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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.
Sunday, December 31, 2006
Happy New Year's Eve!
Mario and I are in San Francisco. We'll probably go to sleep before midnight. It's never been a holiday we celebrate. There isn't a real difference between today and tomorrow. But we're here, out and about on New Year's Eve, something we've never done before. The closest we've come to being out on New Year's Eve is when we've been in Tucson over the holidays. But even then we've stayed in or around casita—although I think we went out to a movie last year.
Anyway, we're in a sweet little hotel near Golden Gate Park. We came here to see the Gee's Bend Quilts. Today was the last day of the exhibit, and the De Young Museum was packed. The quilts were extraordinary. Something so moving about these pieces of fabric stitched together by the women in a community of descendants of former slaves.
Tonight we went down to Chinatown and City Lights Books. Although I haven't been impressed with what I've read of the Beat Poets, I am glad for their existence, and I appreciate what they did and what they tried to do: art shouldn't be packaged, shouldn't be slick, shouldn't be the same. (And I think I told you we went to see William S. Burroughs once a few years ago, and it—or he—was pretty disgusting.) We bought a few books, and then we walked through Chinatown. The city was lovely. The skyscrapers in the near dark distance were outlined in white lights, like giant Christmas trees. The moon lit up the clouds. Up and down Grant Street people walked. Hucksters stood outside restaurants and shops, trying to get people to come inside. "Dim sum inside. You want dim sum?" After a while we walked back to our car and returned to the hotel. We had tried earlier to take the MUNI railway from our hotel to Chinatown, but it was so packed we didn't get on; we walked back to the car and drove instead.
When we came back to the room we made sandwiches and soup. It was a wonderful evening. Unfortunately, we're in a room with two tiny twin beds, so we're waving to each other across the room. Not very romantic, but at least we're together. Any year that I begin and end with Mario is a great year.
It was quite a year. I can't remember another like it. We all know what's happened in the world. In my own life I had two surgeries. Two of my dearest friends died. I wrote Church of the Old Mermaids and Ruby's Imagine. Mercy, Unbound came out. I learned how to be a Faery Doctor and I went to Santa Fe for Medicine for the Earth. We started the Old Mermaid School of Telling Tales and Finding Art. I can breathe through my nose. I smelled banana for a whole hour last week. I've smelled ginger. I've smelled lavender. I have smelled. Having a sense of smell is a great and wonderful thing....Well, I can hardly keep my eyes open, so I better go to sleep.
Here's wishing you all a great good healthy prosperous sustainable New Year!
P.S. I'm sorry, but I haven't been taking many pics here. However, the rose is from the Rose Garden in Golden State Park. That's my bed in this hotel, and the last photo is the wallpaper in the hotel. 2 comments
Saturday, December 30, 2006
On Thin Ice
I'm with Joanna. I want to continue to work on becoming more and more less and less the problem. (Got that? I couldn't resist.) When I heard about the bears who are no longer hibernating, and the polar bears falling through the ice, and now this latest ice shelf breaking off, I think of that 2004 movie The Day After Tomorrow which was about global warming. So many people said how ridiculous it was, but it seems that too many things that happened in that movie are happening now. Makes me shudder.
I am still exploring how to become carbon neutral while doing all the things I know how to do. I am a bit uncomfortable with companies trading to pollute, as seems to be the case, but I don't understand everything about it. And I absolutely agree that it's businesses who have to do something because how they do business is the problem. (Here's an interesting piece on making carbon trading fair trade.) I generally trust the NDRC and they're for it. You can go here and find out how you're doing. (Although some of the things they asked to determine if you were doing all you could were strange: do you use a microwave instead of a stove? No! That ain't healthy.) Here's ten things you can do as a New Year's resolutions to protect the planet. All of these things are good, but they won't fix the problem. Busidoms have to change how they do business. We need to pressure our elected leaders and those busidoms we deal with to make changes. It's where we spend our money, babies!
Let's go out there and undo it. 2 comments
I am still exploring how to become carbon neutral while doing all the things I know how to do. I am a bit uncomfortable with companies trading to pollute, as seems to be the case, but I don't understand everything about it. And I absolutely agree that it's businesses who have to do something because how they do business is the problem. (Here's an interesting piece on making carbon trading fair trade.) I generally trust the NDRC and they're for it. You can go here and find out how you're doing. (Although some of the things they asked to determine if you were doing all you could were strange: do you use a microwave instead of a stove? No! That ain't healthy.) Here's ten things you can do as a New Year's resolutions to protect the planet. All of these things are good, but they won't fix the problem. Busidoms have to change how they do business. We need to pressure our elected leaders and those busidoms we deal with to make changes. It's where we spend our money, babies!
Let's go out there and undo it. 2 comments
Trust
I am sitting here in our hotel for the night, learning to trust. Mario thought we were going to a hotel we'd already been to, so he hadn't asked if they used pesticides. So here we are, hoping that they didn't (no one on the night crew ever knows). Mario is writing his thousand words for the day. I've got a bit of a sore throat, but I didn't sleep much last night, so maybe it's just that...
When Mario was packing the car this morning, he saw the seashells around the house and inside the car. He was delighted. He thought it very charming—and lovely. It was startling to see them in the day time, as though a faery goddessmermother had left a little gift in the night.
Off we went about 8:00 a.m. It was very foggy down near Eugene. We saw lots of hawks sitting on the fence along the highway as we went through the Willamette Valley, waiting for roadkill, no doubt.
We got up and over the pass by about 4:00 p.m., which is nice. We never know what the pass will be like, but today it was clear. Mount Shasta was in prime gorgeous form. I love the Cascades. I love that I live amongst these giants. They always seem so present, so accessible, unlike many mountain ranges. Maybe it's just that we've been neighbors for so many years. Each mountain has its own personality; its own way of being in the world. If I wasn't feeling a bit fried, I'd explain that more fully. Mount Shasta always seems a bit by herself, away from the others, yet regal, an old queen draped in all her white finery.
We just came down out of the mountains a bit ago and now we're in our hotel. Tomorrow the plan, stan, is to head for San Francisco. One of the things we hope to do is stop by City Lights Bookstore, but we'll see. Mario and I are such geeks. When we go to the big city, we get excited about going to bookstores, art galleries, and some museums. Such fun.
See ya later.
Boom!
I ain't sleepin'! It's the night/morning before we leave on our trip and we have to be awake and alert to drive 500 miles. And I is AWAKE. I tried sleeping, tried falling to sleep to a DVD, tried a snack. Nada. Finally drove to the library to leave the keys to our house for the woman who is watching the house. I was in my pajamas, winter coat, and boots. I drove the three blocks carefully since it was 1:00 a.m. and the cops around here are known for stopping women who are driving alone in the middle of the night—and asking them what they're doing out. I kid you not. Went into the library, left the keys, and did a few other things. Then I drove home and walked up to our front door and guess what? Yeah, you're quicker than I am. The keys to the house were back at the library! Laughing at myself (and watching out for maniacs), I returned to the library and retrieved the keys.
It's lucky I amuse myself.
Earlier in the evening, I went out in the dark and the cold and talked to the Invisibles and did a little ceremony. I put seashells around the house and the cars. I talked to the faeries and other such. (Yeah, I know, I don't believe in god, but I do believe in the Invisibles.) The seashells were almost fluorescent in the waxing light of the moon. It looked as though the house was wearing a necklace of seashells strung with night. It was so lovely, these white shells against the black grass, like pieces of captured ocean waves. Shhhh. Do you hear it? Yep, that's the Old Sea.
I can't be certain, but I believe what I did was an Old Mermaid ceremony, surrounding myself and my house and land with the Seashells of Safety. The Shells of Serenity. Shells of Serendipity.
Perhaps I should have added: Shells of Sleep.
I shall go try again.
Ta!
Mario has suggested that I try to relax, so I thought I'd sit looking out the window and writing to you all for a bit. A flock of geese just flew over. It looks so cold outside. In the photo above those are raccoon prints going across a tiny concrete park between the hardware store and a restaurant in town; a huge old walnut tree overlooks it all. More geese just flew overhead. They are really beautiful; have you ever noticed that? I tend to forget that because they often just seem like living, walking bags of shit. I mean that in the most loving and kind way. But if you live anywhere near geese, you know that they seem to shit their weight every few minutes or so.
I hope you are having a good holiday season. Serena came over Christmas Eve, and that was nice. I started talking about Linda, and I just cried, tears streaming down my face, with Serena and Mario listening. Neither seemed uncomfortable with my grief which hasn't had much expression since Linda died. I talked about how I felt like I failed Linda in the end because I couldn't be with her every minute, how I would take the baby monitor outside with me and sit in her garden with the dogs and the birds and the apple trees, needing a break from her death rattle, how cowardly I felt, how bad I felt when our friend Mary accused me of neglect and maltreatment of Linda because I was carrying out Linda's wishes, because I wouldn't send her to a hospital against her will. I told Serena how afraid I was that Linda would die when I went to Arizona the last two years, but she didn't. I didn't tell her that part of the reason I went to Arizona those two years was because I needed a break from taking care of Linda, from worrying about her every minute of the day.
Serena talked, too. She seems almost peaceful now that she has decided to leave the farm. I wonder if I will ever find a friend like Linda again—although I didn't say that outloud. It took me almost forty years to find her, after all. She was so smart, and we had so many things in common. But we weren't the same. We were very different from one another, just as Mario and I are very different creatures. But we love each other. Linda and I loved each other so much that we could argue with one another. I don't argue with people I don't care about; I don't bother. (So if I disagree with you about something, assume I have great affection for you!
And Dave. His death was so sudden, so unfair. I miss him so much. I wonder if it ever goes away. I wonder if guilt ever goes away. I always feel guilt when my friends die, either because I feel as though I failed them or that I shoulda, woulda, coulda done something different if I'd only known...
Yesterday when I arrived at my naturopath's house, I came upon a car wreck, right out front. A white honda was completely flipped over, next to telephone pole. The occupants were gone, and some of the contents of the car as well as glass and other pieces of the car were strewn all over the road. I couldn't help but think of a car wreck that had happened in front of our house when I was still a teenager. I wrote about it in the essay Catastrophe:
When I was under twenty sitting at the kitchen table talking with my mother one afternoon, we heard the squeal of tires on our country road out front of the house, then that scream metal makes as it collapses and twists, and the crunch of glass shattering. Before my eardrums had stopped vibrating with the sounds of the crash, I was out the door.
Running, racing.
Steam or smoke rose from a crushed brown sedan tipped over on its side in the ditch.
A baby wailed.
I raced. The car wobbled.
I smelled gasoline.
I reached in through the shattered window
—glass and blood everywhere—
and a woman held up a bloody screaming infant toward me, carefully, gently, like Kunta Kinte’s father had held him up to the stars the night he was born, only this woman was sobbing.
“My baby,” she said.
I took the baby, cradled her bloody body against my breasts, and raced back into the house and gave her to my mother. Out again. Screen door slamming. Feet hitting the ground.
Across the road.
I pulled the mother from the wreck.
We waited for the explosion.
Which didn’t come.
The mother wept as we wiped the blood from the baby and found no wounds. It was blood from cuts the mother had sustained.
I look back at the girl who was me that day and smile. No hesitation. I knew what to do and I did it.
Thoughtless.
Beside myself.
Or wholly myself.
Whole, at least.
One day a few years ago after years, months, days of illness, misery, discomfort, I cried out angrily, asking the Universe when would I feel better. I wanted to be well, I said, but if that couldn’t happened, I wanted to accept myself—to come to some peace and understanding about my condition. I picked up a book of Rumi’s poems to fling across the room (it was the thing nearest to me). Instead, I opened the book at random (to Chapter Four: Cauldron of Love) to this poem:
Oh seeker,
These thoughts have such power over you.
From nothing you become sad,
From nothing you become happy.
You are burning in the flames
But I will not let out out
until you are fully baked,
fully wise,
and fully yourself.
It seemed strange to come upon this accident only minutes after it had happened. Had I come a few minutes earlier I may have been involved in the crash. (I had gotten in a bit of a traffic jam after stopping off at Sweetwater Farms, a Portland store with gorgeous pieces created by David Marsh and friends.) The people in the car crawled out and ran away before the police came. My naturopath ran after the woman, who was bleeding from the mouth, and told her she had to see a doctor because she could be bleeding internally. She didn't want to. When the ambulance came by, my naturopath waved it down so they would take care of her.
It was eerie—as though it had some meaning beyond the event. And now today I think of us going on our road trip. I hope we are free of accidents. I hope we are safe. It's made me a bit nervous. But...
I'm tired of being half-baked.
I'm done, baby. I'm all cooked. I'm ready for the world.
Let's go.
Cross your fingers. 0 comments
When Mario was packing the car this morning, he saw the seashells around the house and inside the car. He was delighted. He thought it very charming—and lovely. It was startling to see them in the day time, as though a faery goddessmermother had left a little gift in the night.
Off we went about 8:00 a.m. It was very foggy down near Eugene. We saw lots of hawks sitting on the fence along the highway as we went through the Willamette Valley, waiting for roadkill, no doubt.
We got up and over the pass by about 4:00 p.m., which is nice. We never know what the pass will be like, but today it was clear. Mount Shasta was in prime gorgeous form. I love the Cascades. I love that I live amongst these giants. They always seem so present, so accessible, unlike many mountain ranges. Maybe it's just that we've been neighbors for so many years. Each mountain has its own personality; its own way of being in the world. If I wasn't feeling a bit fried, I'd explain that more fully. Mount Shasta always seems a bit by herself, away from the others, yet regal, an old queen draped in all her white finery.
We just came down out of the mountains a bit ago and now we're in our hotel. Tomorrow the plan, stan, is to head for San Francisco. One of the things we hope to do is stop by City Lights Bookstore, but we'll see. Mario and I are such geeks. When we go to the big city, we get excited about going to bookstores, art galleries, and some museums. Such fun.
See ya later.
Boom!
Labels: travel
0 comments
Good Night/Good Mornin'
I ain't sleepin'! It's the night/morning before we leave on our trip and we have to be awake and alert to drive 500 miles. And I is AWAKE. I tried sleeping, tried falling to sleep to a DVD, tried a snack. Nada. Finally drove to the library to leave the keys to our house for the woman who is watching the house. I was in my pajamas, winter coat, and boots. I drove the three blocks carefully since it was 1:00 a.m. and the cops around here are known for stopping women who are driving alone in the middle of the night—and asking them what they're doing out. I kid you not. Went into the library, left the keys, and did a few other things. Then I drove home and walked up to our front door and guess what? Yeah, you're quicker than I am. The keys to the house were back at the library! Laughing at myself (and watching out for maniacs), I returned to the library and retrieved the keys.
It's lucky I amuse myself.
Earlier in the evening, I went out in the dark and the cold and talked to the Invisibles and did a little ceremony. I put seashells around the house and the cars. I talked to the faeries and other such. (Yeah, I know, I don't believe in god, but I do believe in the Invisibles.) The seashells were almost fluorescent in the waxing light of the moon. It looked as though the house was wearing a necklace of seashells strung with night. It was so lovely, these white shells against the black grass, like pieces of captured ocean waves. Shhhh. Do you hear it? Yep, that's the Old Sea.
I can't be certain, but I believe what I did was an Old Mermaid ceremony, surrounding myself and my house and land with the Seashells of Safety. The Shells of Serenity. Shells of Serendipity.
Perhaps I should have added: Shells of Sleep.
I shall go try again.
Ta!
Labels: faeries, Old Mermaids, sleep
1 comments
Friday, December 29, 2006
'laxin'
Mario has suggested that I try to relax, so I thought I'd sit looking out the window and writing to you all for a bit. A flock of geese just flew over. It looks so cold outside. In the photo above those are raccoon prints going across a tiny concrete park between the hardware store and a restaurant in town; a huge old walnut tree overlooks it all. More geese just flew overhead. They are really beautiful; have you ever noticed that? I tend to forget that because they often just seem like living, walking bags of shit. I mean that in the most loving and kind way. But if you live anywhere near geese, you know that they seem to shit their weight every few minutes or so.
I hope you are having a good holiday season. Serena came over Christmas Eve, and that was nice. I started talking about Linda, and I just cried, tears streaming down my face, with Serena and Mario listening. Neither seemed uncomfortable with my grief which hasn't had much expression since Linda died. I talked about how I felt like I failed Linda in the end because I couldn't be with her every minute, how I would take the baby monitor outside with me and sit in her garden with the dogs and the birds and the apple trees, needing a break from her death rattle, how cowardly I felt, how bad I felt when our friend Mary accused me of neglect and maltreatment of Linda because I was carrying out Linda's wishes, because I wouldn't send her to a hospital against her will. I told Serena how afraid I was that Linda would die when I went to Arizona the last two years, but she didn't. I didn't tell her that part of the reason I went to Arizona those two years was because I needed a break from taking care of Linda, from worrying about her every minute of the day.
Serena talked, too. She seems almost peaceful now that she has decided to leave the farm. I wonder if I will ever find a friend like Linda again—although I didn't say that outloud. It took me almost forty years to find her, after all. She was so smart, and we had so many things in common. But we weren't the same. We were very different from one another, just as Mario and I are very different creatures. But we love each other. Linda and I loved each other so much that we could argue with one another. I don't argue with people I don't care about; I don't bother. (So if I disagree with you about something, assume I have great affection for you!
And Dave. His death was so sudden, so unfair. I miss him so much. I wonder if it ever goes away. I wonder if guilt ever goes away. I always feel guilt when my friends die, either because I feel as though I failed them or that I shoulda, woulda, coulda done something different if I'd only known...
Yesterday when I arrived at my naturopath's house, I came upon a car wreck, right out front. A white honda was completely flipped over, next to telephone pole. The occupants were gone, and some of the contents of the car as well as glass and other pieces of the car were strewn all over the road. I couldn't help but think of a car wreck that had happened in front of our house when I was still a teenager. I wrote about it in the essay Catastrophe:
When I was under twenty sitting at the kitchen table talking with my mother one afternoon, we heard the squeal of tires on our country road out front of the house, then that scream metal makes as it collapses and twists, and the crunch of glass shattering. Before my eardrums had stopped vibrating with the sounds of the crash, I was out the door.
Running, racing.
Steam or smoke rose from a crushed brown sedan tipped over on its side in the ditch.
A baby wailed.
I raced. The car wobbled.
I smelled gasoline.
I reached in through the shattered window
—glass and blood everywhere—
and a woman held up a bloody screaming infant toward me, carefully, gently, like Kunta Kinte’s father had held him up to the stars the night he was born, only this woman was sobbing.
“My baby,” she said.
I took the baby, cradled her bloody body against my breasts, and raced back into the house and gave her to my mother. Out again. Screen door slamming. Feet hitting the ground.
Across the road.
I pulled the mother from the wreck.
We waited for the explosion.
Which didn’t come.
The mother wept as we wiped the blood from the baby and found no wounds. It was blood from cuts the mother had sustained.
I look back at the girl who was me that day and smile. No hesitation. I knew what to do and I did it.
Thoughtless.
Beside myself.
Or wholly myself.
Whole, at least.
One day a few years ago after years, months, days of illness, misery, discomfort, I cried out angrily, asking the Universe when would I feel better. I wanted to be well, I said, but if that couldn’t happened, I wanted to accept myself—to come to some peace and understanding about my condition. I picked up a book of Rumi’s poems to fling across the room (it was the thing nearest to me). Instead, I opened the book at random (to Chapter Four: Cauldron of Love) to this poem:
Oh seeker,
These thoughts have such power over you.
From nothing you become sad,
From nothing you become happy.
You are burning in the flames
But I will not let out out
until you are fully baked,
fully wise,
and fully yourself.
It seemed strange to come upon this accident only minutes after it had happened. Had I come a few minutes earlier I may have been involved in the crash. (I had gotten in a bit of a traffic jam after stopping off at Sweetwater Farms, a Portland store with gorgeous pieces created by David Marsh and friends.) The people in the car crawled out and ran away before the police came. My naturopath ran after the woman, who was bleeding from the mouth, and told her she had to see a doctor because she could be bleeding internally. She didn't want to. When the ambulance came by, my naturopath waved it down so they would take care of her.
It was eerie—as though it had some meaning beyond the event. And now today I think of us going on our road trip. I hope we are free of accidents. I hope we are safe. It's made me a bit nervous. But...
I'm tired of being half-baked.
I'm done, baby. I'm all cooked. I'm ready for the world.
Let's go.
Cross your fingers. 0 comments
Thursday, December 28, 2006
Who Knew?
Well, after nearly a week of no internet service, we is back. We're also scrambling to get ready for our trip, so I'm not sure when I'll write again. But I saw this piece about how the park service is not allowed to say how old the Grand Canyon is. AND they are selling a book in the park store that says Noah's flood created the Grand Canyon. They don't want to offend religious fundamentalists, Don Hazen of Alternet says. Why aren't they worried about offending those of us who have brains? Man, I can't wait until these people are out of office, or until they go back to school and learn some freaking science. How come they're so afraid of science? If god exists, she believes in science! If their faith was strong, they'd figure out that god could have invented science in all its intricacies and beauty.
3 comments
Tuesday, December 26, 2006
Off the Net
We don't have internet, no dsl, wireless, or dialup. We might not get it back before we leave, so I'm not sure when I'll post again. Mario broke a tooth tonight, so we also have to see if he can get into the dentist and then see how serious it is. If everything works out, we'll be on the road by Saturday. If not...not.
Went to see two movies today. I love Portland. It's such a book and movie town, which fits us perfectly. The movies were absolutely packed. We went to Dreamgirls first. Eddie Murphy was really good in it, and the woman who played Effie, Jennifer Hudson, was amazing. Her voice was a knockout. I read somewhere that she was in American Idol, which I've never seen. There was also someone named Beyonce in it—I've heard she's famous but I wouldn't know her from Adam, and I'm glad of that. (Nothing against her; I just don't want to know that stuff.) She seemed like a little Barbie doll next to Jennifer Hudson, who was big and beautiful with this incredible voice. Once the story moved away from Effie, it was quite pedestrian. Having grown-up near Detroit with MoTown as a part of our every day lives via the radio and news, it was interesting to try and match what was happening in the movie with what happened in real life.
We Are Marshall is based on the true life story of what happened to what was left of Marshall University's football team after 75 team members, coaches, and boosters died in a plane crash. Both movies were sad and had us crying, but this one was also inspiring. I love a good sports movie, and this was one of those—and a little bit more.
Now I better get home. This was the worst week for the internet to go out. I've got so much work to do before we leave for AZ. Cross your fingers they can fix Mario's tooth without surgery, etc.
Hope you're all well!
Catch you on the flipside. 0 comments
Went to see two movies today. I love Portland. It's such a book and movie town, which fits us perfectly. The movies were absolutely packed. We went to Dreamgirls first. Eddie Murphy was really good in it, and the woman who played Effie, Jennifer Hudson, was amazing. Her voice was a knockout. I read somewhere that she was in American Idol, which I've never seen. There was also someone named Beyonce in it—I've heard she's famous but I wouldn't know her from Adam, and I'm glad of that. (Nothing against her; I just don't want to know that stuff.) She seemed like a little Barbie doll next to Jennifer Hudson, who was big and beautiful with this incredible voice. Once the story moved away from Effie, it was quite pedestrian. Having grown-up near Detroit with MoTown as a part of our every day lives via the radio and news, it was interesting to try and match what was happening in the movie with what happened in real life.
We Are Marshall is based on the true life story of what happened to what was left of Marshall University's football team after 75 team members, coaches, and boosters died in a plane crash. Both movies were sad and had us crying, but this one was also inspiring. I love a good sports movie, and this was one of those—and a little bit more.
Now I better get home. This was the worst week for the internet to go out. I've got so much work to do before we leave for AZ. Cross your fingers they can fix Mario's tooth without surgery, etc.
Hope you're all well!
Catch you on the flipside. 0 comments
Friday, December 22, 2006
Frustrated & Appalled
Listening to these politicians and talking heads go on and on about how we're a Christian nation and everyone must put their hand on a bible while swearing to uphold the Constitution has been maddening. Haven't they heard of separation of church and state? But I've ranted before about the topic of PDR (public display of religion), so I'll just link to The Irritation, a published rant on religion from a couple of years ago.
May You Rant in Beauty! 0 comments
May You Rant in Beauty! 0 comments
Wednesday, December 20, 2006
Happy Solstice
I wish you all safe, beautiful, happy, nourishing, joyful holidays, whichever ones you celebrate!
I've written an Old Mermaid story for the occasion. You'll find it here.
May You Celebrate in Beauty! 2 comments
I've written an Old Mermaid story for the occasion. You'll find it here.
May You Celebrate in Beauty! 2 comments
Accountability
I haven't said a lot about the new Congress. Or the old Congress. At least not lately. I'm waiting. I'm hoping things will change once the new Congress is sworn in, but I am concerned. For one thing, they're talking about raising the troop levels in Iraq. Are they kidding? Apparently our elected officials know nothing about repeating history. Also, I keep hearing that impeachment is "off the table." I don't think anything should be off the table. I think this present administration has lied and cheated and tortured and killed—in our name. I want investigations. And I want these elected officials to work instead of flying off home every Thursday night to raise money to get re-elected. All the talking heads and politicians say that won't happen. They won't come to work any more often than they do now. (They generally work Tuesday through Thursday. Wouldn't it be great if you could do that and still get your work done? Well, they ain't gettin' the work done.)
This speech by Sean Pean, given when he accepted the 2006 Christopher Reeve First Amendment Award is well worth the read. Part of his talk was about self-censorship. (I believe artists—and I include writers in this—actually have an obligation to self-censorship, but not because we're afraid of the government or what people will think about us or what will get printed or sold or bought. We should self-censor if what we're doing can cause harm and the only reason we're doing it is to sell something or get ourselves known. But that's another conversation.) Anyway, Penn said, "We depend largely for information on these issues from media industries, driven by the bottom line to such an extent that the public interest becomes uninteresting. And should we speak truth, we stand against government efforts to intimidate or legislate in the service of censorship. Whether under the guise of a Patriot Act or any other benevolent-sounding rationale for the age-old game of shutting down dissent by discouraging independent thinking and preventing progressive social change. The most effective forms of de facto censorship are pre-emptive. Systemically, we are encouraged to keep our heads down, out of the line of fire—to avoid the danger, god forbid, that someone in the White House, on Capitol Hill, or a media blow-hard might take a shot at us. But, as a practical matter, most of the limits on creative expression and other forms of free speech come from self-censorship, where the mechanism of corporate clout offers carrots and brandishes sticks. We avoid a conflict before the conflict materializes. We reach for the carrots and stay out of range of sticks."
And about accountability, he said, "Criminals MUST be held accountable. Now, there's been a lot of talk lately on Capitol Hill about how impeachment should be 'off the table.' We're told that it's time to look ahead—not back...Can you imagine how far that argument would go for the defense at an arraignment on charges of grand larceny, or large-scale distribution of methamphetamines? How about the arranging of a contract killing on a pregnant mother? 'Indictment should be off the table.' Or 'Let's look forward, not backward.' Or 'We can't afford another failed defendant.'"
He's got a point. Will the Dems listen? 0 comments
This speech by Sean Pean, given when he accepted the 2006 Christopher Reeve First Amendment Award is well worth the read. Part of his talk was about self-censorship. (I believe artists—and I include writers in this—actually have an obligation to self-censorship, but not because we're afraid of the government or what people will think about us or what will get printed or sold or bought. We should self-censor if what we're doing can cause harm and the only reason we're doing it is to sell something or get ourselves known. But that's another conversation.) Anyway, Penn said, "We depend largely for information on these issues from media industries, driven by the bottom line to such an extent that the public interest becomes uninteresting. And should we speak truth, we stand against government efforts to intimidate or legislate in the service of censorship. Whether under the guise of a Patriot Act or any other benevolent-sounding rationale for the age-old game of shutting down dissent by discouraging independent thinking and preventing progressive social change. The most effective forms of de facto censorship are pre-emptive. Systemically, we are encouraged to keep our heads down, out of the line of fire—to avoid the danger, god forbid, that someone in the White House, on Capitol Hill, or a media blow-hard might take a shot at us. But, as a practical matter, most of the limits on creative expression and other forms of free speech come from self-censorship, where the mechanism of corporate clout offers carrots and brandishes sticks. We avoid a conflict before the conflict materializes. We reach for the carrots and stay out of range of sticks."
And about accountability, he said, "Criminals MUST be held accountable. Now, there's been a lot of talk lately on Capitol Hill about how impeachment should be 'off the table.' We're told that it's time to look ahead—not back...Can you imagine how far that argument would go for the defense at an arraignment on charges of grand larceny, or large-scale distribution of methamphetamines? How about the arranging of a contract killing on a pregnant mother? 'Indictment should be off the table.' Or 'Let's look forward, not backward.' Or 'We can't afford another failed defendant.'"
He's got a point. Will the Dems listen? 0 comments
Tuesday, December 19, 2006
Happyness
Got some sleep last night. Instead of me going down to sleep on the couch last night, Mario went. (He's been coughing at night, so neither of us have been getting much sleep.) I closed the bedroom door and turned on music, so I couldn't hear him coughing. I know it sounds heartless, but if I hear him I worry and try to do something about it, but there ain't nuthin' I can do. Eventually I fell to sleep. Oh, don't worry about Mario; he went to sleep long before I did.
This morning we went to see the surgeon. She looked up my nose. All clear. I was very relieved and quite happy. She said another one of her patients who had polyps that kept coming back went off wheat, and her polyps went away, too. We asked her if there was anything in the medical literature about this, and she said if you dig enough it's there under celiac disease. I'm certainly going to stay off gluten.
This was Mario's first time out of the house in a week, so we decided to go to lunch and a movie. Lunch was at Blossoming Lotus, and the movie was the Pursuit of Happyness. We both really liked it. Yes, it was long and it was sappy, but it's a true story (or mostly true), and we just really rooted for the guy. I am continually appalled at the amount of homelessness and hunger in our country, and it's amazing that Chris Gardner was able to pull himself out of that life. Plus I nearly always enjoy Will Smith, ever since I saw him in Six Degrees of Separation. (No, I did not enjoy Wild West. Yuck, bleck, and bleck again. And I've never seen the Bad Boys movies.) Maybe I'm getting soft. I don't care. I cried my eyes out. (What an interesting expression.) And people in the theater clapped at a couple of places in the movie, and when it was over, people stayed in the theater watching the credits and talking. It was nice.
Okay. I'm hoping to sleep tonight, and I'm hoping my sweetheart can sleep without coughing. It is very cold tonight, and we're expecting another storm tomorrow. Freezing rain. Don't like freezing rain much. It destroys trees and other such things, plus the roads are terrible, plus the electricity almost always goes out, and in the middle of the freaking winter when it's really really cold, it's kind of scary...Take a breath, Kim!
But I need to live in the now, baby. And now I is goin' to sleep.
This morning we went to see the surgeon. She looked up my nose. All clear. I was very relieved and quite happy. She said another one of her patients who had polyps that kept coming back went off wheat, and her polyps went away, too. We asked her if there was anything in the medical literature about this, and she said if you dig enough it's there under celiac disease. I'm certainly going to stay off gluten.
This was Mario's first time out of the house in a week, so we decided to go to lunch and a movie. Lunch was at Blossoming Lotus, and the movie was the Pursuit of Happyness. We both really liked it. Yes, it was long and it was sappy, but it's a true story (or mostly true), and we just really rooted for the guy. I am continually appalled at the amount of homelessness and hunger in our country, and it's amazing that Chris Gardner was able to pull himself out of that life. Plus I nearly always enjoy Will Smith, ever since I saw him in Six Degrees of Separation. (No, I did not enjoy Wild West. Yuck, bleck, and bleck again. And I've never seen the Bad Boys movies.) Maybe I'm getting soft. I don't care. I cried my eyes out. (What an interesting expression.) And people in the theater clapped at a couple of places in the movie, and when it was over, people stayed in the theater watching the credits and talking. It was nice.
Okay. I'm hoping to sleep tonight, and I'm hoping my sweetheart can sleep without coughing. It is very cold tonight, and we're expecting another storm tomorrow. Freezing rain. Don't like freezing rain much. It destroys trees and other such things, plus the roads are terrible, plus the electricity almost always goes out, and in the middle of the freaking winter when it's really really cold, it's kind of scary...Take a breath, Kim!
But I need to live in the now, baby. And now I is goin' to sleep.
Labels: movies
0 comments
Monday, December 18, 2006
Godless in America
Just watched Godless in America, a fascinating doc about Madalyn Murray O'Hair. O'Hair was the woman who got prayer out of the schools. She was known as the most hated woman in America. She spent a lifetime rabble-rousing. I appreciate her fight. I absolutely believe in the separation of church and state. The claim that christians are under seige in our country is specious, to say the least. She risked a great deal by speaking out, although from what I remember and what I saw on this doc, she was just telling the truth as she saw it. She thought people who believed in god were delusional. She didn't think "godless" people should be coerced into participating in religious ceremonies via prayer in the school or any other place. Phil Donuhue knew her and talked about her in the film. He said that we needed someone like her now—we need vigorous debate in our country on all kinds of issues. And he said, "In this country, you don't have to believe in anything."
Madalyn Murray O'Hair was murdered at the age of 76, along with her son and her granddaughter. According to most accounts I have read, the police were not vigorous in their investigation of her disappearance because she was an atheist. 2 comments
Madalyn Murray O'Hair was murdered at the age of 76, along with her son and her granddaughter. According to most accounts I have read, the police were not vigorous in their investigation of her disappearance because she was an atheist. 2 comments
Go Organic for Global Warming
It will come as no surprise to gardeners (or other reasonable peeps) that organic agriculture is, according to Stephen Leahy, "a potent tool to reduce emissions of greenhouse gases." He says it's a way "to alleviate poverty and improve food security in developing countries." And it's the way to go because of global warming. Leahy writes, "Organic agriculture's use of compost and crop diversity means it will also be able to better withstand the higher temperatures and more variable rainfall expected with global warming." According to the experts Leahy interviewed, "The problem of global hunger is not about food production—it is about poverty and food distribution, since the world already produces enough food."
Do you have a compost pile? They are so simple. We live in town, and we've got one in our back yard. Even if you don't use your compost for gardening, you are creating new soil. I often find the "how to" of composting more complicated than it needs to be. We throw on our uncooked kitchen scraps (veggies and fruits—no egg shells for us because of racoons), and then when we mow our lawn (with our electric mower) we rake up the grass and leaves and put them on top of the scraps. In a season or two, I've got rich nutrious soil to add to my garden—or I can leave it undisturbed. There are arguments that by setting up a compost pile, you're creating a new environment where lots of little buggies etc have set up home and shop; when you take a shovel to it, you are destroying that environment. You create it; you decide.
May You Garden (or Contemplate Your Future Garden) in Beauty! 1 comments
Do you have a compost pile? They are so simple. We live in town, and we've got one in our back yard. Even if you don't use your compost for gardening, you are creating new soil. I often find the "how to" of composting more complicated than it needs to be. We throw on our uncooked kitchen scraps (veggies and fruits—no egg shells for us because of racoons), and then when we mow our lawn (with our electric mower) we rake up the grass and leaves and put them on top of the scraps. In a season or two, I've got rich nutrious soil to add to my garden—or I can leave it undisturbed. There are arguments that by setting up a compost pile, you're creating a new environment where lots of little buggies etc have set up home and shop; when you take a shovel to it, you are destroying that environment. You create it; you decide.
May You Garden (or Contemplate Your Future Garden) in Beauty! 1 comments
Ahhhh Peace
Thanks to Joanna for showing us the way to this lovely piece of music.
Blessed be, blessed sea, blessed peace. 0 comments
Blessed be, blessed sea, blessed peace. 0 comments
Celebrate! Celebrate! Dance to the Music!
While I've been cranky, Will (and Emma, I presume!) have been planning World Week celebrations. Doesn't that sound like fun? (Will, don't forget the jalapeño lights on the back porch; we love seeing those every night as we drift off to sleep—at least I think that's what they were.) Since there's food involved, I'm very interested in this celebration. (No gluten and anti-inflammatory and all organic. Hmmm.) I think I'll figure out a ceremony for each day, too, honoring each continent. But what culture to pick from on each continent? And let's not forget the oceans. (Come on. The Old Mermaids would never forgive me. Actually, they would.) I think I'll add a day or two of celebration for the oceans, so I'll start early.
Oh, the possibilities!
May You Celebrate in Beauty! 1 comments
Oh, the possibilities!
May You Celebrate in Beauty! 1 comments
Sunday, December 17, 2006
Suddenly
On the way to Portland today, I was listening to Prairie Home Companion where Billy Collins was a guest. Either I never knew or I had forgotten he is funny! (When I'm depressed, I forget anything was ever funny.) First he was talking about how he'd read that when writing fiction you should never use the word "suddenly." Only hacks use the word "suddenly." (By the way, I use the word "suddenly." I used it 19 times in Church of the Old Mermaids. But I never ever never ever say "I found myself in the living room," or any other place, unless the character did just wake up from a coma and "found herself" in the living room.) Anyway, he then read Tension. I think his poems are meant to be read aloud. It was much funnier when he was reading it. A bit later he read Revenant. I was laughing outloud by myself in the car going 75 miles down the expressway. It begins with:
"I am the dog you put to sleep,
as you like to call the needle of oblivion,
come back to tell you this simple thing:
I never liked you -- not one bit."
Later I was thinking that some of my happiest moments have taken place in a car. (No, not that. I never liked making out in a car. Too afraid of maniacs with steel claws that could get caught in the car door.) No, I just often feel free in a car, with the radio turned up, just going, going, gone. I know many Americans feel the same way. It's strange and pathetic, but there it is. It's always been important that I have an exit. For about the first twenty-five years of my life, give or take, I always looked for the exit as soon as I walked into a room or a building. Felt better if there were several exits. I suppose this is what happens when people feel rootless. Always on the go. The wheels are a spinnin'!
But suddenly I digress. This was about Billy Collins. He's a funny guy, and I needed and appreciated the giggle.
Thanks, Billy.
"I am the dog you put to sleep,
as you like to call the needle of oblivion,
come back to tell you this simple thing:
I never liked you -- not one bit."
Later I was thinking that some of my happiest moments have taken place in a car. (No, not that. I never liked making out in a car. Too afraid of maniacs with steel claws that could get caught in the car door.) No, I just often feel free in a car, with the radio turned up, just going, going, gone. I know many Americans feel the same way. It's strange and pathetic, but there it is. It's always been important that I have an exit. For about the first twenty-five years of my life, give or take, I always looked for the exit as soon as I walked into a room or a building. Felt better if there were several exits. I suppose this is what happens when people feel rootless. Always on the go. The wheels are a spinnin'!
But suddenly I digress. This was about Billy Collins. He's a funny guy, and I needed and appreciated the giggle.
Thanks, Billy.
Labels: poems
1 comments
Sew...
No, I'm not going to sew, but I wanted to start off with something besides "So..." Yeah, well, you can see where I'm at; not a lot of originality flowing through me. I haven't been writing much, as you no doubt noticed. Haven't felt like it. I think the year finally caught up with me: Linda, Dave, the surgeries, the polyps coming back (and then going away), the book deal falling through. I just haven't had the energy or the inclination. Sad, sad, sad. Last night in the middle of the night after I checked on Mario and then tried to sleep again (on the couch), I felt something shift, almost imperceptively. I've felt a bit better since. I know it could switch off any second and I could begin diving agin, so I want to grab all the gusto, but I've only had a few hours of sleep in the last few nights. Not much energy for gusto grabbing. Once Mario gets better and I get through this next visit with the surgeon (Tuesday) I hope I'll be my new self....actually, I hope before then I am my new self. Somehow I've got to learn not to be so knocked out by the challenges in my life. It's the punch drunk syndrome, I believe. Been furious and fighting and traumatized too many years. I'm too bruised to step back into the fray right now. I am ready for some fun. When I was getting my craniosacral treatment today, I felt like this old time preacher came into the room, and he was saying—he was testifying—"Sister Kim, rise up! Lay down your burdens, Sister Kim! Rise up and be healed!" (Kind of reminded me of the movie Color of Purple when they were all walking toward the church singing.) I am ready, brother; I am ready; I am ready.
Sew...
Weaving together my life, one way or another, no longer furiously spinning, just taking it one stitch at a time.
May You Weave & Wobble in Beauty!
Sew...
Weaving together my life, one way or another, no longer furiously spinning, just taking it one stitch at a time.
May You Weave & Wobble in Beauty!
Labels: sleep
0 comments
Beauty
We live at the edge of the Big River in the Cascade Mountains. Sometimes we wonder: Do we live in the mountains or do we live on the shore? I suppose we live betwixt and between. We live on the threshold. I have often felt as though I live at the heart of the world: Wy'east to the south; Pahto to the north. I have stood on each mountain many times. Sometimes these mountains make me gasp for air; sometimes they make me sigh in awe. They are always beautiful even as I'm aware that they could erupt at any moment: They are volcanoes. Today as I was coming home from Portland, I drove toward Wy'east for a long while, as usual. The sun was out, and the sky was clear. The mountain was covered in snow and looked glorious. It reminded me of a giant goddess (Anna Perenna perhaps), lounging regally, head bowed, covered in a white robe made of snow, mountain, and bits of lava. Parts of the snowy mountain looked shiny as the sun hit it, like white metal—or cloudy ice cubes. While I watched the mountain and drove toward home, I heard on the radio that they had just found the body of one of the missing climbers. We're still all hoping they'll find the other two men alive. They had to ride out the recent storms on a mountaintop where the winds were at speed and intensity of a category 3 hurricane. I wish the climbers well. I hope they are alive and will soon be reunited with their families.
Blessed sea. 0 comments
Blessed sea. 0 comments
Health News
Did you hear the Canadians have made a breakthrough in diabetes research? (via) This research could also have implications for people with asthma, multiple sclerosis, and Crohn's Disease. Scientists and doctors have long thought that diabetes was the result of a flawed immune response (to simplify it), but now this new research indicates that it is a nervous system response. This is incredible news. Many of us have suspected that these chronic diseases were tied up with our nervous systems, and now the Canadians seem to have found proof.
Also, I just got The Inflammation Free Diet Plan by Monica Reinagel. It made the inflammatory diet make a lot more sense to me, and it's made it more manageable. She has a list of foods with their inflammatory ratings. The list is very, very, very carnivore and not very natural foodie, but I still think the book is worthwhile. For one thing, when I looked up her blog, she directed the readers to NutritionData website which has the nutritional data for over 6,000 foods. Just put in the food, say corn, and it'll take you to a list of different kinds of corn. Then you pick one and it'll take you to the nutrition page. Scroll down and it'll give you the amino acids score, the glycemic load, and the inflammation factor.
May You Heal in Beauty! 0 comments
Also, I just got The Inflammation Free Diet Plan by Monica Reinagel. It made the inflammatory diet make a lot more sense to me, and it's made it more manageable. She has a list of foods with their inflammatory ratings. The list is very, very, very carnivore and not very natural foodie, but I still think the book is worthwhile. For one thing, when I looked up her blog, she directed the readers to NutritionData website which has the nutritional data for over 6,000 foods. Just put in the food, say corn, and it'll take you to a list of different kinds of corn. Then you pick one and it'll take you to the nutrition page. Scroll down and it'll give you the amino acids score, the glycemic load, and the inflammation factor.
May You Heal in Beauty! 0 comments
Friday, December 15, 2006
Misery?
What a miserable thing life is: you're living in clover, only the clover isn't good enough. —Bertolt Brecht
(Found in Wabi Sabi: The Art of Everyday Life by Diane Durston.) 0 comments
(Found in Wabi Sabi: The Art of Everyday Life by Diane Durston.) 0 comments
Slam Dunk
Wow. Has this been the time in the Pacific Northwest, or what? You're probably getting weather elsewhere (that's a safe bet, eh?), but I know nothing about anything anywhere else. We had ourselves a bit of a storm. Last night the wind and especially the wind gusts were so wild and seemingly violent that I moved us downstairs to our couch, which fortunately unfolds into a bed. It's not a comfortable bed, but there you are. The electricity had already been out for a couple of hours by then. Mario was sick; he's been sick all week. So I made sure the living room was warm enough; I made the "bed," and then I went up and got him. We tried to sleep, but the wind just got hold of the house and shook it, again and again. I kept thinking of those people during Hurricane Katrina. How terrifying that must have been. I mean, I knew it had to be terrifying; I've read dozens of accounts of what it was like, but the winds we had last night were just a teeny tiny bit of what they went through during the hurricane, and I was very nervous. I don't know how bad our winds got. I know they were hurricane-force in some areas of the PNW. I moved us downstairs (never done that before) because I was worried about the tree in our back yard coming down on the house.
Mario eventually fell to sleep. I couldn't sleep, so I wandered around the house in the dark. Mario woke up a couple of times and said, "So this is part of Kim's world?" That's what he calls the times I'm up all or half the night while he slumbers on. Finally, I went back up stairs to our bed and crawled under one of the quilts my dad made for me. (Mario was under about four of them downstairs.) The wind didn't seem quite as bad. I thought of Grand Mother Yemaya and the 13 Quilts. I imagined the quilt over me had a thread in it from at least one of those 13 quilts. I'd be all right. I whispered to the tree, "Please stay standing if you can manage it." I fell to sleep. I woke up several times in the night and went down and checked on Mario.
The electricity eventually came back on.
In the morning, our yard was strewn with branches, but the tree was still standing. Hundreds of thousands of people are still without power. I've lived here a long time. We've been through many bad storms. I don't know why this one was scary. Maybe it was the sound. I kept thinking a train was coming right up onto our lawn.
It's been a hairy winter already—and winter hasn't even started. I walked down to the river and the creek. They are both swollen and coffee-with-cream brown. The creek is running dangerously fast. When I told Mario about it, he said, "I bet all the fish are drowned." It had that look.
Stay warm and dry! I hope they find the climbers up on Wy'east soon. The weather and that mountain are about all we know these days.
Mario eventually fell to sleep. I couldn't sleep, so I wandered around the house in the dark. Mario woke up a couple of times and said, "So this is part of Kim's world?" That's what he calls the times I'm up all or half the night while he slumbers on. Finally, I went back up stairs to our bed and crawled under one of the quilts my dad made for me. (Mario was under about four of them downstairs.) The wind didn't seem quite as bad. I thought of Grand Mother Yemaya and the 13 Quilts. I imagined the quilt over me had a thread in it from at least one of those 13 quilts. I'd be all right. I whispered to the tree, "Please stay standing if you can manage it." I fell to sleep. I woke up several times in the night and went down and checked on Mario.
The electricity eventually came back on.
In the morning, our yard was strewn with branches, but the tree was still standing. Hundreds of thousands of people are still without power. I've lived here a long time. We've been through many bad storms. I don't know why this one was scary. Maybe it was the sound. I kept thinking a train was coming right up onto our lawn.
It's been a hairy winter already—and winter hasn't even started. I walked down to the river and the creek. They are both swollen and coffee-with-cream brown. The creek is running dangerously fast. When I told Mario about it, he said, "I bet all the fish are drowned." It had that look.
Stay warm and dry! I hope they find the climbers up on Wy'east soon. The weather and that mountain are about all we know these days.
Labels: Church of the Old Mermaids, nature, sleep
2 comments
Thursday, December 14, 2006
Great Xmas Jeer by Christopher Cooper
Don't get me wrong: I love celebrating. I love celebrating the light. I love Solstice. I don't like that this time of year has been co-opted by Christians, not because I hate Christians or want any harm to come to anyone. I just don't enjoy smugness of any kind. Even my own. So I love this essay by Christopher Cooper. Some paragraphs are just so wonderful that I am in awe.
He writes, "Jesus was born on December the twenty-fifth because early Christian myth-makers and spin-doctors needed to co-opt the solstice revelries of hard-partying pagans. It was necessary to get Jesus born (and born without the stain of his mom and dad having had any joy in his engendering—just a long donkey trip through the desert). He must be born so he could be flogged and nailed and tortured to death, by which effort each of us who would buy into the whole of the church doctrine might gain life everlasting. And if Jesus didn't suffer enough to get that job done, you can add to it the millions of hours of anguish loosed unto the heavens by those of us alive after 1958 who have been subjected to a hundred (all bad) renditions of the thoroughly execrable 'Little Drummer Boy.'"
But that's not the heart of his essay. He sums it up beautifully by writing, "Good night. Good luck. Peace on Earth to men of goodwill. To all men. All women. Of all religious persuasions, not one having more to recommend itself than another, and none worth destroying a single life for. Don't buy so much. Kiss your babies, and keep them safe from the recruiting officers."
A must.
Happy holidays. 3 comments
He writes, "Jesus was born on December the twenty-fifth because early Christian myth-makers and spin-doctors needed to co-opt the solstice revelries of hard-partying pagans. It was necessary to get Jesus born (and born without the stain of his mom and dad having had any joy in his engendering—just a long donkey trip through the desert). He must be born so he could be flogged and nailed and tortured to death, by which effort each of us who would buy into the whole of the church doctrine might gain life everlasting. And if Jesus didn't suffer enough to get that job done, you can add to it the millions of hours of anguish loosed unto the heavens by those of us alive after 1958 who have been subjected to a hundred (all bad) renditions of the thoroughly execrable 'Little Drummer Boy.'"
But that's not the heart of his essay. He sums it up beautifully by writing, "Good night. Good luck. Peace on Earth to men of goodwill. To all men. All women. Of all religious persuasions, not one having more to recommend itself than another, and none worth destroying a single life for. Don't buy so much. Kiss your babies, and keep them safe from the recruiting officers."
A must.
Happy holidays. 3 comments
Wednesday, December 13, 2006
A Better Mousetrap...Er...Nail
While investigating the destruction of Hurricane Marilyn ten years ago, Ed Sutt discovered that most of the houses collapsed because the nails had failed. He's spent the last decade trying to come up with a better nail, one that will help keep buildings standing through hurricanes and earthquakes. According to Popular Science, he's succeeded. They named the HurriQuake nail the Innovation of the Year Grand Award Winner for 2006. For only fifteen more dollars per house, you can now make your house or building twice as strong. Isn't that cool?
It's the seemingly simple things, sometimes, isn't it? 0 comments
It's the seemingly simple things, sometimes, isn't it? 0 comments
Let Me Entertain You...
So first, I wish Russ Feingold was running for president. But I'm just tickled Dennis Kucinich is running again. I can't think of anything I disagree with him about. Regular readers will remember that our peace group brought Kucinich to our area during the last presidential race. He wants a Department of Peace. I've always liked that. Obama is too inexperienced and too conservative. Clinton has gone too far to the right, at least for now, plus the rightwing just hates her. I heard Tom Vilsack on Air America, and I really liked him, too, but I haven't heard enough yet about where he stands on issues.
Yes, it's three a.m. and I'm awake, and it is pouring down pissing down rain like you wouldn't believe. Like I can hardly believe and I've lived here for almost two decades. This is some kind of rain. And I'm awake. Awake, awake, awake. Not Thelma and Louise awake. Just awake. I'm watching Gypsy. Man, Natalie Wood is gorgeous. But then, I always lusted after her. I remember once seeing Inside Daisy Clover in the middle of the night when I was a teenager and I was just sure whoever wrote that movie must have known me, or known who I was going to be since I was ten years old when it came out. (Now Natalie is doing that wonderful strut down the runway while saying, "Let me...entertain you..." to that great drumbeat as she's taking off her clothes.) Anyway, I don't know why I related to Daisy Clover. I never wanted to be a movie star or run off with Robert Redford, but she was so sad, and I always related to sad world-weary girls. Funny.
I should try to sleep again.
Ta!
Yes, it's three a.m. and I'm awake, and it is pouring down pissing down rain like you wouldn't believe. Like I can hardly believe and I've lived here for almost two decades. This is some kind of rain. And I'm awake. Awake, awake, awake. Not Thelma and Louise awake. Just awake. I'm watching Gypsy. Man, Natalie Wood is gorgeous. But then, I always lusted after her. I remember once seeing Inside Daisy Clover in the middle of the night when I was a teenager and I was just sure whoever wrote that movie must have known me, or known who I was going to be since I was ten years old when it came out. (Now Natalie is doing that wonderful strut down the runway while saying, "Let me...entertain you..." to that great drumbeat as she's taking off her clothes.) Anyway, I don't know why I related to Daisy Clover. I never wanted to be a movie star or run off with Robert Redford, but she was so sad, and I always related to sad world-weary girls. Funny.
I should try to sleep again.
Ta!
Labels: democracy watch, sleep
1 comments
Tuesday, December 12, 2006
Sun Shine
Yes, yes, yes, I will, I will, I did, I do. Okay, I can't remember Molly's speech word for word tonight. But let me just say this: The sun came out here today! Oh my word. Bliss, bliss, freaking bliss. It was totally unexpected, and we took advantage of it. I hadn't slept much last night (again, again), so I got out of bed late morning—and then I saw it: Light. No rain.
We drove down the road a piece with the intention of walking up the mountain to visit the Witch of the Mountain. Before we started up the path, I asked for safe passage for Mario and myself. I assured all the Visibles and Invisibles that we intended no harm, and then we started up the mountain path. I immediately started feeling better. Fresh air. Green, green, green, green everywhere. Dripping green, yes, but no rain was falling from the sky. The path was snowy and icy in spots, but we walked up and up and up. In the distance the sun highlighted patches of the forest, making them green-gold. Exquisite. Up at the top, Mario went one way to look down at the river winding toward the ocean. I walked a bit further to the top of the mountain to talk with the Witch of the Mountain. Fog nearly whited out the trees below the talos field. "Top of the world, Ma!" I had the conversation I wanted. I left an offering, and then we went down the path.
Going up, then down, took about two hours. Two blissful hours. Then we went and had dinner at the Blossoming Lotus. We walked over to Powell's afterward and got some books. We picked up a pint of Coconut Bliss and drove home. Once we got in our cozy house, we heated up organic blueberries and raspberries and poured them over the Naked Coconut Bliss. (No sugar, dairy, gluten, or nightshade. Bliss, indeedy.)
Thank you to the Weather spirits for this gift of a day. I hope you all had a good day, too. Now it's time for sleep.
May You Bliss Out in Beauty!
We drove down the road a piece with the intention of walking up the mountain to visit the Witch of the Mountain. Before we started up the path, I asked for safe passage for Mario and myself. I assured all the Visibles and Invisibles that we intended no harm, and then we started up the mountain path. I immediately started feeling better. Fresh air. Green, green, green, green everywhere. Dripping green, yes, but no rain was falling from the sky. The path was snowy and icy in spots, but we walked up and up and up. In the distance the sun highlighted patches of the forest, making them green-gold. Exquisite. Up at the top, Mario went one way to look down at the river winding toward the ocean. I walked a bit further to the top of the mountain to talk with the Witch of the Mountain. Fog nearly whited out the trees below the talos field. "Top of the world, Ma!" I had the conversation I wanted. I left an offering, and then we went down the path.
Going up, then down, took about two hours. Two blissful hours. Then we went and had dinner at the Blossoming Lotus. We walked over to Powell's afterward and got some books. We picked up a pint of Coconut Bliss and drove home. Once we got in our cozy house, we heated up organic blueberries and raspberries and poured them over the Naked Coconut Bliss. (No sugar, dairy, gluten, or nightshade. Bliss, indeedy.)
Thank you to the Weather spirits for this gift of a day. I hope you all had a good day, too. Now it's time for sleep.
May You Bliss Out in Beauty!
Labels: nature
0 comments
Monday, December 11, 2006
Holiday Movie
Okay. We went to see The Holiday today. It's corny and schmaltzy and mostly predictible, but I still enjoyed it. I must have been in the mood. It took its time and introduced the characters. It told a story. It's not about deep geopolitical problems. In fact, these people don't have any problems except for love problems. It was just nice to fall into fluff. I needed that. I'm thinking I will try to be mindless more often. Jack Black is one of the love interests. I liked that, too. He's not the typical-looking leading man. Nice. Maybe I liked it because I've seen some really, really bad movies lately. I mean really bad. With blood and guts and death and destruction. Plus I turned the tv service back on for a few weeks and I've been watching way too much The Wire where everything is so freaking tragic. (If you haven't watched the season finale, here's a spoiler: almost everyone dies, except the bad guys, and none of the kids are saved, except maybe one. Man. I am glad glad glad my granddaddy got hisself outta Baltimore, that's all I'm sayin'!) It was nice to watch something where nothing was tragic. As we left the movie theater, I was thinking once again that wouldn't life be nice if it was like a movie sometimes, and I said to Mario, "I think a lifetime of movie watching has really screwed me up." Waiting for the music and the happy endings.
Anyway. I think I'm in the mood for some holiday movies. Maybe I'll watch A Christmas Story next.
May You Schmaltz in Beauty! 0 comments
Anyway. I think I'm in the mood for some holiday movies. Maybe I'll watch A Christmas Story next.
May You Schmaltz in Beauty! 0 comments
Chloe's Art
Do you want to see something that will just make you smile, smile, smile? Go here and/or here.
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Sunday, December 10, 2006
Mario is posting his novel Terrastina & Mazolli. It's told in 99 word chapters, one day at a time. I love this book. It is full of Mario's particular kind of whimsy and wonder. Enjoy!
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More info here. 0 comments
Saturday, December 09, 2006
The Old Mermaids Book of Days 2007
More info here. 0 comments
Friday, December 08, 2006
Happenings
Hope everyone is doing great. I hope to do a longer post either here or at Church of the Old Mermaids soon. We had the second Old Mermaids School of Telling Tales and Finding Art on Monday. It was great. We all told lots of fun tales. Then on Thursday Mario and I hosted the staff party for Mario's work. And I had two full days in Vancouver and Portland this week. So I haven't had a lot of time to do much else.
It's been a hard week. Today my agent mentioned that he was disillusioned (about something in particular), and I thought, if an agent is disillusioned about something in publishing (since they see just about everything), that's really saying something. Someday I will vent about the publishing world, but that day isn't today. Let's just say if I could make a living doing something else, I would probably do it. Of course, I have never made a living at writing. Except maybe one year. If I had been trying to live on my writing, I would have starved. It's interesting when you complain about trying to make a living as a writer, you hear a variety of responses. "Well, you're lucky you've had x-amount of books published. Hardly anyone ever does that." Huh? When a teacher complains about her salary, you don't hear, "You're lucky you get to teach at all. Why do you want to get paid?" (Of course they do hear, "Three months off a year, that's great. What are you complaining about?" My dad was a teacher, so I've heard 'em all.) But you get my point. We all need to pay our bills, so why shouldn't we get paid for our work? Other people will say, "Ah well, you're doing what you love." So what? I hope the teacher, doctor, lawyer, garbage man, and candlestick maker are all doing what they love and getting paid for it. The other comment is, "Well, you chose to be a writer." I would argue with that. I didn't choose it. I've just always been a writer. Would I keep doing it if I didn't get paid for it? That answer is obvious since I rarely get paid for doing it, and I'm still doing it. But I don't think I'd do it if no one was ever going to get to read it.
We've all got problems, I know. I'm just venting. It's been a bad, bad week. Okay, in the grand scheme of things, it's been a lousy week, a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad week...to quote Alexander.
I am longing, aching, dreaming of, envisioning the Old Mermaid Sanctuary in Arizona (otherwise known as the writer's retreat). Do you have a place you go to in your meditations, a place that is beautiful, safe, and healing? Well, mine is in Arizona. When I was listening to the surgery meditation tapes in the weeks before my surgeries, I went to the Old Mermaid Sanctuary. I was surrounded by all the Old Mermaids out by the pool (which is like the pool in the novel, not like a hotel swimming pool, more like an oasis); I listened to the wind rattle the skirt on the palm tree and watched the bees flirting with tiny apricot-colored flowers on a bush whose name I don't know. Beauty, beauty, beauty. Even the first year we went when the dog kept barking and lunging at me, when the hot water went out, when Mario sliced his finger open, when I had a rash that just about drove me insane, I still felt surrounded and supported by the beauty of the place, the spirit of the place. I am so grateful that I have had an opportunity to spend time there. Even if most of the time spent there is in my imagination.
Okay. I know I've been grumpy and sad and complaining lately. I'll get over it.
May You Grump in Beauty! 1 comments
It's been a hard week. Today my agent mentioned that he was disillusioned (about something in particular), and I thought, if an agent is disillusioned about something in publishing (since they see just about everything), that's really saying something. Someday I will vent about the publishing world, but that day isn't today. Let's just say if I could make a living doing something else, I would probably do it. Of course, I have never made a living at writing. Except maybe one year. If I had been trying to live on my writing, I would have starved. It's interesting when you complain about trying to make a living as a writer, you hear a variety of responses. "Well, you're lucky you've had x-amount of books published. Hardly anyone ever does that." Huh? When a teacher complains about her salary, you don't hear, "You're lucky you get to teach at all. Why do you want to get paid?" (Of course they do hear, "Three months off a year, that's great. What are you complaining about?" My dad was a teacher, so I've heard 'em all.) But you get my point. We all need to pay our bills, so why shouldn't we get paid for our work? Other people will say, "Ah well, you're doing what you love." So what? I hope the teacher, doctor, lawyer, garbage man, and candlestick maker are all doing what they love and getting paid for it. The other comment is, "Well, you chose to be a writer." I would argue with that. I didn't choose it. I've just always been a writer. Would I keep doing it if I didn't get paid for it? That answer is obvious since I rarely get paid for doing it, and I'm still doing it. But I don't think I'd do it if no one was ever going to get to read it.
We've all got problems, I know. I'm just venting. It's been a bad, bad week. Okay, in the grand scheme of things, it's been a lousy week, a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad week...to quote Alexander.
I am longing, aching, dreaming of, envisioning the Old Mermaid Sanctuary in Arizona (otherwise known as the writer's retreat). Do you have a place you go to in your meditations, a place that is beautiful, safe, and healing? Well, mine is in Arizona. When I was listening to the surgery meditation tapes in the weeks before my surgeries, I went to the Old Mermaid Sanctuary. I was surrounded by all the Old Mermaids out by the pool (which is like the pool in the novel, not like a hotel swimming pool, more like an oasis); I listened to the wind rattle the skirt on the palm tree and watched the bees flirting with tiny apricot-colored flowers on a bush whose name I don't know. Beauty, beauty, beauty. Even the first year we went when the dog kept barking and lunging at me, when the hot water went out, when Mario sliced his finger open, when I had a rash that just about drove me insane, I still felt surrounded and supported by the beauty of the place, the spirit of the place. I am so grateful that I have had an opportunity to spend time there. Even if most of the time spent there is in my imagination.
Okay. I know I've been grumpy and sad and complaining lately. I'll get over it.
May You Grump in Beauty! 1 comments
Telling What They Know...Not
There is a long and fascinating piece about the media and how they report the news and the not so new on Making Light. The piece is much too complex and long for my leeetle brain to summarize tonight, but you might enjoy. It raises some really good questions about the elite, not so elite, what they know, and what they tell us they know...
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Wednesday, December 06, 2006
He is Us
Every day I think of the people who have been snatched up by this government—my government—and taken from their homes and their families. Many of them have been in prison for years, and they've never been charged or tried. We don't know how many. We don't know who most of them are. We have a glimpse of one of them, an American citizen, Jose Padilla. When I first saw the recent photo of him being led away in chains to go to the dentist, with his eyes covered, I shuddered. I was furious. I was depressed. I felt helpless. If I felt that way just knowing about him, I can only try to imagine how he feels. He hasn't been tried. I don't even know if he's been charged—I've lost track. And apparently he is now mentally ill as a result of the torture our government has inflicted on him. How did this happen? When did we become the kind of people who allow torture?
Jane Smiley has a good rant about all this on the Huffington Post (which I can hardly stand going to—it has so many ads on it that it is just repulsive).
Even some military experts are saying the treatment of Padilla is extreme.
Sometimes when I think of all those men at Guantanamo Bay, I hear "tick-tock, tick-tock." I'm afraid we're going to have to pay for what was done to these people, one way or another.
We've got to make this right. We've got to let the people in power know that it is important to us that people not be treated this way ever.
May it be so. 1 comments
Jane Smiley has a good rant about all this on the Huffington Post (which I can hardly stand going to—it has so many ads on it that it is just repulsive).
Even some military experts are saying the treatment of Padilla is extreme.
Sometimes when I think of all those men at Guantanamo Bay, I hear "tick-tock, tick-tock." I'm afraid we're going to have to pay for what was done to these people, one way or another.
We've got to make this right. We've got to let the people in power know that it is important to us that people not be treated this way ever.
May it be so. 1 comments
Tuesday, December 05, 2006
This Was Fun
Speaking of dissipation...Here's another online Cosmo quiz. Which tarot card are you? I dropped over to Crazedmom and found this quiz. I was the Empress. I see myself more as the High Priestess or Magician, but whatever...She's a goddess, and that's what I is aiming fer. (Yes, I just used the word "whatever." Can you believe it? And I'm using dots....I know, I know. I must be moonstruck. I'm imagining Cher slapping me across the face and yelling, "Snap out of it!" Isn't it such a gorgeous moon? It's been full for days now. Or so it seems.)
You are The Empress
Beauty, happiness, pleasure, success, luxury, dissipation.
The Empress is associated with Venus, the feminine planet, so it represents,
beauty, charm, pleasure, luxury, and delight. You may be good at home
decorating, art or anything to do with making things beautiful.
The Empress is a creator, be it creation of life, of romance, of art or business. While the Magician is the primal spark, the idea made real, and the High Priestess is the one who gives the idea a form, the Empress is the womb where it gestates and grows till it is ready to be born. This is why her symbol is Venus, goddess of beautiful things as well as love. Even so, the Empress is more Demeter, goddess of abundance, then sensual Venus. She is the giver of Earthly gifts, yet at the same time, she can, in anger withhold, as Demeter did when her daughter, Persephone, was kidnapped. In fury and grief, she kept the Earth barren till her child was returned to her.
What Tarot Card are You?
Take the Test to Find Out.
Sticky
In case any of you are still using nonstick cookware, don't.
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Monday, December 04, 2006
knock-down-drag-out
Man. Feel as though I have been pummeled. Psychically speaking. Emotionally speaking. I don't know what speaking. I'm mute. Cold. I've got Tucson weather on my dock. Usually happens this time of year. We were not made for cold climes. If we were, we'd have more fur. That is my theory. That has become my theory as the years go by and I have less and less tolerance for this slit-my-wrists weather.
Less writing is not helping. It's making it worse. Some day I will achieve a balanced life, or something like that. And now the money thing haunts me. You all know how that feels. Why didn't I decide to get an MBA? Why didn't I become a lawyer? All that crap. I don't actually wonder any of that. I just wonder why I haven't been more successful in all aspects of my life. You know the drill. Don't you hate it when you realize you're just repeating the same patterns over and over? Sisyphus was in my family, I'm sure. He's probably my twin brother. Rolling that rock up the hill. Letting it fall. Rolling it up again. (Perhaps I read too much Camus and Sartre when I was a wee lass.)
It is all meaningless...unless, of course, it all has meaning. And frankly, I don't care. I just want to feel better. Is that the curse of our generation? We crave comfort and have no idea how to achieve it? No. It's more than that. I think every creature, including myself, deserves good health, deserves to be able to breathe, to have food, shelter, love. Sounds like Maslow's Hierarchy of Needs. Yes, there, the very first one: Breathing. THAT IS ONE OF OUR NEEDS. Without it, we're toast. We're less than toast.
I'm babbling, I know. And I've said it all before. I'm watching night fall on a day that already looked like night. Not good night. Not bad night. Just cold, dreary, matching-my-mood night.
I've got to get ready for the Old Mermaids School of Telling Tales & Finding Art. First, I will indulge myself by telling you a dream. I had lots of dreams last night. In one, I lived in some kind of complex and the electricity and phones were out. I was walking down a hallway when a boy on a bike came out of the darkness calling out some doctor's name. I stopped him and asked if I could help. He said he needed the doctor for a baby who was ill. I asked him which apartment. 31, he told me. He kept going. I was going to search for the doctor, but I forgot about it and did other things. Now in real life, I didn't know what the dream meant because the number 31 means nothing to me. As the day went on, I was trying to figure out which fairy tale I would tell tonight. I thought about doing Silver Hands (or the Girl Without Hands), but I wasn't sure. Then I got out my Grimms' Fairy Tales and looked up The Girl Without Hands, and it was tale number 31. Gave me shivers.
Strange. Do you remember I was going to write a full length book on Silver Hands a few years back?
A couple of nights ago, I asked the Invisibles to give me a dream about which book I should write next. Maybe that's why I dreamed this. Or maybe it's because I sometimes (like this time) feel like Silver Hands, unable to care for myself.
Ah well. I must prepare for story night under the full December moon. This is who I would like to feel like: I dig the robe and the bear.
Onward! 3 comments
Less writing is not helping. It's making it worse. Some day I will achieve a balanced life, or something like that. And now the money thing haunts me. You all know how that feels. Why didn't I decide to get an MBA? Why didn't I become a lawyer? All that crap. I don't actually wonder any of that. I just wonder why I haven't been more successful in all aspects of my life. You know the drill. Don't you hate it when you realize you're just repeating the same patterns over and over? Sisyphus was in my family, I'm sure. He's probably my twin brother. Rolling that rock up the hill. Letting it fall. Rolling it up again. (Perhaps I read too much Camus and Sartre when I was a wee lass.)
It is all meaningless...unless, of course, it all has meaning. And frankly, I don't care. I just want to feel better. Is that the curse of our generation? We crave comfort and have no idea how to achieve it? No. It's more than that. I think every creature, including myself, deserves good health, deserves to be able to breathe, to have food, shelter, love. Sounds like Maslow's Hierarchy of Needs. Yes, there, the very first one: Breathing. THAT IS ONE OF OUR NEEDS. Without it, we're toast. We're less than toast.
I'm babbling, I know. And I've said it all before. I'm watching night fall on a day that already looked like night. Not good night. Not bad night. Just cold, dreary, matching-my-mood night.
I've got to get ready for the Old Mermaids School of Telling Tales & Finding Art. First, I will indulge myself by telling you a dream. I had lots of dreams last night. In one, I lived in some kind of complex and the electricity and phones were out. I was walking down a hallway when a boy on a bike came out of the darkness calling out some doctor's name. I stopped him and asked if I could help. He said he needed the doctor for a baby who was ill. I asked him which apartment. 31, he told me. He kept going. I was going to search for the doctor, but I forgot about it and did other things. Now in real life, I didn't know what the dream meant because the number 31 means nothing to me. As the day went on, I was trying to figure out which fairy tale I would tell tonight. I thought about doing Silver Hands (or the Girl Without Hands), but I wasn't sure. Then I got out my Grimms' Fairy Tales and looked up The Girl Without Hands, and it was tale number 31. Gave me shivers.
Strange. Do you remember I was going to write a full length book on Silver Hands a few years back?
A couple of nights ago, I asked the Invisibles to give me a dream about which book I should write next. Maybe that's why I dreamed this. Or maybe it's because I sometimes (like this time) feel like Silver Hands, unable to care for myself.
Ah well. I must prepare for story night under the full December moon. This is who I would like to feel like: I dig the robe and the bear.
Onward! 3 comments
One Word Titles
Here's some unsolicited advice for you writers out there. Don't give your book a one word title unless it's an unusual one word title. Why? The way people find books has changed drastically in the last few years. Most search engines go screwy when you put in one common word. Normally the catalogs etc. would find the latest book with a title like yours, but if it's a one word title, many catalogs and search engines will find every book with that one word in it. Go ahead and try it on your library catalog or on Amazon. I buy books for a library district, so I use a lot of search engines. For instance, I wanted to double check that I had ordered Cormac McCarthy's The Road. I knew if I put "road" into our catalog I would get 10,001 titles with the word "road" in them. I primarily order from Baker & Taylor, so I use Title Source. When I put "The Road" in there, I got 7,439 titles and Cormac's book was not first or even on that page. Now, yes, I could have put in the author and the title, and I would have gone right to the tile. But when I'm ordering books, I've got hundreds of titles I need to get through, and I don't have time to do that kind of specific searching with each title. With someone like Cormac McCarthy, I will make certain we have his book. And because he's popular, he'll turn up first on Amazon. But for someone else, I'm just as likely to keep on going down the list if I can't find it right away. Those are just the facts. And if someone isn't sure of your name and you have a one word title, it just ain't good. If you have an unusual one word title then no problem: as long as it's fairly easy to spell.
Something to think about. You always want to make ordering as easy as possible for librarians and booksellers.
P.S. I'm assuming you understand that "a," "an," or "the" at the beginning of a title doesn't count. Search engines would still see "The Road" as a one word title. 0 comments
Something to think about. You always want to make ordering as easy as possible for librarians and booksellers.
P.S. I'm assuming you understand that "a," "an," or "the" at the beginning of a title doesn't count. Search engines would still see "The Road" as a one word title. 0 comments
Saturday, December 02, 2006
Sums It All Up
Many of you have probably already seen this since it is making the rounds, but you might appreciate it again. It kind of sums up winter.
0 commentsAll photographs and written material copyright © 2003-2007 by Kim Antieau unless otherwise indicated. May not be used without permission.
