not that their lives were that grand before each other, but you get the point. I think it's great the movie was made and lots of people are going to see it. I just wish the writers had been more imaginative with their storytelling. (Plus, could we have had more than one kiss?) I am in the minority here, I understand. I guess I just wanted more for the guys than the screenwriters gave them.
It was a very sad movie. So sad. Made me want to work on Butch. She and her buds will have some difficult times, but it ain't gonna be that sad. Or squalid. Or tragic.
Anyway, just my opine. Now I've gotta get ready to leave this burg. 0 comments
Thursday, December 15, 2005
Potato, Potato
I am a couch potato today. After I vacuumed, did three loads of laundry, and washed the dishes, I plopped down on the couch and haven't gotten up since. Okay, technically, I have gotten up many, many time: made three meals, made Mario's lunch, answered the phone several times, called the Honda dealer to yell at them, tried to fix the frozen windshield wiper fluid reservoir, drove the car to the garage in town, kvetched about the Honda dealer who put in the wrong kind of fluid in reservoir, did the dishes again. I've been quite the hausfrau today.
I just watched a Lewis Black comedy special. I think I was him in another life. Except for all the sexual references. It seems that comedians are obsessed with their penises. (You never hear me talking about, say, my vagina.) It's not just male comedians. It seems to be an overall male obsession—at least in all the movies and TV shows. Maybe it's because our works are all tucked up tidily (and prettily) out of sight, so we're not always thinking or talkin' about them. I guess if that which brought me so much pleasure was out swinging in the wind like it is with my male compadres, I'd be a little obsessed too—a little obsessed about getting it out of harm's way. But that's just me.
I wonder if the new King Kong is anatomically correct? I just looked it up, and the penis of an adult male gorilla is one and a half inches long. (BTW, I'll just clue you in right now: if you go to Wiki and look up "penis," be prepared. It ain't a pretty picture. And picture is the operative word. Ewwww.)
Mario just got home. I told him I was writing about penises. He said, "What is there to say?" So I had to trace my thought process back to Lewis Black. Phew. Now I can let go of this sudden obsession. Or momentary interest.
I don't think I'm going to see Brokeback Mountain tomorrow with my friend. Since I'm having trouble with the car I don't want to promise to be someplace at a certain time and then have to back out. He wanted to bring his ex-wife. I said, "Well, I know it's none of my business but I don't like the way she treated you and I don't really want to spend time with her. I love you; I don't love her. In fact, when you were married she didn't want anything to do with us, so why does she want to spend time with me now?" We've known each other so long and have been such good friends that I felt comfortable saying all that without him disowning me. We talked for another hour, only spending about five minutes on the ex. We got to talking about evolution since his son is an evangelical christian. He told me that 51% of Americans don't believe in evolution.
"No, that can't be true," I said. "Really? Is that true in the rest of the world?"
"It's an American phenomenon."
"Geez, Louise." Can we really be that stupid? I was raised Catholic. (Regular readers know I am no longer of the cathols.) We believed in God and in evolution. They did not contradict one another. (I know that's a terrible sentence given the meaning I'm trying to convey, but it's late and my brain is fried so be tolerant.) One was religion; one was science. Most everyone I knew believed in evolution; they also believed in God. Who are these fruitcakes?
Speaking of fruit...(sorry) our blueberry cake is done. I didn't have enough of any of the ingredients, but it was still good. You can hardly go wrong with blueberries. Unless you don't like blueberries.
This post should be called the babble post.
I don't think I can think intelligently as I get ready to leave on our trip.
That's my story and I'm sticking to it. (See, I've lost my wit. I'm actually witless...or else I'm just realizing it.)
Ta! 0 comments
I just watched a Lewis Black comedy special. I think I was him in another life. Except for all the sexual references. It seems that comedians are obsessed with their penises. (You never hear me talking about, say, my vagina.) It's not just male comedians. It seems to be an overall male obsession—at least in all the movies and TV shows. Maybe it's because our works are all tucked up tidily (and prettily) out of sight, so we're not always thinking or talkin' about them. I guess if that which brought me so much pleasure was out swinging in the wind like it is with my male compadres, I'd be a little obsessed too—a little obsessed about getting it out of harm's way. But that's just me.
I wonder if the new King Kong is anatomically correct? I just looked it up, and the penis of an adult male gorilla is one and a half inches long. (BTW, I'll just clue you in right now: if you go to Wiki and look up "penis," be prepared. It ain't a pretty picture. And picture is the operative word. Ewwww.)
Mario just got home. I told him I was writing about penises. He said, "What is there to say?" So I had to trace my thought process back to Lewis Black. Phew. Now I can let go of this sudden obsession. Or momentary interest.
I don't think I'm going to see Brokeback Mountain tomorrow with my friend. Since I'm having trouble with the car I don't want to promise to be someplace at a certain time and then have to back out. He wanted to bring his ex-wife. I said, "Well, I know it's none of my business but I don't like the way she treated you and I don't really want to spend time with her. I love you; I don't love her. In fact, when you were married she didn't want anything to do with us, so why does she want to spend time with me now?" We've known each other so long and have been such good friends that I felt comfortable saying all that without him disowning me. We talked for another hour, only spending about five minutes on the ex. We got to talking about evolution since his son is an evangelical christian. He told me that 51% of Americans don't believe in evolution.
"No, that can't be true," I said. "Really? Is that true in the rest of the world?"
"It's an American phenomenon."
"Geez, Louise." Can we really be that stupid? I was raised Catholic. (Regular readers know I am no longer of the cathols.) We believed in God and in evolution. They did not contradict one another. (I know that's a terrible sentence given the meaning I'm trying to convey, but it's late and my brain is fried so be tolerant.) One was religion; one was science. Most everyone I knew believed in evolution; they also believed in God. Who are these fruitcakes?
Speaking of fruit...(sorry) our blueberry cake is done. I didn't have enough of any of the ingredients, but it was still good. You can hardly go wrong with blueberries. Unless you don't like blueberries.
This post should be called the babble post.
I don't think I can think intelligently as I get ready to leave on our trip.
That's my story and I'm sticking to it. (See, I've lost my wit. I'm actually witless...or else I'm just realizing it.)
Ta! 0 comments
Cuz He Says So
The Bushy (he doesn't feel like the Emperor anymore, does he?) has said all along that he won't comment on the Plame CIA Leak case because it is an ongoing investigation. Yet in a sit down with Brit "Satan" Hume of Faux News, the Bushy said DeLie is innocent. Now unless the Bushy knows something I don't know (and I suppose that's possible), the DeLie case is ongoing too. (Or have they paid everyone off so they do know what's going to happen there?) When the press secretary was asked about this discrepancy today, McClellan said, "Because he's the prez and he can do what he wants. Like invade a sovereign country so shut you mouth." Or words to that effect. Fellow loony Robert Novak says the president must know who the leaker in the Plame Gate is so everyone should bug the prez and leave Novak alone. Really. He used the word "bug." You can't make this stuff up.
Such goofballs.
Cuz I says so.
P.S. Don't forget: Big Brother is watching. 0 comments
Such goofballs.
Cuz I says so.
P.S. Don't forget: Big Brother is watching. 0 comments
Wednesday, December 14, 2005
Get the Picture?
Wind began again last night. Shaking the house as if to say, "Listen to me! Listen to me!" Woke up from a bad nightmare. Reached out for Mario, touched his skin. Relief. I dreamed he disappeared and I had to dodge dinosaurs to find him. Sounds like a kid's dream, doesn't it?
When it was time to get up, Mario got up first and made breakfast and lunch for me. I listened to the road reports: ice, car accidents, etc. Mario and I decided the news people were exaggerating, but I left early anyway. First Mario scraped the ice off the car windows, started the car, and put the cooler (with my lunch inside) in the car. What a sweetheart!
The roads were fine. The air was bad. I couldn't tell (until later in the day when the air became colored), but I knew an air advisory was in effect. People with respiratory problems—like moi—weren't supposed to breathe the air. (Tell me how we manage that, please.) I guess it was all right for other people to suck in polluted air. It's a strange world.
I got my NAET treatment in Lake Oswego, then drove to my next appointment in Portland. Spent some time with the naturopath. I had told him I didn't want to think of my body as toxic sludge. I like that he listens to me and then adjusts. So he explained what was happening in my body in a different way—using a different story. I liked it better. Then I had craniosacral therapy next door—in the same house. (The practitioners are married.)
I had no idea what craniosacral therapy was before I started it several weeks ago, but she lightly touches me in places that hurt or used to hurt (without me telling her they hurt). Then later I feel sore in old places, and then the soreness eases away. I know that doesn't really describe it very concretely. Describing any of this process is difficult. I don't know why I don't seem to have the words. Maybe it's because I'm still in medias res. Who knows?
Afterward, I ate the lunch Mario prepared while I talked to him on the phone. I cruised up to the medicinary at the Naturopathic College, and then I drove home just about the time the hair stylist drove up to cut my hair. She comes to my house so I'm not exposed to the chems at the shop. Very nice.
Made cookies. A treat for Mars when he got home. And for me.
Mario came home from work. He tried to take a photograph of me so I could show you what my nose and face looks like, before the surgery. But none of the photos turned out. Something vaguely amusing about that.
I took our photo in the mirror as Mario made dinner. Of all the treatments I've been getting, Mario's therapy is the best. He makes certain I have good nourishing food every day. I think that has helped more than almost anything. He's my sweetheart.
That's all I wanted to say. Not exciting but there you are.
May You Breathe in Beauty!
0 comments
When it was time to get up, Mario got up first and made breakfast and lunch for me. I listened to the road reports: ice, car accidents, etc. Mario and I decided the news people were exaggerating, but I left early anyway. First Mario scraped the ice off the car windows, started the car, and put the cooler (with my lunch inside) in the car. What a sweetheart!
The roads were fine. The air was bad. I couldn't tell (until later in the day when the air became colored), but I knew an air advisory was in effect. People with respiratory problems—like moi—weren't supposed to breathe the air. (Tell me how we manage that, please.) I guess it was all right for other people to suck in polluted air. It's a strange world.
I got my NAET treatment in Lake Oswego, then drove to my next appointment in Portland. Spent some time with the naturopath. I had told him I didn't want to think of my body as toxic sludge. I like that he listens to me and then adjusts. So he explained what was happening in my body in a different way—using a different story. I liked it better. Then I had craniosacral therapy next door—in the same house. (The practitioners are married.)
I had no idea what craniosacral therapy was before I started it several weeks ago, but she lightly touches me in places that hurt or used to hurt (without me telling her they hurt). Then later I feel sore in old places, and then the soreness eases away. I know that doesn't really describe it very concretely. Describing any of this process is difficult. I don't know why I don't seem to have the words. Maybe it's because I'm still in medias res. Who knows?
Afterward, I ate the lunch Mario prepared while I talked to him on the phone. I cruised up to the medicinary at the Naturopathic College, and then I drove home just about the time the hair stylist drove up to cut my hair. She comes to my house so I'm not exposed to the chems at the shop. Very nice.
Made cookies. A treat for Mars when he got home. And for me.
Mario came home from work. He tried to take a photograph of me so I could show you what my nose and face looks like, before the surgery. But none of the photos turned out. Something vaguely amusing about that.
I took our photo in the mirror as Mario made dinner. Of all the treatments I've been getting, Mario's therapy is the best. He makes certain I have good nourishing food every day. I think that has helped more than almost anything. He's my sweetheart.
That's all I wanted to say. Not exciting but there you are.
May You Breathe in Beauty!
0 comments
Tuesday, December 13, 2005
Wired
This is rather strange. Mario and I are sitting in the living room, each of us with a laptop in our lap. This wireless thing is so easy and fast it's scary. So futuristic. Do we really need to be this wired? To be this tuned in? A couple of nights ago I woke up and my mind was chattering and racing in an awful way, just like it does if I do chocolate or caffeine. Crazy feeling. Maybe I'm on the computer too much. Who knows? I won't waste your time or mine speculating.
As we feared, the government is indeed spying on peace activists. I've already noticed in the paper that the government is arresting more and more environmentalists and calling them terrorists. Or at least it seems so. Well, there's proof they've been spying on peace folks. (Yes, I just linked to an NBC News story, which is mainstream and rather conservative; hell has frozen over.)
Do you know if they've spied on you?
Speaking of being unwired, I gotta get up at the butt-crack of dawn.
Don't you love my sophisticated prose?
Ta! 1 comments
As we feared, the government is indeed spying on peace activists. I've already noticed in the paper that the government is arresting more and more environmentalists and calling them terrorists. Or at least it seems so. Well, there's proof they've been spying on peace folks. (Yes, I just linked to an NBC News story, which is mainstream and rather conservative; hell has frozen over.)
Do you know if they've spied on you?
Speaking of being unwired, I gotta get up at the butt-crack of dawn.
Don't you love my sophisticated prose?
Ta! 1 comments
Aching
Sitting watching comedies on TV. Yes, it is restful. What I need. What I really need is to feel better but distraction will do for now.
Today the wind stopped, for the most part, and the outdoors became bearable again. I went to Evine's house to meet Linda. (I can’t get down her snowy icy drive, and she can’t get up my steps.) Several other friends came over too. We sat at the table eating crackers and cheese—well, they ate crackers and cheese. I hung out and balanced the medical benefit fund checkbook.
It was nice to see some friends and especially good to see Linda before we leave. She still doesn't have water at her house because the pipes froze. She's hobbling along on her walker with a catheter hooked on it, trying not to break her very fragile hip, and she doesn't have water and her lights were flickering. She’s all by herself at night. Her catheter bag broke last night and leaked all over her rug. She doesn’t complain. I think she’s trying to show her daughter she can do for herself so that she’ll go to college in January.
On occasion friends have called me and said they really thought we should try to encourage Linda to live closer to town so that she would have all the conveniences of being in town—and then we wouldn’t have to worry about her so much. But Linda doesn't want to live here. She wants to live even deeper in the woods. I’d say, “Why should Linda live in town just so we don't worry about her when her heart is elsewhere? If she freezes to death, she freezes to death. It's her choice.”
After tea and snacks, Linda opened a box and brought out some of her favorite things and passed them around for us to take. I took a rabbit worry stone she had made.
As we looked at her treasures, she said, "You know, the healing circle you guys did at the hospital really helped. I believe that. The nurse told me that no one ever lives with calcium at 24."
"I hope she didn't tell you that at the time," I said.
She laughed. "No," she said. "Later. That's when I understood why my family was there."
"Yes," I said, "we called your family because they said you were going to be dead at any moment. You fooled them.”
"It was the healing circle," she said. "I'm sure of it."
When it was time to say goodbye I started to tear up. Very unexpected. She doesn't like that. I told her, "This is the deal, Linda. Everything has to be all right while we're gone. I mean it." This would probably be the last time I saw her before we leave for Arizona.
“That's right,” Linda said. “Nothing can happen unless you're here in the middle of it." She smiled and hugged me.
As soon as I stepped out the door I got a bad headache. Tried to drink lots of water. Ate. Several times. Now Mario is making me blueberry pancakes. (Five ingredients: blueberries, oat flour, water, egg, baking soda.) Then cooked in olive oil. OK, then I douse them in maple syrup. Pure, of course. Thank you, Maples! When I have a headache, blueberry pancakes always help. (Quelle surprise, eh?) Not sure I feel better after I'm finished, but it’s worth it for those few minutes.
If that doesn't work I might have to resort to drugs.
Tomorrow I finish my NAET treatments, have another craniosacral session, and see the naturopath. Doesn't that sound exciting? As I'm writing this, I'm realizing it all sounds very blah. It's the headache speaking. It's saying, "Blah, blah, blah, blah.”
OK. Ate the pancakes. Headache still there. Now watching That 70s Show. It’s so funny.
Speaking of media. I can hardly wait to see Brokeback Mountain. I’ve been waiting for this movie for months. When I heard the story, I thought, "Man, I wish I'd written that." (That's the highest compliment a writer can give.) Mario has to work Friday when it opens, so our friend Dave and I might go. I want to see it in Portland instead of Tucson. Portland is a movie town and a blue town. Tucson is a blue town, but it is in a red state. So I can’t be sure what the audience will be like. I don’t want to be watching this movie with a bunch of of people going, “Ooooh, ick,” every time the boys make out. In Portland, I don't have to worry about that.
What can I say?
I’ve just realized this has deteriorated into a high school diary. I do apologize.
I blame it on television.
Which I’m now going to go watch with my full attention.
Today the wind stopped, for the most part, and the outdoors became bearable again. I went to Evine's house to meet Linda. (I can’t get down her snowy icy drive, and she can’t get up my steps.) Several other friends came over too. We sat at the table eating crackers and cheese—well, they ate crackers and cheese. I hung out and balanced the medical benefit fund checkbook.
It was nice to see some friends and especially good to see Linda before we leave. She still doesn't have water at her house because the pipes froze. She's hobbling along on her walker with a catheter hooked on it, trying not to break her very fragile hip, and she doesn't have water and her lights were flickering. She’s all by herself at night. Her catheter bag broke last night and leaked all over her rug. She doesn’t complain. I think she’s trying to show her daughter she can do for herself so that she’ll go to college in January.
On occasion friends have called me and said they really thought we should try to encourage Linda to live closer to town so that she would have all the conveniences of being in town—and then we wouldn’t have to worry about her so much. But Linda doesn't want to live here. She wants to live even deeper in the woods. I’d say, “Why should Linda live in town just so we don't worry about her when her heart is elsewhere? If she freezes to death, she freezes to death. It's her choice.”
After tea and snacks, Linda opened a box and brought out some of her favorite things and passed them around for us to take. I took a rabbit worry stone she had made.
As we looked at her treasures, she said, "You know, the healing circle you guys did at the hospital really helped. I believe that. The nurse told me that no one ever lives with calcium at 24."
"I hope she didn't tell you that at the time," I said.
She laughed. "No," she said. "Later. That's when I understood why my family was there."
"Yes," I said, "we called your family because they said you were going to be dead at any moment. You fooled them.”
"It was the healing circle," she said. "I'm sure of it."
When it was time to say goodbye I started to tear up. Very unexpected. She doesn't like that. I told her, "This is the deal, Linda. Everything has to be all right while we're gone. I mean it." This would probably be the last time I saw her before we leave for Arizona.
“That's right,” Linda said. “Nothing can happen unless you're here in the middle of it." She smiled and hugged me.
As soon as I stepped out the door I got a bad headache. Tried to drink lots of water. Ate. Several times. Now Mario is making me blueberry pancakes. (Five ingredients: blueberries, oat flour, water, egg, baking soda.) Then cooked in olive oil. OK, then I douse them in maple syrup. Pure, of course. Thank you, Maples! When I have a headache, blueberry pancakes always help. (Quelle surprise, eh?) Not sure I feel better after I'm finished, but it’s worth it for those few minutes.
If that doesn't work I might have to resort to drugs.
Tomorrow I finish my NAET treatments, have another craniosacral session, and see the naturopath. Doesn't that sound exciting? As I'm writing this, I'm realizing it all sounds very blah. It's the headache speaking. It's saying, "Blah, blah, blah, blah.”
OK. Ate the pancakes. Headache still there. Now watching That 70s Show. It’s so funny.
Speaking of media. I can hardly wait to see Brokeback Mountain. I’ve been waiting for this movie for months. When I heard the story, I thought, "Man, I wish I'd written that." (That's the highest compliment a writer can give.) Mario has to work Friday when it opens, so our friend Dave and I might go. I want to see it in Portland instead of Tucson. Portland is a movie town and a blue town. Tucson is a blue town, but it is in a red state. So I can’t be sure what the audience will be like. I don’t want to be watching this movie with a bunch of of people going, “Ooooh, ick,” every time the boys make out. In Portland, I don't have to worry about that.
What can I say?
I’ve just realized this has deteriorated into a high school diary. I do apologize.
I blame it on television.
Which I’m now going to go watch with my full attention.
Labels: Linda
1 comments
Worst Companies
The Global Exchange has listed the companies which are the worst human rights violators.
They are (drum roll please):
1. Caterpillar
Their Human Rights Abuses are: "contracting with known violators of human rights, enabling house demolition, supplying equipment that kills Palestinian civilians and American peace activists."
2. Chevron
Their Human Rights Abuses are: "environmental destruction, health violations, and violent killings."
3. Coca Cola
Their Human Rights Abuses are: "violent killings, kidnap and torture, water privatization, health violations, and discriminatory practices."
Here's an old favorite:
4. Dow Chemical Company
Their Human Rights Abuses are: "creation of chemical weapons, marketing poisonous chemicals, illegal dumping of toxins into populated areas, environmental destruction, health problems, death."
5. DynCorp (Haven't heard of them? Think mercenaries)
Their Human Rights Abuses are: "causing health problems, environmental devastation and death; endangering lives; physically abusing individuals; sex trafficking."
This is sad:
6. Ford Motor Company (The CEO's lips say, "we're so good," while in reality they're so bad.)
Their Human Rights Abuses are: "environmental degradation, climate change, fueling wars for oil."
7. KBR (part of Halliburton)
Their Human Rights Abuses are: "Overcharging and providing unnecessary services on taxpayer's dollar, bribery, exploiting third country nationals."
8. Lockheed Martin (what Eisenhower warned us against: the military industrial complex)
Their Human Rights Abuses are: "War profiteering, warmongering."
9. Monsanto (think monoculture; think monster with a spray bottle misting our planet in pesticides)
Their Human Rights Abuses are: "displacement, health violations, and child labor," chemical warfare via pesticides.
10. Nestle USA
Their Human Rights Abuses are: "abusive child labor, repression of worker rights, aggressive marketing of harmful products, violation of national health and environmental laws."
11. Philip Morris (ain't it a drag, Phil)
Their Human Rights Abuses are: "aggressively marketing lethal products."
12. Pfizer (think of Africa and HIV and all the people not getting the drugs they need)
Their Human Rights Abuses are: "killer price-gouging."
13. Suez-Lyonnaise Des Eaux (finally one of the companies is not American owned)
Their Human Rights Abuses are: "water privatization."
14. Wal-Mart (What would a list like this be without the largest corporation in the world?)
Their Human Rights Abuses are: "worker rights violations, labor discrimination, union busting.?
Doesn't it warm the cockles of your heart? So anytime you need to hire a mercenary, buy a warplane, get your water cleaned, or buy something cheap for the holidays, you'll know where not to go.
Except for my snide remarks, all information about the human rights abuses comes from The Global Exchange. 0 comments
They are (drum roll please):
1. Caterpillar
Their Human Rights Abuses are: "contracting with known violators of human rights, enabling house demolition, supplying equipment that kills Palestinian civilians and American peace activists."
2. Chevron
Their Human Rights Abuses are: "environmental destruction, health violations, and violent killings."
3. Coca Cola
Their Human Rights Abuses are: "violent killings, kidnap and torture, water privatization, health violations, and discriminatory practices."
Here's an old favorite:
4. Dow Chemical Company
Their Human Rights Abuses are: "creation of chemical weapons, marketing poisonous chemicals, illegal dumping of toxins into populated areas, environmental destruction, health problems, death."
5. DynCorp (Haven't heard of them? Think mercenaries)
Their Human Rights Abuses are: "causing health problems, environmental devastation and death; endangering lives; physically abusing individuals; sex trafficking."
This is sad:
6. Ford Motor Company (The CEO's lips say, "we're so good," while in reality they're so bad.)
Their Human Rights Abuses are: "environmental degradation, climate change, fueling wars for oil."
7. KBR (part of Halliburton)
Their Human Rights Abuses are: "Overcharging and providing unnecessary services on taxpayer's dollar, bribery, exploiting third country nationals."
8. Lockheed Martin (what Eisenhower warned us against: the military industrial complex)
Their Human Rights Abuses are: "War profiteering, warmongering."
9. Monsanto (think monoculture; think monster with a spray bottle misting our planet in pesticides)
Their Human Rights Abuses are: "displacement, health violations, and child labor," chemical warfare via pesticides.
10. Nestle USA
Their Human Rights Abuses are: "abusive child labor, repression of worker rights, aggressive marketing of harmful products, violation of national health and environmental laws."
11. Philip Morris (ain't it a drag, Phil)
Their Human Rights Abuses are: "aggressively marketing lethal products."
12. Pfizer (think of Africa and HIV and all the people not getting the drugs they need)
Their Human Rights Abuses are: "killer price-gouging."
13. Suez-Lyonnaise Des Eaux (finally one of the companies is not American owned)
Their Human Rights Abuses are: "water privatization."
14. Wal-Mart (What would a list like this be without the largest corporation in the world?)
Their Human Rights Abuses are: "worker rights violations, labor discrimination, union busting.?
Doesn't it warm the cockles of your heart? So anytime you need to hire a mercenary, buy a warplane, get your water cleaned, or buy something cheap for the holidays, you'll know where not to go.
Except for my snide remarks, all information about the human rights abuses comes from The Global Exchange. 0 comments
Monday, December 12, 2005
Call Your Senators Now!
The Senate is poised to reauthorize the repulsive Patriot Act (the reauthorization is temporarily on hold at this moment I believe), and this "new" one appears to be worse than the old one: no sunset provision, among other things. A bipartisan filibuster is in the works. Call your Senators. Encourage them to vote against the reauthorization. Encourage them to support the filibuster.
0 comments
Saturday, December 10, 2005
Piece of Paper
I heard this on Will Shetterly's blog: Bush thinks the Constitution is just a "god-damned piece of paper." Isn't it really more parchment than paper? Anyway, as Captain Renault said in Casablanca, "I'm shocked, shocked...to discover Bush is an asshole." OK. Maybe he didn't quite say that. But you get the point. It is sad, though. I keep thinking that he has to have respect for something besides $$$$$. That's rather delusional on my part, wouldn't you say?
All of this is a stall. I need to eat and drive to Portland. Getting more craniosacral therapy and seeing another ND. My allergies are very very bad today. All swollen up and dripping like a...really gross thing. I've been involved in all these various healing modalities for WEEKS and nothing feels any different right now. Makes me kind of sad.
Now that you have that drippy visual, I'm outta here! 1 comments
All of this is a stall. I need to eat and drive to Portland. Getting more craniosacral therapy and seeing another ND. My allergies are very very bad today. All swollen up and dripping like a...really gross thing. I've been involved in all these various healing modalities for WEEKS and nothing feels any different right now. Makes me kind of sad.
Now that you have that drippy visual, I'm outta here! 1 comments
Cat Giggles
I laughed so hard at this video Mario found.
May You Giggle in Beauty! 0 comments
May You Giggle in Beauty! 0 comments
Who Was Pulling the Sleigh
Most of you have probably gotten this joke that goes around the internet at this time of year. I always giggle, more so this year since one of my 80-something friends sent it to me a few days after Mario and I got lost in Portland. Mario was driving. I was nauseated at the time, so driving around in stop 'n go rush hour traffic being lost was not very fun to the nth degree. After about twenty minutes of us driving around lost, I said I wanted to drive. (Very kindly I said this, don't get any ideas.) I got into the driver's seat, turned the car around, and stopped at the first lighted building, which happened to be a hotel—and I ASKED FOR DIRECTIONS. What is so freakin' hard about that?
Anyway, if you've heard this joke, stop me: Did you know that both male and female reindeer grow antlers? But by Christmas time, male reindeer are bald, bald, bald, while the female reindeer retain their luxurious antlers. You know what this means, don't you? Every single one of Santa's reindeer is female. And as my friend Ira says, "We should have known. Only women would be able to drag a fat-ass man in a red velvet suit all around the world in one night and not get lost." Badda-boom.
What can I say. One cornball joke a year won't kill ya. 0 comments
Anyway, if you've heard this joke, stop me: Did you know that both male and female reindeer grow antlers? But by Christmas time, male reindeer are bald, bald, bald, while the female reindeer retain their luxurious antlers. You know what this means, don't you? Every single one of Santa's reindeer is female. And as my friend Ira says, "We should have known. Only women would be able to drag a fat-ass man in a red velvet suit all around the world in one night and not get lost." Badda-boom.
What can I say. One cornball joke a year won't kill ya. 0 comments
Fiddling
While the Earth burns, freezes, chokes, the U.S. fiddles. The rest of the world is trying to do something about global warming and the U.S. just digs in its heels, crosses its proverbial arms, and says, "No, no, no!" like the little bully it is. The U.S. wouldn't even sign a nonbinding agreement to talk about it. Our rep got up and walked out of the talks about talks. Walked out. This person was representing us to the world and he said no to even talking about saving the planet. 24 hours later the U.S. came back to the talks, primarily, it seems, because Bill Clinton was there and did some fast negotiating. However, the two biggest producers of greenhouse gases, the U.S. and China, still won't sign onto the Kyoto Protocols.
I was sitting here thinking that the rest of the world should get together and declare war on us. Then I realized that was American thinking. The rest of the world should get together and refuse to do any business with us. Don't buy our goods; don't sell us goods. Plus, say you'll stand united against us if we start rattling our swords. Same with China. Don't buy anything from China; don't sell them anything.
It's kind of like this. Imagine the Earth is our Mother. Which she is actually. And all these countries are her children. Two of her children are trying to kill her and the rest of the children. What should the other children do? 0 comments
I was sitting here thinking that the rest of the world should get together and declare war on us. Then I realized that was American thinking. The rest of the world should get together and refuse to do any business with us. Don't buy our goods; don't sell us goods. Plus, say you'll stand united against us if we start rattling our swords. Same with China. Don't buy anything from China; don't sell them anything.
It's kind of like this. Imagine the Earth is our Mother. Which she is actually. And all these countries are her children. Two of her children are trying to kill her and the rest of the children. What should the other children do? 0 comments
Brrrrrrr
(Sung to the tune of "War.")
Winter. Huh. What is it good for? Absolutely...
OK, it kills the bugs. Nature's pesticide. Kills the bugs, kills the bugs, kills the bugs. Gotta hang on to that while we're freezing our butts off.
May You Stay Warm in Beauty! 0 comments
Winter. Huh. What is it good for? Absolutely...
OK, it kills the bugs. Nature's pesticide. Kills the bugs, kills the bugs, kills the bugs. Gotta hang on to that while we're freezing our butts off.
May You Stay Warm in Beauty! 0 comments
Friday, December 09, 2005
Incompetent Design
Mario found this great article about "incompetent design." Professor emeritus Don Wise "cites serious flaws in the systems of the human body as evidence that design in the universe exhibits not an obvious source of, but a sore lack of, intelligence." Listening to the song at the end of the article is a must. Thanks, Mar.
0 comments
Buying Tales
Just got a missive from Starhawk (not personally; from her list). She notes that even the most anti-capitalists buy stuff at this time of year, so she was suggesting people buy books. I liked her argument so I'm going to bring it here to FS and add some of my own thoughts.
She pointed out that people aren't buying a lot of books these days, except for the bestsellers. If people don't buy non-bestselling books, the other books don't get published. And I can attest to that. Midlist fiction is dying on the vine and so are the writers. I need to pay my rent and utility bills, plus buy my groceries. I can only do that if people buy my books. That's just the way it works. FS is free, and I devote a lot of words to this blog. Books are different. What is written in a blog often does not have the benefit of reflection or time. Besides, you can't get a lot of good fiction on the web. Books still hold the treasure of stories.
So feel free to gift my books to someone near and dear. Counting on Wildflowers was published by a small feminist press so you would be doing them and me a service, plus you'd be getting a good read, remember. (Click on "orders" once you go to the site.) You can be some of the first to order Mercy, Unbound, although it wouldn't be there in time for Solstice, Hanukkah, Christmas, Kwanza, or New York. Mario's books are available in print or in a downloadable form. They're charming, imaginative, moving, and/or funny.
If not mine or Mario's, buy books written by authors who aren't best-selling writers. Find someone you've always wanted to read—preferably someone alive. And don't buy used if you can afford it. Writers get no royalties from used books. Buy fiction! Fiction has more truth than most nonfiction. Good fiction is written by storytellers—by those who know how to dip into the mythic stream and come up with ambrosia—and then hold it out for you to drink. To sip or gulp, as you wish. Ambrosia.
And that was my plug for my book. I don't do it often but there it is.
This reminds me of a story, actually. Or an anecdote. I have always loved hearing stories. My father read to us from the time we were wee babes. I often ask Mario to tell me stories, especially if I'm tired or not feeling well. He doesn't mind reading to me, but he doesn't like telling stories. It's too hard, I think, to come up with something on the spur of the moment if you are not accustomed to doing so. I come from a long line of storytellers (fabricators, raconteurs, liars), so it's a bit more natural for me. What he often does is tell me the "good parts" version of a novel he's reading, which I enjoy. Last night (morning) both of us were awake at 5:00 a.m. Mario was certain he couldn't get back to sleep, which would have probably meant he'd be exhausted and cranky at work. So I said, “I’ll tell you a story. That’ll put you to sleep.”
So I whispered a story about a boy who couldn't sleep. He didn’t know what to do until he remembered somebody once saying they counted sheep to sleep. So he closed his eyes and imagined sheep jumping over a fence, and he began counting them. But he got so bored by this that he was even more awake. He decided he should count something that was interesting to him. The sheep stopped jumping over the fence. Instead robots began jumping. So he started counting the robots: One robot, two robot, three robot, four robot. Suddenly the fifth robot tripped going over the fence and fell to the ground in a heap, kind of like the tin man in Wizard of Oz. The other robots keep coming. Six robot. Seven robot. Only now they all kept tripping and falling into a heap, one on top of the other, until the shiny pile grew taller and taller and taller. It almost reached to the moon...
What happened next? I don't remember. Mario fell to sleep and I nodded off soon after, so the ending has faded into dreamland. My guess is that once the boy fell to sleep and the robots were certain he was going to sleep through the night, they climbed down the heap that was them until they were individuals again. They dusted themselves off, did a little spit and shine without the spit, and then went on their way, congratulating each other on a job well done, telling stories about the night they helped save the boy and reassuring one another that they were ready to do it again, any time, any place.
OK. It's 3:00 a.m. and I think that story made me sleepy. So I'm off to bed.
'nite! 1 comments
She pointed out that people aren't buying a lot of books these days, except for the bestsellers. If people don't buy non-bestselling books, the other books don't get published. And I can attest to that. Midlist fiction is dying on the vine and so are the writers. I need to pay my rent and utility bills, plus buy my groceries. I can only do that if people buy my books. That's just the way it works. FS is free, and I devote a lot of words to this blog. Books are different. What is written in a blog often does not have the benefit of reflection or time. Besides, you can't get a lot of good fiction on the web. Books still hold the treasure of stories.
So feel free to gift my books to someone near and dear. Counting on Wildflowers was published by a small feminist press so you would be doing them and me a service, plus you'd be getting a good read, remember. (Click on "orders" once you go to the site.) You can be some of the first to order Mercy, Unbound, although it wouldn't be there in time for Solstice, Hanukkah, Christmas, Kwanza, or New York. Mario's books are available in print or in a downloadable form. They're charming, imaginative, moving, and/or funny.
If not mine or Mario's, buy books written by authors who aren't best-selling writers. Find someone you've always wanted to read—preferably someone alive. And don't buy used if you can afford it. Writers get no royalties from used books. Buy fiction! Fiction has more truth than most nonfiction. Good fiction is written by storytellers—by those who know how to dip into the mythic stream and come up with ambrosia—and then hold it out for you to drink. To sip or gulp, as you wish. Ambrosia.
And that was my plug for my book. I don't do it often but there it is.
This reminds me of a story, actually. Or an anecdote. I have always loved hearing stories. My father read to us from the time we were wee babes. I often ask Mario to tell me stories, especially if I'm tired or not feeling well. He doesn't mind reading to me, but he doesn't like telling stories. It's too hard, I think, to come up with something on the spur of the moment if you are not accustomed to doing so. I come from a long line of storytellers (fabricators, raconteurs, liars), so it's a bit more natural for me. What he often does is tell me the "good parts" version of a novel he's reading, which I enjoy. Last night (morning) both of us were awake at 5:00 a.m. Mario was certain he couldn't get back to sleep, which would have probably meant he'd be exhausted and cranky at work. So I said, “I’ll tell you a story. That’ll put you to sleep.”
So I whispered a story about a boy who couldn't sleep. He didn’t know what to do until he remembered somebody once saying they counted sheep to sleep. So he closed his eyes and imagined sheep jumping over a fence, and he began counting them. But he got so bored by this that he was even more awake. He decided he should count something that was interesting to him. The sheep stopped jumping over the fence. Instead robots began jumping. So he started counting the robots: One robot, two robot, three robot, four robot. Suddenly the fifth robot tripped going over the fence and fell to the ground in a heap, kind of like the tin man in Wizard of Oz. The other robots keep coming. Six robot. Seven robot. Only now they all kept tripping and falling into a heap, one on top of the other, until the shiny pile grew taller and taller and taller. It almost reached to the moon...
What happened next? I don't remember. Mario fell to sleep and I nodded off soon after, so the ending has faded into dreamland. My guess is that once the boy fell to sleep and the robots were certain he was going to sleep through the night, they climbed down the heap that was them until they were individuals again. They dusted themselves off, did a little spit and shine without the spit, and then went on their way, congratulating each other on a job well done, telling stories about the night they helped save the boy and reassuring one another that they were ready to do it again, any time, any place.
OK. It's 3:00 a.m. and I think that story made me sleepy. So I'm off to bed.
'nite! 1 comments
Thursday, December 08, 2005
Harold Pinter's Nobel Speech
I am speechless after reading (and then listening to) Harold Pinter's Nobel Prize speech. (You can listen to it here.) He talked about literature, reality, and fiction. Political fiction. He laid bare the horror of the American foreign policy. Astonishing, actually. He said, in part, "The invasion of Iraq was a bandit act, an act of blatant state terrorism, demonstrating absolute contempt for the concept of international law. The invasion was an arbitrary military action inspired by a series of lies upon lies and gross manipulation of the media and therefore of the public; an act intended to consolidate American military and economic control of the Middle East masquerading - as a last resort - all other justifications having failed to justify themselves - as liberation. A formidable assertion of military force responsible for the death and mutilation of thousands and thousands of innocent people.
"We have brought torture, cluster bombs, depleted uranium, innumerable acts of random murder, misery, degradation and death to the Iraqi people and call it 'bringing freedom and democracy to the Middle East'.
"How many people do you have to kill before you qualify to be described as a mass murderer and a war criminal? One hundred thousand? More than enough, I would have thought. Therefore it is just that Bush and Blair be arraigned before the International Criminal Court of Justice."
But that wasn't even the "worst" of it—or the best of it, the entire truth of it. He also talked about the war in Central America and what our government did there—how our government has supported one right-wing government after another, to the detriment of millions of people.
As I read his words, I was taken back to our involvement in the peace movement for Central America in the eighties when we lived on the coast of Oregon. I was in my mid-twenties, naive, ignorant and absolutely shattered to learn what was being done in our name by our government in Central America. I remember having a young man to our home for dinner, someone who was being sheltered by the Sanctuary movement yet who come to talk with our peace group and our community about what was happening to his country, El Salvador. Being with this quiet compassionate man, even for a short time, changed me in a way I still cannot fully articulate. I believed, as I think he believed, if the American people knew what was happening in Central America, they would do something to stop it. But they didn't. Didn't stop it and didn't care. And the atrocities went on and on.
Something happens to your soul when you see horror—even when it is not personally happening to you—and you can do nothing to stop it. After a while, you go insane, turn away (a form of insanity) or you become a witness to it. You listen to the stories. Open your heart. Write your own stories to honor their suffering. Speak out in any way you can. Harold Pinter spoke out last night. His speech should be on the front page of every paper across our country. Not that most people would care. Except maybe to be irritated with him because he is British and criticizing our government. But it should be published everywhere anyway.
As I listened to the speech, I suddenly thought of the German people during World War II who claimed they didn't know what their government was doing and even if they did they could do nothing about it. I never believed that excuse. I never accepted that excuse. Now people around the world wonder how the American people can sit by and let their government continue to do what it has done. Ignorance is not an excuse. Bush's poll numbers are rising again. Congress just renewed the Patriot Act. I thought the Emperor and his tailors were falling out of power, but like Humpty Dumpty, he seems to be putting his regime back together again. We must all do what we can—even if it is to live our lives in revolt of the consumptive and ignorant culture. I don't mean that to sound patronizing or holier-than-thou. I mean it in reality. We can each decide what is our responsibility—what is our ability to respond.
I am grateful for Harold Pinter's speech.
Bravo, Mr. Pinter. We wish you a speedy recovery. 0 comments
"We have brought torture, cluster bombs, depleted uranium, innumerable acts of random murder, misery, degradation and death to the Iraqi people and call it 'bringing freedom and democracy to the Middle East'.
"How many people do you have to kill before you qualify to be described as a mass murderer and a war criminal? One hundred thousand? More than enough, I would have thought. Therefore it is just that Bush and Blair be arraigned before the International Criminal Court of Justice."
But that wasn't even the "worst" of it—or the best of it, the entire truth of it. He also talked about the war in Central America and what our government did there—how our government has supported one right-wing government after another, to the detriment of millions of people.
As I read his words, I was taken back to our involvement in the peace movement for Central America in the eighties when we lived on the coast of Oregon. I was in my mid-twenties, naive, ignorant and absolutely shattered to learn what was being done in our name by our government in Central America. I remember having a young man to our home for dinner, someone who was being sheltered by the Sanctuary movement yet who come to talk with our peace group and our community about what was happening to his country, El Salvador. Being with this quiet compassionate man, even for a short time, changed me in a way I still cannot fully articulate. I believed, as I think he believed, if the American people knew what was happening in Central America, they would do something to stop it. But they didn't. Didn't stop it and didn't care. And the atrocities went on and on.
Something happens to your soul when you see horror—even when it is not personally happening to you—and you can do nothing to stop it. After a while, you go insane, turn away (a form of insanity) or you become a witness to it. You listen to the stories. Open your heart. Write your own stories to honor their suffering. Speak out in any way you can. Harold Pinter spoke out last night. His speech should be on the front page of every paper across our country. Not that most people would care. Except maybe to be irritated with him because he is British and criticizing our government. But it should be published everywhere anyway.
As I listened to the speech, I suddenly thought of the German people during World War II who claimed they didn't know what their government was doing and even if they did they could do nothing about it. I never believed that excuse. I never accepted that excuse. Now people around the world wonder how the American people can sit by and let their government continue to do what it has done. Ignorance is not an excuse. Bush's poll numbers are rising again. Congress just renewed the Patriot Act. I thought the Emperor and his tailors were falling out of power, but like Humpty Dumpty, he seems to be putting his regime back together again. We must all do what we can—even if it is to live our lives in revolt of the consumptive and ignorant culture. I don't mean that to sound patronizing or holier-than-thou. I mean it in reality. We can each decide what is our responsibility—what is our ability to respond.
I am grateful for Harold Pinter's speech.
Bravo, Mr. Pinter. We wish you a speedy recovery. 0 comments
Updated Website
I did an update on my KimAntieau.com website. Not a big one. I posted links to Mercy, Unbound, and links to some nice reviews of my short story "Storm Poet," that just came out from Asimov's.
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Honor Restored
The Brits' high court has declared that any evidence gained from torture is inadmissible. Way to go, GB. As our mater country, you're setting a good example for the colonies. According to the New York Times, Lord Hoffman wrote, "In our own century, many people in the United States, heirs to that common-law tradition, have felt their country dishonored by its use of torture outside the jurisdiction and its practice of extra-legal 'rendition' of suspects to countries where they would be tortured." You said a mouthful, Lord H. Brings tears to my eyes. "Dishonored" is only part of what we've been feeling, but it's a good word for now.
0 comments
Furies Descending
Today I was so furious I could have torn the car apart. I was listening to an NPR report about "honor killings" in Iraq. A 16-year-old girl was kidnapped from her home. The kidnappers threatened to rape and murder her if someone in the family who worked for the police didn't quit. So he quit. The girl was released. She was shot to death once she got home. Because she MAY have been raped, they "had" to kill her. They call it an honor killing? On what fucking planet is that honorable? It's murder. And even worse, they're murdering someone in their own family who didn't do anything wrong. Why don't we hear more about these kinds of things? If we're going to fight a war, why don't we fight a war to stop these demented motherfuckers from murdering women!!!!! As the killer talked about killing his cousin, with the full consent of her father and family—they may even have watched, I don't remember—he claimed Islam was against these killings but honor had to be "shined." Tribal tradition was very powerful, he said. If a man is kidnapped and then released, his release is celebrated. If a woman is kidnapped and then released, she is murdered—then the family honor is in tact. That's what this killer said.
AGAIN I SAY: ARE THEY FUCKING NUTS?
These murderers are not prosecuted, by the way. And Iraq is not the only country where this happens.
Earlier in day, I made a visit to a "spiritual advisor." This was in conjunction with one of my many medical appointments. I won't say where it was or with whom because...I want to be discreet. I wanted to go see this person because she was supposed to be able to advise people dealing with illness of any spiritual bent. (That sentence can be read a number of ways, can't it?) I was curious about what a spiritual advisor might say. So I went. I told her right away that I did not believe in God. "Because if you believe in an omnipotent god, don't you then have to believe he's a crazy fascist to allow such suffering to continue?" OK, I said it a bit more delicately than that.
She said God didn't cause the suffering, people do. Heard that before. Despite her obvious bent toward Christianity and my obvious bent away from Christianity, she was compassionate and kind. We talked about suffering. As usual, I was not satisfied with the outcome of the conversation, but she did make the suggestion that my angst and disbelief in god (because of the continuation of suffering) might be a sign of immaturity. (Because when you're a kid you believe in a Utopia. Then you see what life really is and you grow up.) Only I've always seen suffering. And she may not have implied I was immature, maybe I just gleaned that.
After about 45 minutes, we did a short meditation. I rather liked it. She thought part of my suffering was from rejecting the father. Damn fucking straight I reject the father as god and the patriarchy. I don't believe that rejection causes my suffering, however. I find comfort in my repudiation of the pater. I asked her what her religion was: Catholic. I asked what she thought about what was happening in the church, i.e. the molestation scandal. She thought it was a good thing—they were cleaning out the bad guys. I said that not allowing gays in the priesthood wasn't going to help. She said that a kind of homosexual subculture had occurred in the church (in addition to the pedophiles). Gay priests could get along with women, she said, but not with heterosexual men so this had created a problem. This was also true with lesbians as nuns, she continued, not being able to get along with heterosexual women. I didn't know what to say to this. I thought, well, time to leave. I started to get up and said, "Well, I don't like that the church is getting involved in politics. A bishop told Catholics if they voted for Kerry they'd be sinners." She didn't think a bishop had done that, but I said he had. "He said that because Kerry is pro-choice." "Well, pro-choice is difficult," she said.
"Women have a right to chose whether they have children or not," I said.
"They shouldn't have intercourse if they don't want a baby and if they get pregnant they shouldn't decide to kill the baby."
Wow.
She said the thing about killing babies several times. How could I have had a reasonable conversation with this woman about suffering and now suddenly she seemed like a fundamentalist? I stared at her. How had I missed that? Reasonable people can agree to disagree. Right? But some things are right and some things are wrong. Being prejudiced against gays is wrong. What she was saying about gays sounded like bigotry to me. Believing women don't have autonomy over their own bodies is wrong (see above for how extreme this loss of autonomy can go). (Women can decide that abortion is wrong for them, of course; then they can choose to never have an abortion.)
On my way out, I mentioned Kuan Yin. She takes the tears of those who are suffering, I said. She didn't know who Kuan Yin was. I thought how interesting it is that so many Christians know so little about other myths, religions, spirituality—even when advertising that they were open to other religions and spirituality.
Then on the way home I heard about the murders of the women in Iraq—murdered because they had been victims of a crime. Murdered because the traditions their families honored are WRONG, BAD, PATRIARCHAL.
It's all right to be furious, friends. It's OK to be angry. Don't let it burn you out. Let it fuel you.
That's honorable. 2 comments
AGAIN I SAY: ARE THEY FUCKING NUTS?
These murderers are not prosecuted, by the way. And Iraq is not the only country where this happens.
Earlier in day, I made a visit to a "spiritual advisor." This was in conjunction with one of my many medical appointments. I won't say where it was or with whom because...I want to be discreet. I wanted to go see this person because she was supposed to be able to advise people dealing with illness of any spiritual bent. (That sentence can be read a number of ways, can't it?) I was curious about what a spiritual advisor might say. So I went. I told her right away that I did not believe in God. "Because if you believe in an omnipotent god, don't you then have to believe he's a crazy fascist to allow such suffering to continue?" OK, I said it a bit more delicately than that.
She said God didn't cause the suffering, people do. Heard that before. Despite her obvious bent toward Christianity and my obvious bent away from Christianity, she was compassionate and kind. We talked about suffering. As usual, I was not satisfied with the outcome of the conversation, but she did make the suggestion that my angst and disbelief in god (because of the continuation of suffering) might be a sign of immaturity. (Because when you're a kid you believe in a Utopia. Then you see what life really is and you grow up.) Only I've always seen suffering. And she may not have implied I was immature, maybe I just gleaned that.
After about 45 minutes, we did a short meditation. I rather liked it. She thought part of my suffering was from rejecting the father. Damn fucking straight I reject the father as god and the patriarchy. I don't believe that rejection causes my suffering, however. I find comfort in my repudiation of the pater. I asked her what her religion was: Catholic. I asked what she thought about what was happening in the church, i.e. the molestation scandal. She thought it was a good thing—they were cleaning out the bad guys. I said that not allowing gays in the priesthood wasn't going to help. She said that a kind of homosexual subculture had occurred in the church (in addition to the pedophiles). Gay priests could get along with women, she said, but not with heterosexual men so this had created a problem. This was also true with lesbians as nuns, she continued, not being able to get along with heterosexual women. I didn't know what to say to this. I thought, well, time to leave. I started to get up and said, "Well, I don't like that the church is getting involved in politics. A bishop told Catholics if they voted for Kerry they'd be sinners." She didn't think a bishop had done that, but I said he had. "He said that because Kerry is pro-choice." "Well, pro-choice is difficult," she said.
"Women have a right to chose whether they have children or not," I said.
"They shouldn't have intercourse if they don't want a baby and if they get pregnant they shouldn't decide to kill the baby."
Wow.
She said the thing about killing babies several times. How could I have had a reasonable conversation with this woman about suffering and now suddenly she seemed like a fundamentalist? I stared at her. How had I missed that? Reasonable people can agree to disagree. Right? But some things are right and some things are wrong. Being prejudiced against gays is wrong. What she was saying about gays sounded like bigotry to me. Believing women don't have autonomy over their own bodies is wrong (see above for how extreme this loss of autonomy can go). (Women can decide that abortion is wrong for them, of course; then they can choose to never have an abortion.)
On my way out, I mentioned Kuan Yin. She takes the tears of those who are suffering, I said. She didn't know who Kuan Yin was. I thought how interesting it is that so many Christians know so little about other myths, religions, spirituality—even when advertising that they were open to other religions and spirituality.
Then on the way home I heard about the murders of the women in Iraq—murdered because they had been victims of a crime. Murdered because the traditions their families honored are WRONG, BAD, PATRIARCHAL.
It's all right to be furious, friends. It's OK to be angry. Don't let it burn you out. Let it fuel you.
That's honorable. 2 comments
Wednesday, December 07, 2005
Dog is My Co-Pilot
Happy Isis Day! Have a Great She-Bear Day! Rocking Virgin of Guadalupe Day! Have a Romping Saturnalia! Have a Cozy Vesta Day! Hope your Nyx and Hemera Night and Day is Grand! Merry Solstice! Happy Yule! Merry Myrrha Day! Have a Startling Star Fairy Day! Have a Raucous Nut Day! Somber Sekhmet! Blessed Mawu Day! Have an Honorable Spider Woman Celebration! May Your Chango Celebration Be Rich! Happy St. Nick Day! May You Dance With Erzulie on Her Day and Night! Party on With the Devas and Fairies! May Your Bask in the Glow of Amaterasu! Celebrate the Fiesta of Tonantzin in Good Health! Happy Chalchiuhtlique Be Charming! May You Have the Blessings of the Whale Moon! Happy Kwanza! Merry Chanukah! May You Glow on Lucia's Day! Celebrate Arianrhod, Bruma, Yuki Onne, Hecate, Vesta, Hestia, Perchta, Bertha, Befana, Luz, Eos, Amaterasu, Oya, Changing Woman in Peace and Good Health! Happy Kwan Yin Celebration! Happy Halycon Days! Merry Semele and Dionysus Day! Have a Foolish Day of the Fools!
And for those of you who celebrate the new god, the male god: Merry Christmas. 0 comments
And for those of you who celebrate the new god, the male god: Merry Christmas. 0 comments
Breathing...
This morning the Gorge is breathing deeply—or panting. The wind is blowing hard. If it were warmer, I would go out and do a little dance. But it is bone-chilling cold. And dark. I'm trying to go with the flow of things but if this wind goes on for days, it can be rather disconcerting. Plus the electricity often goes out.
I've stepped out of the fray. It's OK. I remember once a teacher of mine saying that sometimes the activists need to just sit down on a rock and meditate and those who had been sitting on a rock need to stand up and speak out. Often those who are engaged in activism have the same hang-ups and bad habits as those they are activating against. (OK, so I'm being creative with my use of that word; go with me.) So they need to step away and learn better ways to communicate. You know what I mean. No matter what "side" they're advocating for, organizations tend to be patriarchal, sexist, non-nurturing, and full of bossy people who don't communicate well and who tend toward extremism unless the members of that organization are really aware of those pitfalls and their own prejudices and weaknesses.
I am being active, however. For my body. For myself. Trying to get healthy. I dreamed last night that I was trying to buy the farm. Yeah, ain't that something. OK. It was more like a ranch. But still. I was also riding a horse. That was pretty cool. Riding a horse and trying to follow a little girl stuck behind a plastic partition, like the ones they have a doctor's offices. I tried to give the naturopath exact change and he said that wasn't helpful and gave me back the money. Aren't dreams just wonderful? Even if they don't mean anything, think of them as paintings. I would love to see paintings of my dreams. Ahhhh, what a canvas the dreamscape is.
I better go make myself something to eat. I'm sounding a little breathy myself.
By the way, did you hear about this huge rock slide in the Gorge? Just a few miles from where I live on the other side. I tried to take photos of it as we drove by it yesterday, but the pictures did not capture the BIGNESS of the rocks. A couple of them were bigger than cars. Two cars were crushed, by the way. Fortunately, the drivers were not seriously hurt.
May You Breathe in Beauty! 0 comments
I've stepped out of the fray. It's OK. I remember once a teacher of mine saying that sometimes the activists need to just sit down on a rock and meditate and those who had been sitting on a rock need to stand up and speak out. Often those who are engaged in activism have the same hang-ups and bad habits as those they are activating against. (OK, so I'm being creative with my use of that word; go with me.) So they need to step away and learn better ways to communicate. You know what I mean. No matter what "side" they're advocating for, organizations tend to be patriarchal, sexist, non-nurturing, and full of bossy people who don't communicate well and who tend toward extremism unless the members of that organization are really aware of those pitfalls and their own prejudices and weaknesses.
I am being active, however. For my body. For myself. Trying to get healthy. I dreamed last night that I was trying to buy the farm. Yeah, ain't that something. OK. It was more like a ranch. But still. I was also riding a horse. That was pretty cool. Riding a horse and trying to follow a little girl stuck behind a plastic partition, like the ones they have a doctor's offices. I tried to give the naturopath exact change and he said that wasn't helpful and gave me back the money. Aren't dreams just wonderful? Even if they don't mean anything, think of them as paintings. I would love to see paintings of my dreams. Ahhhh, what a canvas the dreamscape is.
I better go make myself something to eat. I'm sounding a little breathy myself.
By the way, did you hear about this huge rock slide in the Gorge? Just a few miles from where I live on the other side. I tried to take photos of it as we drove by it yesterday, but the pictures did not capture the BIGNESS of the rocks. A couple of them were bigger than cars. Two cars were crushed, by the way. Fortunately, the drivers were not seriously hurt.
May You Breathe in Beauty! 0 comments
Saturday, December 03, 2005
It's Just All Soup
It is pouring down pissing down raining. I want to go to Arizona now. I can't hike here. I can barely walk outside. (It ain't healthy to be waking outside in 36 degrees when it it pouring down pissing down rain.) I have the temperature for Tucson on my dashboard. It's sunny there. Warm. Ahhhhhh.
But I digress. I'm cooking soup. Aduki squash soup. I've written about this soup before. For a couple of months it was the only thing Linda would eat. Now I'm making some for us. I made extra in case she wanted any.
Here's my recipe, inspired by the I Hate to Cook Book. (It has recipes like Bastard Chicken and Skid Row Stroganoff. So this will be The Meaning of Life & Rain Aduki Soup. I hear it in my head as though a Beat poet was talking:
The world is watery today so indulge your existential funk. Those tiny blood red aduki beans are just the thing. Wash a 1/2 a cup of them. You don't need more. You eat alone because no one understands you. Rain down about four cups of water—the drink of life—on those magical beans. Will they sprout like Jack's beans? Or dance like jumping beans as the water begins to heat. Drop in some seaweed, just to remind you we all come from the ocean. Your body is mostly water, baby; you might as well face it. While the beans and water dance and cook and do their thing, feel free to comtemplate the woes of the world and your part in it. Or turn up the tunes, and dance, baby, dance. Then find yourself a butternut squash. Don't you love the shape? All curves. Peel the squash, carefully yet thoroughly, the way you'd peel the clothes from your lover. Yet get rid of that hard exterior so you've exposed the rich colorful inside. Chop up into small pieces, about two cups, and toss it into the water when the beans have done their thing. Cook another 30 minutes.
As you watch it cook perhaps you consider sharing this soup with another. Remember Stone Soup. Maybe the other wouldn't bring carrots or potatoes, but love, baby, love. Makes the world spin round. In the end, toss in some salt if you need it. Maybe some raw onions. Otherwise, drink this dark heady brew of a soup and know that you are one with the planet, baby. Even if you're two.
What can I say? I'm feeling silly today. And hungry. Time to go eat the soup...baby.
BOOM!
1 comments
But I digress. I'm cooking soup. Aduki squash soup. I've written about this soup before. For a couple of months it was the only thing Linda would eat. Now I'm making some for us. I made extra in case she wanted any.
Here's my recipe, inspired by the I Hate to Cook Book. (It has recipes like Bastard Chicken and Skid Row Stroganoff. So this will be The Meaning of Life & Rain Aduki Soup. I hear it in my head as though a Beat poet was talking:
The world is watery today so indulge your existential funk. Those tiny blood red aduki beans are just the thing. Wash a 1/2 a cup of them. You don't need more. You eat alone because no one understands you. Rain down about four cups of water—the drink of life—on those magical beans. Will they sprout like Jack's beans? Or dance like jumping beans as the water begins to heat. Drop in some seaweed, just to remind you we all come from the ocean. Your body is mostly water, baby; you might as well face it. While the beans and water dance and cook and do their thing, feel free to comtemplate the woes of the world and your part in it. Or turn up the tunes, and dance, baby, dance. Then find yourself a butternut squash. Don't you love the shape? All curves. Peel the squash, carefully yet thoroughly, the way you'd peel the clothes from your lover. Yet get rid of that hard exterior so you've exposed the rich colorful inside. Chop up into small pieces, about two cups, and toss it into the water when the beans have done their thing. Cook another 30 minutes.
As you watch it cook perhaps you consider sharing this soup with another. Remember Stone Soup. Maybe the other wouldn't bring carrots or potatoes, but love, baby, love. Makes the world spin round. In the end, toss in some salt if you need it. Maybe some raw onions. Otherwise, drink this dark heady brew of a soup and know that you are one with the planet, baby. Even if you're two.
What can I say? I'm feeling silly today. And hungry. Time to go eat the soup...baby.
BOOM!
1 comments
Friday, December 02, 2005
Rainy Day Rumblings
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.
May You Rumble In Beauty! 0 comments
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.
May You Rumble In Beauty! 0 comments
Thursday, December 01, 2005
Haven't Forgotten
Well, I guess I have forgotten. I wrote this yesterday and never posted it. So here goes...
I haven't forgotten the world around me. I am fortunate enough that I have been able to withdraw for a time. I understand my fortune and I am grateful for it. For the next couple of months, my focus will be on my healing process. I am submerging myself in myself. We're planning on leaving for Tucson in a few weeks. I hope to rest, heal, write, and do more research on the jaguar.
And the world: Many people are writing about what's happening, even the mainstream media, and I think it is way past time for each of us to stand up and do what we are able to do—whatever that is: moula, time, or both. Speaking of where to send your money, Jeff Cohen has a good piece on Hillary Clinton and how she is not listening about Iraq. She sent out a fundraising letter and didn't even mention Iraq! Jimmy Breslin noticed that too. You've no doubt heard that our Vice President may be guilty of war crimes. If our Vice President might be guilty then why not the Emperor With No Clothes? I'm just asking.
Is anyone still talking about Katrina? I skimmed the Progressive website and didn't see much. I haven't watched CNN in so long (since Aaron Brown was fired) that I don't really know what they're covering. The New York Times still updates their page on the storm.
The poor in Louisiana and Mississippi are forgotten. Many insurance companies won't pay for the destroyed home, claiming the damage was from a flood not from a hurricane. Poor people cannot afford to rebuild so big companies (casinos, etc.) are swooping down and buying up land which has been owned for generations by the same families. The politicians have forgotten about them. We can't. You can go to the United for Peace and Justice link and see if there's something you want to do. I'll put it up on my permanent links too.
I'm off!
May You Spin in Beauty! 0 commentsAll photographs and written material copyright © 2003-2007 by Kim Antieau unless otherwise indicated. May not be used without permission.
I haven't forgotten the world around me. I am fortunate enough that I have been able to withdraw for a time. I understand my fortune and I am grateful for it. For the next couple of months, my focus will be on my healing process. I am submerging myself in myself. We're planning on leaving for Tucson in a few weeks. I hope to rest, heal, write, and do more research on the jaguar.
And the world: Many people are writing about what's happening, even the mainstream media, and I think it is way past time for each of us to stand up and do what we are able to do—whatever that is: moula, time, or both. Speaking of where to send your money, Jeff Cohen has a good piece on Hillary Clinton and how she is not listening about Iraq. She sent out a fundraising letter and didn't even mention Iraq! Jimmy Breslin noticed that too. You've no doubt heard that our Vice President may be guilty of war crimes. If our Vice President might be guilty then why not the Emperor With No Clothes? I'm just asking.
Is anyone still talking about Katrina? I skimmed the Progressive website and didn't see much. I haven't watched CNN in so long (since Aaron Brown was fired) that I don't really know what they're covering. The New York Times still updates their page on the storm.
The poor in Louisiana and Mississippi are forgotten. Many insurance companies won't pay for the destroyed home, claiming the damage was from a flood not from a hurricane. Poor people cannot afford to rebuild so big companies (casinos, etc.) are swooping down and buying up land which has been owned for generations by the same families. The politicians have forgotten about them. We can't. You can go to the United for Peace and Justice link and see if there's something you want to do. I'll put it up on my permanent links too.
I'm off!
May You Spin in Beauty! 0 comments
