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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.
Tuesday, July 03, 2007
Kitchen Witch
Endicott Redux has another late night post perfect for me and maybe for you. All about food in relationship to story. It inspires me to continue my research for two novels of mine in the embryonic stages where cooks are the main characters. (Although I don't want to get too far afield since I want to continue working on The Riverbend Refugee.)
I suppose that last sentence was meant just for me. Self-talk. Kim, settle down and write the book you've started. I do that all the time. I become like someone newly in love who finally gets the boy/girl she's been pining for, only to wonder if maybe someone else would be easier. Or better. Or more of a soul mate. Etc. I think, "Hmmmm, I love this book, but wouldn't it be more fun to tell that story instead..." And doesn't that story look great in that little black cocktail dress...Purty.
But I digress.
It's the middle of the night. I'm supposed to be asleep. I've now had three of my health professionals tell me I've got to get my sleep under control. Or rather, I need to get some...Sleep, that is. Hmmmm. Any ideas? I've got to get up early tomorrow because I want to harvest some rosemary, sage, and lavender.
I'll try to catch some zzzzzs now. Maybe exes and whys too.
Have fun with the food links at Endicott Redux. By the way, I read the Chitrita Banerji piece that Terri linked to. It was lovely. At the beginning of the excerpt, Banerji writes, "During my years as a food writer, I have championed the cause of regional cuisine as the only authentic culinary identity." As I read this, I thought, well that's easy to say if you're from India or China or someplace where the food is interesting. If you're from the Midwest of the United States, as I was, there ain't any regional cuisine. Is there? Am I wrong? Perhaps we just forgot what our regional cuisine was. Or maybe I just thought our food was boring. Meat, potatoes, vegetables. Ostensibly edible but...bleck. (Yes, I'm such an expressive and articulate writer, ain't I?) My mother made amazing soups, but were those part of our regional cuisine? My French ancestors in Michigan caught, cooked, and ate muskrat. But I don't really want to contemplate that right now, thank you. (We watched Fast Food Nation tonight and there was a scene where they were slaughtering cattle and I got dizzy and almost puked, so I really don't want to envision any meat dishes right now. By the way, I am once again so glad I don't eat cows.)
I've been thinking a lot about local food, as you know. I believe in getting as much of our food locally as possible. I want food that is sustainably grown and harvested, local, organic, and in season. I want to have a teeny-tiny carbon footprint. However, the people on these lands, the lands of the West where I live, have traded with each other for thousands of years. Archaeologists have found evidence that Southwest Native peoples and Mexican Native peoples traded parrot feathers, bells, maize, beans, squash, and cotton. Northwest tribes traded with the Inuits in Alaska and Siberia. Siberia! Trade happens and has happened over long distances forever. What we've got to figure out now is how to trade sustainably.
Okay, I'm really going to try to sleep now.
Sleepy hugs.
P.S. I told you about the Spring issue of Journal of Mythic Arts, right? Wonderful. If I may say so meself: I've got two pieces in it.
Labels: Endicott, food, Riverbend Refugee, sleep, writing
0 comments
Friday, June 22, 2007
This is My Life: Show & Tell
I can't sleep. Mario is having trouble with his allergies. I'm worrying. He's sleeping; I'm not. *sigh* So I thought I'd try to entertain you and me with some show and tell. By the way, some of the photogs are of food. I have no training in taking food photographs. It is quite an art, and I am not an artiste—yet. I took the pics anyway. You'll get the idea even though the food does not look as gorgeous and mouth-watering as they were in real life.
It's been quite a week around here. I said goodbye to my friend Michelle and sent her off to Santa Fe.
First I sat on my back porch having tea with the faeries and the hummingbirds, and I finished an Old Mermaid pouch I was making Michelle. I sewed in love and good wishes, health and creativity, safe trip and fulfilled dreams. I cut up pieces of cloth and wrote down the 13 suggestions from the Old Mermaids so Michelle could pull out one a day (or whenever), her own Old Mermaids divination tool.
Into the pouch, I put lavender, rosemary, and sage from my garden, a shell from Ireland, a piece of snakeskin I'd found fifteen years ago in a very sacred place, a rose quartz bead from a necklace of mine, and a hummingbird feather that I'd taken from a dead hummingbird fifteen years ago (with great reverence I took the feathers after a friend brought me the hummingbird after her cat killed it).
I bought some of Michelle's furniture. I loved this kitchen stool.
The seat was soiled and I didn't want to use a cleaner, so I reupholstered it. It only took about an hour. First time I ever did anything like that. I used some upholstery remnants I'd bought from Michelle.
Over the weekend I worked on The Blue Honey Clan. As you already know, I finished the first draft. I finished it on Monday. On Tuesday I went to my surgeon. Everything was good. Afterward, I had a work (library) meeting in Vancouver. Fun talking about library stuff. Feeling better about work lately. (Lost my ability to have subjects in my sentences again.) Back home, I walked to the library for a program with the 'tweens. They'd read Broken Moon and we had a discussion about it. I love, love, love hearing what the kids have to say about my stories. So far, they seem to like Broken Moon. As I walked happily home afterward, I looked around at my beautiful town and realized, again, how fortunate I am. What a life I have.
Wednesday morning I got up early and worked in my garden. Then I finished the two dishes for the Gathering I'd started the night before. As I finished up the quinoa dish, a friend from last year's Faery Doctoring came for a visit. She met Mario and then I drove her to Falling Creek and we hiked the trail. It was great fun being in one of my favorite places with her. We had lunch back at home, and then we went to the Gathering together. (Gathering: a group of area women who meet once a month; we've been doing this for the last seven years.) The place we met at was beautiful. We told jokes in honor of Linda, and I missed her a lot.
Thursday morning, I decided to have slow-food day. I spent the day making a no-cheese cheesecake. I had soaked the millet the night before. I drained the millet this morning and then roasted them.
(I love this "new moon" photograph of the millet.)
This was a long process, so in-between time, I wrote letters, did a post or two, and took photographs.
When the millet was ready, I ground it into flour. I made a crust out of the millet and other ingredients. I was out of baking soda, so I walked down to the grocery store and bought a box. Came home and finished the cake by making the insides out of tofu. I added more lemon and lemon zest this time. (The recipe is here, although I forgot to use the egg, and it didn't seem to make a difference.)
When Mario got home, we decided to stay home for the night, no bonfire, no labyrinth walk. Instead, we got a movie, ate dinner, and then had our cheesecake.
Serena called from Michigan. That was a nice Solstice present.
And the rest you know. This weekend I'm taking a tracking course. I'll tell you all about it. Should be fun. Next week, I rest and recreate.
Now I should try to sleep.
May You Create and Sleep in Beauty!
Labels: faeries, Falling Creek, food, Old Mermaids, sleep
4 comments
Thursday, June 07, 2007
Nourishment
Awake with the loonies. Or lunies. Or Moonies.
Stop it, Kim.
I woke up Saturday morning and my sense of smell was gone. Did I say? Hasn't returned yet. Trying not to freak out about it or imagine the worse.
Not sleeping tonight. Apparently not using subjects in my sentences either.
My sleep has been so erratic. Four hours one night. Four hours the next night. Walked in the woods anyway. Deep into the forest. Hanging out with the Old Growth. Talked with the Leprechaun of the Woods. And a Wren. She just sang and sang. Enveloped by green, that deep rich nourishing old forest green. And then the falls. Ummmm. Such nourishment.
Another day. Or the same day? Went to Portland. Shopping. Stopped at Powell's. I went to the cookbook section. Shelf after shelf after bookcase of books about food and cooking. I picked up the book French Women Don't Get Fat: The Secret of Eating for Pleasure by Mireille Guiliano. Not because I care about the fat part. But the eating for pleasure. Or the doing anything for pleasure. That piqued my interest. Or something. I flipped through it. I think I read one sentence. I don't know. But I imagined walking down a sunlit road, golden fields on either side of me, on my way to or from a feast. I felt relaxed, happy, part of a community. In my imagination. In that glimpse of a time or place before. In another country. And I began sobbing. Right there in the stacks. Came upon me so suddenly I fell back into the bookshelf behind me. And then I realized where I was. Might be scaring people.
Something about the way we live is just wrong. Or not working for me. Too much driving. Disconnection. Something...I wish I could articulate it better.
I told Mario what happened, and he said, "We could move to France."
Is there no place in this country? Is it all soulless? All disconnected? Is our whole country just one big Kmart? Has it always been that way?
I remember when I travelled in Europe. It was so different. The same and different. Solid. Ancient. Connected. What is the word I'm looking for?
I don't know.
It had soul. It wasn't a shell of a place.
Maybe I'm just feeling like a shell of a person. Though I don't think that's it. I don't feel as though I'm depressed. This feels as though I am seeing the truth of something.
Is our country all fast food? No nourishment.
Empty calories?
We spent the morning cooking.
Can't seem to stop cooking. I'm not writing. Maybe I'm trying to nourish myself in other ways. Nourish all of us. While we were cooking, Serena came over. We fed her. Hugged her. When she left, we set the table. Plate, bowl, bowl. Napkin. Fork. Spoon. Spoon. Glasses. Michelle came over and we fed her. Talked. I tried to smell everything. Nada. I had Michelle taste test everything and make suggestions. We sat at our Big River table and talked and ate and talked and ate. Two soups, even though I'd made three. We squeezed lime into both soups. Added cilantro. I sucked on lime slices. Dropped lime slices into the lentils, pulled them out, and sucked on them. Michelle had brought hummus made from sprouted garbanzos and sesame seeds. We dunked fresh greens and steamed veggies with garlic into them. We ate tofu cheesecake with a strawberry topping and/or plums Michelle had canned. Mmmmm. Talked about my meltdown in Powell's. Wondered how we make community. Just do it. Do it, do it, she said. I tried for years. Have tried for years. Gathering after gathering after gathering. It was never reciprocated. No connection. Like eating in Faeryland. Or in a dream. Nothing substantial ever came out of it. But it's more than that. Why couldn't I explain it? Can't explain it. Doesn't matter. Right now I had this moment. I had these people. I had this day.
In the end, we ate until we were full. Nourished by each other and the food. We got lots of leftovers. I packed up soup and cheesecake for Michelle.
We hugged each other. She opened her suitcase and showed me a piece of cloth with a batik painting on it of a mermaid and dogs. Someone painted it for Michelle. She gave it to me. Then she thanked me for lunch and left.
It was a good day, all in all.
I hope yours was the same.
What we ate:
First, I made Curious Curried Cod and Rice Chowder. (Yes, cod. Once every few years I have white fish. I'm not a vegetarian. I was a vegetarian for years. It didn't work for me. I liked being a vegetarian, but I didn't get healthier. Got less healthy actually. Some people can do it and stay healthy. I can't. At least not at this stage in my life. I see myself as a flexitarian. I also believe that a meat-eating diet doesn't have to be any less sustainable than a vegetarian diet. In fact, many vegetarian diets are not particularly sustainable. But that's another tale.)
I got the idea for the Curious Curried Cod from The Splendid Grain by Rebecca Wood, only her recipe is curried barley and cod chowder and she forgot to say how much curry to put in! I sauteed the mustard seeds, put in the gorgeous fresh ginger and chopped onion, daikon radish, the stock, the cooked rice, the cod, and kept reading the recipe looking for how much curry I should put in. Nothing. I laughed and dropped in about a tablespoon of curry. Tasted it. Not enough. Another tablespoon. Oh hell, I dropped in another. Then a bunch of salt, a bit of tamari. She called for three tablespoons of miso, but I didn't have any; thus the salt and tamari. The chowder was delicious. The color of saffron water. Mustard seeds tiny black surprises that popped in my mouth. Ahhh! The cod melted right into my belly.
Recipe
1 T coconut oil, olive oil or ghee
1 T mustard seeds
1-3 T curry, depending upon your taste
1 T grated ginger
1/2 cup chopped onion
1 1/2 cups diced daikon
6 cups fish stock (or veggie or chicken stock)
1/2 cup cooked rice (or barley)
1/2 pound fresh cod, cut into pieces
fresh cilantro
Heat the oil. Put in the mustard seeds. Wait for them to start to pop. Add the curry and the ginger and stir. Add the onion and daikon and saute until they start to soften. (If you don't want to fry, I would sweat the onions and daikon—low heat, no oil—and then add everything else. I'm not sure about this. Try it and see.) Add the stock and rice and simmer for about 15 minutes. Add the cod and cook for 5 minutes more. Add tamari and/or salt to taste. Garnish with cilantro.
I also made lentil stew. I think I've given you that recipe before, so I'll move right on to the tofu cheesecake. I used a recipe in the Blossoming Lotus cookbook as a starting point. They used spelt flour. Mine is completely gluten free.
Say No Cheese Cake
Filling
2 lbs tofu
1/3 agave syrup (or to taste)
1/3 maple syrup (or to taste)
1/2 c coconut milk
zest of one lemon
1/3 c fresh lemon juice
2 1/2 T arrowroot powder
2 T vanilla extract (real vanilla extract, none of that fake crap)
1/2 tsp sea salt, or to taste
Crust: Dry
1 1/2 c millet flour (or quinoa or combo), freshly milled
1/2 arrowroot powder
1 tsp baking power (or 1/4 tsp baking soda)
1/4 fresh cardamom power
1/4 tsp salt, or to taste
Crust: Wet
1/3 olive oil
1/8 cup agave, or to taste
3 T maple syrup
1 egg
1 tsp vanilla extract
Preheat oven to 350. To make the crust, combine the dry ingredients. Mix well. Mix together wet ingredients separately. (You might be able to skip the egg; I added that since I wasn't using gluten flour.) Add the wet ingredients to the dry. Mix well. Without the gluten flour it was very sticky. Keep your fingers wet and it's a bit easier. Press the crust into a 10' pan. (They say to use a spring form pan, but I don't have one.) Bake for 5-10 minutes. You want it to be done but not too hard. I've only made this once, so I'm not sure how long. They recommend 5 minutes. I didn't think that was long enough. Let it cool.
For the filling, put everything in a large blender. It wouldn't all fit in the cuisinart, so we did it in stages. Blend until smooth like sour cream. (Michelle suggests using silken tofu.) Pour over the crust and bake for an hour or until it's golden brown and doesn't jiggle a lot. Let it cool and then cut and serve and moan with pleasure!
Use any kind of fruit topping you like. We used plums. I also made a strawberry sauce. Cut up some strawberries. Add a bit of water. Add some minced mint, a bit of freshly ground cardamom power and a couple pinches of cinnamon powder. If it's too tart, feel free to add a bit of maple syrup or agave.
This was amazing cake. And it looked like a real cheesecake which was amazing to me. Now, I haven't had cheesecake in over twenty years, so I don't claim it tastes like cheesecake because I don't know. The consistency will be better if you can really get the filling smooth, Michelle says.
Enjoy! We certainly did.
Stop it, Kim.
I woke up Saturday morning and my sense of smell was gone. Did I say? Hasn't returned yet. Trying not to freak out about it or imagine the worse.
Not sleeping tonight. Apparently not using subjects in my sentences either.
My sleep has been so erratic. Four hours one night. Four hours the next night. Walked in the woods anyway. Deep into the forest. Hanging out with the Old Growth. Talked with the Leprechaun of the Woods. And a Wren. She just sang and sang. Enveloped by green, that deep rich nourishing old forest green. And then the falls. Ummmm. Such nourishment.
Another day. Or the same day? Went to Portland. Shopping. Stopped at Powell's. I went to the cookbook section. Shelf after shelf after bookcase of books about food and cooking. I picked up the book French Women Don't Get Fat: The Secret of Eating for Pleasure by Mireille Guiliano. Not because I care about the fat part. But the eating for pleasure. Or the doing anything for pleasure. That piqued my interest. Or something. I flipped through it. I think I read one sentence. I don't know. But I imagined walking down a sunlit road, golden fields on either side of me, on my way to or from a feast. I felt relaxed, happy, part of a community. In my imagination. In that glimpse of a time or place before. In another country. And I began sobbing. Right there in the stacks. Came upon me so suddenly I fell back into the bookshelf behind me. And then I realized where I was. Might be scaring people.
Something about the way we live is just wrong. Or not working for me. Too much driving. Disconnection. Something...I wish I could articulate it better.
I told Mario what happened, and he said, "We could move to France."
Is there no place in this country? Is it all soulless? All disconnected? Is our whole country just one big Kmart? Has it always been that way?
I remember when I travelled in Europe. It was so different. The same and different. Solid. Ancient. Connected. What is the word I'm looking for?
I don't know.
It had soul. It wasn't a shell of a place.
Maybe I'm just feeling like a shell of a person. Though I don't think that's it. I don't feel as though I'm depressed. This feels as though I am seeing the truth of something.
Is our country all fast food? No nourishment.
Empty calories?
We spent the morning cooking.
Can't seem to stop cooking. I'm not writing. Maybe I'm trying to nourish myself in other ways. Nourish all of us. While we were cooking, Serena came over. We fed her. Hugged her. When she left, we set the table. Plate, bowl, bowl. Napkin. Fork. Spoon. Spoon. Glasses. Michelle came over and we fed her. Talked. I tried to smell everything. Nada. I had Michelle taste test everything and make suggestions. We sat at our Big River table and talked and ate and talked and ate. Two soups, even though I'd made three. We squeezed lime into both soups. Added cilantro. I sucked on lime slices. Dropped lime slices into the lentils, pulled them out, and sucked on them. Michelle had brought hummus made from sprouted garbanzos and sesame seeds. We dunked fresh greens and steamed veggies with garlic into them. We ate tofu cheesecake with a strawberry topping and/or plums Michelle had canned. Mmmmm. Talked about my meltdown in Powell's. Wondered how we make community. Just do it. Do it, do it, she said. I tried for years. Have tried for years. Gathering after gathering after gathering. It was never reciprocated. No connection. Like eating in Faeryland. Or in a dream. Nothing substantial ever came out of it. But it's more than that. Why couldn't I explain it? Can't explain it. Doesn't matter. Right now I had this moment. I had these people. I had this day.
In the end, we ate until we were full. Nourished by each other and the food. We got lots of leftovers. I packed up soup and cheesecake for Michelle.
We hugged each other. She opened her suitcase and showed me a piece of cloth with a batik painting on it of a mermaid and dogs. Someone painted it for Michelle. She gave it to me. Then she thanked me for lunch and left.
It was a good day, all in all.
I hope yours was the same.
What we ate:
First, I made Curious Curried Cod and Rice Chowder. (Yes, cod. Once every few years I have white fish. I'm not a vegetarian. I was a vegetarian for years. It didn't work for me. I liked being a vegetarian, but I didn't get healthier. Got less healthy actually. Some people can do it and stay healthy. I can't. At least not at this stage in my life. I see myself as a flexitarian. I also believe that a meat-eating diet doesn't have to be any less sustainable than a vegetarian diet. In fact, many vegetarian diets are not particularly sustainable. But that's another tale.)
I got the idea for the Curious Curried Cod from The Splendid Grain by Rebecca Wood, only her recipe is curried barley and cod chowder and she forgot to say how much curry to put in! I sauteed the mustard seeds, put in the gorgeous fresh ginger and chopped onion, daikon radish, the stock, the cooked rice, the cod, and kept reading the recipe looking for how much curry I should put in. Nothing. I laughed and dropped in about a tablespoon of curry. Tasted it. Not enough. Another tablespoon. Oh hell, I dropped in another. Then a bunch of salt, a bit of tamari. She called for three tablespoons of miso, but I didn't have any; thus the salt and tamari. The chowder was delicious. The color of saffron water. Mustard seeds tiny black surprises that popped in my mouth. Ahhh! The cod melted right into my belly.
Recipe
1 T coconut oil, olive oil or ghee
1 T mustard seeds
1-3 T curry, depending upon your taste
1 T grated ginger
1/2 cup chopped onion
1 1/2 cups diced daikon
6 cups fish stock (or veggie or chicken stock)
1/2 cup cooked rice (or barley)
1/2 pound fresh cod, cut into pieces
fresh cilantro
Heat the oil. Put in the mustard seeds. Wait for them to start to pop. Add the curry and the ginger and stir. Add the onion and daikon and saute until they start to soften. (If you don't want to fry, I would sweat the onions and daikon—low heat, no oil—and then add everything else. I'm not sure about this. Try it and see.) Add the stock and rice and simmer for about 15 minutes. Add the cod and cook for 5 minutes more. Add tamari and/or salt to taste. Garnish with cilantro.
I also made lentil stew. I think I've given you that recipe before, so I'll move right on to the tofu cheesecake. I used a recipe in the Blossoming Lotus cookbook as a starting point. They used spelt flour. Mine is completely gluten free.
Say No Cheese Cake
Filling
2 lbs tofu
1/3 agave syrup (or to taste)
1/3 maple syrup (or to taste)
1/2 c coconut milk
zest of one lemon
1/3 c fresh lemon juice
2 1/2 T arrowroot powder
2 T vanilla extract (real vanilla extract, none of that fake crap)
1/2 tsp sea salt, or to taste
Crust: Dry
1 1/2 c millet flour (or quinoa or combo), freshly milled
1/2 arrowroot powder
1 tsp baking power (or 1/4 tsp baking soda)
1/4 fresh cardamom power
1/4 tsp salt, or to taste
Crust: Wet
1/3 olive oil
1/8 cup agave, or to taste
3 T maple syrup
1 egg
1 tsp vanilla extract
Preheat oven to 350. To make the crust, combine the dry ingredients. Mix well. Mix together wet ingredients separately. (You might be able to skip the egg; I added that since I wasn't using gluten flour.) Add the wet ingredients to the dry. Mix well. Without the gluten flour it was very sticky. Keep your fingers wet and it's a bit easier. Press the crust into a 10' pan. (They say to use a spring form pan, but I don't have one.) Bake for 5-10 minutes. You want it to be done but not too hard. I've only made this once, so I'm not sure how long. They recommend 5 minutes. I didn't think that was long enough. Let it cool.
For the filling, put everything in a large blender. It wouldn't all fit in the cuisinart, so we did it in stages. Blend until smooth like sour cream. (Michelle suggests using silken tofu.) Pour over the crust and bake for an hour or until it's golden brown and doesn't jiggle a lot. Let it cool and then cut and serve and moan with pleasure!
Use any kind of fruit topping you like. We used plums. I also made a strawberry sauce. Cut up some strawberries. Add a bit of water. Add some minced mint, a bit of freshly ground cardamom power and a couple pinches of cinnamon powder. If it's too tart, feel free to add a bit of maple syrup or agave.
This was amazing cake. And it looked like a real cheesecake which was amazing to me. Now, I haven't had cheesecake in over twenty years, so I don't claim it tastes like cheesecake because I don't know. The consistency will be better if you can really get the filling smooth, Michelle says.
Enjoy! We certainly did.
Labels: food, recipes, sleep, sustainability
0 comments
Wednesday, May 23, 2007
Moonshine
That is going to be the title of a new book, eventually, after I finish one or two others. Or maybe Moon Shine. But that's another story. Literally.
I slept twelve hours last night. Last day. Whatever. It was glorious. I had so many dreams. So much sleep. Every time I woke up, I'd just lure myself back to sleep. It didn't start out well. Yesterday I came home from a work workshop. I had gotten very little sleep the previously four days, and the work shop was very intense. As we were driving home, I fell to sleep in the car, something I rarely do even on very long road trips. Once home, I kept falling asleep on the couch. I finally dragged my weary self up the stairs and got into bed. And I was wide awake. Exhausted, sooo sleepy, and in that kind of altered state that comes from sleep deprivation sometimes. As I lay in bed, I saw a spot of light through the blinds and window covering. I stumbled out of bed and pulled up the shades. I wasn't very coordinated. I felt kind of drunk. Eventually I got the blinds up and I tied the covering cloth up. And I lay in the pool of moonlight on the bed. But I couldn't actually see the moon. So I got up and fumbled around some more with the window covering. (Mario was very patient through this whole thing, especially given that he had been sleeping when I started all this and was no longer.) Finally, I was in bed again, curled up near the end of the bed in the moon shine, with the moon in my eyes. Ahhhhh. A second later, I fell directly into dream land, and that is where I spent the night.
Now to breakfast!
May You Sleep in Beauty! 0 comments
I slept twelve hours last night. Last day. Whatever. It was glorious. I had so many dreams. So much sleep. Every time I woke up, I'd just lure myself back to sleep. It didn't start out well. Yesterday I came home from a work workshop. I had gotten very little sleep the previously four days, and the work shop was very intense. As we were driving home, I fell to sleep in the car, something I rarely do even on very long road trips. Once home, I kept falling asleep on the couch. I finally dragged my weary self up the stairs and got into bed. And I was wide awake. Exhausted, sooo sleepy, and in that kind of altered state that comes from sleep deprivation sometimes. As I lay in bed, I saw a spot of light through the blinds and window covering. I stumbled out of bed and pulled up the shades. I wasn't very coordinated. I felt kind of drunk. Eventually I got the blinds up and I tied the covering cloth up. And I lay in the pool of moonlight on the bed. But I couldn't actually see the moon. So I got up and fumbled around some more with the window covering. (Mario was very patient through this whole thing, especially given that he had been sleeping when I started all this and was no longer.) Finally, I was in bed again, curled up near the end of the bed in the moon shine, with the moon in my eyes. Ahhhhh. A second later, I fell directly into dream land, and that is where I spent the night.
Now to breakfast!
May You Sleep in Beauty! 0 comments
Sunday, May 20, 2007
Checking In
I just got back home. Been out of town for a bit and on the run for a while. I have many unfinished posts. I start to write and then I don't finish because I haven't had time. Or something. Still behind in my writing work, but thems the breaks. It's summer, or nearly so, and I've got different priorities besides my books. I need/want to get the garden rototilled and planted...But wait. I won't bore you with my to-do list. I'll fascinate you with my what I've been doing summary. Naw. That's too much pressure. I'll just tell you what I've been doing, but I won't try to fascinate. If I can remember. I haven't gotten much sleep the past few days, and I'm in a bit of an altered state.
But you kinda like that, don't you? Admit it. I'm fun when I'm loopy. We all are.
So what's the haps? I told you I wanted to take cooking lessons from my friend. We did indeed have our first lesson. It was a ball. I had laryngitis, so I couldn't talk. This was a wee bit disconcerting for her, but we carried on...
I must pause to tell you I'm lookin' out my window as I'm typing. A storm is moving through. And I mean movin', babies! Five minutes ago, it was pouring down pissing down flooding down rain. And sleet. Or hail. That has stopped. Thunder rumbles. (Is there any better word for what Thunder does? Rumble.) The Weather Gang is in town and they is ready to rumble. The huge cauldron bubblin' white clouds are riding the thermals down through the gorge, exposing a patch of blue sky, reminding me of a dancer letting the material of her gown, dress, shawl slip down to reveal her round sensual kiss-inducing shoulder. Mmmmmm. To the south, the clouds slide past the green and black gorge cliffs. A close encounter of a glorious kind. The light green and black green conifers on those cliffs really pop after a rain. It's like seeing one of those old masterpieces before and after they've been cleaned. Now the sky skin is covered up with grey clouds again and the thunder is like the growl of a big old cat.
Anyway, I had my cooking class. We cooked together. We talked. I smelled every little bit of everything we used for our meal. I zested limes and was ecstatic with the sight of those bright green snippets of lime curls and overjoyed to smell them. It was a tangy smell. I pulled off the insides of the lime after we juiced it, and I sucked on that piece. Oh my word! Never tasted anything like it in my life. So tangy and sour. Lovely, lovely. We toasted cumin and ground it up and I smelled it. Same with oregano. Cinnamon. Cilantro. What a little tart cilantro is, isn't it? I never knew: the smell of cilantro is tart. And tangy. You may have figured out we were making a Mexican dish. Quinoa with cilantro, scallions, and a garlic lime sauce, and pinto beans with carrots and onions and a myriad of sensual herbs and rice. In any case, it was a delightful meal and I've been cooking up a storm and using the wisdom she imparted on me since then.
I started two or three posts about the cooking classes, but I haven't finished any, and I probably won't. It was two weeks ago. We were going to meet every week in her tiny house out in the country, but she's moving to New Mexico so The Unified Field Theory of Spices or Saffron Butterflies and Cinnamon Quills may be finished. Kaput. Or on hold. Of course those of you who have been hanging around for a while at FS know that the food thang ain't going away with me. I think our connection with food as nourishment and as a source of communal experience is very important.
I wish you could see the light here now. It's amazing. Betwixt and between time. The raindrops on the window are reflecting the sweet light that floats through the gorge right now like some wistful spirit looking for someplace to alight for a spell.
Did I already tell you my sense of smell went away again? I went off the nasal meds, as was always my plan, Stan. About a week or two later, my sense of smell disappeared. I was so upset. Can't express to you the depths of my despair. Truly. Not exaggerating. I went to the docs and she looked up my schnoz. Wasn't looking good. Went back on the meds. Smell came back the next day. I was dancing in the freaking streets. Right now my nose meds are also a great antidepressant. I will endeavor to go off them again after everything is all calmed down in my ol' sinus caves.
What else? After I cooked all day one day last week, I went to school and talked to about twenty 12 and 13 year olds. They had all read my book Broken Moon. I had a ball! Anyone who thinks kids nowadays are stupid hasn't spent any time with kids. These children were articulate. They had their own opinions. It was so much fun. It was fascinating to me what they liked about the book. They said they liked learning about other cultures and seeing how they lived. Someone asked me if I had "gotten in trouble" because Nadira was Muslim and she uses the word Allah. I said no, Nadira is a Muslim and they call God Allah. I thought that was an interesting question. They also wanted to talk about what actually happened to her. Was she "just" beaten up? Or was she raped? Did it matter what actually happened? They had quite a discussion about that. They talked about how Nadira felt about her scar by the end of the book. I've got two more of these discussion groups in the next month or so. I really like it when they've read the book ahead of time. I've done this with adult groups, too. It's interesting, as a writer, to hear people actually discuss my stories! And it's great for the readers to ask the author what was going on in the book or why you did this or that. (Of course, I often say, "What do you think?")
I've also been attending the Mindfulness Based Cognitive Therapy group in Portland, the eight week course based on Jon Kabat Zinn's Stress Reduction Program. It's a group of one, did I say? Me and two facilitators. I don't care. I am determined to get on board with this. I've had my ups and downs these past two months. Quite a few downs, actually. But I'm learning to deal with them, learning not to struggle so hard against the downs. It's kind of workin' for me. By the way, the new book The Mindful Way through Depression" Freeing yourself from chronic unhappiness by Mark Williams, John Teasdale, Zindel Segal, and Jon Kabat-Zinn is out; it's pretty much the course, the group, in a book, with a CD.
This weekend I went to a workshop. It was exhilarating, but I haven't hardly slept in three nights. I'm gonna rest and relaxacate. When the rain passes, I hope to go dig in the Earth. Say hello to Mom Earth.
Tomorrow.
Mañana.
May You Walk, Dance, Play, Pray, Love in Beauty!
But you kinda like that, don't you? Admit it. I'm fun when I'm loopy. We all are.
So what's the haps? I told you I wanted to take cooking lessons from my friend. We did indeed have our first lesson. It was a ball. I had laryngitis, so I couldn't talk. This was a wee bit disconcerting for her, but we carried on...
I must pause to tell you I'm lookin' out my window as I'm typing. A storm is moving through. And I mean movin', babies! Five minutes ago, it was pouring down pissing down flooding down rain. And sleet. Or hail. That has stopped. Thunder rumbles. (Is there any better word for what Thunder does? Rumble.) The Weather Gang is in town and they is ready to rumble. The huge cauldron bubblin' white clouds are riding the thermals down through the gorge, exposing a patch of blue sky, reminding me of a dancer letting the material of her gown, dress, shawl slip down to reveal her round sensual kiss-inducing shoulder. Mmmmmm. To the south, the clouds slide past the green and black gorge cliffs. A close encounter of a glorious kind. The light green and black green conifers on those cliffs really pop after a rain. It's like seeing one of those old masterpieces before and after they've been cleaned. Now the sky skin is covered up with grey clouds again and the thunder is like the growl of a big old cat.
Anyway, I had my cooking class. We cooked together. We talked. I smelled every little bit of everything we used for our meal. I zested limes and was ecstatic with the sight of those bright green snippets of lime curls and overjoyed to smell them. It was a tangy smell. I pulled off the insides of the lime after we juiced it, and I sucked on that piece. Oh my word! Never tasted anything like it in my life. So tangy and sour. Lovely, lovely. We toasted cumin and ground it up and I smelled it. Same with oregano. Cinnamon. Cilantro. What a little tart cilantro is, isn't it? I never knew: the smell of cilantro is tart. And tangy. You may have figured out we were making a Mexican dish. Quinoa with cilantro, scallions, and a garlic lime sauce, and pinto beans with carrots and onions and a myriad of sensual herbs and rice. In any case, it was a delightful meal and I've been cooking up a storm and using the wisdom she imparted on me since then.
I started two or three posts about the cooking classes, but I haven't finished any, and I probably won't. It was two weeks ago. We were going to meet every week in her tiny house out in the country, but she's moving to New Mexico so The Unified Field Theory of Spices or Saffron Butterflies and Cinnamon Quills may be finished. Kaput. Or on hold. Of course those of you who have been hanging around for a while at FS know that the food thang ain't going away with me. I think our connection with food as nourishment and as a source of communal experience is very important.
I wish you could see the light here now. It's amazing. Betwixt and between time. The raindrops on the window are reflecting the sweet light that floats through the gorge right now like some wistful spirit looking for someplace to alight for a spell.
Did I already tell you my sense of smell went away again? I went off the nasal meds, as was always my plan, Stan. About a week or two later, my sense of smell disappeared. I was so upset. Can't express to you the depths of my despair. Truly. Not exaggerating. I went to the docs and she looked up my schnoz. Wasn't looking good. Went back on the meds. Smell came back the next day. I was dancing in the freaking streets. Right now my nose meds are also a great antidepressant. I will endeavor to go off them again after everything is all calmed down in my ol' sinus caves.
What else? After I cooked all day one day last week, I went to school and talked to about twenty 12 and 13 year olds. They had all read my book Broken Moon. I had a ball! Anyone who thinks kids nowadays are stupid hasn't spent any time with kids. These children were articulate. They had their own opinions. It was so much fun. It was fascinating to me what they liked about the book. They said they liked learning about other cultures and seeing how they lived. Someone asked me if I had "gotten in trouble" because Nadira was Muslim and she uses the word Allah. I said no, Nadira is a Muslim and they call God Allah. I thought that was an interesting question. They also wanted to talk about what actually happened to her. Was she "just" beaten up? Or was she raped? Did it matter what actually happened? They had quite a discussion about that. They talked about how Nadira felt about her scar by the end of the book. I've got two more of these discussion groups in the next month or so. I really like it when they've read the book ahead of time. I've done this with adult groups, too. It's interesting, as a writer, to hear people actually discuss my stories! And it's great for the readers to ask the author what was going on in the book or why you did this or that. (Of course, I often say, "What do you think?")
I've also been attending the Mindfulness Based Cognitive Therapy group in Portland, the eight week course based on Jon Kabat Zinn's Stress Reduction Program. It's a group of one, did I say? Me and two facilitators. I don't care. I am determined to get on board with this. I've had my ups and downs these past two months. Quite a few downs, actually. But I'm learning to deal with them, learning not to struggle so hard against the downs. It's kind of workin' for me. By the way, the new book The Mindful Way through Depression" Freeing yourself from chronic unhappiness by Mark Williams, John Teasdale, Zindel Segal, and Jon Kabat-Zinn is out; it's pretty much the course, the group, in a book, with a CD.
This weekend I went to a workshop. It was exhilarating, but I haven't hardly slept in three nights. I'm gonna rest and relaxacate. When the rain passes, I hope to go dig in the Earth. Say hello to Mom Earth.
Tomorrow.
Mañana.
May You Walk, Dance, Play, Pray, Love in Beauty!
Labels: Broken Moon, food, mindfulness, sleep
0 comments
Friday, April 06, 2007
Bill Oh Kay Ohed
I've seen this three times today. Once on Imus at three or four in the morning, once on Chris Matthews, and now on Keith Olbermann. I can't see it enough. Geraldo Rivera is my (temporary, I'm sure) hero.
(I watched all those shows cuz I'm a zombie who hasn't slept in several eons, so that's all I'm doing, watching the teevee. Couch poo-tat-toe. I know what you're thinking. "Turn off the teevee, Kim, and you'll sleep." What? You think I'm an amateur at this? I only turned on the tube after trying to sleep for hours. Okay. Now I'll try a bath and see if that makes me sleeeeeppppppy.)
(I watched all those shows cuz I'm a zombie who hasn't slept in several eons, so that's all I'm doing, watching the teevee. Couch poo-tat-toe. I know what you're thinking. "Turn off the teevee, Kim, and you'll sleep." What? You think I'm an amateur at this? I only turned on the tube after trying to sleep for hours. Okay. Now I'll try a bath and see if that makes me sleeeeeppppppy.)
Labels: sleep
3 comments
Monday, March 26, 2007
SaferWay
Fascinating piece about Whole Foods Market coming to England. (Maybe only fascinating to me and those like me who are fascinated with food: how, what, when, where, etc.)
Had more to say but can't muster it up. Not very brilliant tonight. I can't remember how many nights it has been since I slept more than four or five hours, so my brain is fuzzy.
I shall go and try to sleep, perchance to dream.
Had more to say but can't muster it up. Not very brilliant tonight. I can't remember how many nights it has been since I slept more than four or five hours, so my brain is fuzzy.
I shall go and try to sleep, perchance to dream.
Labels: sleep
0 comments
Monday, March 05, 2007
Shifting
Oooooh. Can't sleep so I stumbled around one of my favorite sites, Endicott Redux, and found Terri Windling's piece on Shape-shifting. Fascinating. Note the mermaid at the end of the piece. Anyone who has been following FS knows I am fascinated with shapeshifting. I wrote an entire novel centered around the People, our ancestors: the Bear (Her Frozen Wild). And of course, Church of the Old Mermaids and Old Mermaid Sanctuary.
I had more to say but reading and looking at all that beautiful shapeshifting art has made me sleepy. I shall slip into something more comfortable—something else's skin?—and go back to sleep.
Enjoy your shifting. 0 comments
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!
I had more to say but reading and looking at all that beautiful shapeshifting art has made me sleepy. I shall slip into something more comfortable—something else's skin?—and go back to sleep.
Enjoy your shifting. 0 comments
Saturday, December 30, 2006
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
Sunday, December 17, 2006
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
Friday, December 15, 2006
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
Wednesday, December 13, 2006
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
Wednesday, November 08, 2006
A Lull in the Storm
It's not raining quite as hard right this second. And on the teevee, Jim Webb has been declared the winner in Virginia. The Dems have taken the Senate. Halle-freaking-lujah.
Tomorrow we have our teevee service turned off again. I'm looking forward to it. All these talking heads are...icky.
We had a nice little election party last night, five of us. Mario made spring rolls. Mmmmm. And we heard good news about the elections. Afterward I couldn't get to sleep. Could you? Finally dropped off for a couple of hours, and then I was up again. At 5:00 a.m., I sat on this couch (where I am now) writing a post for the Church of the Old Mermaids blog. It was quiet, except for the rain. Sounded so nice and secure. Mario was upstairs sleeping, I had hopes our country might get back on track, and life was good.
Today we went into Portland for acupuncture. Afterward we went to an office supply place, and I realized—after having one of those tug of war conversations with another person—that one of the things I long for is collaboration. Most of the projects I take on are things I hope will continue in collaboration. Instead, these projects often end in exhaustion—my exhaustion. I don't know about where you live, but where I live, collaboration isn't something most people want. Everyone has their own way of doing things, their own agenda, and they're going to do it their own way no matter what. This does not work well in groups. It does not work well in community or in government. Cooperation and collaboration does not have to mean compromise—in the bad sense of that word.
I work best when I am in cooperation and collaboration with others. I learn things by talking with people. I like bouncing ideas off of someone and having them bounce their ideas right back at me. (Are you picturing it?) That ain't the Western way.
(This collaboration and cooperation doesn't work when I'm writing. I write alone. I don't really want or need input from anyone in the middle of a fiction project—although I will talk to Mario about what I'm doing, but that's it.)
When Mario and I were talking about this today he said, "I didn't know that about you." I said, "What? We've been together for twenty-six years and you don't know that? I'm always talking about wanting community." "Community and collaboration are not the same things." "But you can't have workable community without collaboration."
And so it goes.
Is it just that so many people are control freaks, so they can't allow for someone else's point of view? Or is it more that so many people don't believe in themselves, so they can't imagine collaborating because they're afraid it might expose their weaknesses? (And of course the word collaboration has its own baggage: collaborating with the enemy and all that.)
I'm being vague, aren't I? It's late and I can't think of any specific examples. I haven't slept much in the last few days. Lots of good and wonderful things happening. Still tired though. Tonight I hope to sleep like a horse. No, wait, I hope to sleep like a baby. That's the saying. A baby who sleeps through the night, of course.
Our house has not leaked through the storm, knock wood. Our car is another matter. The trunk is full of water. (Okay, it is not full of water. But there was a lot of water. Too much water in any case because there shouldn't have been any at all.)
I had something profound to say, but it disappeared. And Mario just came in and told me to get off the computer. In a sweet and loving way, of course. "You have got to get off that computer. It's not going to help your tiredness."
Okay, my sweet.
More on the morrow.
Tomorrow we have our teevee service turned off again. I'm looking forward to it. All these talking heads are...icky.
We had a nice little election party last night, five of us. Mario made spring rolls. Mmmmm. And we heard good news about the elections. Afterward I couldn't get to sleep. Could you? Finally dropped off for a couple of hours, and then I was up again. At 5:00 a.m., I sat on this couch (where I am now) writing a post for the Church of the Old Mermaids blog. It was quiet, except for the rain. Sounded so nice and secure. Mario was upstairs sleeping, I had hopes our country might get back on track, and life was good.
Today we went into Portland for acupuncture. Afterward we went to an office supply place, and I realized—after having one of those tug of war conversations with another person—that one of the things I long for is collaboration. Most of the projects I take on are things I hope will continue in collaboration. Instead, these projects often end in exhaustion—my exhaustion. I don't know about where you live, but where I live, collaboration isn't something most people want. Everyone has their own way of doing things, their own agenda, and they're going to do it their own way no matter what. This does not work well in groups. It does not work well in community or in government. Cooperation and collaboration does not have to mean compromise—in the bad sense of that word.
I work best when I am in cooperation and collaboration with others. I learn things by talking with people. I like bouncing ideas off of someone and having them bounce their ideas right back at me. (Are you picturing it?) That ain't the Western way.
(This collaboration and cooperation doesn't work when I'm writing. I write alone. I don't really want or need input from anyone in the middle of a fiction project—although I will talk to Mario about what I'm doing, but that's it.)
When Mario and I were talking about this today he said, "I didn't know that about you." I said, "What? We've been together for twenty-six years and you don't know that? I'm always talking about wanting community." "Community and collaboration are not the same things." "But you can't have workable community without collaboration."
And so it goes.
Is it just that so many people are control freaks, so they can't allow for someone else's point of view? Or is it more that so many people don't believe in themselves, so they can't imagine collaborating because they're afraid it might expose their weaknesses? (And of course the word collaboration has its own baggage: collaborating with the enemy and all that.)
I'm being vague, aren't I? It's late and I can't think of any specific examples. I haven't slept much in the last few days. Lots of good and wonderful things happening. Still tired though. Tonight I hope to sleep like a horse. No, wait, I hope to sleep like a baby. That's the saying. A baby who sleeps through the night, of course.
Our house has not leaked through the storm, knock wood. Our car is another matter. The trunk is full of water. (Okay, it is not full of water. But there was a lot of water. Too much water in any case because there shouldn't have been any at all.)
I had something profound to say, but it disappeared. And Mario just came in and told me to get off the computer. In a sweet and loving way, of course. "You have got to get off that computer. It's not going to help your tiredness."
Okay, my sweet.
More on the morrow.
Labels: community, democracy watch, nature, sleep
2 comments
Friday, October 27, 2006
Shhhhhh
I'm completely absolutely resting today. No work. No computer time. Nothing. So don't tell anyone I'm on the computer or that I spent part of the morning doing library work. We have an issue at work that is concerning me about patron privacy so that has been occupying my brain. I am a staunch defender of patron privacy and Intellectual Freedoms, and I find it disheartening when these issues no longer become important to the institution, and librarians and library workers are afraid to speak out because they are afraid of losing their jobs. (I'm speaking generally here, not specifically about any library.) When library administrations and library boards become regime-like, when dissent is no longer tolerated, we are all in big trouble. Oh wait. We are all in big trouble.
I was originally hired as a branch librarian nineteen years ago. My library district was known throughout the United States for its patron service and its stance in Intellectual Freedom issues. That's why I came to work here. I was hired precisely because of who I am, because I spoke up, because I asked difficult questions, and because I was a good manager and I was great with the public. I loved my job. I became sick when a new carpet and new linoleum were put in my branch. I had to quit being a branch manager, and I continued my work as a selector, from home. The rest, as Sister Faye Mermaid would say, is...mystery.
I love libraries. I love the potential of libraries. I love that libraries can change the lives of individuals for the good. Just because the institutions and the people who run them and work there don't always live up to these high ideals doesn't mean I don't still love 'em.
But I'm not supposed to be on the computer...
I am making soup even as we speak. I had soooo many dreams last night. I hadn't slept the night before, or much the night before that, so last night I said I was going to bed at 10:00 p.m., which is when my naturopath says is the best time to go to bed, so I did that. (Okay, 10:15.) And every time I woke up in the night I made myself go back to sleep. In one dream a petulant child was really, really hungry and she just wanted to eat sheets of nori. I told her I would make her a soup: with mushrooms and onion and lots of sea vegetables. So guess what kind of soup I'm making for that petulant child in waking time?
(Beware: I'm about to do the equivalent of showing you pictures from my vacation...oh wait, I already do do that.) I also dreamed I lived in a frozen wasteland. Everything was frozen, my bed, my walls, my feelings, the people. I decided to leave this wasteland and go into a more watery juicy world. (I'm not kidding.) But someone tried to shoot me, so I was running for my life.
In another, I lived in this big trailer or mobile home. Huge! Originally six people were going to come with me, and then I allowed for another six. I went wandering around this town or fair or something and when I came back, the house/trailer had been taken over by all these obnoxious people. And they were partying and making a mess, and they wouldn't leave no matter what I did. I went back to the fair and called all the people from my home (via a loudspeaker) to come and meet me at this place. They came and I talked and said only the original people could come back. The invaders weren't very nice, and they refused to give up the house/trailer. We got on a bus to return to the house/trailer, with me resigned just to live with them and the situation. I got on first and stood near the driver. Then the first six got on near me, then the second six, then the invaders in back. The bus started forward and everyone was quiet.
Then I said, "Look, this is like a microcosm for what's happening on the planet. If we all go back there and live together the sewage will back up, the air will be foul. It won't be good for any of us." They didn't care! So I told the bus driver to stop. I said, "Well, I'm not going to be part of it." I stepped off the bus. I didn't look back. I heard people behind me so I thought my first six were following. I laid down on a big glorious rock to go to sleep. It was so nice. Two women did follow me, but they weren't from the bus. I didn't know them. I held them like they were my daughters. A policeman came to roust us, informing me that the two women were con artists.
I can't believe I told you the whole thing. Ah well. I'll be ashamed of using my blogosphere space up with this later. Right now I'm gettin' off the bus.
May You Dream in Beauty!
I was originally hired as a branch librarian nineteen years ago. My library district was known throughout the United States for its patron service and its stance in Intellectual Freedom issues. That's why I came to work here. I was hired precisely because of who I am, because I spoke up, because I asked difficult questions, and because I was a good manager and I was great with the public. I loved my job. I became sick when a new carpet and new linoleum were put in my branch. I had to quit being a branch manager, and I continued my work as a selector, from home. The rest, as Sister Faye Mermaid would say, is...mystery.
I love libraries. I love the potential of libraries. I love that libraries can change the lives of individuals for the good. Just because the institutions and the people who run them and work there don't always live up to these high ideals doesn't mean I don't still love 'em.
But I'm not supposed to be on the computer...
I am making soup even as we speak. I had soooo many dreams last night. I hadn't slept the night before, or much the night before that, so last night I said I was going to bed at 10:00 p.m., which is when my naturopath says is the best time to go to bed, so I did that. (Okay, 10:15.) And every time I woke up in the night I made myself go back to sleep. In one dream a petulant child was really, really hungry and she just wanted to eat sheets of nori. I told her I would make her a soup: with mushrooms and onion and lots of sea vegetables. So guess what kind of soup I'm making for that petulant child in waking time?
(Beware: I'm about to do the equivalent of showing you pictures from my vacation...oh wait, I already do do that.) I also dreamed I lived in a frozen wasteland. Everything was frozen, my bed, my walls, my feelings, the people. I decided to leave this wasteland and go into a more watery juicy world. (I'm not kidding.) But someone tried to shoot me, so I was running for my life.
In another, I lived in this big trailer or mobile home. Huge! Originally six people were going to come with me, and then I allowed for another six. I went wandering around this town or fair or something and when I came back, the house/trailer had been taken over by all these obnoxious people. And they were partying and making a mess, and they wouldn't leave no matter what I did. I went back to the fair and called all the people from my home (via a loudspeaker) to come and meet me at this place. They came and I talked and said only the original people could come back. The invaders weren't very nice, and they refused to give up the house/trailer. We got on a bus to return to the house/trailer, with me resigned just to live with them and the situation. I got on first and stood near the driver. Then the first six got on near me, then the second six, then the invaders in back. The bus started forward and everyone was quiet.
Then I said, "Look, this is like a microcosm for what's happening on the planet. If we all go back there and live together the sewage will back up, the air will be foul. It won't be good for any of us." They didn't care! So I told the bus driver to stop. I said, "Well, I'm not going to be part of it." I stepped off the bus. I didn't look back. I heard people behind me so I thought my first six were following. I laid down on a big glorious rock to go to sleep. It was so nice. Two women did follow me, but they weren't from the bus. I didn't know them. I held them like they were my daughters. A policeman came to roust us, informing me that the two women were con artists.
I can't believe I told you the whole thing. Ah well. I'll be ashamed of using my blogosphere space up with this later. Right now I'm gettin' off the bus.
May You Dream in Beauty!
Labels: dreams, libraries, sleep
1 comments
Thursday, August 17, 2006
How's Youse?
Late at night. Can't sleep again. I remember once when I was complaining about not sleeping someone said, "oh, just go with it; no big deal." This is fine advice if you don't have a job and/or you don't have any responsibilities to speak of. Not so good if you do. Don't you agree?
I went to the workshop in Portland. It was hot and I was having dragon-sized hot flashes and sweats. Plus lots of things were going on with Linda, so it was difficult to concentrate. On the second night in Portland—after I couldn't sleep again—I got up, wrote Mario a note, left the hotel, and drove home. It was so great to get into the car and just go. Middle of the night. Cruising down the Gorge, half moon out my left window. I could breathe again. The chatter in my head didn't stop, but at least I was moving. I thought about going to Linda's and seeing if she and Serena were all right. I hadn't slept in so long that the scenario seemed to make sense.
Once I got home I stepped out of the car and breathed deeply. Felt so much better. Went inside the house, lay down on the couch, pulled the quilt my dad had made me up over me, and fell to sleep almost immediately. I woke up an hour later, at 3:00 a.m. That amount of sleep was enough to restore me to sanity. I realized I had left my husband sleeping in a hotel in Portland: and he didn't know it. I got into the car and drove back to Portand. Which is beautiful at 4:00 a.m. Fortunately I found a parking spot near the hotel. I went back into the hotel and into our room. Got into bed. Mario said sleepily, "Did you go down to the lobby?" "No," I said, "I drove home. I've been gone for three hours." He had no idea.
He went right back to sleep. I was wide awake.
I didn't go back to the conference. We went home a few hours later.
The rest of what's been going on I won't bore you with. (What a sentence, eh.) It has been an extremely intense and stressful week. So many people have an opinion about how Linda should die. It's excruciating. Why can't people honor and respect the wishes of others? So many people are so certain they know what is right for other people. It amazes me. I'm rarely certain what is right for me let alone what's right for someone else. Is it relaxing to always "know" you're right, or really stressful?
Does this make sense? Too vague. My mind is a bit fried. Now I'll try to sleep again.
I wish my friend peace.
Sweet dreams all. 0 comments
I went to the workshop in Portland. It was hot and I was having dragon-sized hot flashes and sweats. Plus lots of things were going on with Linda, so it was difficult to concentrate. On the second night in Portland—after I couldn't sleep again—I got up, wrote Mario a note, left the hotel, and drove home. It was so great to get into the car and just go. Middle of the night. Cruising down the Gorge, half moon out my left window. I could breathe again. The chatter in my head didn't stop, but at least I was moving. I thought about going to Linda's and seeing if she and Serena were all right. I hadn't slept in so long that the scenario seemed to make sense.
Once I got home I stepped out of the car and breathed deeply. Felt so much better. Went inside the house, lay down on the couch, pulled the quilt my dad had made me up over me, and fell to sleep almost immediately. I woke up an hour later, at 3:00 a.m. That amount of sleep was enough to restore me to sanity. I realized I had left my husband sleeping in a hotel in Portland: and he didn't know it. I got into the car and drove back to Portand. Which is beautiful at 4:00 a.m. Fortunately I found a parking spot near the hotel. I went back into the hotel and into our room. Got into bed. Mario said sleepily, "Did you go down to the lobby?" "No," I said, "I drove home. I've been gone for three hours." He had no idea.
He went right back to sleep. I was wide awake.
I didn't go back to the conference. We went home a few hours later.
The rest of what's been going on I won't bore you with. (What a sentence, eh.) It has been an extremely intense and stressful week. So many people have an opinion about how Linda should die. It's excruciating. Why can't people honor and respect the wishes of others? So many people are so certain they know what is right for other people. It amazes me. I'm rarely certain what is right for me let alone what's right for someone else. Is it relaxing to always "know" you're right, or really stressful?
Does this make sense? Too vague. My mind is a bit fried. Now I'll try to sleep again.
I wish my friend peace.
Sweet dreams all. 0 comments
Friday, August 11, 2006
Story Time
It's near the end of the day. Mario is upstairs reading before sleep. It's been a long and sometimes harrowing week. Maybe harrowing is too strong a word. What the people in Lebanon are going through is harrowing. My week has just been difficult. I suppose. Watching other people suffer is difficult.
As I sat by Linda's side this afternoon, I thought about god again and reaffirmed my disbelief in an omnipotent omniscient god. If something/someone had the power to stop suffering, they would do it, right? Unless they were a cruel despicable evil S.O.B. (Or as Paul Erdös calls god: the Supreme Fascist.) Therefore, either god doesn't exist or if it does exist, it is evil.
I’m not saying geni loci and the rest of the Invisibles are not possible. Probable. I'm not eschewing the Old Wild Mother (as Cate calls her). But they are not omnipotent. (If they were and they did not stop suffering, I would call them Supreme Fascists, too.) There’s the difference.
But I haven't the energy for a thealogical argument right this second.
Tomorrow I have a reading at the library. I'll read scenes from Mercy, Unbound. I'll probably read a bit of Broken Moon and Church of the Old Mermaids. I don't do many readings any more. It doesn't really help with overall sales of a book, and it can be exhausting. So I only do ones I really want to do. It should be fun, although I was dreading it for a while—I couldn’t find people to stay with Linda while I was gone. Serena has a class, and nearly everyone else is out of town. Fortunately Linda’s niece is coming for part of the day, and Serena's godmother is coming for part of the day. Hurrah!
So tomorrow I'll talk about story at my reading. Maybe how I started out. I started writing stories before I could write. But you've heard that story before. When I was in college, I was in love with the language, but I didn't understand plot. Didn't understand story enough. After Clarion (the six week workshop where I met Mario), language became just a tool to create story. It was all about plot. Now I understand story and I love the language. But I'm still an Ernest Hemingway kind of writer. He could say so much with so little. I ain’t a flowery writer. If I can’t describe something in a sentence, I rarely do it.
I had more to write on this topic, but I am weary to the bone. I need to get some sleep. I don't generally give writing advice, even when I’m asked. I think most writing advice and writing books are crap. Once you know the language and understand basic sentence structure and grammar, I think you learn fiction writing by doing two things: reading fiction and writing fiction. But that’s just what I think. I also recommend two writing books, Damon Knight's Creating Short Fiction and John Gardner's On Becoming a Novelist.
I reread Damon’s book regularly—although I just looked for it and can’t find it. Damon was one of the instructors at Clarion. I miss his presence on this planet. I never liked John Gardner’s fiction; he clearly didn’t take his own advice. His writing books are quite good, however. So that’s all the advice I’ll give; I don’t want to stray into crap. Of course, maybe I already have. Strayed. I am a natural born writer (if there is such a thing), so it was probably easier for me. Mario has reminded me of that. And I’ve been writing for 45 years. I know what I did: I learned the basics. Then I practiced, practiced, practiced—and observed by reading. But I said that already.
Okay. This Old Storyteller is going to bed. Still looking for the Sand Man.
Wish me luck. 0 comments
As I sat by Linda's side this afternoon, I thought about god again and reaffirmed my disbelief in an omnipotent omniscient god. If something/someone had the power to stop suffering, they would do it, right? Unless they were a cruel despicable evil S.O.B. (Or as Paul Erdös calls god: the Supreme Fascist.) Therefore, either god doesn't exist or if it does exist, it is evil.
I’m not saying geni loci and the rest of the Invisibles are not possible. Probable. I'm not eschewing the Old Wild Mother (as Cate calls her). But they are not omnipotent. (If they were and they did not stop suffering, I would call them Supreme Fascists, too.) There’s the difference.
But I haven't the energy for a thealogical argument right this second.
Tomorrow I have a reading at the library. I'll read scenes from Mercy, Unbound. I'll probably read a bit of Broken Moon and Church of the Old Mermaids. I don't do many readings any more. It doesn't really help with overall sales of a book, and it can be exhausting. So I only do ones I really want to do. It should be fun, although I was dreading it for a while—I couldn’t find people to stay with Linda while I was gone. Serena has a class, and nearly everyone else is out of town. Fortunately Linda’s niece is coming for part of the day, and Serena's godmother is coming for part of the day. Hurrah!
So tomorrow I'll talk about story at my reading. Maybe how I started out. I started writing stories before I could write. But you've heard that story before. When I was in college, I was in love with the language, but I didn't understand plot. Didn't understand story enough. After Clarion (the six week workshop where I met Mario), language became just a tool to create story. It was all about plot. Now I understand story and I love the language. But I'm still an Ernest Hemingway kind of writer. He could say so much with so little. I ain’t a flowery writer. If I can’t describe something in a sentence, I rarely do it.
I had more to write on this topic, but I am weary to the bone. I need to get some sleep. I don't generally give writing advice, even when I’m asked. I think most writing advice and writing books are crap. Once you know the language and understand basic sentence structure and grammar, I think you learn fiction writing by doing two things: reading fiction and writing fiction. But that’s just what I think. I also recommend two writing books, Damon Knight's Creating Short Fiction and John Gardner's On Becoming a Novelist.
I reread Damon’s book regularly—although I just looked for it and can’t find it. Damon was one of the instructors at Clarion. I miss his presence on this planet. I never liked John Gardner’s fiction; he clearly didn’t take his own advice. His writing books are quite good, however. So that’s all the advice I’ll give; I don’t want to stray into crap. Of course, maybe I already have. Strayed. I am a natural born writer (if there is such a thing), so it was probably easier for me. Mario has reminded me of that. And I’ve been writing for 45 years. I know what I did: I learned the basics. Then I practiced, practiced, practiced—and observed by reading. But I said that already.
Okay. This Old Storyteller is going to bed. Still looking for the Sand Man.
Wish me luck. 0 comments
Thursday, August 10, 2006
A Dog Named Joe...
...and A Girl Named Whiny and Tired.
I took a bath. Nearly fell asleep in the bathtub while reading Animals in Translation. As I was sleepily stumbling into bed and Mario was covering me up (since he was awake and beginning his day), I asked, "Is designing humane ways to slaughter animals the same as say designing so-called humane ways to kill people." (The author designs "humane" slaughterhouses.) Mario said it is manifestly different. How? Because they're not people. I closed my eyes. "But it's so creepy." "Yes, it is very creepy." He left and I heard rainddrops on the roof. I was out of bed and downstairs in a jiffy, outside nearly naked on our front porch for all the world to see with my arms spread wide and my face uplifted to this rain which wasn't much more than cloud sweat. Still. It was nice.
But I'm very cranky. And sick to my stomach. And tired. Too many crises yesterday.
I had a funny dream. Not last night. Last night I didn't sleep. But the night before. (And yes, with all that's going on in the world, I'm writing about my dreams. That's the way it is.)
I was trying to get home in the dream, but it was dark and the ground was squishy and watery and I could see if I went much further I'd fall into the water. So I turned back. Just then a man appeared. "Oh," I said, "I asked the Universe for help and you appeared. I asked for someone who was not a psychopath. Are you a psychopath?" I don't think he answered but he offered to take me to Lenore's house. I pretended to know who Lenore was and went with him. A dog named Joe came with us. He was black and white. A mutt. Even in the dream I thought it was funny his name was Joe. It was daytime and sunny and snow was everywhere. I saw a white bear. I was glad we were going inside so the bear wouldn't see us. But the bear found us once we were inside the flimsy house, and I could hear him snuffling outside the door. I looked for a place to hide inside the house. I knew the bear would tear the place apart. I decided if I ever built a house it would be made from stainless steel so that the bear couldn't get in. I don't remember what else. But it's interesting the bear has returned to my dreams. (I understand it is probably only interesting to me.) Last week I dreamed of a white cat. I am being visited by white animals.
Did I mention that the hummingbirds (or bird) come to the feeder when I am outside? Mario will sit on the back porch and often no hummingbirds will come. I go outside and say, "I'm here. Come on down." Almost instantly one will appear. I mean literally an instant. One day I was back there by myself and a hummingbird flew right up to me, about a foot away. It was the most extraordinary thing. I wondered if, like the bees, the hummingbird was mistaking me for a flower.
Well, as Bobby said on King of the Hill, "This flower is wilting."
I'm going to eat, throw up, or sleep. Or all of the beside. 0 comments
I took a bath. Nearly fell asleep in the bathtub while reading Animals in Translation. As I was sleepily stumbling into bed and Mario was covering me up (since he was awake and beginning his day), I asked, "Is designing humane ways to slaughter animals the same as say designing so-called humane ways to kill people." (The author designs "humane" slaughterhouses.) Mario said it is manifestly different. How? Because they're not people. I closed my eyes. "But it's so creepy." "Yes, it is very creepy." He left and I heard rainddrops on the roof. I was out of bed and downstairs in a jiffy, outside nearly naked on our front porch for all the world to see with my arms spread wide and my face uplifted to this rain which wasn't much more than cloud sweat. Still. It was nice.
But I'm very cranky. And sick to my stomach. And tired. Too many crises yesterday.
I had a funny dream. Not last night. Last night I didn't sleep. But the night before. (And yes, with all that's going on in the world, I'm writing about my dreams. That's the way it is.)
I was trying to get home in the dream, but it was dark and the ground was squishy and watery and I could see if I went much further I'd fall into the water. So I turned back. Just then a man appeared. "Oh," I said, "I asked the Universe for help and you appeared. I asked for someone who was not a psychopath. Are you a psychopath?" I don't think he answered but he offered to take me to Lenore's house. I pretended to know who Lenore was and went with him. A dog named Joe came with us. He was black and white. A mutt. Even in the dream I thought it was funny his name was Joe. It was daytime and sunny and snow was everywhere. I saw a white bear. I was glad we were going inside so the bear wouldn't see us. But the bear found us once we were inside the flimsy house, and I could hear him snuffling outside the door. I looked for a place to hide inside the house. I knew the bear would tear the place apart. I decided if I ever built a house it would be made from stainless steel so that the bear couldn't get in. I don't remember what else. But it's interesting the bear has returned to my dreams. (I understand it is probably only interesting to me.) Last week I dreamed of a white cat. I am being visited by white animals.
Did I mention that the hummingbirds (or bird) come to the feeder when I am outside? Mario will sit on the back porch and often no hummingbirds will come. I go outside and say, "I'm here. Come on down." Almost instantly one will appear. I mean literally an instant. One day I was back there by myself and a hummingbird flew right up to me, about a foot away. It was the most extraordinary thing. I wondered if, like the bees, the hummingbird was mistaking me for a flower.
Well, as Bobby said on King of the Hill, "This flower is wilting."
I'm going to eat, throw up, or sleep. Or all of the beside. 0 comments
Tuesday, August 08, 2006
I Need a Man...
A particular man. The sand man. Been about three days since my last sleep. Wait, four nights. This is my third night without sleep. Tonight I fell to sleep on the couch watching old Star Trek tapes: Voyager, Deep Space 9, Next Generation. I awakened after about an hour. Not sure why. Then the phone rang. 1:10 a.m. Linda was in trouble, so I drove to her house. She couldn't get her bed to go up (the head part) and she was in extreme pain. Poor sweetheart. She's so alone. Her daughter is at the end of her rope, so she is gone for a while. Linda is alone all night now, from 5:00 p.m. on unless I find people to come sit with her for a while each night. That's very difficult, especially at this time of year. I fixed the bed and held her hand until she fell to sleep. Then I sat in the kitchen for a couple of hours working on Church of the Old Mermaids, just to make certain she was okay. Now I'm home again. Tried to sleep. Couldn't. Put in another Deep Space 9 tape.
I finished the rewrite of COTOM when I got home. At least the first run-through of this rewrite.
The wind is blowing outside. An almost full moon brightens the whole world. I looked at the headlines online. Read some articles. Felt sick to my stomach. To hell in a handbasket, that is for sure.
Now I think I'll make some toast, then try to sleep. If you sent me a letter last week and I never wrote back, you might want to try again. My kimantieau.com e-mail went down for a couple of days last week. If you wrote to me in the past couple of days, I've just been otherwise occupied.
Is this coherent?
See you on the flip side. I'll be back after I get some sleep and get COTOM finished. 2 comments
I finished the rewrite of COTOM when I got home. At least the first run-through of this rewrite.
The wind is blowing outside. An almost full moon brightens the whole world. I looked at the headlines online. Read some articles. Felt sick to my stomach. To hell in a handbasket, that is for sure.
Now I think I'll make some toast, then try to sleep. If you sent me a letter last week and I never wrote back, you might want to try again. My kimantieau.com e-mail went down for a couple of days last week. If you wrote to me in the past couple of days, I've just been otherwise occupied.
Is this coherent?
See you on the flip side. I'll be back after I get some sleep and get COTOM finished. 2 comments
Friday, July 28, 2006
Freya Day in Candyland
Didn't sleep much. Hot flashes. Up and down all night. I think I'm figuring out that stress makes the hot flashes stronger and more frequent. For the first month after the Faery Doctoring workshop I didn't have any flashes.
Channeling the dragon.
Or so some say.
First thing: Mario is fine.
Second thing: I realized today that I will probably never be suddenly released from all my fears. It has to be a daily practice. Doesn't sound like a big revelation, but it was to me. I share this with you not to be self-revelatory but because so many of you have written to me about your own struggles with fear.
Yesterday I went over to Linda's. I hadn't seen her for three days. She seemed to be doing better. We talked about fear. She says she doesn't have fear, so she doesn't really understand it. She suggested I do what she's been doing about her pain. She feels it, says, "Did I invite you?" and then tells it to go away.
After I left her I drove to Hood River to pick up my box of produce. I was at the heart of the world, between Wy'east and Pahto. I was at the heart of the world sitting in the grocery store parking lot, in my car, eating vanilla soy ice cream and reading soap opera digest. I don't have TV; I didn't really care about anything in the magazine, and that was exactly why I wanted to read it. I wanted to fuzz out for a while. My version of taking a drink, I suppose.
Then I drove home. Took a bath. Did meditation. Felt my fears lift. My body was still on adrenaline, but I felt better. It's just life, baby.
Tuesday. We were a part of a flock of birds at the beach. It was near new moon so the tides were very high and very low. We walked out toward the ocean. Walked and walked, our soles on the Old Sea's bed. The sand was still rumpled where she had been. It was night. Fog. Mist. When we made the long walk back toward our ocean front motel, we saw a movie. Yes. On the beach. We went toward the moving picture and found a group of people sitting on an amphitheater made of sand watching Chronicles of Narnia. Lucy had just walked through the wardrobe and out into Narnia. I was entranced. Enchanted. The Old Sea flowed toward us and away in the dark behind us. Fires glowed up and down the beach. And on the bed of the Old Sea, we watched a movie. Could any moment have been more wonderful?
I'd never seen the movie. I had refused to watch it after finding out that the right wing religious fundamentalists approved of it. I loved the books as a child. Even though I didn't think the girls got enough to do. Even though I didn't like all the war stuff. Still I loved the magic. Now here was the movie playing in the least likely place I would have expected. How appropriate. The wardrobe was a threshold between here and there, just as the beach is a threshold. Betwixt and between. We stayed only a few minutes; then we continued our walk along the edge of the continent.
Today I sat in the waiting room with headphones on. Breathed with the Universe. Saw the heartbeat of the Universe. Of the Earth. It is my heartbeat. It is your heartbeat.
Then Mario came out and told me his good news. We broke his fast at Blossoming Lotus. We took the food with us to the movies. (Saw The Puffy Chair. Not perfect but we both really liked it. It was very...real. Mario and I have had conversations very similar to ones in this movie. I think many couples have.) Then Mario went to acupuncture, and I went grocery shopping. It was a lovely time. A lovely day.
Now we're sitting on the couch together watching another movie. Life is sweet. I am grateful.
Love, love, love.
Channeling the dragon.
Or so some say.
First thing: Mario is fine.
Second thing: I realized today that I will probably never be suddenly released from all my fears. It has to be a daily practice. Doesn't sound like a big revelation, but it was to me. I share this with you not to be self-revelatory but because so many of you have written to me about your own struggles with fear.
Yesterday I went over to Linda's. I hadn't seen her for three days. She seemed to be doing better. We talked about fear. She says she doesn't have fear, so she doesn't really understand it. She suggested I do what she's been doing about her pain. She feels it, says, "Did I invite you?" and then tells it to go away.
After I left her I drove to Hood River to pick up my box of produce. I was at the heart of the world, between Wy'east and Pahto. I was at the heart of the world sitting in the grocery store parking lot, in my car, eating vanilla soy ice cream and reading soap opera digest. I don't have TV; I didn't really care about anything in the magazine, and that was exactly why I wanted to read it. I wanted to fuzz out for a while. My version of taking a drink, I suppose.
Then I drove home. Took a bath. Did meditation. Felt my fears lift. My body was still on adrenaline, but I felt better. It's just life, baby.
Tuesday. We were a part of a flock of birds at the beach. It was near new moon so the tides were very high and very low. We walked out toward the ocean. Walked and walked, our soles on the Old Sea's bed. The sand was still rumpled where she had been. It was night. Fog. Mist. When we made the long walk back toward our ocean front motel, we saw a movie. Yes. On the beach. We went toward the moving picture and found a group of people sitting on an amphitheater made of sand watching Chronicles of Narnia. Lucy had just walked through the wardrobe and out into Narnia. I was entranced. Enchanted. The Old Sea flowed toward us and away in the dark behind us. Fires glowed up and down the beach. And on the bed of the Old Sea, we watched a movie. Could any moment have been more wonderful?
I'd never seen the movie. I had refused to watch it after finding out that the right wing religious fundamentalists approved of it. I loved the books as a child. Even though I didn't think the girls got enough to do. Even though I didn't like all the war stuff. Still I loved the magic. Now here was the movie playing in the least likely place I would have expected. How appropriate. The wardrobe was a threshold between here and there, just as the beach is a threshold. Betwixt and between. We stayed only a few minutes; then we continued our walk along the edge of the continent.
Today I sat in the waiting room with headphones on. Breathed with the Universe. Saw the heartbeat of the Universe. Of the Earth. It is my heartbeat. It is your heartbeat.
Then Mario came out and told me his good news. We broke his fast at Blossoming Lotus. We took the food with us to the movies. (Saw The Puffy Chair. Not perfect but we both really liked it. It was very...real. Mario and I have had conversations very similar to ones in this movie. I think many couples have.) Then Mario went to acupuncture, and I went grocery shopping. It was a lovely time. A lovely day.
Now we're sitting on the couch together watching another movie. Life is sweet. I am grateful.
Love, love, love.
Labels: Church of the Old Mermaids, movies, sleep, travel
4 comments
Thursday, March 23, 2006
Musings...
Middle of the night. I can hear the train in the distance. And our hepa fan in the nearer distance. Mario is upstairs asleep. He is over his cold, knock wood, and is sleeping soundly. Me, I'm up. Been a lot sleepless lately. Or sleepless a lot. Middle of the night musings mix up my syntax.
I learned today I should be getting copies of Mercy, Unbound soon from my publisher. That'll be nice. Mario and I talked about which book I might do next. It's hard to think of something else when I'm so cozily ensconced in Church of the Old Mermaids. I feel like I could write about these people forever. That rarely happens with me. I usually tell a story and I'm ready to move on. I may be ready to move on once I finish the rewrite.
I had hopes that things would settle down in my world. Now I'm wondering if life is just a series of crises where you grab onto the moments of peace and hunker down, like nomads in a desert oasis. (Best I can do at 2:00 a.m.) Last week my mom was in the hospital. After a bout with pneumonia etc. she began to deteriorate. Since I had two friends unexpectedly die within days of each other I went into action mode along with my sibs as we encouraged and prodded my father to kick the doctor into gear to find out what was wrong with Mom. He was recovering from pneumonia himself and I can only imagine how exhausting the whole experience was. My mother is 77 years old and had a heart valve replacement last year. They needed to figure out YESTERDAY where the infection was. My father contemplated airlifting her back to Michigan but held off on this when the doc in Scottsdale finally consented to putting her in the hospital. They never figured out what exactly was wrong with her but after several days of fluids and potassium treatments and a multitude of tests, she got better and she was able to go home.
The day after my mom got home, we learned Mario's brother has cancer. It's very treatable, and I'm sure he'll be fine but what a strain on him and his wife, children, and my dear mother in law. I asked a friend if this was what our lives were going to be now: Just one sickness after another. I hope not.
Today I went to Vancouver for my second post-op appointment. In a couple of weeks I'll go for my pre-op and then my op. I'm saying all this because I like saying op. Op, op, op. I think I'm punchy. An hour before the appointment, I took a Tylenol. Two actually. I didn't want to, but it was better than the painkiller I had to take before my last post-op appointment. That pain pill was the worst thing of my entire operatic (or operational) experience. First it made me dizzy. Then sleepy. Then very sick to my stomach. I told you this already, didn't I? It also affected my memory.(Or is it effect? I used to know the difference between those words without thinking. Lately I'm confusing them again. Don't you hate that? It's like the words past and passed. For some reason, I'm always mixing them up. I'll write, "She passed by the house." Then I'll wonder, is it "she past by the house." Now right this minute I'm thinking how could I ever confuse those two? It's so obvious which is right and which is wrong. This from someone who taught college English. Thus you can see why I adore good copyeditors.)
Anyway, I'm babbling. After I got so sick with the painkiller, I said to the doc, "Can't I please just take Tylenol next time if I have to take anything at all?" She agreed, since the painkiller was mostly acetaminophen with just a hint, a modicum, a dizzying puking bit of perc. I don't think I needed either one. It's very strange to take any kind of pain pill period and then to take one before I'm in pain is very bizarre.
Today we drove an hour to get to the doc's. She saw me almost immediately. I like that about her. She held a piece of gauze over my nose and then shot a mist of numbing agent up my nostril. She asked me to hold the gauze just below my nose while she stuck a long lighted instrument up my nose. At least I think it's got a light. I always close my eyes. I don't really need to see that long thing as it comes toward me. Don’t need to imagine it going up my nose. While she did this, I felt a bit of pressure but nothing seriously uncomfortable and nothing painful.
Today she said, "Oh, that one hanging there is like a ripe cherry ready to be plucked." I said, "Okay, doc, go get your scissors. I'm ready to go." She laughed. She said it looked like I was healing nicely, and she saw no reason we couldn't go ahead. She was sorry I was going to have to wait so long. I told her I had tried to bribe the scheduler to no avail. The whole visit with her took about five minutes, tops. We were in the doc's office a total of twenty minutes, and that included check-in time. Not bad.
After the visit, we drove to Portland and did errands. We stopped at the Tao of Tea for dal and rice. (I just mistakenly wrote the Tao of Death. Wonder what that means? Sounds like something Dave would say.) Then we went grocery shopping. Spent an obscene amount of money on food. Partly because it’s my b-day on Saturday and we’re having a small par-tay. We’re using my birthday (Hilaria Day) as an excuse for friend, food, and film.
Okay. Now that I’ve given you a summary of my day, I think I should say something profound so that you don’t get to the end of this and think, “There goes ten minutes of my life I’ll never get back.”
I can’t think of anything profound. Can anyone ever think of something profound? Or does profundity just smack us up side the head and say, “You there! Listen up. I gots something to say.” Maybe not. Tonight I do seem to fixated on how things just happen, seemingly out of the blue. Bad things. Good things. It’s easier on us if we can learn to go with the flow. (And watch out for waterfalls as Sister Sophia Mermaid says.) We need to find happiness and joy where we can. Today I stood in the grocery store talking with a woman about bowls. We both confessed our love of bowls. (You wait, I’ll write a story or book about bowls one of these days.) I searched for the words to explain my love of bowls. I said (quite profoundly, I might add) that bowls were just so, well, round. That's why I liked them. Round and deep. Ah well.
My best bet now is to go to sleep.
The words of Mary Oliver keep bouncing around in my head: “Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?” When I search on the net to find a link for this poem, I discover another poem of hers that I love, Blackwater Woods. It is a reminder I need to hear tonight. Thirty days after Dave died, I think I almost feel his tug at my sleeve (or on my keyboard), urging me to this poem.
Oliver writes, "To live in this world you must be able to do three things: to love what is mortal; to hold it against your bones knowing your own life depends on it; and, when the time comes to let it go, to let it go.”
It’s time for me to try and sleep again.
‘nite, Spinners. ‘nite, Dave.All photographs and written material copyright © 2003-2008 by Kim Antieau unless otherwise indicated. May not be used without permission.
I learned today I should be getting copies of Mercy, Unbound soon from my publisher. That'll be nice. Mario and I talked about which book I might do next. It's hard to think of something else when I'm so cozily ensconced in Church of the Old Mermaids. I feel like I could write about these people forever. That rarely happens with me. I usually tell a story and I'm ready to move on. I may be ready to move on once I finish the rewrite.
I had hopes that things would settle down in my world. Now I'm wondering if life is just a series of crises where you grab onto the moments of peace and hunker down, like nomads in a desert oasis. (Best I can do at 2:00 a.m.) Last week my mom was in the hospital. After a bout with pneumonia etc. she began to deteriorate. Since I had two friends unexpectedly die within days of each other I went into action mode along with my sibs as we encouraged and prodded my father to kick the doctor into gear to find out what was wrong with Mom. He was recovering from pneumonia himself and I can only imagine how exhausting the whole experience was. My mother is 77 years old and had a heart valve replacement last year. They needed to figure out YESTERDAY where the infection was. My father contemplated airlifting her back to Michigan but held off on this when the doc in Scottsdale finally consented to putting her in the hospital. They never figured out what exactly was wrong with her but after several days of fluids and potassium treatments and a multitude of tests, she got better and she was able to go home.
The day after my mom got home, we learned Mario's brother has cancer. It's very treatable, and I'm sure he'll be fine but what a strain on him and his wife, children, and my dear mother in law. I asked a friend if this was what our lives were going to be now: Just one sickness after another. I hope not.
Today I went to Vancouver for my second post-op appointment. In a couple of weeks I'll go for my pre-op and then my op. I'm saying all this because I like saying op. Op, op, op. I think I'm punchy. An hour before the appointment, I took a Tylenol. Two actually. I didn't want to, but it was better than the painkiller I had to take before my last post-op appointment. That pain pill was the worst thing of my entire operatic (or operational) experience. First it made me dizzy. Then sleepy. Then very sick to my stomach. I told you this already, didn't I? It also affected my memory.(Or is it effect? I used to know the difference between those words without thinking. Lately I'm confusing them again. Don't you hate that? It's like the words past and passed. For some reason, I'm always mixing them up. I'll write, "She passed by the house." Then I'll wonder, is it "she past by the house." Now right this minute I'm thinking how could I ever confuse those two? It's so obvious which is right and which is wrong. This from someone who taught college English. Thus you can see why I adore good copyeditors.)
Anyway, I'm babbling. After I got so sick with the painkiller, I said to the doc, "Can't I please just take Tylenol next time if I have to take anything at all?" She agreed, since the painkiller was mostly acetaminophen with just a hint, a modicum, a dizzying puking bit of perc. I don't think I needed either one. It's very strange to take any kind of pain pill period and then to take one before I'm in pain is very bizarre.
Today we drove an hour to get to the doc's. She saw me almost immediately. I like that about her. She held a piece of gauze over my nose and then shot a mist of numbing agent up my nostril. She asked me to hold the gauze just below my nose while she stuck a long lighted instrument up my nose. At least I think it's got a light. I always close my eyes. I don't really need to see that long thing as it comes toward me. Don’t need to imagine it going up my nose. While she did this, I felt a bit of pressure but nothing seriously uncomfortable and nothing painful.
Today she said, "Oh, that one hanging there is like a ripe cherry ready to be plucked." I said, "Okay, doc, go get your scissors. I'm ready to go." She laughed. She said it looked like I was healing nicely, and she saw no reason we couldn't go ahead. She was sorry I was going to have to wait so long. I told her I had tried to bribe the scheduler to no avail. The whole visit with her took about five minutes, tops. We were in the doc's office a total of twenty minutes, and that included check-in time. Not bad.
After the visit, we drove to Portland and did errands. We stopped at the Tao of Tea for dal and rice. (I just mistakenly wrote the Tao of Death. Wonder what that means? Sounds like something Dave would say.) Then we went grocery shopping. Spent an obscene amount of money on food. Partly because it’s my b-day on Saturday and we’re having a small par-tay. We’re using my birthday (Hilaria Day) as an excuse for friend, food, and film.
Okay. Now that I’ve given you a summary of my day, I think I should say something profound so that you don’t get to the end of this and think, “There goes ten minutes of my life I’ll never get back.”
I can’t think of anything profound. Can anyone ever think of something profound? Or does profundity just smack us up side the head and say, “You there! Listen up. I gots something to say.” Maybe not. Tonight I do seem to fixated on how things just happen, seemingly out of the blue. Bad things. Good things. It’s easier on us if we can learn to go with the flow. (And watch out for waterfalls as Sister Sophia Mermaid says.) We need to find happiness and joy where we can. Today I stood in the grocery store talking with a woman about bowls. We both confessed our love of bowls. (You wait, I’ll write a story or book about bowls one of these days.) I searched for the words to explain my love of bowls. I said (quite profoundly, I might add) that bowls were just so, well, round. That's why I liked them. Round and deep. Ah well.
My best bet now is to go to sleep.
The words of Mary Oliver keep bouncing around in my head: “Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?” When I search on the net to find a link for this poem, I discover another poem of hers that I love, Blackwater Woods. It is a reminder I need to hear tonight. Thirty days after Dave died, I think I almost feel his tug at my sleeve (or on my keyboard), urging me to this poem.
Oliver writes, "To live in this world you must be able to do three things: to love what is mortal; to hold it against your bones knowing your own life depends on it; and, when the time comes to let it go, to let it go.”
It’s time for me to try and sleep again.
‘nite, Spinners. ‘nite, Dave.
Labels: Mercy Unbound, Old Mermaids, sleep, surgery
5 comments
