Om Namah Shiivaya

New beginnings and closing credits

2012-01-05T14:06:00.000-08:00

Much has happened in the past 8 months since we last spoke....

To recap, in April, I was heading for the beach. But what I didn't tell you was that I was going to be meeting my son that I gave up for adoption 22 years ago. I haven't yet found my words for the story of that weekend yet but I can tell you this, my heart is light once again and my life has taken on a whole new meaning.

Once summer arrived, my keyhole garden was in full bloom. Cherry red tomatoes took over once I had harvest three rounds of lettuces and kale. Eventually, I harvested my garlic and a few small onions. As the summer progressed, I found myself with a lighter shade of brown hair filled with golden sun bleached highlights and a fabulous tan.

Just before fall settled in, my sugar and i took the dogs to the beach for a week where we took long leisurely strolls on the sand, shopped daily in town for our food, took mid day naps and cooked outrageous dinners.

With the rainy season upon us, we took it in stride that our Blazer season would be in hiatus due to the NBA strike. Instead, we focused on football with our fingers crossed behind our backs. As luck would have it, on christmas day, our season commenced. Christmas this year was extra special. My parents flew into town to enjoy the first christmas with our whole family together in one place in 15 years!

We rang in the new year with family and close friends with glasses of black cherry champagne, homemade cheese dip, and pulled pork sandwiches.

This new year appears to be all about new beginnings and new found wisdoms. Which brings me to my closing credits... It's time to move on. Obviously, I haven't written a thing since April. But of course, that doesn't mean I've forgotten about you. Indeed not. You've been on my mind.

A change of scenery is in order. A new focus. I guess that's what happens to writers sometimes. Some call it writers block. I call it following the course of my life; rolling with the changes, and being ammenable to switching gears. I'm going to be writing you from a different perspective. Me and my words will be making a new appearance soon RIGHT HERE on my new blog. I hope you will join me. It's sure to be a fun ride as I let it all hang out while exploring the wonders in life. It's truly been real. May this year be full of blessings and may you always honor the divinity within your self and others.
Warmly,
Sass

Packing Transgressions

2011-04-13T21:54:00.000-07:00

Everyone has their own special methods to prepare for a trip away from home. It seems that half the fun of going on a trip, is planning that trip. Especially in our family. Especially when it is a family trip.

Back in the deep dark depths of winter, it came upon me one chilly wintry night, that it was time for a family get together. A trip of some sort. So where to go this year and when? Then I got to thinking. I am the proud owner of one of the rare spring birthdays in our family and this year is going to be a big one. The big 4-0. What better way to spend my birthday than with family. Before proposing it to everyone, I had to have not only a date but also a location and lodging details. With our ever burgeoning families, we were going to need some serious space. Unbelievably, I found a giant beach house that would provide not only a bed, but a room for each couple, complete with a kitchen, game room, beach trail, wireless, laundry and all that.

Now that I had all my details in place, it was time to alert the family to see if they were game. Of course they all were. And this is where the fun begins. Since the actual date of our supposed trip is 4 months into the future, we have plenty of time to discuss and prepare. And although we use the phone a bit in our preparations, most of it is done by emails, long email trails consisting of our humorous and outlandish and inspirational ideas for our retreat. Late night calls will no doubt follow as the date of departure draws near, excited whisperings of plots, plans and ideas hatched while envisioning our weekend away.

One of the most important aspects to any of our trips lies along the lines of food. What are we going to eat? We are a family where food revolves around everything we do, especially family gatherings. In our every day lives, most of us are lucky if we eat one full meal a day and snack through the rest. But for retreat planning, we pay special attention to being sure we have a delectable menu item for each of the days required meal times: breakfast, lunch and dinner. Usually we split up our meals between couples, letting snackers and picky eaters fend for themselves.

Once the food is planned, there is of course another important characteristic to our planning. What will we drink? And I'm not talking milk or juice. What I am getting at is we are a family who value our together time by hydrating ourselves with our specialty alcoholic beverages. And of course, we all have our preferences. Vodka with blue cheese olives. Screamers. Chocolate Martinis. Wine. Gluten Free Beer. Locally brewed beer. Holiday beer. Whiskey and coke. And so on. There is much to plan as we all check our liquor cabinet reserves and wine cellars and we make lists to run stock up before the trip.

Laughably, with this particular trip, there is actually a bedroom for all. But then another string of emails begin, calculating very carefully where everyone should sleep. Or should I say, where everyone would prefer to sleep. All without trying to really say where they want to sleep. Those who seem to think they have toilet issues, believe they should have the master suite with the full bath. Those with kids who sleep lightly believe they should have the farthest bedroom from the late night noise guaranteed to occur. Others want the bedroom with the door that goes out to the deck or the bedroom that faces the ocean with the hot tub inside. With all our spoken preferences, nothing will be for sure until we arrive to our rented house. And there will always be many switches and bargaining going on. Pssst, I'll give you my bottle of wine and put your kids to bed for that room with a full bath!

My family will continue the planning until the moment we all actually arrive at the beach house, yet here's where it gets interesting. Or should I say even more intriguing. We all have our funny little quirks about how we individually prepare to pack for the trip. Some of it could be nature, some could be nuture. Either way, we are all a little nuts about it.

We'll start with myself. If I have weeks to plan or months which is even better, I will organize the shit out of my plans. There will be of course first the budget spreadsheets. How much to save each month. Then the reservations come next - rental car, dog sitter, cat sitter. All those go into my newly created trip spreadsheet. On another tab of my spreadsheet is what to pack, then what to buy for food, what to do a week before the trip, two days before, the day of. Then important dates go on my electronic calendar. As the months, weeks and days pass, I will be checking off my list to do, memorizing everything. I believe this may have been inherited from my dad whose spreadsheets and lists littered countertops before every childhood camping trip. And I suppose this is still how he prepares for trips. My mother is one who plans the meals, prepping, cooking, storing, shopping; ensuring there are snacks for the drive, snacks when we arrive, snacks for any time of the day and drinks to go along with all. My husband packs 10 minutes before we walk out the door. Well, I would too if my significant other had everything else organized the way I do. Geeesh!

One sister has a very special ritual for packing. Not much thought is put into packing until the night before the trip, at which time, they buy a bunch of beer and pizza. They get drunk and pack and then go to bed early (or at least they try to). It seems to work for them except for the minor hangover the next day.

Another sister makes mental notes along with paper notes. She makes numerous lists, checks the weather forecasts obsessively and researches nearby restaurants. I would too if I had three kids, two of whom have definite allergies to specific foods and no one wants to leave home without items essential to providing young children with enough to do and enough changes of clothes to match the changes in weather, especially this time of year.

My other sister will most likely fly by the seat of her pants due to her busy schedule and never ending motherly duties. She'll crack open a bottle of wine late in the evening after the kids are in bed. Then she'll talk on the phone while she throws her listed items into bags, does last minute loads of laundry. She'll stay up way too late and then scramble in the morning, racking her brain about what it was that she was going to bring. She'll most likely pull out of the driveway with her coat stuck in the car door, a kid screaming because he was buckled up in the carseat backwards and it will be only luck that every family member will be accounted for.

Somehow we will all make it to our destination. Somehow we will make do with what we have packed and laugh at what we have forgotten. We'll get lost in the joy and chaos of all being together and none of our packing transgressions will matter anymore.

Memories of Another Way of Being

2011-04-06T21:54:00.000-07:00

I have always had a true deep down gut feeling that I chose to be born at this time in history. In addition, I've been told this by several spiritual sources over the years. What escaped me though was why? Why did my starlit soul decide to ride in a human body in this day and age? It's baffled me for years, although it seems I have always known generally why, the specifics always eluded me. They why - I chose to be born so that I would be here for humans transition from clueless wasteful creatures who had forgotten their purpose to humans who have begun to recall their spirituality and connection to all earth's creatures and to the stars beyond their imaginations. Over the years I have seen underground movements form, all seeking wisdom through serving the earth and the great spirit, grow to almost overwhelming masses of people, some scattering the globe. All of whom are working to share the knowledge that was born to them in an effort to turn back the clock and reverse the damage done to the mother earth. But I know my spirit did not come back to earth just to watch, for I could not be satiated with just observing from afar.

I'm am here to experience the end of the world as we know it (isn't that a song?) and in doing so, I can slowly extricate myself from it's long held grip. The fall of complex corporations, money, banks, consumerism, mass sensationalized media, traffic, pollution, chemical agriculture, endless NOISE and so forth; all of these dependent upon the Mother's resources, assumed to be there for the taking. I am here to be with humanity as we learn the old ways again. Those who are healthy, self sufficient in growing food, hunting food and networking for food will survive. Others will lie, cheat and steal and eventually die because the world as they knew it did not require them to think or try to survive.

I suppose for me there is somewhat of a thrill in the will to survive, to rely upon what mother earth can provide. The decaying rope of this current industrialized culture will finally break away and I will be free! I won't have complex yet shallow worries. No mortgage, no owning land (I mean really who really owns land), no having my identity being stolen because a hacker found his way into a multi billion dollar advertising corporation and stole a file. I won't have to ask my sister every year to sit down to a bottle of wine with me and do my taxes. I won't have to worry about a paycheck, what is money worth anyway when the whole system fails, well, it may be good for starting fires to keep warm in the winters..., I won't have to prove myself worthy of insurance, health care or a raise.

So why am I tickled pink at watching the world fall apart? What part of me is so delusional that I must find humor in the tragedy of a grave situation. Well, for one, initially survival after the fall of the world, will be brutal in many ways. Finding good food and clean water will prove to be difficult, especially if the collapse is due to nuclear fallout. Protecting ourselves from those who go crazy and can't handle the forced change will become a way of life. Keeping warm, treating injuries and sickness in the ways of a healer. And so on. I supposed it's because I've known all along that this way of life will not sustain the earth or her creatures. I've been ready all my life for it to go awry. Industrialization has always had a dark looming final chapter that has yet to be read. But many of us still hold memories of another way of being, maybe not in this life, but some of us know that we have lost our connection and that we must re-establish that lost bond if the human society is to survive.

This new emergent society would value Community and I see that it may become more of way of life than just a word. Humans will come together to help each other survive. As years, decades and centuries go by, a new generation of humans will emerge from the destruction. Sort of like the legend of the great flood goes, only a handful of humanity will survive in hopes that the lesson has finally been learned and mistakes of the distant and not so distant past will not be remade. It could be a human fatal flaw though. No matter how many times the earth is destroyed for us or we destroy the earth, we may not learn. Of course, I won't be around to see that part, where humans are once again living as once again in harmony, as the mother earth prefers. But I will be here, at least I hope to be, to assist my fellow human compadres to get through the initial dramatic and dark changes to come, reassuring that there is hope for us. So then that must it, I am here to be a part of the great awakening and the great change, while at the same time knowing with out a doubt that I will soon celebrate my long awaited freedom from the rat race that was not meant for us.

Forces of Nature

2011-03-22T22:06:00.000-07:00

Winter was cruel son of a bitch this year. He knocked Fall from here to kingdom come and took over with brutal force, ravaging us with winds, rains, floods, hail, snow, ice and bitter, bitter cold. He's having a helluva time trying to continue his nefarious rule over the seasons, but Spring is resisting and steadily gaining control. For even though Winter's cold is still evident, Spring has managed to poke it's head out just enough to encourage the sleeping trees and dormant bulbs to stir, setting in motion that miraculous thing we call life. Winter may imagine himself to be the more daunting force of nature but Spring is resilient and set in her ways. She will toss him from the dominion, his tail tucked between his ass cheeks, and a harsh sentence in hand mandating that he stay far, far away until the other seasons have had their analogous time on the throne. And so it goes, in the kingdom of seasons.

A loving rivarly, maybe

2011-02-04T18:50:00.000-08:00

You could say it was bred into me - my love for the Green Bay Packers, that is. If you aren't familiar with the Packers, let's just say, in my own unbiased opinion, they are the best professional football team in the National Football League. My daddy was a cheesehead, my momma was a cheesehead, therefore, my sisters and I became cheeseheads. Even my brother-n-law was born in Green Bay, who, now that I think about it, was welcomed quite enthusiastically and warmly into our family, no questions asked. As soon as a niece or nephew is born, it's a race to start dressing these new little beings into baby Packer outfits during football season.

As it was with our family, so it is with others. However, my husband grew up in a household who yes, spent Sundays worshiping the gods of football but who also sported split allegiances. Papa was not a rolling stone, but he was a lifelong Cleveland Browns fan. Mama, you guessed it, was a Packers fan. But my husband's path was to be colored with black and gold, as he at an early age, declared he was a Pittsburgh Steeler fan. Luckily, when we married, my husband was welcomed with opens arms by my second brother n law who also bleeds Steeler colors.

Through out the early years of our marriage, I sent good vibes to his Steelers in hopes that they would eventually reach the Super Bowl and win it for him, since in his lifetime, the Steelers had been less than mediocre players. Then suddenly, Pittsburgh got better and soon they made it to two super bowls and won each one. As proud and happy I was for my husband's team, I earnestly wished for the impossible - a Packer/Steeler super bowl. I mean, how cool would that be to be going up against the love of my life in the all time sports event. However, for this to happen, my Packers would have to start shaping up.

As the fervor of the 2010 football season was commencing, I said to my honey, that this was the year that my Packers were going to meet his Steelers in the super bowl. As good natured as always, he said it would be cool, but probably unlikely. Yet, now that we are approaching Super Bowl 49, the impossible is happening! The dream has come true! We are matched up against each

other, each of us in gold, but our second team colors run dramatically different. In fact, not only is this once in a lifetime super bowl just a fantasy come true, it is the sports fanatic's idea of the makings of what is being touted as the ultimate match up - and could possibly being the undoing of our families.

This Sunday our alliances will be divided. We will all be holding on to the hopes that our quarter back doesn't get taken out in the first quarter, that we can out run, out defend, out think, out throw each other's opponent. I mean come on, his Steelers have been to the Super Bowl, not once, but twice, in the last few years. He's been able to whoop it up on Super Bowl Sundays and claim his stake in football history. It's time for the Pack to hog the coveted spotlight. So, I'm sorry honey, I love you but we're gonna stomp all ovah your black and gold asss Sunday!

Grocery List for a Happy Life

2011-01-27T20:51:00.000-08:00

I am only one, but I am one. I can't do everything, but I can do something. And what I can do, I ought to do. And what I ought to do, by the grace of God, I shall do. ~Edward Everest Hale

We all have dreams right? And just how often do we follow those dreams? Regrettably, we seem to be lacking in follow-through. Too many obstacles appear to stand in the way. ‘What if's’ abound and doubting Thomas' overloads you with disparaging dissuasions. Soon, our dreams are demoted to silly pipe dreams and eventually, as we realize the error of our ways, are consigned to remorseful 'could have beens.’

No way, not me. You won't find me mourning or apologetic for failing to attend to my heart’s desires, which consist of a steady diet of love, kindness and comfort. This so-called grocery list for a happy life isn’t made up of tangible items that can be purchased or collected. However, they definitely can be earned, shared, and most simply, gratifying. Take any human being, for example, and peel away the layers of money, status, material things, heartbreak and baggage. At the core of their being lies the most delicate layer of all. Peer in closely and you will unearth the most humble, barest essentials required for us to flourish: the need for utter kindness and to know love in all its immeasurable bounds.

These innate prerequisites for a happy life may be accessible in us all, but only those of us who choose to share these fundamentals with others in need, can really experience the reality of pursuing our dreams. Whatever your aspirations are for your life, you must make a difference. You must always look for a chance to show compassion and offer a plateful of thoughtfulness, initiating the birth of someone else's dreams. You are part of the universe, along with every plant, animal, human and dirt particle. Every act of goodwill weighs heavily on the scales of humanity. Only when you have done this, can you finally toss those preconceived notions aside, open your heart, and take the first stride towards what makes you happy. It is then that you will find the determination that you can, you will, and you shall make your dreams come true.

Baby Mama

2011-01-09T20:19:00.000-08:00

I got lucky this holiday season. Two weeks off of work! I had big plans that included doing a lot of nothing. A slothful break from every day routine was definitely in my book, that is, until I received an email from a local dog rescuer who was in need of a foster home for a puppy. We haven't fostered a dog since we adopted our last foster, turning our two dogs into a happy, unstoppable pack of three. But this puppy, oh this puppy was adorable. A 10 week old white pitbull baby with the sweetest puppy dog eyes stared out longingly at me, begging me to be her foster mama. Plus, with a pending two week vacation and no set plans, it would be the perfect situation to train her. Knowing that I'd have to convince my husband, I casually mentioned it to him then stategically showed him her picture. It worked, he was hooked right along with me and soon plans were set into motion and a date was set for her arrival the following sunday.

Having raised 3 puppies in the last 5 years, I had no misguided notions about the work that puppies require, not to mention that we had no idea how our 3 dogs would adapt to a puppy in the house. What I was not prepared for was how attached I would become to this little darling. Lilly, arrived at our house on a rainy cold evening. She looked so much smaller that her pictures. All white with black spots on her ears and nose, she sported a pink little coat and shivered in the freezing wind as we tried to get her to pee before coming inside. Her little tail wagged and wagged as we petted her, cooing over her sweet little muffine face.

After a nervous introduction with our dogs, it was quickly determined that not everyone was going to get along. Out came the baby gate, separating the kitchen from the dining room, creating a safe place for Lilly to roam without fear of becoming dinner. Our female, Huckleberry, instantly took to Lilly and donned the momma bear role as if she'd raised puppies all her life. Our life settled right into the new routine of taking Lilly out to pee every 20 mins or so, supervising play time, crate training, making sure our dogs got their share of attention, and discouraging biting (damn puppy teeth are sharp!). At night after Lilly was in her crate and all the dogs asleep, I dropped into bed completely exhausted. Luckily for us, Lilly slept through the night with no accidents so a good nights sleep was a given. Her favorite thing to do was to crawl into bed to snuggle with Warren before breakfast. She insisted upon it and would not eat until she had cuddle time.

Of course Lilly had many suitors who called to inquire about her and a couple of people even came to meet her. As carefully as we screened potential adopters, it was Lilly who told us who she wanted to be her forever family. It turned out to be a young couple, way to young we thought at first. But Lilly insisted and the couple turned out to be just what Lilly needed. Both were raised with pit bulls and other dogs, and were very knowledgeable about the breed. They had just bought a house and the girl had always wanted an all white pitbull, which apparently are not that common. Lilly bonded with them right away, just as we did. After passing a home visit and an intense application interview process, everyone new these folks would be her forever family.

Lilly's new parents came to pick her up on the last day of my vacation. It was tearful, full of hugs, promises to keep in touch and laughter. As they drove away with Lilly, I knew I'd done my job. We gave Lilly a little over 2 weeks of constant love, training, and socialization. Just what she needed to be able to start her life on four solid paws. We will miss her as she etched out a piece of our hearts just for her. But it feels so good knowing that another dog has a forever home and another dog will be loved and cared for forever.

In the end, my slothful vacation days were much more action packed that I had planned. Bein a baby mama takes a lot of work, focus and time. Yet when I returned to work the next day, I was fulfilled and in a good place knowing that as a bonafide dog rescuer, I had done only what I could have done, and that was to open my heart and home to a dog in need.

Purveyor of Stories

2010-12-06T21:04:00.000-08:00

Anyone who says they have only one life to live must not know how to read a book.

~Author Unknown

Two years ago, I began riding the train to work. Granted there were buses I could have taken previously but those involved transferring and other interruptions and, this new train route boasted a full uninterrupted 40 minutes ride each way while dropping me off and picking me up in front of my place of employment. I couldn't resist for very good reasons. One was to save on parking costs downtown, of course and my job pays for a significant portion of my train pass so it was a good budgetary move. But the real reason was, the train ride to and from work would allow me to luxuriate for 80 minutes in my favorite pastime - reading books.

There you have it. I am a book junkie. I guess there are worse things to be addicted to. During extreme episodes of jonesing, I've been known to sneak into the bathroom stalls at work just to get in two or three pages of my latest paperback. In fact, if the book was good enough, I'd put off fixing dinner, doing laundry, walking the dogs and whatnot, just to delve fully into my reading. What is it inside of me that is so twisted that I would prefer living vicariously through the lives of the characters in my books, all the while reaping the benefits of their happiness, crying with them in their twisted sorrows, feeling their pain, frustration, terror and injustices?

I've been reading books since literally, the day I could read. Wintry, snowy nights of my childhood were spent with all members of the family curled up comfortably in every nook and cranny of the house, each of us lost in our stories, oblivious to the world around us. A lot of the books I read are recommended by friends or family but when I buy a book or pick one out at the library, I read the back cover. If that along with the title speaks to me, I go on to read the first couple sentences of the first chapter. If that grabs me, I'm hooked and the book is mine. I'll read anything but I prefer rich novels that span generations or book series whose central plot defies accepted norms. Then there's the 'why did i just read that' books. Tales that were unexpectedly or otherwise twisted, leaving a foul imprint on my mind, making me want to sleep with the light on, or constantly look over my shoulder. No matter what work of fiction I am furiously devouring, I dread beginning the last chapters. Anxiety of having to forever say goodbye to the characters I have grown so close to is enough to make me slow down and to savor each and every last word.

The thrill of finishing a story is undeniable, in a sense, too, because I never ever put a read book back on the shelf. For it is pure pleasure to be the purveyor of stories, passing on the books I have consumed to others who are awaiting to immerse themselves into the narrative time warp. I have sisters, a mother and couple of friends that wait patiently for me to announce I have another book for them. And do I ever. Each week I finish a book. Each week I get a call from a sister asking for the next book. Each week I make special arrangements to get that book to her. The books are passed on and on, only rarely returning to me. And that's the way it should be. No house should have a big library, for those books are just sitting on shelves collecting dust and bugs. But every house should have an open book that is read every single night, whether alone or to another. Books give us occasion to escape, just for a while. A chance to live in someone else's shoes without the repercussions of their actions. An opportunity challenge our convictions and to add insightful chapters to our world view.

Now, I've really got to go now because even though I love writing, I love reading more and I've got to get back to my novel, the characters are missing me!

Righteous Hissy Fit

2010-12-01T20:49:00.000-08:00

you may think i'm on quite the roll in dealing with bitchy people lately. i guess, after all i am on a roll. but i have just one more story to share.

i have this skin cream i get from the medicinary at the local naturopathic college. it is the only herbal cream that helps my sensitive skin and all the conditions that affect it including allergies, intolerances, accidental contagion resulting in a rash, and on and on. a while back, i found that a natural grocery chain was selling it in their stores and yep, it was a couple dollars cheaper there, not to mention a lot closer to my house. so, i started buying the cream at the grocery, that is, until one day, i arrived and found it gone from the shelves. I inquired with the sales staff and was told they actually were not legally able to sell it on the shelves so they had to remove them from sale but the good news was, they could order it for me at the same price and it would be here within a week. i probably go through a 1 oz container every couple of months so it's not a bad investment. i call in my order about a week before i know i'm going to run out so i can pick up a new container just in time. this process has gone well, until of course, now, hence, the reason for my blog post. otherwise, you know, i'd never burden you with this useless information otherwise.

as usual, i called in my order just before my cream was about to run out. i waited the usual week but never got a call that my order was in. then the holidays hit and i was distracted by lazy days, late nights and other important stuff like that. when the second week passed, i called the store to inquire. to my complete chagrin, the order was never ordered. alright, mistakes happen, yes, they do, so I was promised by 'Karin' that she would order it and it would be here on Thursday! Wait - Thursday? Thanksgiving? Karin corrects herself and tells me no, it will be here Friday and that I will get 10% off for wasting my time (the latter part in my own words).

so, i wait actually until Monday to go, just for convenience sake. Monday I walk into the store to pick up my order and lo and behold, it is not there. that should be no big surprise by now, right? it takes the lady, Karin again, to even find my order. when she does, she verifies it really has been ordered this time but it wasn't even ordered until the day before. now my blood pressure is beginning to spike. what is wrong with these people. furthermore, what is wrong with customer service everywhere. cannot anyone do their job? i do keep these thoughts to myself but I am so dissapointed. i really need my cream. i tell karin that she told me it would be here. karin denies it, all the while, i'm wondering if she is going to wipe her runny nose that is dripping way to close now to her lips.

luckily for me, the manager walks by and karin brings her into our conversation, explaining away the events of the last 21 days. i feel the need to put in my 2 cents so i reiterate the fact that my first order request was 21 days ago and that i am a frequent special orderer and this is just really disappointing. the manager, without even a smile or an i'm sorry we screwed you, says, your cream has been ordered and when it gets here we will call you. we will also give it to you for free. FOR FREE? no way! how cool is that. i try to hide my total joy at not having to spend the extra money that i really do not have, plus the fact that luckily this time, i ordered the bigger bottle, so i'm really getting a serious deal here.

i thank them and continue on my way.

i think the moral of this story is that in customer oriented situations i have learned to somewhat behave myself when i don't get what i want or what i expected. instead, i have learned how to have a righteous hissy fit by playing (sincerely) the role of the poor woman done wrong. it unexpectedly got me a truly surprising bonus to what was otherwise a situation tilting towards my inherited ability to throw a public tantrum.

unfortunately, i got a call from the manager again this afternoon that the special order box came in and my order was not in it. before i could reply with a loud WTF is wrong with you people, i was informed that my product is out of stock and that it would come in as soon as the company received more. and yes, i could still get it for free. well, ok, then, as long as i don't have to pay for it, then we're all good. i nicely thanked her, hung up the phone and smiled. it's the small things that matter sometimes.

Divine Bitchyness

2010-11-24T11:25:00.000-08:00

The alarm went off this morning and the first thing I thought was damn. I rolled over and decided to blank it all out and go back to sleep. But the pissed off feeling grew and I knew there was no getting out of today so I got up.

Thankfully my lovely husband had already made coffee so I poured myself what is normally my cup of happiness and sat down to watch the stupid morning news. What is wrong with me? Its my day off, I can do anything I want but all I want to do is punch holes in the walls. I'm angry, more than that, I'm seriously pissed off. Why, you ask? I don't know. I don't fucking know. Maybe it's because I'm having my period which seems to usually be where the bad feelings stem from. Who really cares at this point.

The morning news anchors began to recount the drama of the evening before with frigid uncaring faces. I found myself wanting to kick them in the stomaches so I turned off the tv and headed for the computer where I can at least pick and choose the news I catch up on in silence. But not this morning. In a world where new technology is obsolete only a few months after purchase, our computer would be considered to be a relic from the ice age. For one, it has no wireless capabilities so we have installed a small satelite device that picks up on the signals around us. This works about 60% of the time, and this morning was the other 40%. You catching my drift? No internet. Fine, screw the news anyway. I resorted to sitting in fuming silence while I nursed my now luke-warm cup of joe.

Maybe I needed a god damn long walk up the mountain by my house. To stay warm in the 19 degree morning heat wave, I put on layers and took to the hills. Apparently this was not going to go well for me either. Black ice patches kept me sliding around and 3 times almost landing on my ass. Can we just start this day over please? What the fuck is up with the star alignment today? Is the moon stuck in a phase? Was the planet rotation temporarily side tracked? After I was sure the dogs had gotten enough fresh air, I headed home determined to somehow find an outlet for my frustration other than beating the frozen ground with my fists.

I locked the dogs up and turned on a work out program on the tv. As I started to sweat, I started to get even more pissed. The more the workout lady said 'keep it up, you can do it', the more I started to swear at her. With each weight lifted, an expletive aimed at the universe flew from my lips. Over and over and over until I was swearing in time with the exercises. After 45 minutes of sweating and swearing, I did the cool down and laid there on my mat huffing and puffing. I was spent and shaky but I was also in a much better frame of mind.

There are many ways to get through days that are not on your side but I've never had much luck with any of them, except for a sweaty swearing work out. It does a dually good job of working out both the mind and the body. Now that I've had my temper tantrum for the day, I think I can go on. In fact, I am starting over. I brewed a fresh pot of cofee, put on my sweats and warm socks and have selected a movie to get lost in over the course of the next few hours. I'm not feeling 100% but my bitchyness is more centered and divine. Enough so that I can relax my shoulders, loosen my jaw and let the weight of the world sit on someone elses shoulders for a while.

My War With a Gluten-Free Byatch

2010-11-22T19:41:00.000-08:00

The gluten-free world is like a commune - a community of people sharing their favorite recipes with alternative ingredients, sharing what works, what doesn't and forming a sort of comaradare among the wheat intolerant. Sharing recipes is the way we form our bonds.
So I was perusing websites and found a gluten-free blog with homemade recipes. The post that caught my eye was for pan de muerto. I was so excited I email the blogger for the recipe. Little did I know, I would be encountering over the course of the next 10 days, the worlds biggest meanest byatch. So I thought you could get your laugh on at our email exchange. Can you say CREEPY LUNATIC? You will after you read this.

Here's an exerpt of the post:

10/31/10 Gluten Free Pan de Muerto
"......So today, while I was baking my Gluten Free Pan de Muerto, I was thinking about a number of people that have made a special place in my heart. I was also thinking about how happy some of them would be to see me making this bread and sharing it with others...
If you would like my recipe, please send me an email and let me know whose life you will be celebrating this Dia de los Muertos. I would love to hear just a little bit about someone that was special to you...

P.S. ...I will be giving the recipe to a limited number of people that share their story and for a limited time."
_____________________

On 11/3/10 sas wrote:
Hi, I'd like the recipe for the GF day of the dead sweet bread! Thanks so much,

On 11/5/2010 gluten free byatch wrote:
If you read the posting it asked that you share a story. It was also for a limited time and for a limited amount of people that would recieve it. Both have expired.

On 11/5/10 sas wrote:
Oh that is too bad. Would you please reconsider? I saw it just this week in Bobs Red Mill Blog and they listed your website as a good one to go to to get the gluten free recipe. My sister's son has a lot of food allergies and is really in need of some good bread recipes. He can't eat any gluten and they have really been struggling. I thought sharing your recipe with her would be my way of helping her out. That's too bad.

On 11/5/2010, gluten free byatch wrote:
Do you want the pear fig muffin recipe or the pan de muerto?

On 11/5/10 sas wrote:

Hi, The pan de muerto. Thank you so much! I want to surprise my sister with it for Thanksgiving day.

On 11/5/2010 gluten free byatch wrote:
The recipe is best made the day of and then if there are leftovers it is best to slice and freeze. It can be used for French Toast or bread pudding too! This is not a bread for sandwiches it is a sweet bread. Is that what you want?

On 11/5/2010 sas wrote:

Ok, that is good to know. No, I'm not looking for sandwich bread, I'd like the pan du muerto. I'm interested in the extra 'specialness' of the sweet bread for her son. I like the idea of using the bread for french toast!

On 11/8/2010 sas wrote:

Were you going to send the pan de muerto recipe? Thanks!

On 11/12/10 sas wrote:
(NOTE: i got tired of playing the 'please please give me the recipe' game by now, it just wasn't worth the trouble, she is obviously a lunatic)
Actually, nevermind! I don't need your recipe anymore. My sisters and I got the recipe from an actual chef - which is really what we needed all along. And his recipe rocks! We cooked it this weekend and it was soooo good and her boy loved it. So nevermind, we don't need your recipe anymore. Thanks anyway....

On 11/12/2010 gluten free byatch wrote:
Enjoy your attitude it will take you a long way!
____________________

Obviously she is a lunatic and possibly crazy. Her responses were so immature, I decided a retort would be childish. I'm sure her attitude will take her straight to... well, you know, I'm sure you can visualize exactly where. I do feel sorry for her in a sense. She seems to lack common courtesy and does not seem to interact well with people. Maybe she just needs to take her gluten-free bitch-ass and... Ok, that's all folks!

Layin off the sauce

2010-11-02T21:56:00.000-07:00

After intensive meetings with a naturopath for a few months, I have healed my thyroid and adrenals (which were very tired before), and dramatically improved my overall digestion of nutrients.

What has come out of this is a major diet change for me. I have massive food intolerances to Dairy and Gluten.

And I have an intolerance to Fruit and Sugar eaten together - this means no mayo or mustard (sugar and vinegar in them), no tomatoe sauce (unless it has no sugar in it - like homemade), no wine with dessert (wine and meats are fine, thank the good lord above), no margaritas (sugar and lime), no cashews with dark chocolate (cashews are from a fruit tree), no fruit pies, etc. I can have wine, I can have cashews, I can have dark chocolate, just not in combination. I'm trying to avoid potatoes and corn too since they are mostly sugars.
So basically, I can have nitrate free meats and lots o green vegetables and anything gluten free. Each meal consists of 80% greens, 15% proteins, and if necessary, 5% Gluten Free Grains (brown rice, rice pasta, etc). I can also substitute pure maple syrup for sugar so in theory I could have fruit desserts if they are cooked with maple syrup instead.

The good thing that has come out of all this is that for the first time in 25 years, I have the energy of a 6 year old. Not that I am running around with my head cut off like a kid or anything, but I most often now, can stay up till 11pm - which is a MIRACLE in an of itself for those who know me well. And even better, even more miraculously, I wake up with ease with only 7 hours of sleep. I'm treading carefully on this last miracle, b/c I'm waiting for the bottom to fall out on this one - deep down I am waiting to collapse with exhaustion after not getting 13 hours of sleep a night AND a nap.

When I tell folks of my dietary changes, they say they feel sorry for me. But realistically, I think this is the way that the gods meant us to eat. All I have to do basically, is throw processed foods, sauces and drinks out the window, then bring in the simple wholesome home-cooked meals made from scratch. It's healthier that way. And when you think about it, cows milk really is for only cows. The same goes for goats. All us mammals are weened at a certain age from our own species milk and only us go on to drink others milk.
With that being said, you are wondering, will she cheat? Lets just get things out into the open here. In regards to gluten, no, I won't cheat - I learned my lesson on that one. Only because any tiny bit of gluten (in salad dressings, tums, sauces, etc) will produce a lovely mustache-shaped rash around my mouth that will not go away for at least two weeks after exposure. Dairy, it is possible I will introduce a little dairy into my diet here and there. For instance, if I'm at a wine tasting and they are offering a lovely mound of homemade organic cheese to pick at, I will definitely take a bite or two. Or if I'm starved and the only food available is pizza, I will pick off the veggies along with the cheese and eat a little. But this tiny bit of dairy immediately clogs me up, making me feel like I have a cold and I become quite irritable after consuming.
So really, all in all, I'm better off without. If I want to feel like a million bucks, I've got to lay off the sauce.

Easy Breezy Beautiful

2010-10-02T22:43:00.000-07:00

It was one of those perfect English autumnal days which occur more frequently in memory than in life. ~P.D. James

I can't quite put my finger on it, but there was something about today. No set plan, an i'm-cool-with-whatever sort of attitude, and an ease with which the day flowed. I'd normally say it was because I awoke naturally with the light of day as it filtered in on the wings of a breeze through my bedroom window, sans alarm clock. That is a good start to any of my days.

After a long hike up the mountain with the dogs, I enjoyed a perfectly brewed cup of coffee with Warren. Ok, make that 2 or 3 cups of coffee. But anyway.... For breakfast I indulged in a first. I cooked waffles for the first time ever. After over-filling the waffle iron, I learned quickly how to achieve the right batter consistency and how to trust that the waffle iron was a capable of cooking all on it's own, without my interference. Pumpkin waffles, presto!

Thinking about my mental to-do list for fall, I asked Warren if he'd build me a shed door this weekend. His face lit up like I had said we'd won the lottery. A man project was in the works. He called up his friend who immediately agreed to join him in the shed door making. And to work they went. Feeling a bit ambitious myself, I winterized my keyhole garden and after that I was feelin a relaxation period was called for so I grabbed my book and read on the futon for a while. When my stomache started growling, I was reminded of the fact I should cook some hearty food for the boys who were workin so hard in the backyard. Since in Idaho time it was 5:00 and thus happy hour, I figured I'd open a bottle of red. You know, to bring out the chef in me. Which of course worked, because what I created in that kitchen was the most savory black bean soup and cornbread, I have made to date.

Later, as night fell, I read my text messages, emails and chatted with one of my sisters. As I caught up on their days, I realized that this easy, breezy, beautiful day was catching for them, too. One sister harvested her summer's bounty and planted in it's place a winter garden. Another sister slept in, started the day later than usual, nd enjoyed a leisure walk and dinner out. She said it was the air today. Something was up with the air. It was fresh and cleansing, crisp yet warm, with a touch of easy in the breeze. Ladies, we call that the last day of a well-deserved Indian Summer. Finally, my other sister called to chat and described to me her day. "Well, I got up and did 45 loads of laundry. And that made me very cranky". I laughed my ass of with her about this household duty that never ceases. But her day was still good and her mood was easy.

It's days like these when I not only know magic exists, I see it in action. I am a part of it's act. There's a bit of magic at the turn of each season but most of all, at that moment when summer says it's final long goodbye, leaving us with the most beautiful, cherished, and memory longed for during the winter months.

The Weather Dance

2010-09-26T21:43:00.000-07:00

Spring and Summer have been waltzing around each other for a while now. Spring should have said it's goodbyes long ago and you'd think Summer would be nicely settled in by now, just beginning to think about packing it's bags. But tradition does not have it's way this year. Spring has delayed it's departure, pushing away our hot Summer sun, bringing warm rains, soft winds, and cloudy skies. Summer struggles against odds to bathe us in hot rays and coax the shy flower buds out of their shells. This weather dance has us in a suspended state of extremes. Should I bring an umbrella and shawl today or sport sandals and sunglasses? It's anyone's guess because this struggle for season supreme has left us guessing almost daily of what the weather will bring, or more accurately, which will be leading the dance today.

Hairy Tales

2010-09-07T22:06:00.000-07:00

I've been a long haired beauty (ha!) for most of my life, if you don't count the few mishaps in between. But those debacles are always spur of the moment and I regret them almost instantaneously. Luckily for me, my hair grows at super speeds, spurting out at least an inch every 3 weeks. You'd think with this super high power growth, that I'd have hair like Rapunzel by now. Well, I would except....

When I was about 7 years old, I begged my mom to cut off my lovely locks which fell well past my shoulders. I have no idea what my little mind was thinking at the time but the second it was cut off, I immediately regretted it. I looked like a boy. A boy that wore dresses. So I set out on a quest to get it to grow back as soon as possible. Anytime I was alone in the bathroom or near a mirror, I pulled and pulled on the ugly short strands, trying to coax them to become longer. With time, I was me a again, with long hair and life was good.

Although I was a young child of the 70's, the 80's did not spare me and thus began the decade of not just bad music, but bad hair-do's. In fact, most of those years my hair was feathered, curled, sprayed, permed and spiked at one time or another and most always cut above my shoulders.

I don't like to think much about those so let's just fast forward to the 90's where I became a blonde but at least my hair was long again. But not for long. As life would have it, I got a job at a hair salon where I fell victim to the stylists wanting to try all the new do's on me and am ashamed to say that during my tenure there, I went from permed to straightened, long to layered, from light to dark, and ultimately, got the 'Rachael' do. Yes, I did. And don't you dare laugh because you know you wanted one too. But all of those do's were time consuming as I spent mornings washing, conditioning, putting in endless arrays of products, blow drying and curling. I felt like a big vat of hairspray and god forbid if I had to go camping or got caught in a rain storm. It just wasn't me. So I began to grow my long hair out once again. I chopped off the Rachel 'do' and wore my hair back in a short bun until it all grew back in long.

Things have been a bit better since we entered the new millenium. I've learned my lesson - keep the hair long. But that hasn't stopped me from messing with what's already perfect. Again, I've gone blonde for a few years, and then hopped on the dark brown bandwagon and kept it that way for the most part. Sometimes though after watching back to back episode re-runs of ANTM, I will get inspired and chop off some locks to make some cool 'bangs' or some model-esque long layers. Of course, I hate it instantly and have to wear a head band for months to hide the bangs until they grow back out. Just this month I decided to go blonde again over a few glasses of wine with my sister. We put in some bleach blond highlights which turned blonde at the roots and red farther down. Of course I went back to dark brown soon after - closest to my natural color and easiest to cover the gray, yes gray strands, that insist on appearing out of nowhere.

Can't you just see it - 'Rapunzel, let down your hair'. 'Why I can't Prince, I was bored and I've just cut it.' Why do I do this? Have there not been 100's of hair lessons lived and learned by now? Just the other day I was going through old photos (remember those days? the ones where we actually had to get film developed!). Almost every other roll of film showed a differed hair color or a funky do. I can't say I've found a happy medium - just yet - as of now I am working on growing out these long layers that I cut on a whim last winter. Only one rule I have now - keep the long hair. That's the me I've always felt best as. Learning to curb the urge to cut and then regret is a cycle that I must not repeat!

Staycation

2010-09-05T21:04:00.000-07:00

What to do when it's late summer, you've got vacation time built up and your husband doesn't get any time off until next fall? You take a staycation! Staycation's are spent at home, in town and cost little to no money. But most importantly, to have a true staycation you must follow one simple rule: Prepare to get some shit done but leave plenty of time for some rest, relaxation and fun. It's also good to stock the liquor cabinet or the wine holder.

I prepared beforehand by making of list of items I wanted to accompolish on my days off. Stuff that I wish I could get done on the weekends but never do because weekends are just too short to spend the time working. Clean the attic, clean one room a day from head to toe, emtpy the fridge of all rotten items, wash the moss off the sides of the house and gutters, prune the climbing rose, etc.

Ten days off and I'm on day seven. It's actually taken me a good five days to fully come out of work mode. I caught myself quite a few times checking my work email but I've slowly weaned myself to peaking once a day now. When I wake up, sans alarm, I have my morning coffee with the news, lounging on the couch until I feel awake enough to begin my day. If that motivation never comes, I just pull a blanket over me and find a good lifetime movie to get lost in for a few hours. That's what I love about staycations, there's no agenda. If miraculously, the motivation hits me early, I get a good walk in with the dogs and then throw on some Budos Band and begin one of my projects. However as soon as the afternoon sun comes through the windows, that is my signal to chill it out again with a glass of wine and my book of the week. Dinners are relaxed and could vary from a wonderfully aromatic steaming crock pot of happiness or simply take-out burger and fries. And who needs a bedtime when the next day promises anything I wish for and involves no going to work.

The thing about staycations is you have to love being by yourself. You have to be ok with being your own company. Because my hermit genes run extra high, it's good to get some socialization too. Get outta the house every other day and visit someone or invite a friend over. I highly recommend it or once you go back to work you will forget how to interact with the public and you will mourn for your staycation cave.

I have to admit I have been quite productive as well as slothful. My wine is now running low and my projects are almost complete. Relaxation has hit a full-time high and thoughts of work have slipped way way into the background. I've slowly rejuvenated my senses and gotten my groove back. I am always one to raise my glass to getting away from it all but if the away part can't be on a private island, then I make damn sure that I use my staycation time to the fullest.

Usually as staycation draws to a close, that old friend 'anxiety' tries to call. I conquer this intrusion by booking a full body massage the day before going back to work, then a late afternoon nap and being fully organized and prepared for the first day of work. I highly recommend a staycation to one and all. Now don't get me wrong, there really is nothing better than getting the heck outta dodge and that is just what I plan to do next - vacate the premises, and take a friggin vacation!

Going, Going, Gone!

2010-07-18T22:06:00.000-07:00

Last weekend we went to the coast to meet up with my sister who had rented a beach house. Since it was a last minute decision to go, we couldn't take the dogs to the dog ranch so we bravely loaded them into the car and headed down the highway. We only stayed one night and it ended up going pretty good. Lots of walks on the beaches, left the pooches pretty chill.

The next morning we put a stake in the grass and tethered the dogs so we could have a little freedom and time away from holding leashes and supervising (don't you wish you could do that with the kids? ha!). As we were hanging on the upper decks, keeping one eye on the dogs, our yellow lab, Huckleberry, began to whine as she always does when she's not getting all the attention. My nephew Riley decided to go give them some love. I grabbed my camera so I could get a could shot of them all together. What happened next made laugh my ass off and got the rest of the clan to come look at what my neice Hope and I were howling at, and best of all I actually caught it all on film!

Hey pups, whats happenin'

Going, Going...

Gone!

Oh man, my aunt got this all on camera.

I'm so screwed!

Grounded

2010-06-13T21:48:00.000-07:00

Yesterday, about mid day, I realized I was in serious need of a nap. I knew without a doubt that the second my head touched the pillow, I'd be gone to dreamland for a long long time. You know, that kind of tired that you get when you sleep in the same position for hours. Well, I had the most coolest revelation as I was laying there completely aware of the sensations in my body as I was falling asleep. As my body relaxed, it seemed to me that the energy in my body was alive and in full force. As I lay there, I focused in on this. It seemed that the vibrations moved like waves, starting in my head and rolling down through my shoulders, over my chest and down my back. I almost couldn't feel my body on the couch. It was as if I was as light as a feather, floating just slightly above. As it got to my legs, my feet started to tingle and this overwhelmving sensation came over me as if I was connected to the network of the energy of life. I began to drift weightless on the most comfortable cloud. When I awoke some hours later, my mind was at peace and my body refreshed.There is nothing cooler than knowing without a doubt that I am part of something bigger. It keeps me alive, fully grounded and intertwined with the divine.

A Freakin Mess

2010-05-25T22:01:00.000-07:00

Ok folks, I've been seriously busy and had so many things going on at once that I haven't been able to sit down to write. And to be completely honest, there may have been a few times I could have blogged but I needed to spend that time chilling out - down time as you might call it.

So, to recap on my last post...

The last time I wrote, I was a freakin mess covered in an intense itchy and devilish scratchy rash. It was so awful I had to stay home for an entire week. A visit to the doc and then the derm, got me some creams which didn't work. So the next week, I got me a prescription of prednizone which began working within 4 hours of the first pills. Awe, relief. I could finally relax and not itch. However, before I began the pred, I got a huge series of blood tests and skin biopsies to try to figure out what the heck was going on in my body. The results showed some food allergies, most highly to gluten. So I have had a major change in my diet. Lucky for me, I am not a picky eater. I could be classified as an adventurous food explorer so this change was definitely swaying in my favor. It's been over a month now since the rash and I'm itch-free. My sister has baked me many loaves of GF bread and cake and my husband promises to buy me a bread maker soon. I love having a baker for a sister! In fact, two of my three sisters are dealing with food allergies in one way or another so I have a lot of company in that department. I did also verify and re-verify with my derm that I could indeed still have wine and chocolate. The answer was a big fat YESSS, although I am sure that he was wondering about my priorities in life. A big WHATEVER to him! I know what's important and I can still get my buzz on!

The Itchy Scratchies

2010-04-21T19:24:00.000-07:00

I've been homebound since last Sunday night when I noticed the beginnings of a rash on my belly and arms. Monday morning I awoke completely covered from the ears to my toes in tiny little red bumps. Those little red bumps itch like mother fuckers. Pardon my language but I can't find any other word to describe it. I've been spending every waking hour with no sleep itiching every crevice of my body - ears, neck, armpits, arms, shoulders, back, and legs. Luckily for me, the rash has so far neglected to infest my face, scalp or private parts, thank the good lord above for that one. Just so you know, you can quit reading now if you want. I'm not going to censor myself in this post in case you haven't noticed yet.

And yes, I saw a doc first thing Monday morning. She took 6 viles of blood to test for food allergies which have been a pain in my ass lately and also to test for lupus - the skin condition type of lupus that goes along with a rash and achey joints. Of course, I won't know for a week what's wrong with me so I sit here, itching the minutes away. I'm going back to the doc tomorrow to try to see if we can figure this out once and for all. Could it be shingles? scabies? some unknown disease? I don't know but I do know that I want to stop the itching and stop it NOW. I'm known for my remedies and I've tried them all to no avail - creamy oatmeal body rubs, tea tree oil slathers, prescription antihistamines, creams, homeopathics, vodka, etc... Nothing works long term, yeah, I may get 10 minutes of relief but then it's back to itching. I'm not getting even slightly better and if anything, I feel slightly manic now. I can't sit still, I can't sleep, I can only itch and itch and itch. It's wrong, fucking horribly wrong to itch like this.

I don't feel sick. I have no fever. I'm not stressed. I could even run 10 miles just to get the heebie jeebies outta me. So, I sit and wait. I wait for test results, I wait for relief, I wait for respite. And meanwhile, I itch, and itch, and itch....

Daily Affirmations

2010-04-04T10:08:00.000-07:00

Live your daily life in a way that you never lose yourself.

When you are carried away with your worries, fears, cravings, anger, and desire,

you run away from yourself and you lose yourself.

The practice is always to go back to oneself.

-- Thich Nhat Hanh

Daily affirmations - these are words of wisdom that help shape my outlook on life. Before I rise from bed every morning and after I've cursed my alarm clock thoroughly, I reach for my phone to read my first email of the day - Daily Words of Wisdom. A quote a day keeps the doctor away, it's true. Over a year ago, I subscribed to these and I cannot tell you how much they mean to me. Every week is 5 daily quotes pertaining to a certain sense of being. Some weeks deal with fear, others with knowledge, sometimes courage, other times intuition, many times faith, and a lot of times just pure age old wisdom. Yet each and everyone of them inspries me to get out of bed each morning which is a feat in and of itself.

As you've noticed, these words also give me a small seed of an idea of which I can write a whole blog post on, relating it to my life and my feelings of life. Sometimes I don't fully understand the daily words of wisdom but my husband has this tremdenous gift for explaining them to me, bringing meaning to an otherwise tangle of words. I've read some authors perceptions of quotes. They think that a real writer wouldn't need to use recycled quotes to get their thoughts out on paper. But I think they are just arrogant and are missing a precious chance to ponder life, even if just for a minute.

Every now and then one of the daily quotes will hit me hard, making me sit back and consider how such a small phrase of words can hold so much meaning and have so much heart. These are the ones that I save, referring to often until I have absolute certainty that I fully grasp their concept. Wise words from wise people encourage me to grow within and to keep my spirit alive. No matter what I will always be drawn to them and you can always expect me to write about. They are the building blocks of my soul.

Little Memories

2010-03-21T20:04:00.000-07:00

We do not remember days; we remember moments.

~Cesare Pavese

Sometimes the littlest memories are the best ones, the ones I reflect upon the most. The ones that make me feel nostalgic and all warm and fuzzy. A lot of mine have to do with the weather.

Summers in Idaho were hot and air conditioning was not a luxury in those days. So you had to trick the weather. As the days grew hotter, the mountain air almost always grew cooler. The minute the sun would set, my dad would make his way around the house to open all the windows - all 18 of them. I'd be sitting in my room watching TV and could hear the windows open one by one. Soon the cool night air was rolling in and we could finally breathe easy falling into a sweet slumber. Sometime early, just as the sun was waking up, I would hear the windows sliding shut, one by one. Then the curtains being closed tight, not to let a speck of sun in. That was how we tricked the weather. It was also at that time that we'd go out with our parents to hunt tomatoe worms in the garden. We'd flick them off into buckets and dispose of those ruiners of home grown tomatoes.

In the mornings the house was so cool, we forgot that the day before we were roasting, begging to take turns sitting in the fridge. Wrapping blankets around us, shivering, we began our days. But once the sun rose onto the parched Idaho neighborhoods, we began to sweat. And with us girls going in and out all day, little by little our house became stiflingly warm. No wonder my dad would say, shut the door fast, you're letting all the cool air out. Those summers, day after day, night after night, the climate in our house changed drastically and kept us in comfort as we slept through cool nights. But every summer without fail, there would come those days that were so hot, that so baked the land, that even the nights did not cool. With all the windows open, the coolest place to be was in the basement and there we'd tread with our sleeping bags and pillows. The whole family camped out , hoping to try to cool off just enough to get a little sleep. Lazy days of mid summer. I liked those best. I still do.

Winters in Idaho were cold and snowy. Thanksgiving seemed to signal winter and before we knew it we were blanketed in white. Sometimes it snowed so much, my parents had to go shovel every hour - for in Idaho, snow was not an excuse to call in sick for work or stay home from school. It was a way of life and you dug yourself out and got to where you needed to be. Not to mention there was probably a snowplow for every street in every nook and cranny of the city.

My favorite part was when it would snow and snow and snow and snow because as the snow accumulated, huge, menacing snow drifts would form, looming haphazardly over the roof of our front porch. We had to be really careful walking out the front door, shutting the door softly so as not to disturb it. It would be there for sometimes for days. Sometimes we'd knock it down but I think it fascinated all of us, even my parents. If the drift didn't fall, then as the snow would begin to melt, the biggest and baddest icicles would begin to form from it's edges. Now that was where the true fun began. It was a challenge to see try to knock them all down. Some were dainty and broke easily with a touch. Others were as big, as solid and as pointed as the dagger of a giant.

I also loved that in the winter we never ran out of snow. There was a fresh supply daily, meaning we could build families of snowmen, form slides down the sloping front lawn, craft igloos and watch our snow angels disappear in the blizzard. Evenings we spent thawing out by the crackling warm fire mom and dad had made - and we'd sleep upstairs because that was where it was warmest!

The four seasons were extreme in Idaho, each one with their very own identity. Those dependable changes in weather, always signaled changes in our family. In spring, we'd break out the boxes of summer clothes and pack our winter ones away. Mom's big bed of red tulips would fill the backyard with a red royal carpet and work out in the garden and yard would begin. There would be a sense of thrill in the air. Nights were shorter in the winter and we'd spend them lost in long books, talking on the phones to friends, sitting by a fire and eating nachos that my mom prepared for evening snacks each night. Fall was always where we did the most preparation - school clothes, raking leaves, registering for classes, harvesting the garden and celebrating all the birthdays - for most of my family (excluding me) were all born in August and September. It's almost as if remembering all of this is my specail way of holding onto the things I cherish, the things I am, and the things I never ever want to lose.

New Territory

2010-03-13T20:33:00.000-08:00

Good for the body is the work of the body,

good for the soul the work of the soul,

and good for either the work of the other.

~Henry David Thoreau

Try something new once in a while right? Well that's what I'm about to do. I"m embarking on a journey of food. It's spring and instead of deep cleaning my house, this year I'm going to cleanse my soul by way of putting food in my belly. Through an enchanted combination of forming new habits, I expect to thoroughly wash and rinse away the build up of physical and mental sludge and re-awaken my soul. In an effort to put a twinge of reality on things, to keep me honest and give me thoughts to reflect upon, you can follow me for 21 days of uncharted waters and unexplored territory HERE. Enjoy the ride, I know I will.

Awaken

2010-03-04T16:38:00.000-08:00

Spring arrives at the heels of Winter with Summer pushing in from behind. Although it never rushes into things, the magic by which this mysterious season deposes its beauty around us always lures me into sheer amazement. When did the flowering fruit trees suddenly turn pink and the tiny green sprouts pushing through the hardened winter earth become bright yellow blooming daffodils? Birds begin to appear with their morning melodies when yesterday and in the long months before there was only silence.

After months of plowing through Winter's monotony, Spring reminds me to slow down and coast in neutral for a while. Just as the withered world around me is coming back to life after a long slumber, so it is as my spirit awakens.

The Little General

2010-02-17T20:55:00.000-08:00

Did you know that a cat could become a legend? I had no idea what I was getting into when I visited the county animal shelter one afternoon, 13 years ago. I was looking for a second cat - one that had enough spunk to get my other cat up and moving more and of course to give her a buddy. It was love at first chase. Inside the cage sat a tiny, beautiful all white kitten with big bright blue eyes. He looked up at me and gave me a tiny little meow. I wanted to hold him so they opened the cage door and reached in to pick him up, but he had other ideas. He shot out of the cage and ran out of the cat room and down the hall of the shelter. What ensued was a wild chase after that tiny streak of white dashing in and out of offices and around corners so fast he looked like a flash of lightening. We finally caught him. Out of breath and laughing, I held him in my arms. He looked up at me confidently, almost like it was a test that I had to pass. Well, he was a ball of energy alright and I was willing to take the chance with him. I paid the fee, signed the papers and took him home.

Life changed drastically after that. Oh boy did he love his food. He would eat and eat until his belly became bloated at which point he would sit on his butt with his two feet and lick his extended belly. He looked like he had a big ole beer belly and after much teasing about this fact, I named him Boozie, which he liked. His honory personality was ever transforming. During nail clipping and bathing, he'd growl and hiss at me but I didn't let up as I had grown accustomed to his attitude. Some things just had to be done! Plus, he never bit me or scratched me. He just liked to threaten to do so.

When Boozie was just under a year old, I met my future husband. We soon moved in together, much to Boozie's dismay. According to Boozie, he was the man of the house and he wasn't going to give up that post easily. One afternoon after I had left for work, Boozie cornered my husband in the hallway, arching his back, hissing and advancing slowing towards him in a classical animal planet male showdown for dominance. My husband, initially frightened, realized that he must gain the upper hand so he changed his stance to be dominant and advanced quickly toward Boozie, shooing him out of the way. Boozie backed off eventually. Somehow, the two of them came to an unspoken agreement to share the spotlight. After the initiation rights were over, we became a true family. We spent hours on the floor throwing hair ties for the cats to chase and throwing nerf footballs that Boozie would literally intercept in the air. He and his sister would go on wild rampages through the apartment, leaving plants knocked over and destruction in their paths.

During Boozie's first 7 years we moved a lot. We were renters who ran the gamut of roommates gone bad, landlords divorcing and taking over our living space, homes with no insulation, and a landlord who passed away - All of which kept us moving almost yearly. It was during our first move from an apartment to a house that Boozie, the inside only cat, got his first taste of the outside and other cats in the 'hood. Immediately he became territorial and by that I mean he started spraying in the house. Of course this meant he had to be an outside cat now because no amount of explaining, reasoning with him or reprimands, he just wasn't going to change his naughty ways. With worried hearts, we let him and his sister outside one early summer afternoon. Figuring he would be scared and sniff for a while, we settled in to prepare to giggle and watch him explore the wild outdoors. Well, his sister did just that but Boozie had other plans. Having never jumped more than 3 feet his whole life, he gracefully jumped 6 feet onto our neighbors fence, smoothly strutted across the 1/2 inch boards, jumped into the neighbors yard. Shocked and horrified that he would lose his way home, we tried desperately to get him to come back to our yard. We shook cat food and tried to conjole him back to us. Looking at us for just a moment with defiant eyes, he turned around the corner and disappeared. Trusting that he had some instinctual genes in him, we waited like worried parents until he finally returned home hours later, just before the sun set. So that was how it was going to be. Boozie let us know that he was just fine being outside, in fact, we believe he actually preferred it.

Soon Boozie was roaming the neighborhood, strutting his stuff in his now lean yet muscular frame, his bright white fur coat sticking out like a sore thumb. Neighbors marveled at him, doing his 'rounds' each day. Enchanted by the little general, as he was now called, they would come up to him yearning to pet this magnificent and confident creature. However, as they reached their hand down to pet him, Boozie would pull of the most amazing set of karate chops with his front paws all the while hissing and barring his teeth - making the neighbors run for their lives.

Life was not going to be easy for him or us though. Boozie 's instinctual side had it's bad parts too. His need to claim territory and be the king cat, cost him many fights, horrific wounds, and cost us many many trips to the vet to drain abscesses. There was a pattern to his madness though. We would move to a new rental house and the vet bills would increase as he worked his way up the chain, eventually claiming the coveted top cat spot, fighting like a gladiator until the death (or at least we hoped not). Once he was king of the neighborhood, life was usually peaceful as he made his daily rounds, running squirrels off his land, eating hoards of baby birds fallen from their nests in the spring and squaring off with any dogs, cats or humans encroaching on his terrain. I even learned how to set up a surgical unit on our dining room table to drain the abscesses and clean out his fighting wounds, saving us hundreds of dollars in vet bills.

He seemed to be consistently healing from a fight wound or from allergic reactions to fleas or his food. Always trying out new diets with him, he was the subject of many experiments to get his fur to grow back in. We never did find a perfect cure. Raw food, organic food, changes in protein, mixtures of both, never worked. But he sure did like the variety! IN the mornings we would hear him and his sister outside our bedroom window crying for their breakfast.

As an outdoor cat, Boozie never stopped spraying. He sprayed the front doors and porch chairs of the houses on his land, the wheels and car doors of any car that parked nearby and climbed into home grocer trucks and any open car windows to sniff around and also to spray. We had to warn friends and neighbors to keep their windows rolled up and to check their garages before they closed them down for the night, just in case he was in there checking things out.

Probably the best thing about Boozie and his bad ass self was that deep down he had the goopiest heart. In the evenings, we would bring him in the house for 'supervised visits', meaning that he was not allowed to leave his fuzzy blanket on the couch because if he did, he would immediately turn his butt towards something and spray it. On his blanky he would show us his soft side, purring, kneading and slobbering all over his blanket as we petted and cooed at him. He did not allow many people to see his soft side as he had to keep up appearances in order to maintain his kingdom he fought so hard for.

In Boozie's 5th year, his sister came down with a mysterious illness. Sensing perhaps before we did that she was soon to join the spirit world, he insisted on being inside with her. Reluctantly we acquiesced and brought him in. Urgently he walked over to the couch where she lay and sat down gently beside her. Knowing that if he got up he would spray, we all slept on the hide-a-bed, me with one eye open to catch his rebellious spraying act. However, not once did he move, not even to stretch or change positions. He never left her side the entire night. When the morning sun awoke us, we lay dazed watching this tough cat comfort his only friend. We let them finish their goodbyes and later that day his sister left this world behind. Then a day later, we moved... again, but this time, with only one cat.

Tradition has it that cats have nine lives, Boozie was an exception. When we moved this time, it was farther into the country, on a cul-de-sac surrounded by elderly doug firs and small mountainous hills that eventually led down to the river. We would hear stories from our neighbors about Boozie's wanderings. He was spotted down by the river which meant that he had to traverse at least a mile from our house, down through thickets of forests to even come close to the rocky beach. Nights were filled with the sounds of coyotes howling in the distance and every now and then the sound of some small creature of prey. Worried as I was, Boozie filled me with a sense that there was really nothing to fret about. He was going to be around for a long time. But he was lonely and missing his sister. Ever more needy, we allowed him into the house for extra sessions of love on the couch. Then one day we arrived home to find him hanging out in the front yard with a bunny. My heart skipped a beat as I felt for this bunny who was sure to lose his life in seconds flat. Boozie never tolerated anything on his property, much less had he ever seen a bunny before. However, my fears were soon unfounded as he and the bunny began to chase eachother around a big cedar. Soon this unlikely pair were best of friends, sneaking up on eachother then gallivanting through the yard after one another. They became inseperable and before we knew it, Boozie was back to his old self, making a name for himself while patrolling his grounds.

When the bunny disappeared it was no doubt to a coyote and Boozie was lonely once again. We knew we needed to get him a buddy but our hearts weren't completely mended from the recent loss of his sister. But life has a way of making decisions for us. Less than a month later we brought him home an 8 week old sister who was taking no shit and wasn't afraid of this grumpy ole Boozie. After the initial awkward of first impressions and introductions, the two of them bonded and once again, life was normal.

The one thing that Boozie never had was a permanent place of residence. We constantly promised him that we would buy a house someday and that he wouldn't have to claiming new territory time and time again. Finally our dream came true. We bought a house early one summer. As we drove the cats over to our new and final abode, Boozie sensed immediately that he was going to live out the rest of his life here. No more moving. With a practiced and skilled quickness, he gained the upper hand on our new neighborhood. One by one, the large population of feral cats disappeared. Boozie was king and life was good. Over the next 3 years Boozie ruled with a firm hand. After a while, he didn't fight anymore for he was supreme ruler over his land. INstead he would spend his time sunning on the porch and teaching his sister how to catch birds.

One evening as we were sitting outside enjoying a late summer evening, Boozie approached us. Something about his manner was different. I couldn't place it though. He lay down on a pile of blankets next to us, purring and fell asleep. He did this for the next couple of nights. Very unusual for him as his MO was standoffish and preferred to be alone. Then we noticed he wasn't eating. We couldn't even coax him to try wet canned food - stuff he'd normally cry like a little kitten for. So we brought him inside - we couldn't risk the peasants catching wind that the king was taken ill, his guard down. Soon we found out he had a tumor in his stomach and that he wasn't going to be around much longer. For a week, we cared for him. We made him a comfortable bed in our spare bedroom and visited him frequently. We told him stories about his youth, let him know what a great cat he was and showed our appreciation for his years of guardianship. Word got out that Boozie was sick. Family, friends and neighbors came over to say their goodbyes. When and how did Boozie make all these friends? We had no idea how much he had touched the hearts of those who knew him, the real Boozie, underneath all that attitude. Finally, we heavy heart we let him go join his older sister in the spirit world. We laid his body to rest in his favorite fuzzy blanky next to the sage bush he always slept under so he could always stand guard yet remain hidden. The day he died, his sister immediately took over his role. Not as domineering as him, but she was still queen. Just after we buried him, she caught her first bird, right in front of us and ate every piece of it. That was our sign - he had done his job, passed on his kingdom, ensured of keeping his rule.

I don't think I have ever felt a loss cut so deep. For two days we stayed home and cried. I lit sage and asked the spirits to guide him safely on. I didn't ask him to stay because I know that he needed to go. As I put away his bed and cleaned up the spare bedroom, I noticed that even in his extreme weakness, he had still managed to spray once on the wall. His one last rebellious act. It made me smile. Time does tend to heal and old wounds do close, but it still hurts sometimes. Boozie lives on in our hearts and in all the hearts of those he touched. His stories have become oral tradition, legends embellished and passed on and told over and over. Sometimes I feel he is with me. Other times I have no doubt that he still guards our house and watches over his sister. Boozie was our little guardian. He worked his whole life as a cat to protect us. Never before have a felt such a connection with a cat. Thank you Boozie, you enriched our lives with your big heart, your secret sweetness and your fierce protectiveness. We will always love you.

Nauseous Hiatus

2010-02-09T20:30:00.000-08:00

Stomach: A slave that must accept everything that is given to it, but which avenges wrongs as slyly as does the slave. ~Emile Souvester

No sooner did we rid ourselves of winter colds then the winter stomach flu stopped by for a visit. I awoke in the deadest part of night to my husband bowing to the porcelain god. Back and forth from the bedroom to the bathroom he stumbled urgently for hours. Eventually he was emptied from the inside out but that didn't stop the onslaught of his intestinal convulsions. Sick, drained and pretty much dehydrated, he lay restless in bed for days, unable to sleep. Eventually he won back his health.

The very day he awoke well, I did not. Achy, chilly and out of sorts, I relinquished my grip on the world and fell into an oblivious three days of alternating sleep and one too many trips to the powder room. We are heading towards the road to recovery, although optimum health remains at arms length and not quite tangible yet. Surely soon, I will be myself again, back to filling these pages with something more worthy than a nauseous hiatus.

Coming To A Dinner Table Near You!

2010-01-29T20:34:00.000-08:00

Grocery shopping is my household duty. I have gladly taken it on not because I love to shop, which I don't, but because I love the whole planning your meals for the week deal. Hmmm, what sounds good this week. Do I have a lot of time to create a dish from scratch or do I need fast cooking and pre-packaged? Usually it's a little of both. This weekend, I was meandering around the frozen food section when this colorfuly delicious box of spanakapita practically jumped into my shopping cart. Oh man, I haven't had spanakapita for years and I mean, years. When I was a poor starving college student, my friend, Fariba, cooked up a graduation dinner beyond compare. One of her main dishes was her family recipe for Spanakapita. Fariba, a lovely cook, someone to which I'd never even compare my culinary skills to, prepared it with utter perfection. The philo dough was light as a feather, flaky and buttery. The spinach melted in your mouth while the garlic and feta left a satisfyingly strong aftertaste, making me wish I could take the whole casserole dish itself, hide in her closet, and eat it all - with my fingers. So when I saw that frozen box in the store, I did not hesitate as it found an immediate home in my grocery bag and then into my freezer at home.

Thursday was the day to cook it for dinner. We weren't busy and I"d have time to cook it properly and then savor each bite with a bottle of wine. As it cooked, I could literally taste the smells eminating from the oven. As I sliced it into large square pieces and onto our dinner plates, I marveled the stunning green of the spinach. It looked impressive. Proudly, I brought our dishes to the table. My savory dreamy fog was soon parted as my husband wasted no time to announce that he was horrified by 'all that green'. He laughed nervously as he cut a bite and put it on his fork. Tentatively, he brought the fork to his mouth. Then as if doomed to drink from a poisonous vile, he took a bite. He chewed, slowly at first, testing his tastebuds. Then he started chewing faster and faster until finally he swallowed. I sat there wondering to myself if he would find it as delectable as I. He opened his mouth but then hesitated. Yes, he must be trying to figure out how to put into words how wonderfully amazing this was. How he couldn't believe that spinach could taste so good. Then he found his voice... "It tastes like grass clippings rolled up in philo dough". Ok, I have never laughed so hard and been so pissed off at the same time. What followed was a hilarious exchange of remarks pertaining to my grass clippings meal and his picky taste.

Was I mad? Not really but I did offer to make hime something else. In fact, I had a can of something in the kitchen that I could cook up really fast. He looked relieved that he may be off the hook. I got up and opened the pantry and reached for a can. I put the can in the pan with a spoon and brought it out to him. Huh? I think he was confused so I cleared things up for him. I was serving him up a steaming hot can of whoop ass.

Well, to make this long story a little shorter, I'll sum it up by saying, he went to a drive through and picked himself up a burger, laughing all the way about me and my 'cooking'. I let him go, happily, of course. Just because I'm a freakazoid when it comes to worldly dishes, doesn't mean he has to be. Yeah, part of the fun though is trying to get him to try it and see him shudder in response. But it was a really good laugh and I will certainly never forget and neither of us will ever let the other live it down!

Coming to a dinner table near you!

The Forbidden

2010-01-26T22:00:00.000-08:00

For every man there exists a bait which he cannot resist swallowing. ~Friedrich Nietzsche

No one would ever call me a picky eater. I'm happy to try anything, at least once. Well, almost. Once I had the chance to taste pigs feet but the jar of floating, liquefied, swollen and bloodless pale pink feet made me want to hurl. However, within reason of course, you ask me to taste and I will indulge you. It seemed almost unimaginable to me that anyone or anything could forbid me the taste testing opportunity. Some religions and eco-conscious thinkers consider it a grievous sin, sometimes with the penalty of death, to eat of a certain animal or food. Knowing that, I never once thought that I would be put in the most uncomfortable position of having to give up my most favorite food item - and not, mind you, for religious or political reasons, but because my body decided that it would become allergic.

After a steady yearly series of headaches, it was discovered, much to my chagrin, that I was allergic to peanuts. Not in the deadly way, where a kiss on the lips of a peanut eater would send me into anaphalactic shock and on to the spirit world, but I would suffer an incurable headache for days as my body tried to rid itself of what it was now considering toxic to my system. I did not ask for this. I was not consulted about this. Peanuts have been a regular and delectable part of my food intake my whole life. In fact, fresh ground peanut butter, peanut butter cookies, peanut butter cups, PB & J's, peanut filled pretzels, most thai food and fondue oil went from my all time favorites to the 'do not even think about eating' list. Being the optimist that I am, I happily found substitutes that didn't just merely give me an alternative ingredient but ones that I loved. Almond butter - freshly ground, beats just about any type of nut butter. Cashew, sunflower seed and tahini rock too.

I was now, headache free and loving life. Well almost. It's not that easy to give up a favorite food. What one cannot have, one wants even more. I assure you, well, at least I'd like to say that I assure you, that if eating peanut butter meant almost instant death, I'd be more inclined to adhere to a strict regime of trying to stay alive. But since that is not the case, I have these irresistible, unstoppable, crazy-person peanut butter binges. I have my freak outs and my low points where I indulge, successfully blocking out all internal warning alarms going off in my head. I'll jam 3 huge spoonfuls of peanut butter into my mouth, relishing in my sinful indulgence. I'll order a large chocolate ice cream with PB chunks in it at Baskin Robbins. If the coffee shop is out of everything but PB cookies, I'll buy 3. Yes, I am a peanut-butter-holic. I'd never be able to tell you why I do this except that I can now easily put my self in the shoes of addicts, understanding perfectly now, the undeniable sadist urge to do whatever it takes to get my fix, at all costs. Now, I'm only hurting myself with this PB addiction and the days of headaches that follow but I cannot stop myself. Let me just say, I-know-it's-wrong. And if my body suddenly decided to add bacon, maple donuts, chocolate and coffee to the allergic items list, I would not hesitate to secretly binge on those too.

Of course, after the secret binges, my headaches come on fast and strong. As I'm wallowing in my own self created misery, there is a tiny part of me that is sinisterly happy and full of forbidden peanut buttery memories. Remember the old bible legend about Adam and Eve? I feel Eve's pain. If apples tasted like peanut butter but were forbidden, I'm sorry but I'd take a bite, too. Call me crazy, say I need help, dismiss me for a lunatic.... whatever, I'm ignoring you! And if you'll excuse me now, I've got to go tempt fate.

Regaining My Equilibrium

2010-01-25T00:59:00.000-08:00

What no spouse of a writer can ever understand is that a writer is working when he's staring out of the window.

~Burton Rascoe

There is this folder in my closet. You know, the old peechee folder from the 80s. I think it's actually taped together now. Inside the folder are a variety of papers - napkins, scratch papers, pieces of envelopes, ripped out spiral notebook pages, receipts. All of them with yellowed and tattered scribblings of my mind, beginning from maybe 25 years ago. Constant writing was not a regular routine for me but when something would pop up in my mind, I'd write it down and file it away in the folder.

A little over a year ago my sister started her blog - Midnight Marvel. Instantly I became hooked, daily checking to see if a new post was up yet, laughing, crying and relating to her stories. Even though we've shared a lifetime of experiences, it was a glimpse into her heart, mind and daily life, something that brought me closer to her soul. Soon I was itching to write. She kept telling me to start a blog and I resisted, for a while. My writings have always been personal and rarely shared. They acted as more of an outlet, letting loose thoughts and feelings swirling around in my head. If I were to make those public, I would be baring my innermost soul and for all it's worth, my true and crazy self. Then I realized that I am who I am. Hiding the real me has never been my forte. People already have had a pretty good picture of what's in my heart, whether they like it or not. So that is how it all began. A year ago, on January 25, I wrote my first blog post and the rest is history. I've never felt more alive. There is a freedom in opening yourself up and putting your thoughts into words, words that you can re-read over and over, reliving each moment. My writings are rainbows of raw emotion. Real, live and boldly not censored for readers' discretion.

The ability to write, getting the thoughts onto paper, is most always mentored by someone who sees your talent. In my case, that was my mother. An english teacher who insisted that you don't start each sentence with an "I", leave out the word 'very', and most importantly "Don't tell me the moon is shining; show me the glint of light on broken glass" (Anton Chekhov). She nurtured my creativity and encouraged my individuality. She hates when I put in the wrong punctuation or misspell something, but she also understands that sometimes that is my way of getting a point across. As a writer, you want the reader to know you. You must fully capture them in your moment of time.

When I write, my soul renews itself and clears my mind of clutter. That in and of itself is essential to my spiritual well-being, which is of utmost importance to me. Today is not the end of a year of writing, it is the beginning of regaining my equilibrium. I live in two worlds, both very real, one that is seen by all and one that cannot be seen with regular eyes. And now instead of being torn between them and feeling the need to choose one, my writing has firmly rooted me in both, and I am nourished and thriving for the first time in a long long time.

My Story

2010-01-23T13:54:00.000-08:00

You know when you have found your 'home' because you not only have a smile on your face but in your heart as well. ~Author Unknown

Hello everybody! I want to tell you my rescue story and I'll let you know ahead of time that I have a very, very happy ending! I'm a strikingly handsome mixed breed dog of German shorthair and Cattle dog decent, ok, and probably some labrador, too. My birth name is Freckles, probably because I look like I have a million black freckles all over me. I used to live with my dad. He had a girlfriend, a daughter and another baby on the way. I was 9 months old and had a pretty good life until my dad lost his job. He got really depressed and started having some problems with anger; then he broke up with his girlfriend. He finally decided that I would be better off if I went to a new home so he called Dogs Deserve Better - which is a national non-profit that rescues dogs, mostly chained dogs. Luckily, I wasn't ever chained but I knew that I deserved better.

Within a week, I was on my way to meet my new foster parents. We arrived at a park where I met my foster mom and dad, along with their two labs. I tried to really put on a show for them so they would be willing to give me a place to stay. I'm super fast on my feet so I ran after the ball they threw, swiped it up fast and ran back in seconds flat. I showed them how I could jump five feet to catch an air ball. They were amazed and welcomed me into their home.

My foster home proved to be a really fun place. It was spring time so we went to the dog park almost every day where I chased ball after ball and wowed every dog and human at the park. We got to go on walks every morning and snuggle together on the couch in the evening. I liked my foster dog sister and dog brother but I had a hard time adjusting to having to share the spotlight. Sometimes I'd get angry and snap at my foster brother. I really longed to be an only dog where I could have all the attention to myself.

After six weeks, I felt more relaxed and had learned to sit, stay, come and walk pretty well on a leash. That was when my foster parents decided it was time to start searching for my forever home. They took some really handsome pictures of me (I’m a pretty good looking fellow) and posted them on Petfinder and Craigslist. A lot of people replied but only one couple stood out. They were young, had just bought their first house and they had two cats. Did I mention that I like cats? They were looking for a companion to jog with daily and to accompany to work sometimes. When they came over to meet me, I held my head high and tried to look as handsome as possible. They couldn't believe how fast I ran and how well I caught the ball. They decided immediately that they wanted to take me home but the adoption process required an application, a fee (donated to the non-profit), and home visit, so while we waited for the approval process, they took me for a weekend visit to their parent's farm that they had grown up on. I showed them how I could run without a leash and not run away; and I thoroughly impressed the grandparents. After the visit to the farm, I even got to spend the night with them. I met their cats, who decided I was boring but that's just how cats are, right?

One day, as I was napping on the couch, my foster mom came to tell me that everything worked out just fine and that I was going to my forever home. I was so excited I jumped around the house for joy. My new parents came to pick me up the next morning. My foster parents cried, but they said it was because they were so happy that I had found the perfect home. We packed up my bones, blankets, dog bed and leash and I said goodbye to my foster home. I was going to miss them but I just couldn't pass up the opportunity to be top dog!

After a year went by at my forever home, which by the way is AWESOME, my new mom decided to give my old foster family an update on me. We all arranged to meet at a park nearby. When I saw my foster parents, I immediately showed them how much I had grown up. I walked without a leash next to my new mom and dad. I showed them all the new tricks that I had learned. My foster family was thrilled to see how happy I am. I even showed them that I can come when they call me by my new distinguished name, Cooper. I am a lucky dog and I know that. I truly believe that there is a family out there for every dog, I mean, look at me; I got exactly what I wanted, which was to be loved and to be the only dog. I'm thankful for my foster family and for Dogs Deserve Better rescue, but especially that they all were willing to let me stay while we all searched for my forever home.

My Forever Family

Ya Ya Sisters

2010-01-18T19:37:00.000-08:00

"Stop fighting and bickering. One day you will realize how thankful you are for one another." ~ Our Mom, Mother of 4 Girls

I could not wait for this weekend to happen. All my sisters would be in town and most important of all, we'd all be together for one evening - Sarah, Susan, Jan Jan and Barb. Taking advantage of the early afternoon, I headed to Susan's house on the train, leaving my husband at home to feed and walk the dogs before he came over later. Susan and Barb picked me up at the train station and our eyes filled with tears of longing when we hugged. On the ride to Susan's house as we chatted, I became fully aware that Barb was now comfortable in her new role as a mother. As I gave them a pile of books I'd recently read, we laughed about how they all related to mother, daughter and sister relationships, something that we all know a lot about. Upon arrival to Susan's, I was greeted by Hope, fully dressed in her Ms. Santa dress and a hip Hannah Montana hat. She immediately brought in a basket full of princess crowns of all shapes and sizes. She asked us each to pick one and wear it, unspokenly making us all sisters. With our crowns securely fastenened on our heads, we figured it was happy hour and therefore uncorked a bottle of wine. After a cheers, we began preparations for dinner. Soon after, Janet arrived. She'd had my same idea - leave her husband at home with one of the kids so she could fully engage in sister time. We poured her a glass of wine and got her a princess crown. There was a comfort with us all being together, just us, with the kids all busy watching movies.

As we chatted away, the rest of the family began showing up. First Daryl came down the stairs with Finleigh, the newest baby girl in the family and the one we all couldn't wait to see, hold and coo over. Then Roger woke up from a nap along with Riley and they trudged downstairs to say hello. Then Phil arrived with little Kevin and a laundry basket full of dessert for later. Not long after, Warren entered through the front door - to the delight of all the neices and nephews. Soon the house was swarming with aunts and uncles and kids and the smell of food cooking made it feel just like home. With all the commotion, us sisters still had an invisble bubble around us, allowing us to catch up and talk about our lives, including roping in all our husbands to do a photo shoot of us, with all of our cameras.

There is something about having sisters that is an incredible gift. My sisters are my best friends. No matter where we are in life or where life takes us, we always have eachother. We are sometimes strewn miles apart in our locations, differences and habits, but our hearts are melded together in a bond that cannot be broken. A bond that does not judge and a bond that only gets stronger with time. Of course as young girls, we fought, yelled and slammed doors in one anothers faces. We stole clothes from the others closets and tattled when appropriate and to our advantage. But as we grew up into young women, then wives, then mothers, we restored our sisterhood when we found we could balance life a little easier when we could revert to our familiar and comfortable role as sisters. There is nothing in the world like having sisters. And there is nothing in the world that I wouldn't do for any of one of them. So when special weekends like these come around, I slip back into my sister role and get ready to have my soul renewed again.

For The Love Of Dogs

2010-01-12T20:46:00.000-08:00

The human spirit is not dead. It lives on in secret.... It has come to believe that compassion, in which all ethics must take root, can only attain its full breadth and depth if it embraces all living creatures and does not limit itself to mankind. ~Albert Schweitzer, Novel Peace Prize address, "The Problem of Peace in the World Today"

Just recently, I came upon a new path, allowing me to help spread the word about the beautiful rewards of fostering or adopting rescue dogs - my essay on our rescue dog Tahoe (a revised version) was just published in a book called: Lost Souls Found - Inspiring Stories of Labrador Retriever Rescues. Yay, I know, I'm published now!! The book company, Happy Tails Books, publishes books on every type of dog breed, including mixed breed dogs. All are inspiring rescue stories that will make your heart swell for these pups and their rescuers. The proceeds for the books benefit the dog rescues (authors are not compensated for that reason).

My love of dogs has morphed into a need to protect them. Hence, my involvement in dog rescue groups and foster homes helps to nurture that desire. But sometimes I feel that it's not enough. How can I save every dog from being neglected, abused, and chained? Well, I can't. But I can join the loving hearts of many doing their part to protect. And by sharing this rescue story, I am creating compassion in the hearts of others and each little step is a huge achievement toward saving one little doggy life at a time.

Enough Already

2010-01-12T20:35:00.000-08:00

Patience is the ability to count down before you blast off. ~Author Unknown

People are freaking out this month. I know it's because of planetary alignment with Mercury finalizing it's retrograde and such, but geez, enough already. Even my usual calm in the face of other people's storms is ceasing to exist. My patience is at a serious all-time low and I am running the risk of telling someone just exactly where to stick it which is probably why my wine stock has increased along with sweat-induced crazed fits of running UP hills (instead of a nice easy jog) in an effort to ease the universe's subjection of emotional burdens on me. Once again, I am reaching down into the abyss, scraping for any reserve of patience that may be lost in some dark corner of my soul, that will save me from myself!

Motivational Activation - A Living Recipe for 2010

2010-01-06T19:37:00.000-08:00

Like I said the other day, I feel a new level of consciousness is beginning to take hold. I perceive a philosophical shift in the thought process of humans and our being. Because of that I think that my New Year's Resolutions must mirror this transformative phase. My living recipe for 2010 is going to be full of motivational activation. I'm going to plan for change, open myself to the new energies of the universe yet I will keep my eye open and watching for anything new.

Even though I am a free thinker and doer, it seems to me that this year I am going to need to do some intensive and creative combining of the aspects of my life in a way that I have never experienced before. I'm going to have to rethink the very structure of my life and go beyond my current worldview and find the courage to release my old ways of thinking. I'm going to have to be sure that my heart is fully engaged in everything that I do, with a touch of compassion and faith to take me to the next level. When I'm making a decision, I need to walk for a while on the path first.

Although I know this, I must remind myself that everything is connected and that what I do this year will shape all parts of my life and others. I need to regain balance starting with myself and then with other relationships, resting assured on the fact that we are all in a flux of change. And most necessary and most importantly, I must trust that I am being divinely guided to my highest good. Cheers to the New Year. May the universal force be with us all.

It's Coming

2010-01-04T19:33:00.000-08:00

Put your ear down close to your soul and listen hard. ~Anne Sexton

For many years I have been bothered by a nagging question - why am I here? Why was I born in this time? This time of chaotic uncertainty, economic troubles, over-consumption, polluted landscapes and skies, environmental ignorance and a food system that incorporates animal abuse - all of which I abhor. I knew there was a reason but it was not within my grasp... Yet.

Many many months ago I spoke with a spiritual counselor. Something interesting came up in our conversation, something that was completely unexpected. She told me that I (my spirit) had specifically wanted to come back (as a human) to this particular time in history. Why? She could not tell me. Only I could figure that out. Now please, why would I decide to come back to the age of darkness, as I call it. The age where mankind has forgotten their origins and where spirituality is discouraged, even outlawed. If it appears that I had a choice, I would think that I would have chosen a time where the earth, stars, planets, universe and all it's inhabitants were existing in an alliance of a simple and peaceful co-existence. I mean, seriously.

Lately, it has become apparent to me that a change is coming. I can smell it in the air, the wind whispers it in my ears, I can feel it on the hairs of my arms. I KNOW a change is coming, that part is real. What kind of change? I'm not sure yet but I do know now that it has to do with answering that nagging question - Why am I here. Possibly this change has to do with a shift in perception and consciousness - a universal spiritual awareness that has been growing - at first underground and shunned but now fully exposed. There is an overwhelming urge in me to see and witness this change. To be in the midst of it, absorbing the energy, taking part in reconnecting the webs of the universe, rediscovering the magic that lies dormant. If you pay attention, you will see it too.

A Meaty Perfection

2009-12-27T19:41:00.000-08:00

We've been sick, on and off, with winter colds for a couple of months. The weather hasn't helped out much either, varying from cold and rainy to windy and f*#$ing cold. I always like to remedy winter ailments with slow cooked hot meals.

Having absolute fond childhood memories of pot roast and potatoes, I decided I would attempt this feat. It seemed scary at first. I grasped the idea of cooking the root vegetables but how was I going to find a pot roast? Is that what it's even called at the grocery store? I did some searching through my cook books and found that all I had to do was go to the meat counter and ask for a boneless beef roast. So for this huge round slab of de-boned meat, I decided I should go all out. I bought a 4 lb fully organic free-range sirloin roast (I know, I know.).

Within 10 minutes I had all the ingredients assembled and loaded into the crock pot. I turned it on high and left it to do its thing (now that is the type of cooking I like to do!). In the interim, I dyed my hair, took a 2 hour nap, watched football and talked on the phone. The house started to smell like an accomplished chef. Every inch of air smelled like cooking meat and made the dogs, as well as us drool. At the 6 hour mark I took the string off the roast and it magically fell apart. Apparently that is a good sign. After a quick call to my mother for a refresher on how to make gravy, the meal was ready.

I scooped out the steaming hot juicy pieces of meat, potatoes and carrots steamed to perfection and topped it all off with a creamy peppery gravy. I poured a glass of wine and we started chowing down. Oh me oh my, every bite was delectable, not to mention, the lovely comments coming from my husband who was enjoying what he was calling the best man meal he's ever had since he was a kid.

So I did it and that's why I'm writing all this. I cooked a successful meal, a meal my husband loved and I didn't mess it up - not even a little bit. I'd like to say I could do it again, but the statistics prove that is unlikely. So for now, I'm just going to revel in my status as a good cook, even if it is just for today.

Butter Me Up

2009-12-16T22:11:00.000-08:00

I can live for two months on a good compliment. ~Mark Twain

Learning to genuinely accept a compliment - takes some training. Usually when I'm complimented I debunk myself. Compliment: Wow this is great homemade soup! Me: Thanks, I should have put more salt in it. Compliment: I like that shirt! Me: Thanks, it helps to cover my ass. There's really no reason to put myself down. I've got learn to accept these accolades with gratitude.

One thing I can say though, is when someone praises or flatters me, it does make me feel good inside, boosts my self-esteem up a notch for the day and lasts on through the night and into the next day. Usually I float on the words until something brings me back down from my buttered-up high. These lauds to my self-esteem come in all different ways. The spoken words, kind smiles and bear hugs are saved in a special compartment of my heart. The written emails or notes are filed under a folder called 'cheers'. On down days, I access these files to remind myself that I am groovy, my actions do make a difference in people's day to day lives. Compassion, heart-felt goodwill and putting in my all into everything, no matter what, always feels satisfying. And when that is sensed by others, and relayed back in a compliment of sorts, it just encourages me to love myself and to keep on keepin on.

Rise and Shine

2009-12-10T20:14:00.000-08:00

Though the circular round-and-round of routine be the bulk of life's affairs, make an occasional jutting diversion - of fun, love, or something that will outlast you - so the shape and motion of your life shall resemble the round lifegiving sun with bright rays shining forth from all directions. ~Destin Figuier

There is no hope for a civilization which starts each day to the sound of an alarm clock. ~Author Unknown

If people were meant to pop out of bed, we'd all sleep in toasters. ~Author unknown, attributed to Jim Davis

If you follow my blog, if you know me well, you know that I am definitely not a morning person. It is rude and unnatural to disturb a peaceful slumber. That is why for the last 6 years my morning routine has rarely varied. It has to be the same because I do not function well when my body has been thrown off of it's natural rythm by an alarm clock. One thing I always loved about my mornings was that I could get ready for work by myself becauseWarren was off to work at the butt crack of dawn. I'd muddle around the house with my eyes half open, cursing the gods of morning and wishing I could be more like my black lab who rises with ease as the sun pokes it's head above the horizon. He wiggles and shakes in his happiness to have woken up again. It's a brand new day, he says, every god damn single morning. It was a blessing that Warren wasn't here to see me in all my glory. He knows what's good for himself! I could be frustrated all by myself and I was perfectly fine with that.

Then one day, Warren got a new job and his schedule changed. He was now going to work the exact same hours as me,. Which meant of course that he was going to be here in the mornings getting ready with me. Now hear me when I say this - I really want to stay married, but with the way I work in the mornings, or should I say don't work, our love would soon grow stale, if not sour very fast. He would tire of my tragic morning mood and I would be more than ready to vent my pre-dawn frustrations. But I didn't have time to ponder because his new job was starting the next day. I couldn't let him start a new job by waking up to a miserable sourpuss. I held my breath as my alarm went off, sparking and waking up angry nerves in my body. I forced myself to smile but my lips were frozen in a scowl. I had to smile, it was the only thing that was going to get me through this. I kept trying but nothing was happening on my face. Finally, I used both hands to pull my lips into a smile and held it there. Eventually, my cheeks stopped fighting and my heart gave in and I was smiling. God dammit I was smiling at 6am. What the hell. Somehow I made it through the morning in an awkwardly cheerful mood. It became easier every morning. My smile was less forced and I actually looked forward to waking up. It's cool to get ready in the morning with Warren, the morning person. Where before I would have been bitter at any hint of happiness, I am now relishing in it. Without any planning, we naturally worked out a routine where we each get a few minutes of alone time. Time to drink our coffee and space out. It's cool and I really like it.

There have been setbacks. I've slept in a few times, pissed off at the alarm clock and forgetting to put my smile on. But they are fewer and farther apart. Could things be turning a new leaf for me? No, I will never like to be roused from my dreams but I have come to really cherish the time I get to spend with Warren and the dogs in the mornings. Plus it forces me to get up on time because if I don't then everyone is going to be running late. I don't think I have made it out of the house on time in 6 years, until now. So, a change of routine is good now and then, especially when it's unexpected. I'm learning to make friends with mornings although I'd like them better if they started later. It's a slow and sometimes painful process but I'm thinking that maybe we'll be good friends one day.

Absence Makes the Blog Grow Fonder

2009-12-10T18:55:00.000-08:00

Pardon my somewhat long absence from the blogosphere but things have been a bit hectic around here. I'll fill you in so put on a pot of brandy, sit downand and let's get started. My writing inefficiencies are due to three main issues that have come knockin at our door - mind you, we did not invite them.

First comes Thanksgiving. We are hanging at my sister's house drinking wine and catching up. We end up waiting a little extra longer than usual for the turkey to finish cooking (yes, it was defrosted the night before). By the time the turkey is done, we are buzzed and hungry. My sister sold her dining room table and turned her dining room into an office/library so we huddle in close together at her tiny kitchen table with the kids at a miniature table next to us. We pass the food around quickly and soon all is quiet as we start shoveling food into our mouths. There's no need to speak we are so hungry. Not a word is said. Ok, well some words were muttered here and there - pass the butter and more potatoes please. Soon we realize that our eyes were bigger than our stomaches and we start to moan. We tell the kids to go play while we recline in silence, holding our bellies, subtly unbuttoning our pants. Eventually we get the table cleared and the dishes washed. A child mentions we forgot to have dessert. No, honey, we didn't forget. We aren't having dessert. Mommy is going to be sick. Warren and I drive home in a semi food induced coma. Once in the confines of my home, I rush to slip out of my nice clothes and into my sweats. I sit on the couch drinking water and sucking on tums. The next morning I punish myself with an hour and a half walk. I take the dogs up to the mountain where we walk and walk and walk until I feel I have walked off every calorie. I'm feeling better as we drive over to Warren's aunt's house for our second thanksgiving dinner. I've already mentally prepared myself for tonight. Just a little of everything and stop before I'm full. I'm proud of myself as we drive home, I didn't overdo it. I spend the rest of the holiday weekend working out.

Second comes Sports. It's a busy time of year, you remember - basketball and football are in full swing. This year has brought our teams some seriously messed up karma. Our beloved Favre who is having his best year ever, throws 3 interceptions and has the worst game of his career. The Steelers lose their 4th game in a row in very lackluster performances and the Blazers lose key players Oden, Rudy and Outlaw to injuries for the rest of the season. These sports crisis are overwhelming and painful. We discuss them at length with family, friends and eachother - analyzing and strategizing with what's left of our teams and morning our losses.

Third and finally, two essential household items decide they no longer wish to live - our furnace and our computer. Our computer perished first. It caught a nasty winter virus that it could not fight. I decided to humanely put it down until my brother-n-law Daryl sent me a new operating system which flushed out the germs and now, as you can see, is as good as new. Then, on a wintry 21 degree night, we arrive home from work to find our heater blowing cold air. We called every oil furnace repair shop near and far but all their service men were already booked overnight, fixing those furnaces who called first for help. So we borrowed space heaters from our neighbor, put on our long underwear and hats, covered all the pipes and set all the faucets on drip. The 3 space heaters kept us from freezing although we blew a fuse every couple of hours. We had a 3 dog night and actually ended up staying pretty warm.

Needless to say, I've been a little distracted. I haven't forgotten about blogging, in fact, I've written more than a dozen in my head over the last couple of weeks. However, I've either been preocupied with winter sports woes, too full, too cold or lacking technology to write. So, I'm back. Put on another pot of brandy because the stories are about to begin.

Winter Maladies

2009-11-20T19:50:00.000-08:00

A bad cold wouldn't be so annoying if it weren't for the advice of our friends. ~Kin Hubbard

Winter's in Oregon are long and drawn out, damp, and cold. That's why I'm almost positive that we have the most alcoholics, the most bars with home brews per capita, the most overweight people, and the most home remedies for winter maladies that strike our sun-deprived souls. Depression strikes a lot. I mean who isn't depressed when you can't remember the last time you saw the sun. So we try to remedy our seasonal sadness by drinking with eachother in smokey bars. The velvety rich specials brews along with the greasy appetizers make the waist-lines expand. Often times we find ourselves rundown and laden with colds we'd worked so hard to avoid. 'Tis time to prepare for a battle. An herbal assault is waged against these winter micro-organisms.

Every person owns the patent for the secret to winter health. No two tonics are alike and probably differ widely outside of this lush green state of Oregon. However, there are two categories they all fall into: Prevent sickness and treat sickness. Basically we want to put off getting sick for as long as we can so we boost our immunity ahead of time, usually right after summer has left us and fall has just barely begun. We are northwesterners and we believe in our natives, thus we commence with tinctures of elderberry for strengthening our respiratory systems, western red cedar for increasing our white blood cells, oregon grape to purify our liver, and st johns wort to increase our happiness. Of course we include other non-natives like echinacea to increase resistance to viral invasion, goldenseal to ward off bacteria, and astragalus for deep and long immunity. We take in large amounts of vitamin C, eat extra kale and swiss chard, and exercise plenty. However, when we do succumb, we cannot wait to share our long lost family secrets to wellness or the latest trend which aids in decreasing the time we are convalescing.

If you are sick, I can supply you with not just the aforementioned therapies but I can let you in on some ancient secrets that will help ease your misery. If you're nose is plugged up, I know steam treatments and homeopathics that work well in draining cavities. If you have a cough I can ease it with coltsfoot and herbal cough remedies. If you crave a tincture that will make you sweat, sleep and feel good, if only temporarily, I will make you a whiskey-cayene hot toddy. I know two good ways to jump start your immune system - alternating hot and cold in the shower on your chest and going to bed with wet wool socks under dry cotton ones. Most of these are tried and true, by yours truly. However, there are a few that I have not had the opportunity to assess yet.

I always get a taste of my own medicine. If I am sick, all I want to do is lay under the covers and moan. The last thing I want to do is adhere to a wellness routine. Drink water? Forget it. I need a hamburger and salty fries because I can't taste anything with my plugged up nose. Sure I'll take my herbs and steam in the shower, that is, after I moan a while longer and try to sleep through my misery. But someone well-meaning soul will always ask me if I am following my own advice to get better. After which I will drag my sorry ass into the kitchen on a more regular basis to down my tinctures, swallow my hot toddies, then into the bathroom to submerge myself in hot steam.

This week I was completely laid out with an early winter cold. My husband being on the mend from the week before, probably thanks to my healthful advice, asked me if I was going to do the wet sock thing. The wet sock thing - oh you mean the thing that you wouldn't try when you were sick? Ah yes, but you did take my spoonfuls of cough syrup and chew the vitamin c and take shots of my herbal juice drinks. Ok, yes, I will take my own damn advice. I will wear the wet socks to bed. It seriously wasn't that bad. It was actually very soothing, relaxing and refreshing at the same time. And it was true, I woke up to completely dry socks. And I did feel a lot better.

I am back among the living now and I've just cracked open a winter ale to wash down my pizza as the weekend begins. It's forecasted to be cold and rainy for another 4 or 5 months. I'll be sure that tomorrow I remember to pick up that chinese herb my chiropractor told me about. He hasn't been sick in 3 years since taking it. And yes, I need to get a six-pack of that 100 proof holiday ale that is sold at only this time of year. Ah, I can see the crusade to achieve optimum winter health physically and mentally has begun, again.

A Loaded Holiday

2009-11-10T19:10:00.000-08:00

Happy-We-Stole-Your-Land-And-Killed-Your-People-Day!

~Thanksgiving toast, from the Movie Sweet November

I have serious trouble with the American Thanksgiving holiday. I think that over the hundreds of years, the real reasons for this holiday have become blurred and eventually forgotten.

Now don't get me wrong. I see nothing wrong with celebrating the fact that we are thankful for eachother and that we cook a wonderful meal and celebrate in thanks with family and friends. In fact, I relish in the family time the holiday offers and believe we should always be thankful to the spirits. But everytime I see a little thanksgiving nativity scene of pilgrims and indians feasting peacefully together, I want to throw up my pumpkin pie.

All I'm saying is that in a couple of weeks, when we sit down to bless our food, that we say a prayer of thanks that the circle of life continues and send a blessing of love to the original inhabitants of this land. And when a glass is raised in toast, our libations are about teaching the truth and making peace with the past.

A Day of Sentiments

2009-11-09T20:41:00.001-08:00

Go the extra mile. It's never crowded. ~Author Unknown

For someone who makes sure her schedule has plenty of downtime, Saturday was a rare exception. Not only was my day packed, but I traveled plenty of emotional miles. I awoke quite luxoriously (in otherwords, without my alarm clock) only to remember too soon that I needed to get going. After a long walk with the dogs in what appeared was going to be a gorgeous day, a quick pick up of the house and a couple of cups of coffee, it all began. They clouds turned dark and the sky opened up in a monsoon of torrent winds and pounding rain. An omen?

Not long after, my sister arrived with her husand and my 2 month old neice who were here from out of town for just a couple of hours. The purpose of their trip - to place their dog into the hearts and hands of a new family. As the rains flooded the streets and the storm flew in, they made the exchange quickly and arrived back at our house, soaked in tears. When their sorrow subsided a bit, we celebrated a long waited reunion with eachother as I held and pampered my plump little neice. They couldn't stay long but as I watched them drive away, it seemed like this moment in time had been a gift for my soul.

Before we knew it we were on the go again, this time headed for my other sister's house to celebrate my nephew's 15th birthday. As we drove onto the free way, the sun boldly pushed it's way through the gray creating the most beautifully intense double rainbow. The rainbow followed us for a while until I saw what it was telling me. There could be beauty even amongst storms.

At my sister's house, were my parents and my other sister. We celebrated this birthday with homemade chili, garlic bread and chocolate cake. I danced in a tiara with my neice, chased my nephews around the house, and coaxed the 15-year old into some camera shots with smiles. The house was crowded and the noise level was high. But every inch was filled with love and laughter. I relished in it.

When we arrived home, we had just begun to wind down when our evening company arrived, cousin Rae and her Peruvian love. We sat in the garage together around our new bar table amongst bottles of wine and beer, cigarettes, candles and music. We commiserated about life, laughed about our day, and ate lots of Tims jalepeno chips - all the while our dogs were chewing our couch pillows to shreds. Another celebration was in order, for Rae and Juan Carlos had announced their plans to marry eachother. Our fiesta turned to cheers of declared love.

As the evening wound down and our company departed, I sat relaxing in Warren's arms as we listened to a Bob CD as the storm outside continued. The rains would not cease today and I had no expectation anymore that they would. Today's weather was not an omen. Today's weather was a reflection of the day. As busy and as chaotic as it had been, the day was ultimately fulfilling. Every event today was a colorful mix of mournings, celebrations, miracles, and sacrifices. I easily gave every part of myself today, experienced a flood of emotions and I felt strangely at peace. I immersed my being into the lives of others and in doing so, my packed calendar was not so overbearing anymore. Yes, my downtime was at an all time low today, but the extra mile was worth everything.

The Land of Tears

2009-11-06T16:51:00.000-08:00

Let your tears come. Let them water your soul. ~Eileen Mayhew

I must have been tense. No, I know I was tense and irritable. I could have blamed it on PMS but really it was much more than that. Warren offered to give me backrub. In fact, he offers backrubs to me every night and I would be a fool to turn him down. But tonight when he offered, I resisted. I didn't want to feel better. Only because I knew I was a volcanoe ready to blow, I finally gave in. As his strong hands massaged my rock hard shoulders, I slowly resigned myself to feeling better. But with each kneading, I could feel overwhelming emotion building up and filling every inch of my cellular makeup. I swallowed hard, choking it back and in the process tensed up again. Dang it, I was going to have to let the monster loose. Instead of tensing, I exhaled and along with each movement of pressure, a tear was released. Over and over until tears were silently streaming down my face. Each tear that escaped me was leaving my heart a little bit lighter. When Warren saw my tears he gathered me into his arms and told me it was all ok. Even though my circumstances had not changed at all and I cried until the tears had decided they were done, I was well again and I could smile. Every now and then I visit the land of tears where the salty water flows freely and emotions are entrusted to another. I should not delay my trip so long next time!

Granddoggies Never Forget

2009-11-05T16:33:00.000-08:00

Elephants and grandchildren never forget. ~Andy Rooney

When grandma Pat met her first grand-puppy, Huckleberry, there was an immediate bond. Grandma wanted to spoil and Hucky wanted to be spoiled. She wrapped grandma pat just perfectly around her little paw. Hucky was just a puppy back then and was in what they call the 'chewing phase'. A phase in fact, that she has never grown out of 4 years later. She kept sneaking into the guest bedroom and stealing items from grandma's luggage but we'd catch her in the act everytime for she wasn't a very sophisticated thief at her young age. But she did put one up on us finally. Somebody left the guest room door open and when we realized what had happened it was too late. Grandma's slippers had been chewed to itsy bitsy pieces and were scattered all over the floor. Lucky for Hucky, grandma wasn't mad and she laughed and forgave her instantly.

The next time grandma visited, she actually brought an old pair of slippers for her to chew with permission even. However, Hucky was a bit older this time and had taken to ingesting the items she chewed now so we had to supervise the destruction of the slippers then take them away when she started swallowing the pieces. Over the next couple of years, it has remained a steady joke each and every time grandma comes to stay, Hucky makes a bee-line for her suitcase, perfecting her thief-like stealthiness each time. Last summer grandma unknowingly left her slippers behind. We had no idea because we cleaned the guest room and didn't see anything left anywhere. However, not long after grandma left, we walked in to find Hucky happily taste testing grandma's forgottten slippers.

This year, grandma arrived as usual and as we absentmindedly stood around hugging and swapping gifts and giving welcome hugs, suddenly Hucky came flying out of the guest room with one of grandma's pink slippers in her mouth. Her eyes were wide, her tail was wagging and she pranced around the room as she gave the slippers the death shake. Then she looked right at grandma all proud of her find. Hucky never forgets. Never, ever. She sees her grandma and she immediately thinks that grandma has brought her slipper treats again. Makes sense you know? Us girls never forgot the specials we got to partake of at our grandparents houses for they always had their kitchens stocked with our favorite indulgences we rarely got at home - candy bars, sugar cereal, root beer floats, ice cream, white bread and real butter.

I'm happy that grandma and hucky get along well. They are both tough mamas and you wouldn't want to mess with either one of them. However, they have hearts of gold and will love you, support you and stand by you loyally until the end of time, oh and they both love slippers!

Bank of the Cosmos

2009-11-01T17:18:00.000-08:00

My poverty is not complete: it lacks me. ~Antonio Porchia 1943

Be content with what you have, rejoice in the way things are. When you realize there is nothing lacking, the whole world belongs to you.
~ Lao Tzu

Like I've said before, I was born and raised to spot a good deal. It never mattered if you could afford the item full price. More importantly, the question was - could you get that item cheaper elsewhere? Always, that is how I have lived my life. In fact I have never really thought twice about it. The whole money thing has always been really wierd to me. When I was a self-employed gardener, I bartered a lot. I'd weed your yard and you'd give me a massage. I'd weed your parking strip and I'd get a free chiropractic adjustment. It's not really about keeping tabs though. It's about accepting payment enough to satisfy a category of need, but not beyond it.

I've always lived paycheck to paycheck squeezing in splurges for a night out with my friends, a gourmet dinner for a birthday, or a bbq at my house for a summer fiesta. Oh ok, and a trip to Value Village now and then.

We've furnished our house with items found on sidewalks on trash day, discounted at the local second-hand store or willed to us by family. I love the outdoors so much that when we decorate our house, I try to bring the outdoors in, adorning the table tops with plants rather than nicknacks. I found my own style of clothing and find the best deals in my sisters' closets, friends giveaways or at value village. I'm proud anytime I find a good deal and can bring it home.

Every now and then we go through a rough moment in time. A delayed paycheck, an unexpected bill, a car breaks down, temporary unemployment... All of which puts a small damper on our fun. Obviously we aren't frivolous spenders, but when a lack of money means I can't get my bottle of wine or cheese to go on my burrito, things appear to get tough. But only momentarily. All I have to do is look around me and I'm in total awe of what I have, not only physically, but spiritually. I'm in tune with nature, in connection with my spirit helpers, in love with my husband, my family knows I adore them and that is all that matters. Let me say that again, in the end, that is all that matters. I'm not going to stress about tomorrow. I've never needed much in the way of material things. But I have always found it vital to have a full spiritual connection with the web of life. I am not poor by any standards. I have eliminated the parts I do not need. I am cultivating a healthy abundance of spritual fortune in my bank of the cosmos. And I will always be on the lookout for a good deal.

Delicious Autumn

2009-10-31T14:30:00.000-07:00

Last weekend my mother-n-law came to visit. I'm sure it was to see us of course but the real purpose of her visit was to absorb herself in the mosaic of fall colors. She loves this season most of all, which is why we can always expect a visit around now. Her arrival was perfect timing for a harvest road trip. We met her at the airport, grabbed breakfast and before we knew it we were on our way to Hood River, home of the famous Fruit Loop. I could tell you this celebrated loop was just a bunch of farms selling off the last of their summer's bounty but that wouldn't even come close to the experience.

As we arrived in Hood River, we followed signs that put us on a tiny two lane road. Not sure where to begin or find the first farm, we drove for a bit and marveled at the glorious colors around us. Every way you looked were tall dark forests of green pines and flaming yellow and orange trees shimmering in the morning sun, almost lighting our way. And yes, it was sunny, the only day predicted in the last two weeks and in the following two weeks to be dry and warm.

Our first stop was a winery in an old plantation house. We tasted a couple of wines, bought some of our favorite red pears and hopped in the car. Farm after farm, we found earthly delights and delectable seasonal fare to tempt our taste buds. One farm had a kitten for sale. I carried that little black ball of fur around with my trying in vain to get my husband to hold him. He knew, one touch and we'd be bringing another kitty home. We tasted our first pear pie. It was so good that we inquired about the recipe. Turns out it was a secret family recipe that my mother-n-law was determined to acquire. She sent us out to the fields to play and when she returned, we had us the recipe to the pear pie!

At another farm, we petted the world's wierdest looking alpacas, and devoured apple cider donuts. Eventually we met up with aunts, uncles and cousins at the German apple festival. While the adults gobbled up sausages, sauer kraut and fresh pressed cider, I perused the aisles and aisles of apples, taste testing and filling my bag these wonders of nature. Yodelers filled the air with far away songs and kids ran through the endless rows of apple trees.

Finally, as we were closing in toward the end of the Fruit Loop, we arrived at the farm I had been dying to get to. Apple Valley Farms. For they were serving up fried biscuits and apple butter, huckleberry milkshakes and pear brandy. Oh if that weren't heavenly enough, the inside store was filled with open jars of every kind of berry jam you could think of. When we left there, we were so full we weren't sure we'd make it home.

However, we had one more stop and that was the lavendar farm. Even though the lavendar beauty had already been harvested, the relaxing smell was enough to make you want to lie down in their fields and take a long afternoon nap. We met Bubba, a 90-year old, feisty woman who every year, presses the lavendar to make the oils, lotions and potions. We promised we'd see her again next year as we reluctantly returned to our car to head home.

As we drove home, it was difficult to leave this delicious autumn beauty behind. It's been just a week since then and already the trees are almost bare, their leaves now laying a carpet of colorful hues on the earth's floor. My distress over how swiftly this season passes us by, was taking comfort in knowing that what we lose in flowers and colors, we more than gain in a bounty of late harvests and other pleasures. All of which will make our winter dinner gatherings all the more warm and enchanting and seasoned with sweet memories of a season departed.

An Old Fashion Love Song

2009-10-20T19:05:00.000-07:00

An old man in love is like a flower in winter. ~ Portuguese Proverb

I shall not die of having a cold. I shall die of having lived. ~Willa Cather

We went to a funeral today. The celebration of life was for Cliff, a vivacious man who danced through life with a smile for 92 years. His wife Jan, 20 years his junior, is our neighbor. We met Jan just over 5 years ago. We chatted over the fence as she hung her laundry out to dry. Mesmerized by this tough broad, we became instant friends and took it upon ourselves to look after her. Cliff got sick just after we met and for the next 5 years, Jan devoted herself to caring for him at home. When we got news that Cliff had gone on to the spirit world, we rushed to her side to be sure she wasn't alone. No, exactly the opposite, she was surrounded immediately by family and friends.

At the memorial service today, the story unfolded, telling the more intimate details of Cliff and Jan's love story. They met at a dance. He was 80 and she was 60. It was love at first sight. She asked him to dance and that was that. They became solid fixtures at every dance in town. Everyone adored this dancing couple who only had eyes for eachother. We perused the family photo album that was out on display. Most of the pictures were action shots - Jan twirling in Cliff's arms both with huge smiles; arms around eachother looking lovingly into eachothers eyes; mouths wide open giggling about something only they were privvy to.

You could feel the love, you could sense the love, there was no doubt there was love in the chapel today. 150 people came to show their love of Cliff and to support Jan. I watched as Cliff's younger brother listened to the service. I tried to imagine what he was feeling by gaging his outer emotions and the energy around him. I could see he was deeply hurt but he was being strong. I could see he loved his brother. He nodded at the open casket when he passed by it. I left at that moment because I couldn't endure living his or Jan's heartache. My heartaches are sure to come. Today was a reminder. Instances like these, we tend to re-examine our lives. Today I was reminded that I am still alive.

Mark THAT on the Calendar

2009-10-19T20:08:00.000-07:00

Once in a blue moon, my wonderful husband will adore a dish I randomly cook for dinner. Now check this out. He is the worlds MOST pickiest eater. If it's not traditional bland american, he is quite skeptical and will not usually even taste it just to see if he might miraculously like it. Even if he does taste it, he won't like it because he has already convinced himself otherwise.

We've been together about 11 years and he honors me with at least one dish annually that he absolutely loves. He raves about how good it is, takes seconds and calls his mom to tell her to try this recipe. He tells me I can cook this any night of the week, every week. The problem is, I can't recreate the dish. For it is an anomole. Yeah so I had a recipe and I can give you the recipe. But it will never taste like it did tonight. Why, do you ask. I have a little bit of a hard time following the actual recipe. Like a pianiast who plays by ear, I cook by taste. And not to sugar coat it, I just cannot follow a recipe. Try as I might (and I do try), I always have to add just a little bit of that, a little less of this and oooh, just a touch of something that cannot be found in the recipe ingredients list - all of this making the dish intrigingly unique.

When the meal is prepared, cooked and ready to be tasted, I always wonder, will he like it? If his particular tastes do not approve, he will still eat it but I will see he's not pleased by every blink of his eye, every hesitant bite he takes and the careful avoidance of the phrase 'Mmm, this is good' for fear I may cook it again. But when he likes it, and I mean really likes it, I mark THAT recipe on the calendar and I run to a corner in my mind and try to recall each and every little thing I put in that dish. I say a silent prayer to the gods of dinnertime that my cooking karma stays on the good side. And no matter what, I stand up straight and tall with my head held high, proud of my wondrous culinary moment in time. Because as Harriet van Horn says "Cooking is like love. It should be entered into with abandon or not at all".

Its Up To You

2009-10-15T19:12:00.000-07:00

The last of the human freedoms is to choose one's attitude in any given set of circumstances. ~Victor Frankl

My biggest challenge yet. Every day life happens and it presents me with opportunities to react. To react in a myriad of ways. Each time I must choose, it's up to me, to decide how to respond. My reaction time to these life moments has always been a bit dramatic. Usually there I am, jumping the gun, putting my foot in my mouth, regretting those damn words that escaped my lips before I could censor them or cut them off completely.

I've been putting myself through boot camp lately. Actually for about a year now, maybe longer because I don't really know when I started this. But I have given myself permission to slow down when life happens. Take a second to absorb, take some deep breaths, and try to wrap my brain and heart around what has just transpired. How I react can set the tone. The tone with which the new path this circumstance is taking me. No one can take that away from me. It is an inside choice. I reach down inside myself and scoop out whatever it is that I need. Courage, hope, self control, respect, ambition, love, compassion. Whatever it may be, I've got it in reserve somewhere deep within me. Always.

If I so choose, I can be stubborn. Oh yes can I be stubborn. It's the bull in me, the Taurus bull. But that's the thing. I can willfully push away what I am given and what I already have, or I can determinedly reach out my arms and embrace life. It's up to me.

A New Leash On Life

2009-10-14T18:59:00.000-07:00

We made many minor mistakes as young doggie parents do, but one that we corrected right away was the length of our puppies' leashes. Falling prey to colorful displays in the pet stores, we bought our three dogs each a collar with a matching 5-foot leash. Even though they were now styling and hip pups, soon we found out during walking all three dogs at the same time that they could wrap us up like spaghetti noodles on a spoon. Meandering back and forth all over the sidewalks to sniff, their leashes would tangle and soon we were all in a knotted mess. So we took to wrapping each leash around our wrists until the leashes were short enough to allow them to only dream of wandering towards each and every wonderful smell. But that grew old soon enough. When one dog decided to poop, we'd have to unwrap the leashes to let them go do their business and then re-wrap everything again. Things were just getting too complicated.

I was leaving my current job at the time and my co-workers, who knew of my animal kingdom at home, gave me a gift certificate to a fancy dog store as a parting gift. As Warren and I perused this up-scale dog boutique, we couldn't really imagine ourselves with any of these hoity toity doggie items. I mean seriously, we had labs, they would chew up just about anything. Then we came across these 2 foot leashes and something clicked. How easy it would be to control the dogs with these. Why hadn't we known about these earlier? Was this something only wealthy dog owners knew about? I only foresaw one problem, they weren't really cool looking. Just plain black. Dang, didn't they have some cool patterned ones somewhere? Well, we were looking for practical right? So we bought three of them and headed home to try them out. Oh it was a dream come true. Walks become joyous and no longer a twisted jungle of leashes.

So things stayed pretty much the same for the next 3 or so years. Then Huckleberry's 4th birthday approached. Labs are supposed to begin to mellow around the age of 4 right? Would our little girl who prided herself on her passionate view of life, even slighty be tamed? Warren decided that as a big girl now who understood and followed very well the rules of dog walking, deserved a brand new leash. Not just any leash, mind you, a big girl leash. A leash that was 5 feet long. Oh boy this was a massive undertaking. A gamble. Would she behave on it? Since it was her birthday, we opted to take her for a walk all by herself to try out the new leash. As we walked down the street, she slowly realized that she had some lee-way here and there. As soon as she figured that out, she began prancing with her head help up high. Oh how she had longed for us to see her as a big girl. Just like any young dog, you give them a few extra feet of leash and they take full advantage. Soon she was bounding ahead of us and then stopping abruptly to sniff something only dogs can smell. Our lovely walk was fast becoming a race to keep up with where Huckleberry wanted to go next. As much as we hated to rain on her parade, we roped her in and made her heel. She listened pretty well after her initial excitement but she still held her head high because she had a new leash on life now, she was four now and her brothers didn't get to be in on this game. It was all about her and that was the best birthday present we could have ever given her.

The Big Yawn

2009-10-14T18:23:00.000-07:00

I knew it was coming, I could smell it in the air. But it's here and it's here in full swing. I"m talking about Fall, the last season of color. Intense colors that serve as powerful reminders to commit the beauty to memory, because soon, that is all it will be, a distant memory. The chilly winds remove the leaves from the trees one by one, exposing the bare branches. It's like mother nature is inhaling and exhaling in a big yawn, getting ready for her long winter's slumber.

Undercover

2009-10-01T16:41:00.000-07:00

"I must do something" always solves more problems than "Something must be done."

~Author Unknown

Last night my friend Deb came to visit. She always laughs because she says whenever she comes over, there is always some sort of excitement and drama that surrounds her visit. One time there was a prostitution bust right in front of our house, another time it was homeless cats vying (very loudly) for our front yard as new territory, police cars not-so-randomly driving by or parked in surveillance down the street, an ambulance arriving at a neighbors house, chasing someone's dog that's on the loose and sometimes it's just ventings of our own personal dramas.

So last night, when Deb arrived, my first thought was, we needed a mission and I had just the idea for one. We would go undercover in the hood and do some investigating for a non-profit I volunteer for that rescues chained dogs. She agreed full-heartedly to my mission and off we went, well, almost. Logic was beyond us in our hurried excitement so luckily Warren suggested we bring one of our dogs with us. We chose to bring Tahoe, our scrappy little brown dog and ultimate protector, not to mention he is Deb's personal favorite of our three amigos.

As we arrived near the neighborhood we fondly call 'felony flats', I went over the steps of our mission. Act like we were just out on a walk with our dog. Find the suspect house that has the chained dog. Gather the dog's general health, situation and location. Do not interact with the household members. If I can, snap a picture as evidence. Man, I should have been a PI. This is thrilling fun!

It was getting dark as it does this time of year, but we took Tahoe and started walking the hood. A large and luckily fenced dog came rushing at us, barking and alerting everyone we were not from around here. Geesh, dog, please, we are doing a good deed here. Quiet now! On we walked, further and further away from our escape vehicle. I wasn't really all that scared because Tahoe will very impolitely eat anyone or anything that attempts to mess with us. Plus, I am here and undercover for the sake of a dog who is being chained and mistreated. Need I say more. We passed by this house surrounded by chain link fence. The only thing that drew me to look it's way was the flashes of light coming from the other side of the house that seemed to light up the night sky. That's when I saw it, the dog house. I knew it was the right house as you do with these kinds of instinctual things. But I couldn't see the dog, yet, so we walked passed the house and down the street before we turned back around to get a better look. As we approached the house again, I was able to see who was possibly one of the occupants. A large, no, let's say very large Samoan looking man working under his attached garage. He looked up momentarily at us but without giving us a second thought, went back to his work. Phew! Close call. No blown cover just yet.

As we rounded the other side of the house, I gave Deb the leash and she walked slightly ahead with Tahoe. I walked slowly up to the fence to view the dog house. That's when I saw the chain. I followed the length of the chain for a few feet to find myself looking straight into the eyes of a little black puppy sitting atop a mess of white fuzz of what appeared to once have been his dog bed. He didn't bark and I didn't make any attempt to communicate. I had to get a picture. I snapped a couple of pictures and then I sent him message from my mind to his - I am here to help you. You will be rescued. Don't lose hope. Then I glanced around me to be sure all was safe and slid off into the night to meet up with Deb and Tahoe. Luckily she was thinking straight and asked me to 'take another picture of them', so I did. Good call on her part. That way if anyone saw the flashes they would think we were just taking pictures of each other.

Mission accomplished we walked quickly but as normally as we could back to the car. Once safely inside the confines of locked doors and rolled-up windows, we breathed a sigh of relief. Deb thanked me for another adventurous visit and I thanked her for obliging to be my accomplice on this undercover assignment. I had to go report my findings now and we parted ways for the evening. Although I did feel a lot like a kid playing Nancy Drew, there was a more serious side to this - a motivation and compassion of the heart to be one of the many hands helping to save these innocent dogs. I can guarantee you I'd do it again in a heartbeat.

Super Star

2009-09-26T19:58:00.000-07:00

Leave me alone. Go away and stop bothering me. Leave us all alone for that matter. We don't need you, we can figure it out amongst ourselves. I'm talking about this world we live in. It's so lame. Do this, eat that, buy this, have that. Is that all that is important? Where did you get so lost? When did you forget what matters? Relationships are where it's at. Connect the dots and you will see that we are all in this together. Love yourself, love eachother, love the earth, love the universe. You got to realize. Realize your priorities. That is what I'm sayin to you. Lose the facade, ditch the wish list of material things and start filling your re-usable bag with soul food. You and me are here because we chose to be here. I can tell you will not stop bugging me so I will shut you out, ignore you. I can live without your shallow materialism. For I am a star. My spirit came to earth for this experience and I will not let you misguide me. Open open open open your eyes and see the brilliance of this world. Many, too many in fact, have forgotten, so start now while you can. Resist the urge to lose yourself in the way of life that is almost in a way directed and demanded of us. You can live in the here and now and be happy. Hold onto your strength and your confidence and find the wonderful in today, in this very moment. Remain strong and confident, even when at times you only have a small thread to hold onto. You are stronger than this world, than this body you live in. You are a super star.

How It Happens

2009-09-25T20:00:00.001-07:00

So this is how it happens, the urgency, the anxiousness - the need to do something. But what? Start a project, rearrange my houseplants, go to vallue village? No, I need to write. I need to go to that place in my head and get lost for a while in my thoughts and I need to do it now. If there's no time, I'll jot down the concept to recall later. But when I do sit down and begin to type, I settle in and prepare to be carried away. My mind re-focuses and directs itself toward my intention. I am drawn further and further into the universe of my thoughts as they begin to take form and become words. This is the only moment that exists right now but strangely that feels ok. Soon my story is told and there are no more words to say. The trance begins to lift and a sense accompolishment rushes over me. Hurriedly, I publish my post and and view my blog to re-live what just poured out of my soul. I exhale contently and resume my life. And that is how it happens.

Soul Practice

2009-09-23T15:39:00.000-07:00

Be not afraid of growing slowly, be afraid only of standing still. ~ Chinese proverb

So, as a spiritual being on a human journey, I am always renewing my soul. Sometimes it's a massage, time at the beach, a long walk in the mountains, a big long hug; or sometimes it's about more about a small change to a regular routine. I was vegetarian for 14 years. That small change to my diet lasted a while. It was good and it really opened my eyes to a lot of things I hadn't known about before. I added long jogs to my daily routines, a small hour in a long day but well worth the mental cleanse it gives me. I stopped wearing makeup years ago. A small change to my appearance but a vanity that I did not want to focus on anymore. Because of a lack of adequate funding and an insane urge for a good deal, I started shopping at second hand clothing stores. A small change to my wardrobe but a thrill each time I find cool clothes for dirt cheap. I started eating local and organic, buying less packaging, focusing more on friends and family, smiling at strangers, and on and on. These small changes happened one by one and over time. That must be why our elders are so wise. They have had many years to practice.

As is part of my nature, I am going to begin intentionally walking a new yet well worn path of soul practice. It consists of precepts (teachings, instructions) of which I will pick one per week that I will mindfully meditate and place my focus on. Some of these precepts will be those of Thich Nhat Hanh (pronounced Tik · N'yat · Hawn) who is a Buddhist monk living in exile in France. He's only exiled from Vietnam because he tried to teach the people of his country about peace but apparently that was labeled as a communistic activity so he had to leave. I like his teachings and have come across quotations from him so often that I have decided it is a sign. A sign for me to acknowledge that I need to expand upon the inner depths of my soul and help quiet my mind. I was never one for sitting in a classroom. I learn hands on and at my own pace. I will be my own teacher but let the words of the wise ones and the spirits guide me.

And in the very own words of Thich Nhat Hanh I conclude with this: "Do not believe that I feel that I follow each and every of these precepts perfectly. I know I fail in many ways. None of us can fully fulfill any of these. However, I must work toward a goal. These are my goal. No words can replace practice, only practice can make the words."

May the Wind Take Your Troubles Away

2009-09-19T23:00:00.000-07:00

(not using proper punctuation tonight). i have a little bit of angst in me. i always do this time of year, mid september. the hot dry month of august is over, the sky sends down mists of rain here and there, the sun makes less daily appearances and the warm yet slight cool winds roll in. yet i can still wear my flip flops and get away without a sweatshirt at night.

i'm just not ready to give up my summer freedom yet. i love drinking my coffee in the backyard on weekday mornings, watching the sun rise as the dogs noses rise to read the morning air. i sit barefoot in the evenings out by the fire or i wander down to the neighbors with my hair in a bun on top of my head, shorts and glass of wine. no hesitation. it's all about a level of comfortableness that is thoroughly and satisfyingly achieved with ease. but that is all about to change and everyone senses it.

the mornings are little cooler, night falls slightly earlier than usual, and the internal debate is on if i need a sweatshirt or not or if i should put that warmer blanket on the bed at night. it's a little bit of denial and a little sense of excitement. the winds of change are near. if the seasons did not change, neither would we. it is time to prepare, it is an instinctual time. gather the harvests, stock up on necessities, begin to modify our wardrobes, all with the feeling of an eventual slowdown, a sort of hibernation you could say.

it's good that things don't stay the same. it makes me stronger and more aware of my surroundings. every shift in the seasonal climate affects me. i look forward to the different pace as much as i silently refuse to acknowledge it. summer time to me is when i get to be fully me, in the au naturale. hair long and wild, tanned arms and legs, barefeet, sundresses, skirts and tanktops. a light glow from the heat of the mid summer sun and fans blowing in every room. it is intoxicatingly lazy, for the overwhelming heat of the day prohibits you from doing a thing. that is my nature. my toes are never scrubbed clean and my nails have a permanent case of garden dirt tones.

yet if things stayed that way, there would be nothing to continually awake my senses, alerting me to pay attention and prepare for a change. i am just as much comfortable in my summer skin as i am in my fall, winter and spring skins. it's just the settling into and accepting of the coming cooler season that is troublesome at first. there's a secret in the air now. it is the wind that will carry any lingering troubles away and breathe the change with me. and soon, it will be just as fun to drink my my morning coffee bundled up warm in my robe and long socks, snuggled next to my husband, my dogs and of course, the heater.

The Most Wonderful Time of the Year

2009-09-10T21:43:00.000-07:00

Football is not a game but a religion, a metaphysical island of fundamental truth in a highly verbalized, disguised society, a throwback of 30,000 generations of anthropological time. ~Arnold Mandell

Summer isn't yet over but Fall isn't quite here. We're kind of in limbo, seasonally speaking. But it is actually the most wonderful time of the year, for today, football season began. It is the first step towards summer's end. School just started, the sun is showing itself less and less, clouds dominate the sky and the yearly family and friends football pool is officially on.

Every Saturday will become filled with the urgent rush to get all chores and to do lists completed because every Sunday will be come sacred. Where you set your alarm clock to be sure you have enough time to get set up on the couch where you will spend the remainder of the day. Or if your team isn't being shown on regular TV, you haul your tired ass to a bar where you will wash down hashbrowns and eggs with too many bloody mary's. Either way, the whole day, or at least for the next 8 hours, you live and breathe football. Trips to the bathroom or for a smoke are timed perfectly for commercials. Foods are ordered in and by delivery. Half-time is left with just enough time to call your friends and family to discuss the first half highs and lows yet still leaves you rushing back to the couch to catch the beginning of the 3rd quarter, hopeful that the short rest gives your team the undeniable urge to win it for you.

As your team volleys back and forth between injuries, sacks, dropped balls, victory runs and amazing catches, you look hard at the football pool spreadsheet of picks. If you are victorious, will this win put you in the lead, tie you with your arch-rival, leave you bummed cuz you're dead last? Finally, in the last game of the day when the game clock hits 0 seconds, win or lose, there is a sense of accomplishment. You have vast new knowledge of each team and how they rank that week. Then you start thinking about next weeks game and discuss the possible outcomes.

I don't know why I like football and I have gone over this many times it my mind. The short season, 17 weeks, 1 day per week (usually), is easy to follow. The excitement of those few weeks is electric because every single game counts. Playoffs lead to the most celebrated should-be holiday of every year - the super bowl. Even the rules of the game itself can be caught onto easily. There's a fierce competitiveness that surfaces - people and bars are choreographed into team colors and paraphenalia extravaganzas. Plus, the fact that these players don't mind being clobbered over and over is almost like you have to keep seeing it to believe it. Thank you to replays, we can re-live those important game moments.

When it really comes down to it though, football season rules because as the winter months set in and we are homebound and wrapped up warm next to our heaters, for 17 weeks straight, we are in continual close touch with our friends and family members who are in the football pool. The texting, emails and phone calls go overboard as we send messages to eachother wishing luck or talking shit. So tonight, as tradition called for, we spent the opening night of football, eating sliders, drinking lemon drops, lounging on the couch and ending the night with our first win. Let the season begin!

Interruptions of the Mind

2009-09-09T21:00:00.000-07:00

Breath is the bridge which connects life to consciousness, which unites your body to your thoughts.

-- Thich Nhat Hanh

Remember that commercial - 'Calgon, Take Me Away' - with the busy woman who just needed to get away from it all so she took a soapy, perfumy, chemical-filled bubble bath? Give me a break, when was the last time I've had time to take a bath and I wouldn't touch our bathtub with a ten-foot pole because I haven't gotten my request to have a maid yet. But no matter... We've all been there, in total shock, in pain, in disbelief, in awe, in excitement, in sadness, in anger, in stress, where we forgot to breath and someone said, 'Just breath', and you did. Such a simple idea but so hard to do in those moments of chaos. Yet that gentle reminder helps you slip back into reality but this time with a renewed focus and a sense of calm.

It is true, breathing is the means we use to merge our body and soul. I found that out when I was taking hot yoga a couple of years ago. My first class was quite an awakening. The room was heated to 105 degrees and we were holding poses for long moments of time. The combination of the heat, sweat pouring out of me like niagra falls, concentrating on holding a position meant for a cat would make me forget to breathe. It must have been a common occurrence because our teacher constantly reminded us to breathe. She told us that we needed to focus only on our breathing which would take us away from the heat and the pain. She said after practicing, we would eventually find our breath. I had no idea what that meant so I just kept trying. But I soon found out. Probably 3 classes in, I wasn't even concentrating on remembering to breathe. I realized that I was naturally breathing and extremely centered. What amazed me was how quiet my mind had become. I wasn't worrying about the extreme heat or fighting with the continual nuances and interruptions that flow in and out of my head. As long as I breathed, I remained tranquil.

I've held onto this philosophy and made it a way of life for myself. When I get stressed out, I take 3 deep, long, slow breaths. Those breaths renew my sense of calm and help me prepare to deal with the present in a buddah-minded way. I can breathe subtly if there is no way for me to escape my situation or I can go hide in a bathroom stall and breathe deeply there (and roll my eyes and make faces at the wall).

Breathing will get me through those moments but there are other pieces to this puzzle of obtaining a calm mind. Breathe first, the forgive and let it go. Forgive yourself, forgive the other person and say it over and over and over until you believe it. This could take a while. Then let it go. It's seriously easy to let it go once you forgive. And don't reheat it for breakfast, ever. The final step is to absorb yourself in a strenuous activity - hot yoga, an extra long walk or jog, hike or ride your bike up a big hill, sex, etc... My philosophy is that if you get your heart rate up and get your breathing going for a period of time, you actually release (and sweat out) any lingering issues that are stubbornly staying in your mind.I don't know but it works for me. And I think you should give it a try - more than once. And if it doesn't work, and you are going to resort to a bubble bath, at least get the kind without perfume and chemicals!

Betty Crocker From Hell

2009-08-23T18:43:00.000-07:00

'Tis the season. The season for Rhubarb, my all time favorite ingredient for pie. RP (Rhubarb Pie) - that's what my grandma called it. She knew just how much I loved RP. Everytime we came over to visit her, she'd say "Oh Sarah, come look. I made you 3 RP's". Rhubarb is an acquired tasted. Most people have one of two opinions about it - they love it or they think it's gross. As the former of the two, I lose no chance to take advantage of Rhubarb harvests.

This weekend, I was lounging out in the sun when I heard a chainsaw right behind me. I looked up to see the tree that is growing between my fence and my neighbors fence was being cut down. Holy sheeez, I thought, that's our 73-year old neighbor Jan with a chainsaw! I jumped up and grabbed Warren out of his peaceful mid-afternoon slumber. We had to go help her, not that she isn't quite the most bad-ass elderly woman I have ever encountered, she is. But she was going to need to some help. Luckily, her neice was there but still. So, we arrived at her house and began helping catch the branches she was sawing off, dragging them to the front and loading them in the truck. When we finished, Jan disappeared for a few minutes. She came back with an armload of freshly picked, you guessed it, Rhubarb for me. Now I love receiving locally farmed food as gifts, but Rhubarb was an extra-special blessed delight. As I proudly walked home I could almost taste the RP I was soon going to make.

I searched epicurious and found 2 good recipes for RP. I combined them and rearranged them to my liking and went to work cooking. The recipe - Strawberry, Raspberry Rhubarb Pie with cinammon and orange peel and a butter brown sugar crumbling topping. I meticulously followed my recipe, enjoying every moment as I chopped my precious Rhubarb. I displayed my masterpiece to Warren and put it in the oven to do it's magic.

About a half hour later, I checked my RP and saw that it was going to possibly bubble over a little and since our oven is pretty new, I didn't want to have a mess. I got out cookie pan to slide under it to catch any drips. As I began to slip the pan under the tilting pie dish, something happened. As I look back now, it had to have been a blip in my common sense. I should have been more careful. I mean this was RP. Somehow, don't ask me how, the pie flipped over in the middle of the oven and as it did I jumped in horror knocking the pie straight to the bottom of the oven burner and bumped the oven door which slammed closed on my finger. A bundle of expletives followed along with painful cries and a heart crushed. After I could breathe again, I tentatively opened the oven door. There was my beautiful half cooked pie smooshed all over the bottom of the oven with bits of berry and rhubarb mash hanging off the oven racks and burning into charcoal and smoke.

Warren came running to see what on earth I had done this time in the kitchen. He helped me clean up the sticky mess as he said, "Oh I am so sorry Sarah, your Rhubarb Pie, Oh I am soo sorry. " You know he was thanking the good lord above that he would now not have to endure a taste testing of my pie for he was not born a Rhubarb lover. After I got over the initial shock, embarrassment and pissed offness of losing my beloved Rhubarb Pie, I finally laughed and figured so much for trying to be little Miss Pie Cooker Homemaker. I am a Betty Crocker from hell. Instead, I think I will have a glass of wine and walk down to our local cafe and buy myself a slice of homemade RP, I mean, the worst that can happen is they won't have any right? Ok, let's not go there.

So Done

2009-08-21T21:00:00.001-07:00

I am so done.

This way of life is too pre-determined

It holds me to this track on which the expected way of life travels

I resist by jumping from the train cars

Smash landing into my own free will

Light and easy I frolic in my alternative existence.

But that train catches up with me, throws me back on, slapping an itinerary in hand

Temporarily stripped of my individuality and free-roaming thoughts,

I am bound for a course of destruction.

My spirit will not allow it.

I will play the game for you, but in this case I will cheat.

Parts of my star-like quality will leak out, spreading their infectious flashes of seemingly frivolous

Connections to something deeper, something more alive.

So I am done.

I will ride the train of rules but only when necessary.

I will dodge the well worn paths,

And take hidden trails,

slashing my way through a jungle less explored.

I'm not irresponsible,

I am accountable.

Accountable for keeping it real.

Fuck corporate culture.

I can do it myself!

Transition

2009-08-21T20:10:00.000-07:00

After taking a much needed vacation break of 12 days, I woke up for my first work day on Wednesday - on time, too! I was well rested, my mind was calm, and I was eager to begin my regular routine again. Don't get me wrong, I would have been more than happy to extend my vacation indefinitely, but that just is not in my forecast for a while. Needless to say, everything soon caught up with me. Things began to return back to normal soon enough - not enough hours in the day to get my work done, tired when I get home, re-assuming routine responsibilities, wore me out by the 3rd day back. Now I don't have kids and can pretty much pick and choose when to relax but I do have a life. I had to get back in touch with friends, sisters, parents, my blog, bills, grocery shopping, watering the yard, and of course, my daily jogs with the dogs. Today is Friday and I am plum out of energy. The only way I can deal is to prepare myself a smashing double vodka and pomengranate juice cocktail. After two, I am feeling mighty warm and finally, yes, finally, relaxed. I made my list to do for the weekend, dividing it up so I am sure to have time to nap and lay out in the last of the summer sun. I really do not believe in working so hard that life passes me by. In fact, it would be much preferrable for me to work 3 days a week, volunteer 2 days a week and take the other two days to do whatever I please. But even though we live a meager way life, I still cannot afford to have that kind of a schedule. So, if I am going to have to work 5 days a week for 8 hours a day, I have to be willing to let things go. And most importantly, as I transition from the easiness of vacation life back to reality, I have to hold on to a piece of the alternative reality to keep me going. Life can be busy and consuming but only at times. I CAN choose to relax. As I transition from vacation mode to regular life, my weekend list to do is written but there is no use worrying about what needs to be done tomorrow because that is all in the future. And what I re-learn from each vacation is that now is most important. Vacations are all about now. Who cares what we are eating tonight, we will worry about that when it is time. Now is all I have. Now is more fun. With light preparations for the future, now is all that matters, now is all I have time for.

Beach Cruisers

2009-08-14T20:10:00.000-07:00

Diamond Lake was our vacation destination this summer. Two cars, one piled with kids and parents, the other with grandparents and Warren and I, we drove 4 hours through the southern Oregon forests until we arrived at the resort hidden carefully in the mountains. Our little cabins rested on the south lakefront overlooking the docks of boats and choppy waters. The lodge and general store lay just within a stone’s throw. Upon further exploration, Warren found a bike rental shop. Without hesitation, we rented two beach cruisers and set upon the 11 mile bike trail around the lake.

The trail first took us through the campground that had served as a 24 hour pit stop 7 years ago the night after our wedding. Then it veered off away from the lake and into the forest for a while. We peddled pretty hard up the slight inclines sometimes wishing the cruisers had gears. Suddenly we entered a clearing of tall grass shimmering in the sunlight. I wanted to rip off my clothes and dance through the meadow. I withheld though because there were other people using the trail. The beauty ended as the trail suddenly took a turn uphill. I pedaled with every ounce of strength I had left in my body. I could tell Warren was workin hard but he was getting way ahead of me. My thighs burned and I was positive my ass was going to be eternally numb. But no pain no gain right? Plus with my father n law’s cooking which entails three full meals a day, had me working hard to make room for his dinner when we returned. Just as I thought I could take no more, the trail began to slope downward. Now this was more like it. This was beach cruising. I could stop pedaling and started coasting as my bike flew downhill. My heartbeat began to return to normal and my breathing steadied. Soon we rounded a corner to find ourselves right back at the lodge. We’d made in just under an hour and enough time to return the bikes without extra charges.

Patting ourselves on the back, we made instant plans to ride it again the next day, and maybe this time, I’ll park the beach cruiser for a quick frolic in the tall grass another thigh burning adventure!

Maddie's Secret Recipe

2009-08-14T20:01:00.001-07:00

Maddie is 6 and she knows everything. She also is the keeper of her very own, self-created, secret family recipe. She decided to share it with me and wrote it down as I spelled each ingredient for her. When everyone was busy preparing dinner, I gathered up the kids and walked them down to the neighborhood store to purchase the secret ingredients. Maddie proudly read her list to me as I put the items into a grocery bag. Colin paid the grocer and proudly stuff his change back into his wallet.

On our way home I pulled out one of the secret ingredients – whip cream. Oh my favorite! I shook it up, took off the lid and squirted about a cupful into each of our mouths as I promised them that after dinner we’d prepare the recipe. Before we knew it, dinner was over and Uncle Warren had a nice fire going out back. Maddie and I gathered the ingredients and layed them out on the picnic table. The kids went to town roasting those marshmallows. Warren helped them properly hold the skewers over the coals and blew out each marshmallow as it caught on fire. I think we went through a bag of them, all burnt to a crisp.

As the mallows cooled, we piled the ice cream, caramel, cherries, chocolate and whip cream in a bowl. Then we added the marshmallows. Now it was time to feast.

After they had stuffed themselves and their bellies were protruding, fingers sticky and faces charcoaled, they waved good bye as they left for their hotel. I said a silent prayer – Yes, the kids thought we were cool, but please, Oh please don’t let those kids get sick tonight, their parents would never forgive us.

Soggy Island

2009-08-14T19:58:00.001-07:00

Berry pickin takes on a whole new meaning when lil kids are involved. We took Warren’s family, who by the way are in town visiting, down to Sauvie Island for an afternoon of berry pickin. Upon arrival we immediately hit the farmer’s store, full of freshly picked and rinsed produce from the grounds surrounding the store front. Admiring the bounty before us, we resisted and instead picked up our berry baskets and headed out towards the endless berry patches. But we detoured first to the local pig, obviously being fattened up for a winter’s worth of bacon breakfasts. After the excitement of Tilla the Ton wore off, we soon encountered a chicken and her baby chicks. We tried to get pictures as the kids eagerly ran up towards them, making them cluck and run for cover.

Just as we approached the berry patches, we were stalled yet again for sunscreen. Time to slather the kids up in SPF 30. But the protection devices didn’t stop there. The kids each put on a sunhat and sunglasses and then were deemed safe to begin picking. Well, ok, there was a photo session to capture their berry picking armor. It can be dangerous out there with those berry pickin fools from the city.

Many of the bushes were picked clean or dried up and everyone wandered farther away to try to find treasure. I stayed behind because I knew there were berries, I just had to look carefully. A bush that appeared to be bare was actually loaded with plump blueberries, subtly hidden in the innermost parts of the bush where no human hands had ventured. Soon I had filled up three pints and I couldn’t stop. Every time I tried to walk away, I saw another berry calling my name. The kids had wandered into a tire swing and were happily sailing through the air with intense smiles on their faces. Berry picking was all about finding a hidden playground for them.

Eventually we made our way back to the farm store and loaded our baskets with crème sodas, fresh ears of corn, and berries. The kids proudly declared that ‘Soggy Island’ was a success. We laughed to ourselves as we loaded everything into our cars and headed back home – soggy we were from hours in the hot sun chasing those kids.

Change of Pace

2009-08-05T22:22:00.000-07:00

I sit and think, what should I write about tonight. What was it about my day that inspired me? My day did start out on a good note - I got up almost on time. Miraculously, I pulled myself out of bed just a half hour after my alarm went off. That left me time to go for a jog with the dogs, leisurely sip my coffee and check the news. Getting up almost on time was inspiring.

At work I was able to be quite efficient, getting to piles and emails that needed attention. I had a free stamp on my coffee card so I got a coffee ice cream smoothie, extra large and with whip cream. The productivity and thrifty splurge was inspiring.

When I got home tonight, we threw out the week's menu and went to taco bell for dinner. After which I pulled weeds from the crevice between the sidewalk and the road in front of our house. It's Shark Week so I caught a new episode. I reminisced with Warren about big hair bands and listened to old albums. The endless heavy heat of late summer had finally dissapated and an ever so slight chilly breeze made me shiver.

That's what it was about today - the change of pace was inspiring. It's time to stir the pot.

Happy Dawgs

2009-08-05T20:01:00.000-07:00

Happy Tahoe

Happy Huck

Happy Bettis

Daring Rescues

2009-08-03T18:47:00.000-07:00

If you haven't any compassion in your heart, you have the worst kind of heart trouble.
~Bob Hope

I don't know what it is but I have always been involved in pet rescues - mostly with dogs. They seem to gravitate toward me and even as an adult these instances have continued. I don't know, maybe I have a dog spirit or maybe it's karma from another life and dog spirits are naturally drawn towards me. Whatever it is, when I am presented with a case, you can count on me to help. I guess my earliest memories are as a child when my sisters and I found a lost little black spaniel that we proudly brought home and promptly named Cassie. We assured our parents that we would just keep it until it found a home - which our parents made sure was right away. Then we found a yellow lab named Major that after a few days in our backyard, we found out came with a $25 reward! Needless to say, the owner came and got him right away.

I can never let a wandering dog with no human at it's side to pass me by and neither can my husband, Warren. I will always stop and coax the dog over to see if it has a collar. I will be late to work if it means that I can rescue a lost dog. Once I was driving and I found a dog meandering all by it's proud self down the street, crossing back and forth without looking. I pulled over and called to him, but he ignored me and turned around and went down another street. I followed him for a while, with my passenger door open, beckoning him with treats. Eventually he stopped and stared at me as if to say, look lady, I'm not interested! Finally a woman stepped out of the house we were in front of and gave me a look of horror - like I was a dog napper. Then she called her dog over and told me that this was her dog and that I should leave it alone. I of course let her know right away that I thought it was lost because it did not have a collar and was cruising around the neighborhood alone. She gave me the evil eye and took her dog inside. Well, fine. Since then, I see that dog all the time, wandering alone. I can't help myself. I stop and tell it to GET HOME! Dumb dog-owner.

Another time, I was walking all three of our dogs when a little black labbie came bounding over to us, wagging her tail. Again, no human in sight. I was able to manage to get a look at her collar and found out her name was Poppy and that she lived 3 houses down. I grabbed her collar along with our three and walked her home. No one answered so I put her in the backyard and told her to stay.

Other rescues have been more humorous. This one happened about 2 years ago. We had just woken up on a Saturday morning and were standing out on our front porch, half awake with our coffees and cigarettes. I happened to glance across the street to our new neighbors house when something moving on the roof caught my eye. I blinked and looked again. Holy cow, it was the neighbors dog and it was on the roof. I yelled to Warren, 'Dog on the roof' and ran inside to get my shoes. He grabbed the 6 foot ladder and we raced across the street. We banged on their door but no one was home. Warren set up the ladder while I coaxed her to stay still with treats. Every time Warren got near her, she'd move to the other side of the roof. We caused such a commotion that a few neighbors came out to help along with a guy who pulled over when he saw our dilemma. Between all of us, we got her to one side where Warren lifted her off the roof and passed her on to another person down the ladder. We thanked everyone for their help as everyone dispersed and grabbed the ladder and started across the street. Just as we did, our new neighbors rounded the corner towards their house. The look on their face was classic - here we were leaving their house with a 6-foot ladder and their dog. We immediately started explaining what had just transpired. The story lives on and has been told many times. It gets funnier with every telling.

Our most recent daring rescue was just this last weekend. Again, it was early morning on Sunday. I was in the kitchen and happened to glance out of the window. I saw a little Collie sniffing around in the house across the street. I said to Warren, "I didn't know the new renters had a dog". Warren said, "They don't". Then we looked at each other - yes, another rescue was at hand. This was such a regular occurrence now that we didn't even need to stop and think, we reacted with adept proficiency - we grabbed dog treats and a leash and ran out the front door. When we got nearer to the dog, we realized she was just a puppy so we showed her the treats and called her with enthusiasm. It worked immediately. She came leaping and romping towards us. We made her sit for her treat and as we gave it to her, we leashed her up. After spotting her pink collar with rhinestones we felt relieved - she'd have a phone number to call.

But it wasn't going to be that easy. Daring rescues never are. Her tags only had her microchip 800 number. After calling that, we found that the owner was not answering but the second contact was a hysterical sister of the owner, Leanne. Turns out, the owner was in Alaska for a few weeks - without cell service. His dogs were being dog-sat by his friend - BUT - she didn't know where or who these friends were. She raced out to get the puppy - who we now knew was Jezebel. We fed her because we weren't sure how long she had been wandering - it could have been days since she had eaten. Sadly, we found out that Jezebel had a brother but we hadn't seen another dog wandering around. Apparently, the last time Leanne's brother went out of town, the dog he had at the time had gotten out of the dog-sitters house and gotten run over. She was just in tears as it seemed as if this nightmare was happening again. We gave her our number and told her we would help in any way we could. We also talked about who this 'dog-sitter' could be. She said she thought it could be Bud, a tall native american with greying hair. Both Warren and I said, oh man, that's Toby and he lives just down the street - 4 houses down to be exact. But no, this guys name was Bud, not Toby. So she left and we promised to stay in touch. About an hour later, she called to say she had found her brother's dog sitter - and it WAS Toby - down the street - and the other dog, Taz, was fine and still there.

So the story goes like this: Toby, aka - Bud, fed the dogs and put them in the backyard with bones. Jezebel dug a hole under the fence and escaped. When we found her, she had only been missing about 5 minutes. Taz didn't get out. Toby didn't realize they were missing until he got the call from Leanne but was immediately assured that a nice couple down the street had rescued Jezebel, who by the way, now had the squirts from 2 breakfasts, a bone and the excitement of being a runaway, all within one hour. Leanne thanked us profusely and apologized for not having any money. I will tell you what I told her - We do not want any money. The only thing we hope is that if one of our dogs ever got out that someone would put forth the same effort to find it's home.

Daring rescues involve quick, decisive action, sometimes a little creativity, some waiting time and lots of explaining. But in the end, compassion and kindness win and the parties involved are pleased with the outcome and thank you's are abundant. But we don't attempt these rescues for the recognition. We do it for the love of animals and to protect the hearts of the humans who love them.

The Orchid Is My Friend

2009-08-01T19:14:00.000-07:00

I keep telling myself, "The Orchid is my friend", hoping that if I say it enough it will come true. The deal is, our good friends have gone away for most of the summer. I am keeping an eye on their house and yard and watering the plants. You see, my friend has this Orchid that was given to her as a gift. Notice, it was not her choice to have this Orchid, but since it was given to her, she wants to take good care of it. So she asked that I watch it while she is away.

Knowing that Orchids are high maintenance in my book, I took it home so that I can keep a close eye on it and give it the attention it desires. I had a talk with it while we were walking home together. I let it know that I would do my best, but that I am a gardener of specific tastes. I like natives that adapt easily to the pacific northwest weather patterns and plants that prefer shade and alone time. Of course, the weekly watering schedule is preferred too. But this orchid told me that it had other things in mind. It wanted to be lightly misted each morning and water poured over the rocks at it's base daily. It did not want any direct sunlight but preferred a sunny place to chill.

Ok, that is high maintenance if you ask me. I was just waiting for it to say it would be nice if it could also have a mate. So as a plant lover, I told it that I would do my very best but that it had to do it's part too - not die while I was it's caretaker. In fact, if it flourished, that would be even better.

So, after a day or two of caring for this demanding indivdual plant spirit, I took it upon myself to dote on it. It had one leaf that was not doing well and dried up stems from when it flowered earlier in the year. My pruning shears came out and I clipped off that sad leaf and the dried flower stems. I rearranged the rocks so that it could soak up the minerals from the water better and put it in our sunny office where the sun never shines direct but the whole room is sunny all day long. I mist it daily and be sure it never lacks for water. I am doing my part.

Well, this is a smart Orchid. It is actually holding up it's end of the deal. A few days ago I noticed a teeny tiny new growth. Could this be a new leaf already? Yes, a new leaf it is. I swear this new little delicacy has actually grown almost an inch. I really have no idea what I am doing with this exotic creature but it seems to be working. All I did was put my basic skills to work - talk to the plant, connect with it's spirit and let it show me what it needs. So as my mantra started out as a desperate plea, I say it now with a gardener's pride: The orchid is my friend!

Please RSVP

2009-07-30T22:16:00.000-07:00

I respectfully decline the invitation to join your hallucination. ~Anon.

Finally! A phrase I can use. I cannot tell you how many people I wish I had told this to or how many will hear it now. Some people live in a rose colored fog. Swirling with pretenses and fabrications of their mind. I, well, I prefer to not harsh my mellow and rather like to presume my standard M.O. is more like a somewhat down to earth opaque mist. I'm not afraid to admit that my skies are not totally clear. However, there are plenty of delusionals around and now I have a polite way of avoiding the entrance of their mindtrap. I'm happy here in my little world. Not every day is good, not every day is chill. Some days the planets are just not in alignment and the whole universe is out of whack. But more often than not, I sit in a happy medium. Content and thankful for NOW. I will not be burdoned by missteps of the past or fail to appreciate lessons learned. Nor will I lose sleep over future unknowns (I like to sleep too much). So, sorry, but I won't be joining the madness.

Princess Shoes

2009-07-28T20:12:00.000-07:00

Miss Ruby turned 4 last Wednesday. In honor of her birthday, her parents threw a little sha-bang complete with bbq'd hot dogs, cake and berries smothered in cool whip, a kiddie pool and 8 rambunctious little munchkins - including a set of triplet girls. Luckily for the parents and adults, a cooler full of micro-brews were provided along with Jenny's famous potatoe dish. As we adults chatted and got our buzzes on, the kids ditched their clothes and took dips in the pool alternating sliding down the slide with their naked little butts. Finally dad called them in, made them get dressed (only some complied), and fed them dinner.

After cake, it was time for presents. Of course Ruby delighted in each and every present. But who knew that at a 4 year old's little girl's birthday party that Princess Shoes would be the hit of the night. Ruby opened that last present - a large flat box that contained an eight-pack of princess slippers. I always thought only beer and cigarettes came in packs. Once the word got out what resided in that box, every little girl and the one little boy snatched up a pair of slippers and ran inside to try them on with Ruby's little collection of princess dresses. Soon all the girls were parading through the house in full on princess gear. Even little Trey got into it. Who said little boys can't be princesses! Apparently, it's quite natural when there's a big sister in the family that the little brother adores dressing up and wearing pink.

While the munchkins were in princess land, the backyard now devoid of kids became adult playland. Well, ok, more like man land. The pool was dumped, toys put away and the yard was cleared. In place was a rigged basketball court - a plastic kids basketball hoop mounted atop the kids jungle gym. The men were all lined up around the 'court', tossing a small soccer ball into the net, hootin and hollarin as they played horse.

I know now, how to properly entertain kids and men. Rule of thumb - be sure you always have an 8-pack of princess slippers in the house and plastic basketball hoop in the backyard. Don't worry about a ball, the guys will figure something out.

You Do Not Have To Have Teeth To Camp

2009-07-28T18:53:00.000-07:00

Some national parks have long waiting lists for camping reservations. When you have to wait a year to sleep next to a tree, something is wrong. ~George Carlin

It always rains on tents. Rainstorms will travel thousands of miles, against prevailing winds for the opportunity to rain on a tent. ~Dave Barry

So, I'm telling you, the campsite we reserved for this weekend was the crappiest campsite we've ever seen. We got site 13, lucky number right? Wrong. Very unlucky indeed. Site 13 is one of 31 sites at this campground that was smack dab in the middle of 30 back country toothless campers on hiatus from the backwoods. The sites were so close together you could watch your neighbor sleep from your tent. To make matters worse, when we checked in, the large motumbo woman with the raspy voice and lisp from missing teeth, told us 'not to be afraid of the bunnies. They love it here. In fact, the store across the street even sells packages of bunny food but of course, they are happy to eat anything we give them.' My heart sank. How were we going to quietly set up camp and chill while our 3 dogs were murdering the camp friendly bunnies one by one?

Instead, we opted to head to the beach for a few hours and forget about the nasty little campsite we had awaiting us. We took a little snoozer on the beach while the dogs, tied on long tethers to a large piece of driftwood, tried to dig to China in the sand and had contests on who could mark on the driftwood the most. Then after a long walk down the beach, we went for a drive. On a whim we drove by our favorite little motel about 2 miles away where we found new owners and after a bit of chat with them, discovered to our delight they had 3 empty campsites behind the motel, complete with grass, wood, fire pit, bathrooms and showers - and no bunnies. Without hesitation we paid for the site and began setting up camp - to heck with the other joint! We tethered the dogs and let them roam the grass and chew on the firewood. We did end up getting one neighbor camper family next to us - definitely from the backwoods and missing a few teeth. But they were friendly enough and kept their distance. Funny thing was, we only had a two-man hiker tent - not big enough for 2 humans and 3 big dogs. We had borrowed our friend's two-man tent so we set up both tents next to eachother and split up at night, each of us with a dog or two.

When we arrived back in town, it was unusually hot and muggy, unlike the cool breeziness from the beach. Well, why not extend the fun so we set up the tent in the backyard, complete with a fire, beer and music. We fell asleep late with the dogs resting peacefully just outside the tent. A few hours late into the night I woke up to raindrops falling through the tent skylight. We scrambled to put the cover on and went back to sleep only to wake up a couple hours later in the blistering suffocating sun. Our bodies and sleeping bags were drenched in sweat. So much for the leisurely morning we had planned with a fire, coffee and breakfast in the backyard. We scooped up our gear and fled for the inside of the house where we turned on the A/C and sat in front of the fans to cool off.

When you think about it, camping is a funny thing. It's ironic that we leave our comfortable urban lives to eat hotdogs and chili, use smelly latrines, and sleep a few nights outside on the hard bumpy ground. That's one way to look at it. Another would be that we temporarily trade in the comforts of home because we crave peace, slowed pace and a closeness to nature - our roots. Camping forces us to slow down, breath in fresh air, play games, talk to eachother and forget about the rat race. It may be hard working prepping to go and quite a drive to get there but once the tent is set up, the fire is going and the beers are open, you know it was worth all that effort. I think from now on we are going to fore-go the national park seen. They book for the whole season 9 months in advance of the summer. We may also fore-go the county campground scene as the impression it left on me is still digesting. I'm going to pull out my long lost book called 'Free campsites in Oregon and Washington' and start researching. We'll see how that pans out. Either way it happens, it's still camping even though we'll without a doubt eventually encounter the toothless back-countrymen again. And that is ok, just as long as there are no bunnies.

Miracles Seriously Do Happen Sometimes

2009-07-23T22:37:00.000-07:00

So, last month we just celebrated our 11th year together and tomorrow is our 7th wedding anniversary. Cool huh. Well, we usually hit the beach and camp on our anniversary. This year, however, we were a little late in making plans and the campgrounds on the Oregon Coast here fill up 9 months in advance. So after calling all the sites and searching online for a whole evening, I gave up and rented us a hotel room, lower level, with a private balcony that opened right out to the sandy beach. THE only hotel that would allow 3 dogs to accompany us. Yes, that is right, this year we are bringing the dogs with us instead of dropping them off at the dog ranch beforehand.

After the hotel was reserved, I forgot about everything for a few weeks. But something was nagging at me - the cost of the hotel. It was under $160 for one night including pet fees but it WAS a beachfront room. Still it was a lot of money to spend for just one night. We're trying to be a little more thrifty during these lean times. Finally I got tired of agonizing over it and canceled the reservation. We'd just drive up to the beach for the day, run the dogs, grab some fish n chips in town, watch the sun go down, have a fire on the beach then drive home. That was fine with us. Basically we just wanted to get out of town anyway.

So today, I'm at work and a co-worker hears of our change of plans. She tells me about a campground that she just made reservations at a week ago. County campgrounds apparently do not fill up as fast as state campgrounds. I call and the host tells me they are completely booked. We chat awhile about the campground and the area and talk about how it's our anniversary. Ah well, no big deal, it was worth the try. Mental note for next time!

After work I'm walking to my car and my phone rings. It's the campground host. She says it's my lucky day, a campsite just became available. Now check this out, when I talked to her earlier nothing was spoken about a cancellation list or a call back. After thanking her profusely, I booked the sight, we packed our camping gear and are ready to hit the beach tomorrow. Miracles do happen. Things just work out sometimes. Very cool!

Nugget

2009-07-21T22:30:00.001-07:00

Meet Nugget. Nugget Renker, soon to be a soul on a human journey. Nugget decided that the time was right and that Barb and Daryl would be it's human parents. These parents-to-be have yet to encounter the utmost beauty of a soul being born, of teaching it human existence all the while nurturing it's soul. Nugget has a reason for coming into their lives. It is going to teach us all something.

My sister Barb, in her happy place

7 weeks or so from now, Barb will be giving birth. For Barb's sake, let's just say 7 weeks and no later! My other two sisters and I will be there to assist with her first birth and to rescusitate Daryl when he passes out. Beginning next month, we will all pack a 'hospital to go' bag that will accompany us everywhere. When word comes that Nugget has decided to arrive, we will step back from our busy lives, say a prayer, grab our bags, hope for light traffic and drive down the I-5 for three hours. When the three of us reach the hospital and begin our march toward the birthing unit, we will transform from wives and mothers into tribal sisters, joining our laboring sister, all banded together by a fierce unbreakable bond of perfect synergy. Nugget will be born into the sister tribe. Nugget knew what it was doing, not only when it decided on who it's parents would be, but also who it's Aunties would be. We welcome you to the tribe, Nugget, and we are very excited to meet you.

Today, I Pray For Grace

2009-07-21T20:21:00.000-07:00

Why must I feel like this today
I'm a soldier but afraid sometimes
To face the things that may
Block the sun from shinin' rays
And fill my life with shades of grey
But still I long to find a way
So today I pray for grace

~Michael Franti

The Hula Hula

2009-07-20T21:32:00.000-07:00

Hula hooping is a natural skill of children. After a few tries, you get it; after a few more, you master it; after a few more, you add another hula to the hoopin'; and after a few more, you could actually join a traveling circus act with your adept hula skills.

As the sands of time fall, those youthful skills are washed away with the tides. But this weekend, high tide came and went, leaving the shore awash with hula hoops. Our family gathered them up and ever so slowly the ancient tribal dance was revived. The Hula Hula.

Growing Wild and Free

2009-07-16T18:38:00.001-07:00

Our little garden plot at PSU is going crazy! I harvested our 3rd crop of kale, 3 cucumbers, a pepper and tons of bush beans today. We should have tomatoes soon. To see the garden the day we planted it, click here.

Bad Morning Mojo

2009-07-15T19:26:00.000-07:00

This morning my alarm went off, and it went off, and it went off. I consciously decided that I would not get up right away, or rather, maybe that decision was made unconsciously since I was incoherent at the time I made it.

So I woke up late with a half hour to get to work on time. I raced into the kitchen to get the dogs fed and make coffee. Oh crap, I forgot to buy coffee on my way home from work yesterday. Not even a tiny little coffee ground to suck on anywhere. Now that is bad. I stood there in the kitchen for a moment in a daze. What do I do now? I've never not had coffee first thing in the morning. Come on Sarah, get yourself together. Slowly it sinks in that I can do this. I can get ready without my coffee. Or can I.

I stopped contemplating my dilemma only because I was getting seriously frustrated and the clock was ticking. I don't know how I did it, the memory of it all is so cloudy, but I made it out the door ready to go to work. The only thing that kept me functioning was that I knew I'd stop by the coffee shop down the street on my way to work, but no, the gods of time would not allow it. Seems that now I had 20 minutes to get to work - on time, allowing no extra minutes for a coffee pit stop. It would not have been out of character for me to make up some excuse to be late to work in order to assure I got my coffee. However, today I could not be late. I had a meeting starting the second I walked in the door. You have got to be kidding me, I was going to drive to work without my coffee. I could make it, I thought. I'd get there just in time to make my appearance and run out the door for my cup of joe.

The drive to work was arduous. I'm telling you I got behind every sunday driver and because of them, hit every red light. Then I got in the wrong lane in a construction site and had to wait as jerks with their fresh coffees drove past me without giving me a glance. Usually I listen to the radio, but today was pure rigid silence. Something about not having my coffee made me forget all my usual routines and seriously messed up my mojo. I pulled into the parking garage at work with 1 minute to spare. It was at that moment that I realized that it was now or never. If I didn't get my coffee now, I would implode and plus I could feel a mean headache coming on from lack of caffeine.

At the risk of being late with no excuse, I ran into the coffee shop next to my office. I was met with a line of people waiting to order. No No No No No. This could not be happening. Impatiently, I waited in line. I avoided all eye contact, making it clear that I am not in any mood to chat. I ordered my coffee - an extra large with an add shot - gotta make up for lost time.

As the elevator door closed to take me up to the 7th floor, I closed my eyes, raised my cup and took my long awaited sip of coffee. Ahhhhhhhh. Ok, I think I'm going to make it. I took one more gulp for good measure, put my smile on and stepped out of the elevator. Everything was going to be ok now. I silently resolved to get up on time tomorrow and made a mental note to buy some coffee beans on my way home today. I will definitely do the latter but I cannot guarantee what time I will drag my ass out of bed tomorrow morning.

Colors of Summer

2009-07-13T18:52:00.001-07:00

For myself I hold no preferences among flowers, so long as they are wild, free, spontaneous.

~Edward Abbey

Despite the frequent disappearing act of the mid-summer sun,

the intoxicating lush green of our garden is now blooming with colors!

Echinacea

Wild Wisteria

Sunshine Day Lily
Crocosmia

Oak Leaf Hydrangea

Clematis creeping over from the neighbors

Butterfly Bush

First Blueberries of Summer

Fo' Sale

2009-07-12T16:40:00.000-07:00

Whoever said money can't buy happiness simply didn't know where to go shopping.
~Bo Derek

When I was a kid, Saturdays were all about garage sales. The six of us would hop on our bikes and take off on route to every sale my dad had mapped out the night before. We'd ride up to a sale, slowing down to survey the goods. If it met expectations, my dad would give the signal and we'd park our bikes and walk over to take a look see. There is nothing cooler than sizing up someone elses junk. Dad and Mom taught us the art. Never get excited about something you want. Signal quietly to the parents that this was a must have, then let them do the bargaining. The price tag may have said $2 but we sure as hell weren't going to pay full price. Things can be grabbed up fast at garage sales so one must act quickly. Dad would quickly calculate the full cost of the items we wanted and then knock off a few dollars. Let's just say that everything we wanted was $10 full price. He'd offer $7 for it all if they'd also throw in one extra item. If they agreed, we'd gather up our purchases and balance them on our bikes and head out for another sale. If they didn't agree, dad would usually walk away. That is, unless of course, us girls or mom just couldn't live without it. Then we'd have to bargain with dad. Yes, we'd mow the lawn if we could just have it.

Same thing as teenagers. Idaho didn't have a mall back then. We'd pack up the motorhome and we'd drive to Portland where there were two big malls. Dad would park the motorhome in a far away spot and we'd spend all day shopping. We each had a budget for school clothes that we had to stick to. We'd shop all day long, stopping only to eat. Dad would take us in all the cool clothes shops, pulling us along to the back of the store where the 50% off and clearance racks stood. If we absolutely could not find anything in last years passe clothing, he'd let us try on the clothes at the front of the store. But, we'd be sure to be informed that if we bought this full priced outfit, we'd have less money left to spend. At the end of a long day, nothing would be purchased. No, that is how dad taught us patience. Everything we wanted was written down on a spreadsheet, with store name, what floor of the mall it was located on and the price, oh and if it was discounted or not. That night in the motorhome, he'd talley our expenses, we'd discuss the totals and the must haves and cannot live withouts. The next morning, we'd hit the mall at opening time, split up - half of us with mom and half with dad. We zip around the mall making our purchases, seeing clothes we'd missed the day before and making last minute changes to our purchasing game plan. That was how we got our school clothes until Idaho finally got a mall.

To this day, I have become a thrifty spender. You won't catch me in a mall but I will always dressed to the tilt in my own special style, I restock my wardrobe monthly (on pay day) with deals under $10 at all the local hip reuse clothing stores that Portland offers. Because I can spot deals like a bird spots its prey, I can accessorize myself, my husband, our house and our yard with the expertise of a seasoned bargainer. Fo' free is the best way to get things, but fo' sale will do just fine. Thank you dad.

Mr. Rogers

2009-07-07T20:51:00.000-07:00

At the end of my work day, I begin my Mr. Rogers routine. I sink down into the driver's seat of my truck and breathe a sigh of relief. Another work day, done. Yes! I roll the windows down and decide on a radio station. My work shoes come off and I drive barefooted home. When I walk through the front door at home, I kiss my honeys then absentmindedly drop my keys somewhere in the dining room that I am assured of not being able to find in the morning.
Walking to the bedroom, I hang my purse up, and, sometimes I swear that song will start playing in my head - "...Oh, it's a beautiful day in the neighborhood, a beautiful day in the neighborhood...", for I am already pulling off those business casuals and ready to slip on my homey comfortables. I understand Mr. Rogers now. I'm on his same wavelength - let me tell you, work clothes are not my thing either. Finally, my hair goes up and now it's time to get my drink on. Plus you know Mr. Rogers had a little drinky drink because soon after he changed clothes, he'd hop on his little red train and ride into neverland.

Know Thy Neighbor

2009-07-07T20:30:00.000-07:00

While the spirit of neighborliness was important on the frontier because neighbors were so few, it is even more important now because our neighbors are so many.

~Lady Bird Johnson

Warren always make sure we get to know our neighbors well. And let me tell you, we know our neighbors. That's my honeys, always making friends. I love that about him. The part about knowing your neighbors, he says it is not just to make friends with them, but also so that they know him and that we know who is around us day and night. Building trust, builds relationships and we all end up looking out for eachother and keeping an eye on eachother's houses and what is going on on our street.

So with these neighborly companionships come duties. Vacation duties. While the neighbors play, Sarah waters their gardens, takes in their mail, waters their houseplants and feeds their cats for them. Yes, I do. And I totally dig helping out because it's not like I have to drive anywhere or anything. I take my glass of wine and mosey on over to the house next door or down the street a ways. My mind relaxes as I check the plants and water the beds. It's peaceful to be the caretaker of someone elses yard sometimes.

There are many unexpected bonuses that come with taking care of our friends homes. Like this summer for instance, while two of our neighbors are away, their gardens will become ripe with tomatoes, lettuces, broccoli, and snap peas. Encourage me they did, to eat the produce for it will not be good when they return. Our neighbors return the favor by feeding our cat and watering for us when we decide to pick up and get out of town for a while. Plus, we've made some really good connections with people and have picked up a few good friends along the way. I even work with one of my neighbors now. Crazy isn't it. It seems as if those ancient commandents should not just say love thy neighbor, they should say know thy neighbor!

Words To Live By

2009-07-05T20:34:00.000-07:00

Life is uncertain. Eat dessert first.

~Ernestine Ulmer

Total Innocence

2009-07-05T20:06:00.001-07:00

Be who you are and say what you feel, because those who mind don't matter

and those who matter don't mind. ~Dr. Seuss

A phone conversation Warren just had with his 4 year old nephew.

Warren: Hi Colin, How are you? I heard you rode your big wheel today in the parade.

Colin: Yeah and Maddie rode her bike WITHOUT training wheels!

Warren: Wow, Colin, that is really cool. I bet you are really proud of your big sister.

Colin: Naaah!

Individualism is rather like innocence: There must be something unconscious about it.

~Louis Kronenberger, Company Manners, 1954

Posing

2009-07-05T14:44:00.001-07:00

I don't know why but me and my sister's have this thing when we get together. The camera comes out and the posing begins. We take 72 pictures of the same pose, hoping for the perfect shot. Last night, after a few glasses of wine, Susan and I, began the sisterly ritual.

Suburban Cowgirl

Suburban Cowgirl and Urban Cowgirl

Hmm, better take another shot.

Sultry?
Far away eyes

Later, we walked into the house to find Susan's teenager Riley and his teenager friends posing with my camera. Must run in the family, huh. Oh and ah yes, blackmail for when they get older!

Firsts

2009-07-05T14:26:00.000-07:00

Saturday was Tahoe's 2nd birthday so he got to spend the day with his mama and papa. Before the blazing sun had heated the atmosphere too much, we headed out in the truck, just the three of us, to Sauvie Island. With the windows down and the music cranked, we cruised down Highway 30 as Tahoe sat in between us watching with anticipation out the window. Soon after arriving on the island we found a huge berry patch. We pulled over and took a long walk down the winding paths of almost ripe marionberries and raspberries. Tahoe helped show us which berries were the best to eat and let us know when it was time to take a break in the shade and drink some cool water. Along the walk he saw roosters defending their territory and chickens wandering through the wild flowers.

Next we hit the beach. By now it was pretty hot so we had to run through the burning hot sand to get down to the water. Tahoe didn't even think twice. He cruised right into the water and splashed around. Then he just took off and started swimming. There have been a lot of firsts with Tahoe, as I have mentioned before. And this swimming this was a first. He had never been swimming before except in his shallow doggie pool. We struggled to get the camera so as not to miss this moment. As he swam, he looked up at me and caught my eye as if to say, Oh mama, I can swim. I gave him an encouraging look back and urged him on. He swam and swam. By the time we walked back to the car he was pretty much dried off. On the way home, as the hot wind from the highway blew through the truck, he curled up into my lap and fell asleep. The whole way home we boasted like proud parents of his special day. Firsts are important in everyone's lives. I think they are extra important when someone like Tahoe who has had a rough start to their life and doesn't get to do things that all of us never think twice about. He swam today! This little boy swam like he'd been swimming his whole life. When we see how far he's come each day, we can't help but be proud of his firsts!

I'm Not Lazy, I'm Hot

2009-07-03T20:44:00.000-07:00

I like the word "indolence." It makes my laziness seem classy. ~Bern Williams

Ahhh, the lazy days of summer. It's too hot to do a thing. With my hair in a tight bun on my head and the least amount of clothing possible, I roam like the dogs from room to room trying to find a cool corner. Hourly splashes of cold water on my face and quick jogs through the dog pool keep me only momentarily refreshed. Anytime I have to step outside I am hit with the heaviness of the heat. I'm hungry but I don't want to cook so I drink some cold water and eat blueberries from the fridge. Even though I had a good nights sleep, all I can think of is the best way to beat the heat is to sleep through it. My room is somewhat cooler than the rest of the house. It's dark and the ceiling fan has been blowing all day. Laying down I drift into a long sweaty sleep. When I awake the sun is waving goodbye for the day. Wind is blowing the curtains up and down. Ahhh yes, I say as I stretch deeply, now I can start my day.

The Missing Piece to the Puzzle

2009-07-02T19:34:00.000-07:00

A dog can express more with his tail in seconds than his owner can express with his tongue in hours. ~Author Unknown

Warren and I thought we had it made in our little house with our two labbies - Huckleberry, aka The Boss, a yellow lab; and Bettis, aka The Bus, our black lab. Both born in the country and hand picked by us at just 8 weeks old.

Huckleberry came into our unsuspecting and naiive doggless lives like a hurricane, eating and chewing everything in site and sleeping only when her little body finally couldn't go anymore and then she'd drop like a narcoleptic. Puppy school helped to train her - and us. Huckleberry came with us to get our second dog. She picked Bettis who happened to be the biggest dog in the litter. A rapidly growing gentle giant happy to just be petted, Bettis became Huckleberry's main attraction taking some of the heat off of us exhausted new doggie parents. She tromped on him, chased him around the yard, took away his toys yet allowed her new brother to cuddle up next to her at night. These two dogs never have known hardship, just twice daily walks, ongoing training, trips to the dog park, the beach and the river, doggie swimming pools in the backyard and endless chewies, pettings and love. Any behavioral issues that came up were only the result of the stages of growing up - chewing, barking, territorialism, walking nicely on a leash, potty training, crate training, and eating slow enough to taste their food.

We had considered getting a third dog after a few foster dogs had come and gone. In fact, like a mother who yearns for another baby, I don't think I had a 'stopping mechanism' in me at that time - I was sure we'd adopt a few more over the course of the next few years.

Then a little brown tornadoe flew into our path. Little did we know, he would be the missing piece to our puzzle and would be the one that made our house a home and our family complete. Tahoe, aka Little Bug, 6 mos old, a brown labbie with a curly tail arrived as a scared nervous little foster dog. We weren't sure Bettis was going to accept another boy in the house, in fact, we thought Tahoe would become an appetizer. But Bettis, by now a good 50 pounds bigger, let Tahoe know in the ways that dogs do that he was going to be the lowest on the totem pole but that he would be happy to be his big brother. Within 2 hours of his arrival, we decided that Tahoe had found his forever home with us. We adopted him within a week and thus began the long journey to help him overcome his past.

Tahoe had been abandoned when his owner had been evicted. In the shelter, he was so ridden with anxiety that they thought it best he go to a foster home for a while to mellow and get some training. His fear and nervousness did not allow him to sleep more than 5 minutes when he'd jump up at any noise crying and looking out the window - presumable for the owner that never came back. When we'd go outside for a smoke, he'd dive bomb the windows, desperately trying to get out so he wouldn't be left again. He at so fast that we had to start feeing him in a muffin tray with water coated food to slow him down. He stole apples and bread off the counters if he was hungry and pulled like a wild bear on a leash.

However, as the days turned into weeks and the weeks into months, Tahoe caught the hang of our routine. Walks in the morning, then breakfast, then the dog run, then lunch time work-week break, then afternoon walks, play in the backyard, dinner and chill time with the family on the couch and finally bedtime in his crate. Little by little, hestopped freaking when we went outside, just nervously paced back and forth in the window until we came back in. Finally, he'd sleep with one eye open in the window as we hung outside for a bit. He became a nice little walker, hardly pulling at his leash and told us when he was done with the crate and ready to sleep like a big boy with his brother and sister on dog beds.

The biggest milestone came just a few months ago when he started wagging his tail. Not a thing you much think about but for Tahoe was a breakthrough. He was finally relaxing enough to have time to be happy. Day by day, his tail wags became bigger, more confident and more frequent. He even discovered the tennis ball that had been flying past him for a year as his sister chased endless balls. Now he even retrieves the ball and is learning to catch. After being not too sure of the dog pool, he tentatively gets in and starts splashing around. His favorite thing to do now is to cuddle up with you when you awake in the morning. He flops next to you and rolls over on his back for a belly rubbing while he gently licks your face. He knows a walk is next and after that is breakfast.
Tahoe turns 2 years old on Saturday. He's a survivor and he'll always have fight in him to protect himself and his pack. But his little heart is now full of love and he knows he is safe. He's a part of the pack and knows this is his forever home. The three amigos have become inseperable. Huckleberry is busy raising her two little brothers and bossing them around. Bettis is thrilled with his dual role now as a little brother to Huck and a big brother to Tahoe. Bettis stays busy nuturing his big sis and his little brother, always reminding Tahoe that he is the top boy. Tahoe loves being the baby and is eager to please us all. Warren and I take full pleasure in watching them grow up and seeing how close their bonds have become.

It seems we have all come to peace with our roles Happy Birthday to our little bug who is reveling in his second puppyhood! I have no wish now for a 4th dog. You think I'm telling a white lie do you? Well, I could be, we'll just wait and see what life brings our way. Our hearts are always open and ready. For now though, we are a family of 6 (including Marley our cat), and these three crazy labbies keep us busy, broke and blessed.

How You Love

2009-06-29T19:53:00.000-07:00

Love is the thing that enables a woman to sing while she mops up the floor after her husband has walked across it in his barn boots.

~unknown, as printed in The Hoosier Farmer

The kindest word in all the world is the unkind word, unsaid. ~unknown

A successful marriage requires falling in love many times, always with the same person. ~Mignon McLaughlin, The Second Neurotic's Notebook, 1966

At the risk of dating myself, I ask, do you remember that song ‘Stand By Your Man’? I know, you do. I’ve always loved that song but what I love the most about it now is what made it most controversial to women’s rights groups – the title itself. But I don’t care about that or even the words to that song. What I care about is my man. I found someone in this wild and crazy world that I absolutely love and cherish and that same man loves and cherishes me for who I am. There is nothing more special in this life than that, than my Warren.

So, in normal instances (not in abusive situations of course) when I see a woman consistently not standing by her man, I am utterly baffled. She’ll give him a dirty look because she is displeased or she’ll mutter or spout out something unkind – when all the poor guy did was not live up to her tall expectation of a certain chore, duty or responsibility he undertook or ‘was about to undertake’. Other times, she will tell him how his life must be run, not letting him be the man of the house - which is all he really wants. When I see her treat her otherwise excellent husband like a piece of dirt I want to pull her aside and say “Hey, what’s up with that? That’s your man! Seriously, that – is – your – man, girl. That’s the man that you, yes you, gave your full heart to and now you treat him like this? He loves you so much, can’t you see that you are building this huge divide between eachother that soon will be a chasm so deep that love can’t find it’s way back to repair the damage?”

How you love and how well you forgive is the only thing that really matters – with the heart open wide, without judgment, and endlessly and genuinely forgiving eachother. We all have these genetic mutations that we are born with and that we pass on to our children. These genes make us teeter on the edges of becoming an irrational firey bitcharoonydoony, making us just a wee inadequate and a little imperfect at times. Ok, ok, we definitely go off the deep end once in a while right? And I'm sure for good reason! But anyway...

It certainly helps to regularly throw the routines out the door and burn the ‘how to’ books and just live by the moment. What’s the worst that can happen really? I mean really, will life as we know it come to an end? I seriously doubt that. And Love doesn’t happen to everyone all the time, so be careful with love, hold it gently. Stand by your man and give him some air and sunlight, he can’t grow in the shade and neither can you.

Maple the Magnificent and the Secret Art of a Sculptor

2009-06-24T19:30:00.000-07:00

When we bought our small little bungalow of a house, exactly 4 years ago tomorrow, we
inherited Maple. Maple is the mother of all japanese maple trees. Her canopy spans 400 feet across the south side front yard sheltering us from the scorching hot July and August sun and keeps the inside of our house at least 10-15 degrees cooler because of the colossal shade she provides. Underneath her she nutures a miniature forest of shade loving plants.

She engages herself fully in every season, not missing a chance for us to notice her. In the spring, her bare branches begin to produce buds that grow into a gazillion tiny green leaves. Then tiny little dried flowers fall in masses all over ground. Of course, our living room begins to look like the front yard as we track those in. The summer finds her reaching towards the heavens, soaking in the hot sun and providing us with a comforting shade of coolness. She turns amazing colors in the fall as little seedlings begin to flutter off her branches in droves. Winter arrives and she drops her leaves like flies, leaving us with a thick carpet of green, red, orange, yellow and brown wet leaves. Finally, her branches are bare and she closes her eyes to settle in for a long winter's rest. You know spring is here when the seedlings begin to sprout up in millions in every nook and cranny in the ground.

When you approach our house from down the street, Maple can look pretty overbearing. She is magnificent in size. I have heard her being compared to a slightly off-kilter frizzy 'fro. She was in need of a serious haircut. In the world of certain skilled gardeners, you never prune a maple. Instead, you sculpt a maple. There is an art to sculpting. I won't go into what sculpting is all about but let me just say it takes at least 3 people, one of whom must be the master sculptor. You never just get up in a maple and start willy nilly cutting branches. In our situation, the goal was to lighten her load, maintain the shade yet allow little filtered light to come in. She also had a lot of untamed branches that if let to their own devices, would definitely shorten her lifespan and diminish her quality of life - not to mention saving our power lines and our roof!

"My Warren, The Master Sculptor"

So the first year we got together with Debbie, our soulmate of a friend and of course, an accomplished Master Sculptor. Over a bottle of wine and homecooked meal, we sat out in the front yard to strategize. We presented cases to eachother like divorce lawyers, vying for our idea to be agreed to by all parties. As our heads got lighter from the wine, our excitement was building. I'm telling you, it is incredibly entertaining to engage in a pursuit of the perfect scultping job.

After we agree to disagree and came to a consensus, our tools came out and we assumed our positions. I walked down the street, Debbie placed herself underneath the canopy and Warren began to scale Miss Maple. Debbie gave the single and Warren wiggled the branch we had decided to cut. Down the street, I was able to easily see which branch was coming down and visualize how the tree would look if that branch was gone. I'd give the OK and Debbie and I would run underneath the branch to catch it as Warren sawed it off. It would go on like this for a couple of hours during which time we would swap posts every so often. Neighbors would sometimes gather to watch our production.

Finally, Maple's appearance began to approve as she let in a little sunlight for the first time. Her remaining branches lightly bounced upwards towards the sky. We could still feel her protective presence but it was like she was refreshed and and enlivened. Walking up and down the street, we viewed her from all angles. Satisfied with a job well done, we commenced a gardener's eternal past-time - clean up. Gathering the branches, we cut them into pieces which would be piled into the back of my truck for a future trip to the yard debris composting site. Pictures would be taken, and we'd take note of certain remaining branches to be carefully watched for future sculpting sessions.

Every spring, Maple get's her spa treatment. It has become an annual tradition that we fondly look forward to. We take care of her, and she takes care of us. We have a deep friendship and committment with her. It's a special relationship to the natural world we are so a part of. If Maple was not a city tree, we'd let her grow wild, in any direction she wished and sprout branches from here to the moon. But in the city, it is her right to be sculpted and cared for as well as it is for us to act as her curators to preserve her well-being. If you sit out next to her really late at night, she will talk to you. Her voice is soft but she speaks of strength, determination, hope and beauty, inspiring your spirit to be like hers. She likes to be noticed so next time you come by, gently lay your hand on her trunk or one of her branches and wish her well. She will thank you for your kindess.

My Happy Place

2009-06-23T19:54:00.000-07:00

I've got dreams in hidden places and extra smiles for when I'm blue. ~Author Unknown

Tuesday was not good to me. Monday was not either. And there's nothing that will change that. Why worry over why, but instead I just accept it. So, I've got to go to my happy place for a while. The place where my dreams reside and sometimes if I'm lucky, collide with reality.

My happy place varies from time to time but the foundation of it remains consistent. Today my happy place is over on my 7 acres of dreamland that I own. Enough space between the neighbors for me. Enough space for me to get away and be lost in my blue thoughts.

There's a small flowing creek that runs through the whole land. I lighten up when I put my feet in the cool water. Everything is safeguarded by a wall of enormous redwoods, doug firs, cedars, and pines. Pine cones litter the landscape. This fortification gives me a sense of security. A meadow full of wildflowers spreads out in a sunny clearing with butterflies, bees and birds feasting off the colorful array of pollens. The rainbow of beauty puts a grin on my face.

Mostly what calms me is the silence which is not really silent. No cars, no airplanes, no humming of appliances, no phones, no civilization to harsh my mellow. The silence here is a stillness that is gently suspended at times with the flapping of birds wings or the water current meeting rocks in the creek. Sometimes the wind or a forest dweller rustles the tall grasses.

Here I can think. Here there is harmony. Here the spirits are uninhibited and do not worry about being seen. I am so contented and blissful here. Here I am one with the natural world. Here I belong. Here, is where I exist, subsist, and feel alive.

Staying here eternally is not an option. Visiting here is a choice. Before I set foot on the path that will take me back to an indisputable complex existence, a deep inhale of my breath will capture the taste of the air, a concluding glance at the splenor around me, and a pluck of the scented bark from the forest tree, will take a picture in my mind that will refresh the illustration of this happy place. With my reserves replenished and stocked up, my exodus back to reality is stockpiled with a repaired psyche and freshened approach to life. Tomorrow now assures it will be good to me.

The Last of the Greatest Addictions

2009-06-17T19:22:00.000-07:00

"On the eighth day God created coffee so that people like me could experience those seven other days." ~ Anonymous

>Did I happen to mention ever that I love coffee? I have loved it since the moment I first tasted it. My grandmother used to brew coffee after a large meal to serve with dessert. The smell of the coffee brewing in the kitchen would literally make me drool. As a kid, I would beg the adults for a little taste of their coffees for each adult liked their coffee a little different. Some took it only black, others with cream, others with sugar, others would just take it in a shot glass. The different tastes of their coffees delighted my senses. My mother did not approve as I well now know why, but we will get to that in a minute. As a teenager, I would day dream about the day where I would wake up in my very own apartment and leisurely brew myself a pot. Then I'd sit down at the kitchen table to read the paper and sip my coffee.

Now, as an adult, I dwell in the house of coffee and my blood type is caffeine (well, ok and a little merlot). Actually, now, as an adult, there is no time to sip my coffee and read the paper because I am running late for one thing (never can seem to get up on time), and I'm busy walking and feeding dogs, throwing together my lunch, taking a shower and running out the door in the nik of time. I do still have dreams (delusions maybe) of actually getting up early enough to sip my coffee while reading the news on the internet.

So, I don't just love coffee, I love serious coffee. I like it all ways but it must be good coffee and it must be ground fresh each morning and it must be strong - strong enough that I can almost smell myself awake. Mostly I drink my coffee black - a pure, unadulterated brew. After years of taking cream, I am weaning myself off the artery clogging stuff. I started with hazelnut milk - mmmmmmm delish but expensive. Then moved to soy milk. Now I'm milk free and pretty much cool with that now. Stumptown coffee is my absolute fav and I will skip a meal to save enough $ to by those special beans.

Along with loving the taste of coffee, I have developed a habit-forming daily routine. I cannot go without my morning coffee which follows me around as I sleep-walk through the house getting ready for work. Late morning and early afternoon coffees are a given and if I have an evening engagement, it goes without saying that I'll down another cup to be able to stay up past 10pm.

Over the years, I've found myself in various stages of coffee addiction and have always been able to keep it somewhat under control. I would never even THINK of going without my morning cup of joe, but I may (just maybe) skip the afternoon cup if alls going well. If I don't need the jolt but am craving the taste, you'll find me brewing a cup of decaf - I like it that much. Science reports, doctors and the media say a lot of things about coffee and caffeine and you should give it up. Like I said before, maybe I'm just in denial, but I think I have this 'addiction' under control. I'd stop drinking coffee, but I have a lot of reasons not too - my coffee is fair trade, organic, locally roasted and sold, it tastes of heaven, and hey, I'm no quitter!

The Adventures of Doug Gordon

2009-06-12T19:56:00.000-07:00

We have a new addition to our family. He's two inches tall and his name is Doug Gordon and he is our Garden Gnome. What, you think I'm cheesy? WHATEVER! Doug Gordon has only been at our house for 1 day and he has already had quite an adventure. We took him out to sit by the fire with us last night. He thought that was totally cool. (Double click on the picture to your left to see Gordon!)

Later we found him roaming about the wood pile.

In the morning, I found him high up in the trees.

You laugh do you? Well my friend, it's quite normal for gnomes to roam. They have quite a sense of adventure and can sometimes disappear from your garden for a time. Usually they are off sightseeing around the world. At least ours hasn't left the property yet. We feel very secure, indeed, with Doug Gordon the Garden Gnome as our watchful protector. Should you come to visit, be sure to say hi to him as he lurks stealthy around our garden!

Extra Long and Loving It

2009-06-10T10:18:00.000-07:00

Change and growth take place when a person has risked himself

and dares to become involved with experimenting with his own life.

-- Herbert Otto --

I love my feet. I always have. I think they look especially good when they are tanned from the summer sun and cleaned from the sand in the ocean. However, most of the time they are pale white and have a little bit of garden dirt stuck in between the nails. My toes are super long and I have always been able to reduce the sternest of people to laughing tears by displaying my innate abilities to do circus tricks with my toes. I can wave hello, give thumbs up with my big toe, spread out all my toes like a scary monster, pick up things and write with my toes. Warren likes to call them my extra set of fingers for he swears he has never seen toes so long and nimble. I wear three toe rings because it does help ease distance end to end making them look as if they are slightly shorter than they really are.

Usually when I pick out summer sandles, I try to find the ones that discreetly show only half of my toes, thereby making their length deceptively shrink a bit. However, this summer has been a different story. I am embracing my toes, my long toes. I couldn't help it. I found 3 pairs of cute sandles at Value Village, barely worn or not at all, all under $9. They were so cute in fact, that I ignored that I had broken my summer sandle rule - my toes actually looked extra long in them. I feel better now that I am not afraid to show my toes. Yes, it may be the cute sandles and the toe rings but I am more confident. When I catch anyone glancing down at my feet, I want to say to them: "Hey, what are you lookin at? Yeah, those are my toes and they are long huh. So get over it. I can do things with those toes you could never dream of doing with yours."

Life is short, my toes are long, and I must embrace it all to the fullest!

And it stoned me to my soul

2009-06-09T19:07:00.000-07:00

I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz,or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.

I love you as certain dark things are to be loved, in secret, between the shadow and the soul.

I love you as the plant that never blooms but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers;

thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance, risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body.

I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.

I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;

so I love you because I know no other way than this:

where I do not exist, nor you, so close that your hand on my chest is my hand,

so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.

~Pablo Neruda - my favorite Chilean poet

Eleven years ago, today, I met my Warren. I knew from the second I met him that he was the man I would be with for double infinity. In fact, I felt like I had known him before, maybe in previous lives. Here's how the story of my life began.

I was finishing my 3rd year at PSU, living on campus and driving regularly out to Hillsboro to visit my sister and only friend in Oregon. I had been out at my sister's house that Friday, June 9, 1998. We had worked out in her apartment gym, made a couple of drinks, and had chatted about our lives. Finally, I decided it was time to go home. As I pulled back into the PSU parking lot, I got out of my car and bent down to tie my shoes. Afterwards, I started to head towards my apartment when I suddenly felt a strong pull to go the other way. I turned around and walked towards the Ione Lounge across the street. What was I doing? I was going to go get a drink. But wait, I couldn't go into a bar alone, or could I?

However, the force that was pushing me was not to be reckoned with so I entered the bar and ordered a drink. As I sat at the bar, realizing I was a complete idiot for coming in here alone, I decided to down my drink and get the heck outta there. Just as I was about to do so, I heard a voice say my name. I turned around and it was Marty - another student co-worker on campus. He was excited to see me because he was graduating tomorrow and his cousins from California had just gotten into town. In fact, they were here and he wanted me to meet them. I told him I was just leaving, but in true Marty fashion, he ignored my plea and grabbed my drink, urging me to follow him. Well, shit, I'd get this over with so I could go home.

Once we reached the pool tables, Marty handed me my drink and introduced me to David who was playing video lottery. David quickly turned around and waved a hello. Then Marty interrupted a pool game to introduce me to Warren. That was when my whole universe shifted. Warren turned around to greet me and shake my hand. I was immediately entranced with his smile, his aura, his vibe, his eyes and unbelievably his heart.

Right away we began talking. Marty left to take his wife Chris home while we continued to talk. Warren says that day was the only day in his life that he ever discontinued a game of pool. When Marty came back, we decided we'd all go out for a midnight breakfast but the cafe next door was closed. Very, very reluctantly, we said goodbye to eachother. I walked home feeling flushed, alive and wondering how I was going to find Warren the next day because I knew he was in town until Sunday and he was staying at Marty's apartment on campus.

The next day was graduation day. I arose early and walked all over campus hoping to 'run into' Warren. No such luck. Later that evening, I attended a graduation party in the building where Marty resided. Urgently, I kept running downstairs to see if I would see him walking by. Finally, after what seemed like hours, Warren actually did walk by! My heart pounded as he walked up to me, recognizing me from the night before. We talked for a bit as he was with Marty and others. Then he said he'd be at the Ione later that night and I said I'd meet him there later.

I resumed hanging with my friends, helping prepare an exotic Iranian meal that was taking way too long to cook. Finally, after an unbearable wait, I was able to get away around midnight. I ran and ran the two blocks to the Ione. What if he wasn't there? I was so late. As luck would have it, he was there. Apparently, everyone had been wanting to leave for some time but he had urged everyone to stick around just a little bit longer. When I got there, he made introductions and everyone left to go to bed.

Warren and I left together and bought some beer. We sat on campus and drank beer, smoked cigarettes and talked for hours. It was so easy to talk to him. His smile made me at ease and the way he opened his heart when he spoke to me, I could not help but think I was falling in love with this man. Eventually, he walked me back to my apartment where he asked for my phone number. Of course I didn't have a pen so I invited him in (imagine that!). In my apartment, I played all my favorite blues CD's while we talked about our lives, our past loves, our families, our dreams, our friends, and everything under the sun. Well, we didn't exchange numbers until 3 hours later in the wee hours of the morning when we decided we had better call it a night. Everything in me wanted to kiss him but instead we wrapped our arms around eachother and said goodnight.

He flew back to California later that morning but we ended up talking on the phone to eachother that evening. I called my mom to inform her that I had met the man I was going to marry. I met up with my sister the next day to share the details of this man that had stoned me down to my soul. It was like our lives were two trains that ran parallel but had finally intersected and become one.

So to make this long, long story short, after a brief visit in July, months of phone calls and emails to eachother, dealing with my phone being turned off for lack of payment of the high bill, Warren moved up here later that fall. As we hopped on the love train together, the wheels of life began to turn and we held hands knowing that from here on out, our journey in life to various destinations would not be alone. Knowing and loving this beautiful man has stoned me to my soul.

Coolin Off Doggie-Style

2009-06-03T20:26:00.000-07:00

What other way is there to properly cool off on a hot summer's day?

Bettis, Tahoe & Huck

Big Bettis

Baby Bettis

Food of the Earth

2009-06-02T19:09:00.000-07:00

The greatest delight the fields and woods minister is the suggestion of an occult relation between man and the vegetable. I am not alone and unacknowledged. They nod to me and I to them. ~Ralph Waldo Emerson

I used to visit and revisit it a dozen times a day, and stand in deep contemplation over my vegetable progeny with a love that nobody could share or conceive of who had never taken part in the process of creation. It was one of the most bewitching sights in the world to observe a hill of beans thrusting aside the soil, or a rose of early peas just peeping forth sufficiently to trace a line of delicate green. ~Nathaniel Hawthorne, Mosses from and Old Manse

This spring I was lucky enough to get a garden plot in the PSU community garden. I got the last plot. My luck turned out to be a mixture of missed emails, turnover in the community garden coordinator position and my good-natured persistence. Turns out the person who had the plot previously had dropped out of school, but had already weeded and prepped the garden plot, leaving me with much less preparation.

So of course, I can't go this alone, I gotta share the love right? I spread the word around my office to see if anyone is interested. Turns out 5 others have the gardening bug, too! It's worked out really good. Over the course of a week or so we got quite a good collection going of plants - tomatoes, kale, marigolds (won at a conference). Then we got $ donations from others in the office and a trip down to the farmer's market added more tomatoes, chives, eggplant, peppers and cucumbers.

Planting day arrived and we trudged down to the garden toting our boxes and bags of veggie starts. Working together, on our knees and in our work clothes, as we planted we discussed ideas for care of the plants, where to put each plant, what else we needed, exchanged knowledge of previous gardening experiences and agreed we'd split up the week amongst eachother to divvy out watering duties. I really enjoy watering duty.

It's the anticipation as I walk or drive to the garden, wondering how it is doing and growing. Then it's the excitement once I arrive to view what has happened since I was there last. Early in the season, what captures my attention is the minute yet incredible growth of each baby plant and seeing the basil and bush bean seeds finally sprout through the dirt. The progress of each plant is captivating. This weekend there were two little green tomatoes on the baby vine and bees busily pollinating the flowers.

As I water, I get lost in my thoughts and as I weed and fix up the hills and moats, I feel grounded and content with my hands in the dirt. I remind myself that I need to get onions going and more chives. Eventually it's obvious there is nothing else for me to do there, even though I was in a hurry in the beginning, I now don't want to leave. After one last look, I say good bye and leave the garden, locking the gate behind me. It's going to be fun being a gardener of edibles. Plus it's good practice because I have a huge plot on a waiting list for next year at a community garden near our house. Every step is the way and takes me a little closer to my ultimate goal of eating my own home grown.

Cowboy TV

2009-05-27T19:50:00.000-07:00

To poke a wood fire is more solid enjoyment than almost anything else in the world.

~Charles Dudley Warner (also quoted by Warren Guenther)

Spring, Summer, Fall, and the early part of Winter is spent in our backyard around the fire pit. I can't tell you how many get-to-gethers we have had that always ended in half-toasted people sitting around our firepit telling stories. If firepits could talk...

Warren and I lived downtown in an 1920's apartment complex on campus for many years. To experience campfires, we'd pack up our cars and head down to the nearest campground to town which was about 30 minutes away. Even on week nights, we'd order a pizza and head out to camp. An alarm would alert us early in the morning that it was time to head back into town so we could get showered and get to work and school. That ritual lasted until we eventually we moved across the river and officially became South-Easters.

We had our first deck and real backyard. One afternoon, soon after we moved, we took a drive back downtown, nostalgic for the good old downtown days. We found a garage sale in one of the downtown neighborhoods. What actually drew us to this sale was the perfect sized kitchen table but what we saw when we got closer was a black metal fire pit with sides and lid, like the $200+ ones you see at Home Depot stores. The lady of the garage sale told us we could have the table and the fire pit for $20. We handed her the money and loaded our stuff as quickly as we could into the truck before she could change her mind! On our way home, we picked up free pallet boards to burn. That night, under a cool spring moon, we had our first fire in the backyard. Our hats and vests kept us extra warm as we talked about never needing to go camping again now that we had our own little campground exclusively with a fire pit.

That fire pit has warmed up many people and has heard endless stories. It lighted up parties with friends and families as we celebrated our engagement and pre-wedding festivities. It became a favorite pastime for our cats to roam around next to us or sleep on our laps soaking up the warmth of the flames. One year, we set a tv up in the back yard and watched law and order epidsodes every night while staying toasty by the fire. Sometimes we'd light up the fire just to provide a place to relax in between games of croquet. Many times we'd invite people over and let their kids over to cook their very own hotdogs and sm'ores over perfectly tended hot coals. Other times, we'd sit around the fire sipping wine after a hard days work, relaxing to the crackling flames. Most times we have a fire, someone always ends up stopping by. It's like the hot roaring fire is an irresistable invitation to pull up a camping chair, sit down, crack open a beer and shoot the shit.

Not much has changed in the last 10 years. We always have stacks of wood, kindling, faded camping chairs and an open door. Anytime someone is getting rid of old wood, old garden boxes, pallets - we are the first to claim them then break them up into burnable pieces. The dogs too, have taken well to the tradition of nightly fires. They run and chase eachother around the pit as we shoo them away from flames intent on scorching. They finally settle in and curl up next to the fire. When we take trips to the beach, we are always on the look out for the perfect wood stoking stick. Some of our friends and family members have fire pits too. So the luxury is extended when we visit them. It doesn't take much to have fun around a fire. You can talk a lot or not at all. The flames and crackling wood can keep a 2 year old amused.

The backyard fire pit continues to be a gathering place for all those in need of a brief escape or leisurely laid-back respite from daily life. Whether we are away camping or hanging out in the backyard, the fire is our main source of comfort and entertainment and is now fully rooted in tradition and a more than seasonal way of life.

Garden Yoga

2009-05-20T19:39:00.000-07:00

I never had any other desire so strong, and so like to covetousness, as that one which I have had always, that I might be master at last of a small house and a large Garden.

~Abraham Cowley, The Garden, 1666

When I became a gardener, I fell in love. I fell in love with the permanent dirt stuck btn my fingers, toenails and on my knees, the small scratches all over my arms and legs, and how I became miraculously immune to the toxic leaves of poison ivy. I fell in love with my new state of mind which grew healthy from the daily fresh air of being outdoors and my body responded by falling in rhythm with the changes of the seasons and the womanly phases of the moon. Mostly I fell in love with how gardening planted peace in my soul and exercised my already active imagination.

I could and still do spend hours envisioning the final established fully grown product, months from now and years from now. I loved becoming fully absorbed in thoughts about where will things thrive, how big will they get, how long will that take, what would look best next to that and rearranging plants and ideas until at last I have my future, lush and wild green garden exactly the way I pictured it in mind over and over. The imagination does not stop there. When my garden's established 3 maybe 4 years in, my soul is satisfied at last, yet my mind is already racing - for a gardener's work is never really done right? Plants need to be divided, transplanted, added, weeds pulled, more compost added. It's like Karel Čapek, The Gardener's Year, 1931 says: "Let no one think that real gardening is a bucolic and meditative occupation. It is an insatiable passion, like everything else to which a man gives his heart."

In the garden, every day is different. I have to see things from the plants point of view. The plants will tell me their needs and I will respond as their loving garden-mother, giving them everything they need to thrive and grow strong. Being sensitive to their needs is essential for happy plants. They all expect different things from me. Some like more water, some insist on shade, others demand sun all day. Sometimes, they require a sibling – like my blueberries who refuse to put out fruit unless planted close to their brother or sister blueberry. Some are extremely demanding and ask that I keep a close eye on them and give them haircuts every so often, pruning away their wild growth. Others keep more to themselves, asking only that I visit them every so often.

Sharing our garden is the most rewarding part of Warren and I’s hard work. When someone stops by to experience the feeling of our garden, I know we’ve accomplished our goals. Our current garden, in our front yard, serves the purpose of being a shaded, green, lush miniature rainforest full of zen and quiet calm. Friends and neighbors stop by to comment and walk around it, sometimes sitting for a bit, absorbing the tranquility, maybe hoping in a sense to take some of it with them.

Gardening is definitely laborious work but it’s not just the wondrous end result that I wait patiently for. Whether I’m weeding, digging, planting, mulching, sweating, getting sunburned, or using muscles I didn’t know I had, my body, mind and soul are being cleansed and revived. My mind gets to wander while my hands work in the dirt. And the outcome of each gardening session is like a satisfying yet intensive yoga class. I’m worked, I’m worn but I feel incredibly gratified and fulfilled. And after a shower and a good night’s rest, I’m more than prepared to go outside, grab my tools and do it all again.

The War on Grass

2009-05-15T15:22:00.000-07:00

Keeping your lawn nice while your young dogs are still growing is like shoveling the walk before it stops snowing.

-anon

Grass is the cheapest plant to install and the most expensive to maintain. - Pat Howell

The cost of having a nice grassy lawn with three young dogs is high. When we bought our house, the backyard was beautifully landscaped with a 1000 tons of river rock, 19 wild roses, 200 weeds at least 4 feet high and an ugly prickly holly tree. Yes, it was F-UGLY back there. It didn't take us long, as former landscapers, to rip out the weeds, roses and cut down the holly tree. It did take a bit longer to get the endless loads of rock removed but when we finally did, we had us one beautiful expansive mudpit. Not long after that, we brought in thick green sod, hardy evergreen leland cypresses and lots of mulch. It was frickin gorgeous. Did it last? Well, sort of.

We learned real fast that three dogs are hard on even the so-called toughest grass. When we open the door to let them outside, they gallop and barrell through the same path each time like it's the first time they've been outside in a century. They wear a lovely path through the entrance to back yard. They chase eachother back and forth and all around the yard for hours on end. Throughout the summer, there may be a few holes dug here and there that we try to patch up, only for them to get dug up again. And when the fall rains come, what's left of the grass turns into a muddy slimy mess. We re-seed every fall and every spring, gating off the yard, completely cutting off the dogs access to the grass as we try to revive it. This really pisses the dogs off and they plot together to jump the temporary fencing every time they go outside which usually results in us taking them out one by one on a leash to pee, it's either that or lifting each dog back over the fencing every time, risking smashing the new baby grass growing in.

So early this spring, we did it again. We fenced off the yard, leaving only the deck area for the dogs to do their business in. We re-seeded and the grass grew fast and within a month, we decided to open up half of the yard while we left the other half to grow a little longer. Oh man the dogs were happy. So happy in fact to have their yard back that they proceeded to spend the next two hours eating grass. We laughed at how happy they were only later in the middle of the night to be awoken to the sounds of dogs barfing up undigested grass. Well, that's alright, they hadn't had any grass in a month so they were just making up for lost time right? Well, each day since, and let me tell you, it's only been a little over a week, at least one dog has either barfed grass in the middle of the night or has pooped a grass log that we've had to help pull out. Come on, enough grass alright? They are fricking manic about it. Especially Huckleberry. I think she really has a problem. What do you do when your teenage laborador is hooked on grass? Mow it, says my father-n-law. So we did, we mowed it. Even better she says, she loves fresh cut grass even more. Hucky is just not a dog you say no to. If she wants it, she is going to do it and is willing to pay the consequences, well maybe not willing, but without enough mental capacity to realize the consequences.

I am in agreement with how this anonymous poet thinks: "I am not a lover of lawns. Rather would I see daisies in their thousands, ground ivy, hawkweed, and even the hated plantain with tall stems, and dandelions with splendid flowers and fairy down, than the too-well-tended lawn." However, poor Warren, his dream has always been to have the perfect green lawn like his dad did but now with these three houligans, he must hold dear in his memory the picture of our untouched perfectly green lawn - only available for the first few weeks each spring and surrounded by temporary fencing where no human or dog foot has yet touched. That's as long as it lasts. But it's enough to get us through the summer for nightly backyard fires, weekend bbq's, and many hours of lounging out there with dogs, watching them eat the precious grass.