Doing Puzzles In Dim Light

Annoyed and Other Moods.

2011-01-25T19:52:00.006+01:00

Well I have tried for 30 minutes to get on the internet at freaking Starbucks, and shortly I have to go……foiled. Poo. Just got done with a movie : Love and Other Drugs. Lovely young nubile actors all full of heart and soul and charm and snark. Romantic comedy no doubt. Perfect winter tonic. The critic in me is mildly cheesed off, but the romantic in me had a little tear in the corner of her eye, placed there also by my own vanity and narcissism. The giant looming ego in my brain: "omg I had a claw foot tub just like that when I was 27 and artistic in a falling down flat with holes in the walls and paint splashes on the floor! Back when the world was soooo f-ing wide open only I did not realize time was slipping away but oh gee our heroine does! She has that disease and although young and beautiful she feels the clock ticking so keenly, brave girl. Awe. Sigh." Don't get me started on the drug company angle of the movie…they do a broad strokes humorous treatment of the complexity of the issues between the corps and the docs and the sick people, enough that anyone can see it is a tough problem where everyone is just trying to do their best. Echem. Yes, well.

Since I don't drive much or work in an office I forget, until I am in a grocery store or something, how much I hate pop music. That one, the Hey-Twister-Soul-Sister-Mr.-Mister one Jesus it makes me want to slit my wrists, or someone's. Then I take some deep breaths, and realize, relish the fact I remember: that it is not for me, that song. Relief.
The other realization today in my short adventures out in the world is that I am destined to be one of those decently-dressed but slightly disheveled wild-grey-haired ladies who pinches her nose as she walks briskly through the grocery store perfume department talking to herself loudly and dramatically "Oh my God!! Pee-euw! This place stinks!" Some days it is all I can do to keep my eminent eccentricities at bay. Not even sure why I hold them back at all but for some reason it seems appropriate to try to wait another decade.

Songs used to evoke the late 90s in that movie were fairly spot on..the story reminded me of this one too! :)

Two Oh One One. One, one one. One a.m.

2011-01-11T01:01:00.005+01:00

O gracious it's been a while. So many thoughts. So little I feel I can divulge here. Today was a tender day, but still I held my head high and got tons of stuff done. The world still spins and tomorrow everything will be fine.

I have been experimenting with the social networking thingys out there beyond Facebook. Tumblr, for example, which I finally explored on New Year's Day, and also Twitter, on an account I have had but have until recently not been inspired to use much. I like Tumblr, but I am torn. Do I throw my address up on my facebook page like a shameless marketer of my own minutiae, or do I bide my time and find a new, as yet unknown, tribe?

Also on New Year's day, I discovered Mark Sisson and his book, The Primal Blueprint. It's a dieting/exercise/philosophical handbook of sorts, and so far I am buying what he's selling, (and what he is giving away for free). It's a protein-rich, grains-free, natural food and rational and varied movement -type plan, and it makes a lot of sense, though I can understand how it would be more difficult for some to adapt to than others, lacking certain resources and will to change. But I can also see how even some of the small changes included in this concept could cause immediate benefit. I for one am feeling pretty excited about being more in control of losing fat while maintaining a very sane work-out schedule (especially since some of this winter weather we are having finds me barely working out at all), and feeling satiated and well-energized.

Other stuff: Been doing the bi-yearly clutter clear, inspired by the odd Hoarders episode in my memory banks and a broad overview of the new Minimalist Movement, also discovered on the blogs and tumblrs found in New Year's Day. Bedroom clear space was the priority, and now that has been done, it's down to catagorizing the stuff that's going up for auction, out to the Brockihaus second-hand shops, or into the dumpster..

So there is yet other stuff...Stuff in the back and stuff in the front, on the surface and underneath. Saving up time and dough for some travel, tho' I feel split in about five directions. Need to go to Australia, and U.S. for family and just to look at it up close again, but there are places I have never been that I would also like to go, without any agenda, and finally perhaps I would like to take a tiny break somewhere just for myself, gasp. So It's down to planning even though it is nice to pretend sometimes that my resources and aplomb are such that I could just throw some stuff in a bag and hop a train an hour after I finally make up my mind. Also there are certain days when I must will myself not to do that very thing because though to start a journey in just that way is tempting and appealing, there are a few things that cannot just be dropped in my real daily life. No duh, huh, babe.

2010-11-18T00:26:00.008+01:00

Craving a cigarette, surprisingly. It's winter that does it. Don't have one though. Nostalgia.

This week started with Girl the dog having an upset belly and being generally bothered. Poor thing did well with a new vet, closer to home, on Monday. If she wasn't such an old gal it probably would have been safe, if inconvenient, to let her malady run its course, but meds instead - did not want to play the dehydration game. Almond butter on pills make them irresistible to dogs, apparently.

Had a dream Monday night that I wish I were still having now. Not a flying dream. Every detail is still with me and I want it back, now. Something unknown yet so familiar.

House is so quiet now. Pup is snoring. Husband stayed home today and crashed finally late this afternoon after a straight-thru multi-day working session with only one genuine break to go and hear Herbie Hancock and his people play live last night, which was pretty spectacular. We forgot about it until yesterday, but managed to get lucky with tickets at the last minute. So glad we caught it.

I have spent spare time this and last week eliminating unneeded paper from our home-files. Need a meeting with insurance guy before the end of the month. Those people definitely get the award for most deliberately confusing paperwork, and the award for greatest quantity of useless and redundant paperwork mailed to client. Come on people, save a tree. Edit.

Getting random call(s), from Nigeria, I guess, to my phone again. Not really who I was hoping to hear from...

Seriously considering hibernating until the end of November…but argh,*sniff*, stuff needs done, by God... gotta keep doin' it! ;)

While getting ready for the show last night accidentally discovered my new favorite cocktail. It still needs a name. Gin, aloe vera juice, splash of lime juice. Heaven.

personal attributes, CV101

2010-11-12T03:51:00.003+01:00

Confident, friendly in-person and over-the-phone reception. Strong secretarial and customer service skills. High level of personal responsibility. Successful independent worker. Organized with attention to detail. Adept at appeasing finicky or distressed people. Strong math aptitude. Friendly and kind disposition.

Snorer, not always but frequently, and especially when hemmed in. Near to forty. Compulsive furniture re-arranger. Proven ability to account for intricate beats with hips. Alcohol not required, though can be charming when relaxed. O negative. Comprehends English language spoken in any number of funny accents. Experienced in use of Evian, aloe vera juice, red meat, frequent silence and downtime alone. Tilted uterus. Self starter. Knows the difference between the warp and the weft.

where i might be found.

2010-11-08T02:42:00.008+01:00

:)

2010-10-28T01:28:00.001+02:00

Come To Me Like Thunderbolt, New Music.

2010-10-27T03:35:00.007+02:00

I need new music! I heard this song today and I was thinking of the first time I heard it, in the frozen foods section of the Asda in Bexleyheath. I nearly dropped my fish. I recognized Martha immediately, there in the store although I hadn't heard anything from her since I saw her perform with her brother at Zona Rosa in Austin years before. In the shop I began scrawling partial lyrics down in my notebook to Google when I got home..

So tomorrow if I am a very good girl I should be knee-deep in spreadsheet most of the afternoon, go grab train tickets, then off Thursday to Luzern for a concert and a day or two depending on weather and whim. Change of scenery seemed like a good idea a while back when we bought the tickets. We shall see.

Red and Blue

2010-10-26T21:20:00.008+02:00

My recurrent obsession with dark orange-red and rich pale blue is rearing is pretty pointy head again. It turns up in personal talismans and fetishes, in the decor of the living room, along with another preoccupation: circular shapes.

I stopped using the leg and arm weights for the walk today. I think the timing was right..the weights did their job in the initial... struggle. Going up the hill they helped wake up my heart and metabolism..but now I just want to go fluid and fast, if you can call it that for a walk--not a run. Today felt great. Nice sweat, good shower.

After a little conference with myself in the mirror I have come to a certain acceptance. I can take care of this body and keep it strong and happy with how I push it and what I put in it..all this physicality of life is far from over..but the evidence of nearly 40 years on the planet will remain. The skin is soft and mostly smooth but there are scars..an interesting landscape, to be sure. Also, there is nothing to be done that can take the look of experience out of my eyes; That bird has flown...I'm not talking about the laugh lines..I am talking about the knowing. It's not so bad.

A friend points out that it's Karva Chauth today for some. So romantic. A bit controversial apparently. Something that can be blatant or hidden in plan sight, consumption or lack there of hinting at sentiments of the heart. Traditional, a community event as well…a ritual. A little salt over the left shoulder..

There is a little issue I am grappling with, a concern..an energizing point of peace, joy and happiness on the one hand, and of confusion and slight frustration on the other. Little. Well, small we can say, but at the core, as long as we are being honest. Just a little baby dragon. Nothing to be too worried about...

Lamb Stew.

2010-10-22T23:18:00.013+02:00

I feel so witchy when I make stew.

LAMB STEW

Ingredient amount is "some" unless otherwise noted. Use your favorite stew pot and an old wooden spoon.

Prosciutto, cut into strips

(If pork is not your preference, skip it or use sun-dried tomatoes instead.)

Lamb, cubed

Olive Oil - a lot

Ground Black Pepper

(All in, on high heat in the bottom of a stew pot until lamb is browned.)

Shallot, minced

Cloves of Garlic, minced

(Add, stir in, let cook about 2 minutes more.)

About a liter of hot Vegetable Stock

(Add half, stir, then add the rest.)

Ground Curry Spice (The one I used is Kashmir. It has Cardamom, Cumin, Cinnamon, Pepper, Nutmeg, Fennel, Tumeric, and Star Anise.)

Ground Ginger

3 Juniper Berries

Ginger Root, one trimmed cubic inch, chopped

(Let it all simmer on low together for a while..15 or 30 minutes.)

Large Carrots, chopped large

another Shallot or Onion, chopped large

Orange Mini Bell Peppers, chopped large

Fresh Thyme

(Bring back to a boil, boil for 5 or 10 minutes. Then turn heat to a lower simmer for a while, until the carrots are as soft as you would like them to be in your bowl. Serve with rustic bread or grated Emmentaler cheese, or just as is.)

People Watching at the Season's Change.

2010-10-03T22:07:00.006+02:00

London Philharmonic's 1997 version of all my love by user3222842

It seems we will have an Autumn this year and not go straight to snow and freeze. I'm glad. Spent three quarters of an hour sitting with my Ipod at Central area downtown and took in the sights and the bright crisp late afternoon. There were...

...men in long sleeved buttoned down shirts and jeans with their shirttails out
...girls biking in heels and jewel-hued tights with shorts
...Dads with laughing babies in knit caps lashed to their chests
...Moms using chic sunglasses to hold their breeze-blown hair back from their faces
...dudes with black short product-hair in cars stopped at the crosswalk flaunting their enhanced bass
...gals with shiny fair straight hair and corduroy blazers strolling in pairs along the Limmat
...fresh air and smokey air and gossip and cackling eavesdrop-able in several languages
...gleaming white comet tails of airplanes' trajectories across the pale blue sky, appearing to fly straight up or straight down but you know they aren't, not so drastically, not really.

Heavy Little Game

2010-09-13T17:04:00.009+02:00

You know it is so true that the amount of junk you decide you need to carry around expands to the volume of whatever size handbag you are using. Decided to give my shoulders a break today and drop it! Literally, and...

Story changed (again) and on hold for other bits and pieces going on and needing attention, and for undeniable lack of flow. Who knows if it'll come back around. Oh and on further inspection that doppelgänger turned out to be the local homeless slightly fermented and poet...of course he did..should have seen THAT coming! Ha! Thank you, present, for not being the past.

And look! Here is a mesmerizing bottom! :)

2010-09-01T13:16:00.004+02:00

Two pages into a new story. Might seem piddling but it's a start. Finding the time and the silence is a challenge. I am amazed by the way writing something that touches on a memory of a person can conjure up their doppelgänger..walked out of the cafe and there he was, same long stride same mouth. But not the same.

Unstuck.

2010-07-27T14:00:00.007+02:00

Do you ever have that experience where there is a thing or a place or a someone or a situation that is on your mind all the time, in the background of your life, behind the static of day-to-day thoughts....but it is a thing that your don't really know what to do about, so you just sit on your hands and try to let it exist there without feeling obsessive, although by definition that is probably what your are about it? I do. I have been. In the past there may have be wailing and gnashing of teeth due to this nagging focus, this insistent attraction...and the not knowing, followed by a 4am wine fueled feeling-exploration exercise and decision making process, followed by a furious and manic taking-of-action. Now I have learned it is much better for me to try to observe myself for a while and what I am thinking...feeling...and to let time pass. This does not produce the sort of gorgeous luscious flow as when I have been passionately positively devil-may-care decisive about what to do and bull-dozering a new thing into being. Staying calm, waiting and listening..it can be a ratchet-y cog wheel way of being...but I have learned it is a bit better for me now. The flow comes along eventually in less blatant ways, without my having personally built it all and pushed it out into the world. If I can keep my eyes open all the while listening to that inner buzz, by the time it is free to become an outer buzz there may already be a home for it in the real corporal world.

I want Sivert Hoyem and the Volunteers to come to Zurich this Autumn.

2010-07-22T23:12:00.004+02:00

Found this song. It reminded me of that bit in the movie Crazy Heart where Bad Blake plays that new song and it sounds to Maggie Gyllenhaal's character like an old standard but she just can't remember who sang it...Because the good ones are always like that. :)

Saw Sivert Hoyem with Magrudaga about a year and half ago. He has one the most compelling voices I have ever heard and his stage presence did not disappoint. I would love to see him with the Volunteers on their tour in October, or whenever. Fingers (and legs) crossed. ;)

07 Ladyfriend by user3222842

Quick aside and further musings...

2010-05-21T01:41:00.002+02:00

Quick aside: I want to mention that I am pondering the "why I do in fact want to have a baby" post as a remedy to the many fears about it that I listed not so long ago. For now, all I can say is that lately, the back of my husband's neck has been smelling like the salty delicious ocean to me, or like that bit of air just above a cool mountain stream...you know where the air is all thick with water reflections and negative ions and you just want to gulp it and stay right there and never go home even after it gets dark. So there is that.

I was going to do further musings but that will have to wait for a bit.

The Fall

2010-05-15T01:31:00.002+02:00

Just finished watching the movie The Fall. It was moving and great and fantastic and subtle (which may be my favorite word ever - subtle). There was a very clever little girl actress in it, so cute.

Thoughts

2010-05-11T23:51:00.004+02:00

I am buzzing on bleach fumes right now. Also I had half a pint of Strongbow with my sandwich and fries at lunchtime..but that was hours and hours and hours ago...

Today was full of errands. Trams and ticket machines (to get the dog a day ticket) and shy toddlers and haggling returns in retail shops and shoe modifications. I have a great pair of old clogs from several years back, but I had demolished one of the heels, so they tried to fix it, but could not. Instead the cobbler-girl used her super grinder to grind both heels down, so now they look new, if slightly lower, which is perfect for me. Girl the dog went with me but at some point, possibly on the flight of stairs on the way out of our building, she hurt her front right foot and was limping almost the whole time, poor thing, and so cut the afternoon leg of errands short. No pun intended. Sheesh.

Later on my own I had a walk home in the light rain with my arms loaded down and my ears plugged up with sounds of the mini player on shuffle. Come Pick Me Up by Ryan Adams...had to pause to turn it way up. That feeling that comes at the rise of the chorus, I realized that too is "what I am afraid of". That part makes me high, and I tear up the first time it happens in the song no matter how much I expect it or how recently I have heard before. It starts coming on in a rush with those "I wish you would"s and in no time I am feeling like junior high puppy love heart soaring and I know that this song does that to a lot of people, doesn't it? BUT what if that is what it is like to have a child? Moment to moment of getting your heart ripped out over nothing, nothing, in the big scheme of things.

My mom and I are great now, but when I was young, we fought so viciously at times. When I was young she was really young too, I can hardly believe she had a high school graduate at my age and here I am contemplating a baby.

What I Am Afraid Of

2010-05-04T00:30:00.012+02:00

I think about making a baby a lot nowadays. About 8 years ago, I went through the OMG-I-need-to have-a-baby-right-now-or-I-am-gonna-die thing. I did not die. I started working at a daycare. And then the relationship I was in exploded. And then I went back to school. The urgency subsided as my life tumbled over and I held on for dear life. After things leveled off for a while I met my husband. Falling in love with him brought that OMG feeling back in a slightly saner form. This time the feeling did not try to pick me up by the throat and swing me around. I could feel it, acknowledge it, smile and wave "hi" to it, but let it fade into the background while we busied ourselves getting to know each other and getting organized...and then we moved country. Twice.

So now I live in Switzerland. In a lot of ways it is pretty great. There ways of this country that are easy to embrace (rabid recycling and love of all things natural, tidiness, killer public transport, lovely people), and then others I can't so much (icecream breaks in the middle of movies at the cinema, assigned seating in cinemas, smoking in restaurants, really tall people having surprisingly small hands and feet, the late movie being at 8:30pm, the stranger sitting next to you in the cinema coming back from the icecream break smelling like cheap tobacco). Butanyway...this is a bit off topic, but it speaks to these things I fear being raised in an place that is unfamiliar, but far from hostile. I can't speak the native language here, but our location could be worse.

One other thing has happened over time. I got old. Or maybe oldish. Somedays I feel 24, but others I feel let's just say, quite a bit older. Enough of that...

Anywhoo, let's list some of the fears. I fear that...

1. I will resent my child and my husband because my alone time will be so greatly lessened. Soooo selfish, I know.

2. I will be smothering or overbearing with my child.

3. I will be one of those parents who is so insanely in love with my child, I will say unflattering things about them to others so as to prove that I do not believe my child to be without flaws, and the result will be that my child does not realize I have his or her back, even when they are wrong, and that I am on their side. I find I do this with my dog sometimes although she is wonderful. It does not get to her and she knows I love her, but then she is more well adjusted than many humans, because she is a dog.

4. My pregnancy-at-an-advanced-age will cause a medical problem for my child, or me for that matter. That I will be immature in my ability to handle such a situation, and the strain it might cause on my marriage. I have like 10,000 reminders around to take my vitamins. Folic.

5. That I will compete with my husband regarding our child.

6. That my husband and I will have conflicting ideas about what is best.

7. That all the reasons that I don't always feel good enough will be transferred to my child or somehow amplified, and in those low moments I will feel not good enough for two.

8. That our child will inherit all of my husband's geek genes and none of my cool slacker genes and they will geek out forever together on a level that I can admire but never fully relate to.

That's enough for now. Coming up next, some remedies and reasons I will be happy to do it anyway, if we can....

be practical

2010-03-14T11:59:00.002+01:00

...getting a handle on it :).

I think the Spring cleaning while snow is still on the ground project is basically finished. The things that are left are either minor, or are things that get done every week anyway..bills and clearing the office, washing the windows (easy, but may as well wait 'til there is less snow and more sun.). A lot got cleared away this time other than just the dust bunnies and cob webs. I think I uncovered my sense of peace, and washed away a layer of feeling guilty about just being myself. Sorted a not-tiny pile of leftover anxiety. Definitely feeling more relaxed.

Everything done I took the morning off yesterday and just made myself at home under the covers in bed until it was almost afternoon. Delicious treat.

spreading from the base of my spine

2010-03-08T01:11:00.010+01:00

Someone told me earlier this week that because of the position of the planets when I was born I may have a tendency to intellectualise my feelings.

I am struggling lately with a restlessness that I have known in the past though kept at bay for many years now. I find myself with thoughts and feelings that don't square with the real place I sit at this moment in the universe. Emotions, one by one, can be dealt with and reasoned away. But sometimes the feeling is literal, a tangible sensation in my blood and on my skin like the warm weight of someone's hand; A warmth flooding forth all at once and undeniable undeniable undeniable.

This too shall pass. Probably.

this tendril

2009-12-02T23:49:00.000+01:00

visceral, visceral, visceral...

Just a detail.

2009-12-02T02:03:00.003+01:00

The worst thing I can think to do is to always be the one ripping at the little hanging threads, but sometimes, oh sometimes...like a scab picker you may take me but if I only once or twice don't don't hold back and don't bite my lip and follow the thread that's dangling and give it a little tug just to see, to tell if it's a thought popping out that I should snip or that will only give and slip right out and not rip at all.

Petal Memories.

2009-08-19T13:27:00.006+02:00

From Doing Puzzles In Dim Light

Sight of two dozen red roses in a vase today reminds me of a long long time ago, two months of a dozen red roses almost every day. This sounds like an exaggeration, but it's not. How did I not realize at the time how over the top that was, from this person claiming to be a "very simple" man? I guess I was vein enough to think I naturally deserved it all, being the pretty young thing at the time. But, gee. It was roses coming out of our ears...it sort of became a part-time job taking care of them. I would dutifully trim their stems and watch the bud-ones bloom, and carefully remove the petals with browning edges. I believe I cooked with some of them, steeped them for tea or sugered them. Of course they were hanging all over the kitchen eventually, drying out, stinking up the place and turning that goth-red-black color. The man who gave them to me was very sweet in many ways, but we had BIIIIG problems. I can't even begin to remember what I wanted at the time. I think I wanted less roses, but what did I want more of? hmmm.

Archival.

2009-06-21T16:00:00.012+02:00

Well, there is no pretending I have done anything like keep up with this month's 30daysofwrite. The weeks have been busy, and when not so busy, reflective. It is Father's Day. My sis is due to deliver her new baby girl any day now. The weather can't decide, and I know just how it feels.

When uncertainty strikes: make sentences about the weather, clean and organize, read/keep/discard old journals, and if all else fails, put on "War of the Worlds" in the background for motivation. Blahdie blahdie blah to the rest, but I have found some little scrawlings in old journals here and there....to read and then release. Nothing earth-shattering:

********

"20 July 2007

Friday. More than 1 month in Zurich. Time to make a document.

I have been away from Texas since....let's see, married April 2006, So just more than 1 year. Away from Austin almost two. I am craving Texas things....gravitating toward burnt orange. I feel patriotic when it comes to Austin, and also for the USA, even though politically things are so skewed right now -- somehow being away makes that clearer to me...

We don't have a TV. (My mother would be in heaven.) This is Daniel's idea and I agree though sometimes I miss hooking into a random movie...

The first time I laid eyes on Zurich it sparkled."

********

Dear My Esteemed Local Brewers, Baristas, Buskers and Bean Roasters, Please don't fillet me, or think I don't care about the homegrown cafes and cups. I do, but (from some ramdom sheet of paper from about 2 years ago)....

"Everyone knows that Starbucks is a vortex. It is that place to go and be anonymously at home, well taken care of, and left alone. Starbucks is where to go if you can't remember where you left your muse, or your idea, or your underwear. It is an excellent morning-after-in-foreign-city place, especially if you are still tender-headed. I believe the light fixtures are designed with that taken into account. They are almost the same in almost every city in every country I have been...that sort of gold/orange/red mottled Mexican glass globe -- a comforting caffeine North Star.

I have come to Starbucks in the past to pass the time... when the only money I had for the day I spent on the least expensive cup of coffee, also buying the informal permission to sit there all day if need be.

I have learned Chemistry at Starbucks, hacking through the formulas and text and pouring coffee into myself until I could see the big and little pictures.

Types of people at the north Parmer Starbucks:
the Students
the Moms
the Daters
the Surfers
the Suits
the Teen Smokers
the Microsofters
the Gamers
The hardcore gamers must leave their computers at home...they are too cumbersome with customized accessories and the reason they have ventured out of the house at all is in hopes that a genuine face to face flesh and blood human conversation might alight upon them. Having a computer with you and open generally gives of an "I am working" vibe too, so there is less chance of being chatted up....I once (circa 2002) was chatted up by the skinniest teenager with the deepest Barry White voice and bags under his eyes. Within seconds he had shown me drawings of the characters he was "working on" and he told me his Dad was an IBMer. He asked who I was but seemed to expect an explanation that included a race or subclass of the figment beings in the game he was absorbed in. If I had said "I am a lesser swashbuckler." or "a water fury" he might have known what to say to me. When I told him I did not play he really had difficulty parsing me at all. The conversation did not go much further. His drawings were at a professional level, although he seemed too young to be out of school in the middle of the morning."

********

"04-26-2006

7pm leaving Houston

looking out of the airplane window # D8

38 row, seat H

Overjoyed. Tears of Joy. Yay."

********

The Laziest Girl In Town.

2009-06-16T00:45:00.008+02:00

The day was ~~sul~~ sticky.
Today I did the late afternoon dog walk in a sort of light open cardigan to cover the scary contrast of my farmer tan. (Well almost tan but really still more burn. The pain is gone, the pink remains.) I had talked myself into a sports bra and tank top with jeans around the house even though the rain makes me feel cozy and I want to wear blankets, even though it's too warm. Ridiculous. No the tank was perfect, and even though the cardigan had long sleeves it was a loose weave linen and left open it let some breeze blow in, which felt nice. Girl did her thing. She likes to have the homegirls hanging out at the community museum garden up the street pet her head, as long as they are not smoking. Whatever language the girls happen to be speaking that day, I always hear them say "blue tongue" in some mixed phrase because Girl is a small black Chow Chow and there are not too many around Zurich. We did a slow mile circuit through the neighborhood and I was feeling chic and fully relaxed, right up until the end, aluminum coffee mug in one hand, extendo leash in the other. Hair casually up, adorable exotic doggy.
Then this tall woman about my age all in dark green (like a pantsuit!) crosses the crosswalk about half a block from home; She is pushing a deep black pram. From the gurgling I think the babe facing her was awake. As we passed each other her eyes were not on her babe, but on me. Her face turned toward mine, me giving her my most open and neighborhoodly non-toothy but just casual-slight-nod smile. Her face read "I am taking a dump in my own pants right now but cannot stop." or maybe not exactly. She looked horrified, in that difficult-to-disguise-though-trying way? She just had so much tension in her face! She did not return my slight-nod-smile AT ALL.
I noticed when I got on the elevator at home that I may have been sweating a bit more than I realized. It's not that my clothes were damp or anything, it is just that my whole face and neck and sternum appeared to be covered in melted butter. I think that woman is just one of those women who never sweats, and found it shocking and uncomfortable that I was.
I sweat a bit even when cold. It is healthy but not so attractive. I remember one of the snooty trainers in a smalltown Curves daintily handing me a Kleenex during an early morning session. Charmed, I am sure.
But you know maybe I am misinterpreting that woman's expression. Maybe she was just had a rock in her shoe, or was embarrassed about the pantsuit, though I thought it looked okay. Maybe she was just suddenly confused and surprised to find her almost forty self with a chestnut Marilyn shoulder length hairdo, a pantsuit and wedges, pushing possibly her own baby in a pram up a low grade hill in Switzerland one day in the early twenty-first century.
We all have our problems, and our days.

What If WitSec

2009-06-03T15:16:00.001+02:00

(text below is a little character excercise.)

My coffee mug is yellow. Hideous. This may turn out not to be worth it. Not sure yet. Not dead yet, though...What is unable to choose your own coffee mug if not dead. Am I being melodramatic here? Still. Ruffled curtains. Hideous.

Well that can change. Anyway..Farmington, Farmington, Farmington. Do not forget what they named you. I'll spend the day writing that one a few hundred times. I should say it out loud too. Hard to get used to the feeling of not wearing a wire all the time. To the best of my knowledge, I am on my own. Huh. Yeah, right. At least for those conversations with myself in my head.

So, a little cushion, but, job, job, job. It shouldn't be too hard to crack that nut. Better get it done sooner and stop having these little chats with myself 24/7. I reckon I am far enough. Can just relax and maybe have a life. Now that it is over.

The classifieds. The internet. Are not... Dulling the pain and ache of missing my family, my dog. My mugs. But you know how people drop in and out of lives they are leading all the time. This is not very different. Just less gradual.

The Next It Thing.

2009-06-02T22:30:00.004+02:00

I have a confession. When it happens, (and oh please let it be happening,) I will not not not be sad to see Zombies go. Oh sure, I admire them as a trend, and have to respect their ability to evoke both future grinding inevitable apocolypse and that by-gone analog scary era of way back, like, at the same time. But sometimes one just must LET GO .

What could possibly replace them? Hmmm. Let's see. Something with that Hello Kittyesque universality.....something that can be used as a halloween costume....

Cactus? Martians? Pippy Longstocking! no...

Lederhosen!? Don't you find lederhosen sort of frightening and dead sexy at the same time? I do. Maybe that is it: Lederhosen or anything or anyone donning lederhosen, past, present or future. Especially if that anything or anyone is singing.

Oh! Cringing and appealing, cringing and appealing. Can-not-Turn-A-way!!

Faster. Edit. Habit.

2009-06-01T19:30:00.007+02:00

It is that time again. Good on Laurie for getting the wheels moving for us all.

This time around I have a busy schedule ongoing, so I hope to pick it up again and participate while not dropping any of the other strings I am holding up in my life, or letting it consume all of my spare time. I want to continue streamlining the process so I can feel satisfied with the result and go to bed happy, without, hopefully, sacrificing any of the soul I hope comes through when I write from a place of inspiration.

So many things to do with my personality and my supposed aptitudes point to "writer" as a viable occupation/pass-time. Save spelling, and oh yeah, confidence. I have bursts and streaks of confidence, tempered by waves of frozen indifference. Gotta work on that. Long-term focus is a challenge. Caring beyond the initial lust of the subject is another. I appreciate the grammar police, but that will never be me. Correct syntax or lack there of are both useful to evoke response from the reader, I think. A blog setting is not always practical for that, but it is a start.

I am excited about Google Wave.

Also, please follow me. I 'd be delighted.

Pollen-A-Go-Go

2009-05-10T22:53:00.002+02:00

Starting about 2 weeks ago, when true sunniness started happening in Zurich after a long and severe winter, there have been pollen explosions happening daily except for the one or two days we have had rain. There was a full on pollen storm about a week ago...a bright sunny day with more breeze than is normal for Zurich. The next day when I woke up, a very shallow breath while lying back made my ribs hurt, which I found very scary. Since then my husband has had flu, I have had a severe cold, and we both have been simultaneously combating allergies. Doctor visits, blood tests and drugs. Coughing. Misery. The flu and cold seem to have receded, but we are both left with raspy hoarse voices. I am still achey and I feel like I am impersonating a french horn.

The thing about the pollen is how it infiltrates everything. I was not aware of what was happening at the time, so I did nothing to stop it coming in the house. In Zurich, central A/C is rare, and there are no window screens. Our house is on the ground and first levels, and there are wall size windows that open on two opposite sides of the whole house. The windows are always open. There are blooming bushes right outside the window, Rhododendrons and something else I don't know what, and I feel like we were just blasted. Everything is covered.

I keep dusting and using the vacuum with the awesome filtering, and I still taste it in the air. I am in the process of washing the sheepskin rugs from the floor and the chairs all over the house. I have eight. One was inherited and the others have been picked up new and used here and there. They are really cozy, but mine are now full of pollen deposits. Every cushion and textile is suspect. I want my house back. Back off pollen! (a-chooo!)

Not Dead Just Resting.

2009-05-07T22:46:00.004+02:00

How is it possible I do not own Ishtar. That is the best movie...

Soanyway, recovering now from my folks coming to town for 10 days. Gave them my Best of Zurich and Switzerland That I Know About So Far tour, and we all enjoyed it a lot. Except for one thing: my marvelous and unstoppable husband was in fact stopped for a time by one hell of a flu, though probably not that one. He got the worst, but we all had a little health wobble, especially that one day after the long long walk in the woods when I noticed the thick piles of golden dust on the porches and finely coating the poor dog and the interior of our home--pollen. Piles of pollen. That was a new one for me. Mercifully, it rained. Husband took a pass on some of our adventures, what with his fevered brow and all, but that did not stop us from returning to him and the warmth of the kitchen table each night for a few hours of Farkle or Spades or Dominoes, and we even got the basics of "42" ! Somewhere in there, I kid you not, I made fondue, and it rocked. Great to have them around a little, neat to touch base with those roots. Also, makes it easier I think for husband to forgive me for certain things when he can observe first hand that I "come by it honestly," as they say about inherited quirks.

Toes Deep in Time Machines of Joy.

2009-04-19T04:12:00.024+02:00

This is going to be sooooo boring, my apologies. God help me....but there are some things that just freaking need to be said...

I have lived the difference, believe me, in strangers' perceptions, and in my own, about myself. (massive weight loss in my 20s.) What I am experiencing now is something similar, maybe. Or maybe it is all in my freaking head... just sun induced hallucinations.

All I am certain of is that I have finally found the right pair of platform heels and something has changed. Then again, it could just be Spring. What other explanation fits for the way preteen boys were flirting with me in the line at the grocery store yesterday!? Or for that random middle youngish African guy leaning out of his car window asking me where I am going when it is obvious that I am just walking my dog and totally not keen on a chat up?! What is the deal??! Did I make the sweet hotel receptionist blush?? What on Earth is going on??

I have been needing this like intravenous shot of youth-juice. It was an Ebay gamble that they would even fit, bargain or no. But when I saw them I had a flash back.....

...... to that first pair of double-buckle-wide t-stap three and a half inch block stack heels I shelled out for in the boutique on the Drag sometime in the mid nineties, and I really splurged for me and I justified it because I wore them Every Single Day, for work and play, and ended up wearing them to learn to live and go out on my own, and buy my own wine and show me a fun time, and to stomp all over London on my solo birthday vacation, and to end and begin one or two affairs, to dance all over my apartment..... only to witness in horror one day, almost two years later, through the window at dusk, my Mom's big blond boxer puppy tossing one of them, half chewed to bits, in a glorious arch far above her gleeful slobbery head, into the air like a killer whale with a baby seal. I had taken them off in the backyard on the flagstones, at the end of that hot Indian summer day while house-sitting for my parents, to play with her and feel the soft green grass, and then had left them out there!?, to unfortunately be subject to her curious investigation. I could not really blame her. They were brown oily leather and I had relentlessly worn them without socks or hose in the Texas heat and in spite of all remedies attempted they stunk to high heaven, except, of course, when they were on my feet. Still, it was quite a blow. I forgave the pup but I really never fully recovered. They were so much more than shoes.

I am starting to sense a sort of healing. A return of my swagger? A rediscovery of the subtle figure eight in the hips of my stride? A smoking teenage boy hanging out on the sidewalk looked at me AND SMILED before stepping aside for me to pass and even alerting his cronies to do the same, without irony! Okay, sure, teenage boys give way like that all the time around here, but in a way that makes one feel that you are both just two pieces of furniture passing in the afternoon. I am maybe enjoying this too much. I love feeling taller. For that and whatever other reason, I am feeling at least one third less invisible....

The years are flying baby. Look: My temples (why are they called that?) and my part are going grey. Things are sagging and sometimes it seems to make the most sense to just to curate a collection of sweatpants and to succumb and to stop daring at all ever....

But these shoes....I am starting to think I might have a few more turns to go yet!

Bed is...

2009-04-13T14:13:00.002+02:00

Bed is womb and cocoon, watery blue and cotton velvet. Bed is nest. Bed is firm, with feathers, like a nineteen seventies hot Barbarella dream. Bed is familiar landscape for changing night visions. Bed is modern and lowdown. Bed is layers of labor intensivity, every morning, without fail, and worth it. Bed is safe and normal and status quo. Bed is shared, ankles entwined every night. Bed good.

Mike Rowe:This Stuff Happened On Earth, and Is Not Fiction.

2009-04-10T21:56:00.000+02:00

I really want you to see this Ted talk from Mike Rowe, the host of "Dirty Jobs." It takes about 20 minutes and it is funny.

My guiltiest and most pleasurable guilty pleasure will never be recorded or described here, but I could argue that a close second is developing vague crushes on speakers at the Ted conference. (You have to admit, Mike's cute!) If you scan down through the recent past on this blog you will discover I have already shared the Elizabeth Gilbert Talk. (Was feeling so crushy-gushy that day, I could not even use very many words....just Ole!) I have many favorites. Watching them gives me a buzz and makes me feel smart and famous. :) You should peruse the Ted website and discover your favorite too. There are plenty of these cuties to go around!

(Onionesque:) IPhone Owner's Date Just Asks the Bartender What Song is Playing.

2009-04-08T20:05:00.000+02:00

ZURICH-In a sparsly crowded tapas bar this weekend, an IPhone owner's date asked the bartender if he would mind telling her the name of a song playing over the sound system in the establishment. The bartender, Simon Rousseau, of ElSol Restaurant and Bar in Zurich, Enge said that he was approached about the song between orders on Friday after 10 pm.

"She asked if I knew the name of the song playing over our speakers, and I told her I did because it was from a mix CD I made myself." Rousseau stated. "I didn't mind telling her. It was Close Yet So Far by Bullet, with Armando Teixeira as Vladimir Orlov. She was kind of cute, but she isn't my type. That wasn't why I did it. I was just being nice, you know?"

The IPhone owner himself, Heinrik Dansk, expressed surprise and wonderment at the delay of his IPhone's song indentification feature in identifying the song in question. "When she wondered out loud what the song was called, I had the IPhone right there on our table, so I immediately touched the screen, accessing that feature. Before I had the information she was walking away from the table and towards the bar. She talked to that bartender with the tattoos for a (really) long time. It wasn't that loud in the bar so I don't know why it took so long. I would have had it if she had waited like, 10 seconds."

The date herself, identified only as Irma, said she would do it again given similar conditions. "It was just sort of spontaneous and friendly. A lot of what that cute bartender told me flew right over my head, but I got the song title, and that was what I was after. I might talk to him again though and find out what the hell all that other stuff he said was. I am not sure what the big deal is."

It may prove to be a big deal indeed as the public's blatant disregard for the phone's integral features could have an effect on IPhone sells this year, and ultimately on Apple corporation's bottom line in this struggling economy.

Cozy, But Not Ready Yet.

2009-04-07T23:37:00.010+02:00

Hi 30daysofwrite-ers. Today's suggestion is an excellent one, but I am not really ready yet. Less than a month ago, on St. Patrick's Day (from now on to be known as St. Moses Day,) our family said adios to a beloved pet. I have written about him in the recent past here, here and here. He was wonderful, he had a long life, we miss him. Given a little more time I will have more to say and write about it.

Today I am under the weather. I thought I would be able to really do something special for this post, but kept getting stuck. So I decided to link to recent writings about Mo, and instead of adding to those writings just now, I thought about him while I made a french press cozy. Out of an old sweater. It keeps the coffee warm and now I reckon it will always remind me of him.

Peace.

Trying Pop Culture Senryu In English

2009-04-06T16:49:00.009+02:00

Arms races
cut and colours viewed loved
our Michelle.

***

Bloated frog
in Rushes croaks
his qualm, not sexy.

***

Give funds
buy a nurturer? Life? Heart?
Virgin mom.

Four Minutes To Save The World?

2009-04-05T23:09:00.005+02:00

I am unclear on what Justin and Madonna actually saved the world from in that song. Being that the average pop song has four minutes before it maxes out it's listener's attention span, I reckon they did their dead level combined best in the time given to share the truest essence of their entertaining selves to improve the world, or the little world created in the audio visual psychic space between the entertainer and the viewer/listener. I admit, the song makes me groove, I can dance or drive to it, and that marching band thing just works--it's sort of larger than life and quaintly nostalgic all at the same time....

As for my own attempts given the same amount of time? Well, I am really bad at telling jokes, and I don't have anywhere near the singing-dancing moves of those guys. Most of my tricks only work one person at a time too. Picking people up comes to mind. Yeah, I like to lift people, literally. My most frequent victim is my mother. It's just a spontaneous beyond-hugging type thing to show someone you just love them and want to give them an experience of gravity from like when they were a little kid. Most people protest a bit, so the element of surprise is very important. If you are sneaky enough to get them before they understand what is coming and shy away, there is little they can do to stop you, and in a second it is over anyway. You don't have to lift them super high or carry them off anywhere. For some reason it never fails to make the lift-ee smile or laugh, and once they are smiling that smile tends to last a while. So that might save their world, at least for a little while.

1800s? Maybe It Would Be Okay.

2009-04-04T22:28:00.001+02:00

Hopefully there would be some farming. If I had a little platz to grow some veg and herbs I would probably be keen on doing some planting and tending most days now (so we could maybe stop living off of poor wine and old bread and that stinky cheese). Maybe I would be able to make cheese and honey wine and other things to take along with my produce to the markets. My husband would likely be buried in his books of philosophies and science most of the time and might be a teacher of some kind. Me too maybe. It would not be surprising if we were of those trying to find a way to migrate to the Americas, although the creation of a federal state in Switzerland would be starting to improve things generally. If I were not supported by my husband maybe I would be working in a textile factory, or somehow involved in making clocks, and trying to eke it out on my own. I would probably be skinnier and a whole lot less healthy, with little money or spare time. I think I am less afraid of the lack of electricity and flow of general information than I am of the lack of advances in medicine. I am pretty hearty, or have been so far, but please God, don't give me a bladder stone back in those days.

Heavenly Home Day-Dreaming.

2009-04-03T16:20:00.003+02:00

My dream home is a warm and spacious cave in the winter and a cool and breezy light box in the summer. Surrounded by vegetation and blending into the landscape, it is hard to find without directions and yet walk-ably right around the corner from the coolest shops and community in the most familiar and friendly neighborhood. It has a quiet, sculpturally beautiful wind turbine, and solar panals. It is paid for, and the taxes are hideously and flukishly low. It has a fireplace and a steam room and a pool, and a human-deep in-ground massage-jets-optional hot/cold soaking tub outside, just off the master bedroom. It's grounds include several private outdoor areas snug near the house. One of the walls of the modern kitchen is all windows, which actually can be raised like a garage door to serve as a clear or privacy-blinded awning, or can be slid into a compartment above the false kithen ceiling. There are several of these walls of windows throughout the multilevel house so that opening them captures a gentle flow of air within the house, and effectively brings the outdoors in, and makes optimal use of the adjoining decks-with-views. The flagstone flooring of the kitchen extends continuously to the flagstone floor of the patio, trailing in paths into the private garden. There are enough natural plants and growth in the garden so that you can follow a path out not so very far from the house and yet not be able to see it, so you feel you are in the woods and could pitch a tent. The house is not overly large, but feels open and huge. All the seals are tight. There are convenient and discreet outlets for electricity everywhere they are needed, and secure wifi covers the house and its furthest grounds. It is wired for sound in a way that can be seperated for different sections of the house or combined throughout. There is radiant heat from beneath the stone and wood floors. You can hear a bubbling stream running nearby from open windows. The lines are clean and smooth and modern. The fixtures are simple and funtional. The materials are earthy and warm. The water from any of the showers, including the open one near the pool, gets warm in about 3 seconds, and the pressure is as great as you like, always.

Feeling the Difference.

2009-04-02T20:58:00.006+02:00

I believe I have inherited both my father's innate strength, and my mother's high tolerance for pain. This combination has made me seem something of a bulldozer at times. I mean, it is hard to remain a petite and gentle flower in the eyes of your boyfriend once he has seen you move a full size refridgerator by yourself by wrapping your arms around it. The thing too about tolererence for pain being inherited through families is that sometimes lessons in ways of being gentle can go neglected, because no one complains, if it hurts you just plow through...

My first or second time at the Kerrville Folk Festival I received a lesson in such gentleness. The festival was new to me and I loved it all. The camp, the heat, the dirt, the rain, the mud, the music!...it was all fantastic. I also loved being outdoors. Exploring the camp and the areas around it was a pleasure. We all hiked up and down all the paths and trails.

I had shoe issues. I was wearing some brown leather peep toe slides with a sort of platform rubber sole. They were hippy-in-the-city shoes, and in the city they worked fine. They cut across my high instep slightly, but in the city I had never had them on long enough to care.

It was just one or two little red spots the first day. Okay sure, yes, they began to sting a bit when I put them on. But I guess what would happen as I continued to "plow through" any pain and just walk on is that the red spots would become numb as the leather edge of the slide rubbing up against the bone of my instep continued to chew away at my skin. By the end of the day I had several blisters, which then all broke. Each time I had my shoes off they would start to scab over, only to be torn open again then next time I took a walk, and I was walking everywhere. Blood and puss. Dirt. Blood, puss again; Blood. It was not pretty at all. I am sure I was witnessed wincing when getting my shoes on..did I start going barefooted? Not yet.

So my friend found me at some point and bade me come with her to the backstage campground, where the musicians playing on stage and all of the crew and the people running the show and the general "friends of the festival" types had there camps set up. I hung out with her for a while and met some really sweet people. I cannot ever forget Paul, a friend of hers, a musician, I believe a drummer. He doctored my poor feet. I can see his clear eyes and open face as he gestered for me to "hand him my foot". I did without a second thought. He propped it on his knee. Once he took off my shoe, there was something to clean my wound, maybe something like peroxide or water, so cool to the touch. There was an antibiotic gel, maybe it also had something for pain? I don't know, I only know it felt like heaven. Cotton and gentleness. There was a bandage!! It was amazing. I don't think I realized how much it hurt until I felt how much better it could be.

I have often thought I didn't thank him properly for his knowing humanity. Were he and my friend in cahoots? I don't know. I remember being amazed and grateful, but also feeling a little shy of going overboard or gushing, so I am afraid I may have played it kinda cool. I felt no longer in pain, true, but more than that I felt calm and relaxed, peaceful. I will never forget the delight and relief of being spontaneously, simply and kindly cared for.

30DaysOfWrite: April Beginnings....

2009-04-01T16:47:00.004+02:00

So Laurie and that gang and I are going to be at it here again with 30daysofwrite. I will try to go at it every day, which will definitely get interesting toward the end of the month when my folks come for a visit (finally). Giving it my best shot is what I am all about. I would also like to experiment with setting up to write in different spots around the house and even around town. And oh yeah, having fun.

Stay On These Roads....

2009-03-24T18:17:00.003+01:00

We put Moses to sleep forever one week ago, almost to the minute, after a difficult weekend, and then two inexplicably beautiful sunny days. He and me and Daniel enjoyed a couple of very low key days in the bright sun on the porch. We knew Monday night it was time. He is at peace now. We are okay, though at times it creeps up on me so strongly and I miss him something fierce, and it stops me in my tracks.

Really Weird Weather. Naturally.

2009-03-11T19:03:00.004+01:00

Yesterday Moses had a full day and good appetite but also a fairly constant struggle breathing and walking and an accident or two. Today, Moses has slept, all day so far. He stirred once or twice a few hours apart and each time I lay down beside him and said "hi puppy," and he noticed me and settled back to sleep.

This morning about 11 I decided just not to wake him, and instead Left The House for a few hours. It had been raining and even maybe snowing for a bit, but by the time I left the sun was out. I stopped for some coffee, then groceries. I stopped into one of my favorite little Renweg shops and had the best chat with the girl who works there. I think neither of us can remember the other's name, but it doesn't matter, and we have made friends over the last two years...talking about dogs and boys and mothers-in-law and ex mothers-in-law. She understood just where I was coming from with Moses and the end stages of his days on the planet, and the bond and pain involved. I talked about all the reading and research I had been doing about vets' and pet lovers' and budddhists' views about euthanasia. I told her I just wanted to focus on staying calm and without fear or anger or confusion, and that I knew I really needed to loosen my grip so that maybe he could loosen his. It felt great to talk to someone about it. Then I had some lunch! I wandered aimlessly for almost an hour! Walking around downtown I would round a corner and suddenly be inside a little city-block sized storm, with wind and slushy sleet falling out of the sky...and then walk another little bit and come out of the shadow and into..low and behold!...the sun!

When I got home at 3 he was still out and it was a good time to give our other pup some attention. And then housework. I feel more relaxed and un-foggy than I have felt in weeks.

Roasted Pumpkin Seed Piles with Honey and Fleur de Sel

2009-02-25T17:26:00.007+01:00

*raw organic green oily pumpkin seeds (as opposed to dry white type of seeds)
*set organic local honey, 1 tablespoon
*Fleur de Sel (sea salt) in grinder
*organic extra virgin olive oil, about 1/4 to 1/3 cup, enough to just coat seeds. I have found greek olive oil works better than italian for some unknown reason.
*frying or other shallow pan
*plastic cutting board, large, or other flat surface for laying out the piles.

Cooking this recipe is very simple but moves very quickly once it starts. You can make a lot or a little. In all it should take no more than 5-10 minutes to prepare, with a little longer for the piles to cool and set.

Put your pan on the fire at medium high heat. Add olive oil to pan. Allow oil to heat for a few minutes. You may test it by dropping one seed into the oil. When tiny bubbles form around the seed, the oil is hot enough. Do not allow the oil to be hot enough to smoke at any point in the recipe.

Add pumpkin seeds. This will cool oil down slightly. Stir seeds constantly, assuring each seed is coated. Seeds should begin to sizzle and pop, and oil and seed mixture should again be up to medium high heat. Continue stirring. Increase heat only very slightly if needed. Continue stirring.

Add honey. Use as little as possible to be certain every seed can be coated, too much might make it too gooey instead of crisp. Fold and stir the honey into the seeds and oil so that honey melts completely. Adding the honey should cause seeds to cook a bit hotter and sizzle more. Stir stir stir. Seed roasting is complete when they seeds begin to look puffy. Once this begins happening, you may choose to remove from heat immediately, or else try to wait until most of the seeds have puffed. Don't stop stirring or allow the seeds to burn.

Remove the pan from the heat. Lay out your plastic cutting board or other (preferably plastic) flat surface. Grind about 1/4 teaspoon Fleur de Sel per 200 grams of seeds into mixture and stir thoroughly. Take a 30 second breather.

Tilting the pan slightly, use a table spoon to quickly scoop out small measures of seeds, straining oil and honey mixture out of each scoop. Lay each scoop out in a pile on the flat surface. Each pile will settle and spread out a little, and some oil mixture will drain out of it. Stir the remaining seeds again between each scoop. Be careful not to burn your fingers on the hot pan! Space the piles about an inch apart.

It probably will only take 30 to 60 minutes for the seed piles to cool. Once cool, each pile can be removed as a whole from the flat surface. They should have a bold glossy dark green color. The piles are eaten like cookies, and should be satisfyingly sweet and crunchy on the outside, with a touch of salt, and chewy and nutty on the inside.

ps. I'll add a picture real soon now, (they all disappeared before I had the chance!) Until then, imagine peanut patties except instead, pumpkin seeds not peanuts, and no corn syrup.

Yummy Yummy Snack from TED.

2009-02-23T22:01:00.003+01:00

I really believe that this is worth twenty minutes of your time. It is my latest favorite Ted talk. Elizabeth Gilbert: A different way to think about creative genius:

Ole! (accent implied)

15 Albums That Made Me Who I Am. Formative.

2009-02-22T23:20:00.003+01:00

Think of 15 albums that had such a profound effect on you they changed your life. Dug into your soul. Music that brought you to life when you heard it. Royally affected you, kicked you in the wazoo, literally socked you in the gut, is what I mean. Then when you finish, tag 15 others, including me. Make sure you copy and paste this part so they know the drill. Get the idea now? Good. Tag, you're it!

(Difficult to get it down to a bare essential 15. Many of these albums I don't even own anymore, but they are burned on my soul, baby. These are the formative ones....I think another list will have to take care of the true all time faves. In as close to order of discovery as I can manage....)

********

^1980 Autoamerican - Blondie
This was the first album I owned. It was a requested birthday present and it was mine all mine. I regaled my teammates in line for drills at soccer practice with my Deborah Harry imitation..I knew all the words to Rapture. But this whole albums kills, crossing all the genres and smelling like a rose in every one. Intro to disco, punk, new wave, reggae, rap, and torch, to name only a few, though I think it was all about rock. I saw her with some configuration of the old band a few months ago at the Xtra bar here in Zurich. I am a dork but I do believe we shared a moment.

^1983 Synchronicity - The Police
^1983 War - U2
^1984 Unforgettable Fire- U2
These albums are forever entwined in my memory as my very favorites of an endless stream of all the albums by both of these artists. Although they may have been a couple of years old when I first heard them, these were still what all the cool cute boys were listening to when I was first allowed to ride around with them in their cars in Lubbock, Texas. Later, Unforgettable Fire and Bad were all my longing and discovery when I moved from Lubbock to Del Rio.

^1985 The Head on The Door - The Cure
Thank you KTXT, college radio. Thank you God that my parent's room was on the other side of the house, though Head On The Door the single was so poppy and vague lyrically, who could have known we were heading into artsy darksy emo.

^1985 Big Lizard In My Backyard- The Dead Milkmen
Intro to Absurd. Hilarious, with no rules or reverence. From then on I thought all punk was meant to be funny.

^1985 Hounds of Love-Kate Bush
Again, bless KTXT for playing Running Up That Road. This album told really engaging stories. I was henceforth hooked and have loved everything she has ever done, with special mention to The Red Shoes and Aerial. I have played all three until Daniel my husband would .. er..like me to stop. :)

^1977 Love Songs - The Beatles
What? It is not an album? So what.

^1988 Life's Too Good- The Sugar Cubes
Bizarre and sublime. Lyrics so raw and funny and unselfconscious. Not like me at all but oh so admired.

^1995 Original Soundtracks 1-Passengers (who are actually U2)
When I heard Luciano Pavarotti's solo on Miss Sarajevo it went to a place inside my brain I didn't previously know existed and sparked an endorphin fire I would relentlessly bore my friends trying to describe. I sought and bought this album and excitedly played it for anyone new (my roommates rolling their eyes) to try to spark their brains too. Had I just been born? I love this whole diverse record. I can loan it to you. Can you give it back now please. :)

^1981 Discipline-King Crimson
^1986 Deep End Live! -Pete Townshend
These two were late discoveries, about 1997ish, and belong together for me. Discipline is surprisingly danceable. I love both Adrian Belew's vocals and guitar style. He is currently touring with Julie and Eric Slick and when I saw them a few months back he did some of this album and it was still amazing. As technically skilled as he is, you can nevertheless see and hear he is just having a blast when he plays. It comes through.
Pete Townshend is a poet and I love his voice and lyrics and everything about this album.

^1968 Astral Weeks- Van Morrison
^1975 Still Crazy After All These Years- Paul Simon
These two go together. I didn't really find them until about 1998? Played them over and over. These are morning-before-work-coffee-and-smokes-with-chats-with -friends-who-stopped-in. These are kitchen table counseling for the lovelorn. These are that hottest summer in Austin. These are the albums I stripped and refinished my wood floors to.

^1988 Sharpeville- The Reggae Philharmonic Orchestra
This album has touched me profoundly first, in that I loved it, and second, because it is mysteriously non-existent. I pulled it from the discount bin in at the mall music shop in Del Rio I think, and almost wore it out. The title song is a haunting bittersweet violin instrumental, it was my favorite. I didn't worry too much about leaving this worn out tape in a box in some closet or God forbid attic at my Mom's house because I knew I needed to replace it with a CD anyway. Well I am here to tell you it is un-findable. Google doesn't know it. Amazon and Wikipedia have never heard of it. My research in trying to find it has lead me to read about the Sharpeville massacre in 1960 in South Africa where a peaceful protest turned violent, which some shed light on the content of this beautiful, soulful album. But all record of its existence seems to have otherwise vanished. ?? anyone??

If you read it and you like it consider yourself tagged. Go forth and tag.

PS. My dear friend has located Sharpeville for me and I will soon be ordering it anew from here! :)

My Husband's First Love Was A Dog.

2009-02-10T14:42:00.012+01:00

A boy dog called Moses. Now he is my love too. He is 18.

Today I need to write about my dog. I know that my emotions are close to the surface...last week I saw "..Benjamin Button" and though I think it is overlong and too slowly paced, an interesting movie that somewhat misses the mark, I admit, I cried. The movie raises issues to do with age, every age, but particularly old age. It also says something about souls recognizing each other for what they are within in spite of how they appear.

I have gone round and round about this. Right now I am at that place on the wheel where I am questioning that I(we) are doing the right thing. Moses is 18. He reluctantly takes three pills each day. One is a steroid, prednasolone, for severe arthritis in his spine and back leg joints. One is an antibiotic to prevent the urinary infections which seem to be a side effect of the steroid, and the other is pentoxi mepha, a pill which is meant to be for dogs prone to seizures, but is also said to possibly assist to treat other general nervous system maladies.

So he functions pretty well. The arthritis that we thought would take him down more than a year ago is managed so that it appears as though he is in no pain. Just very very slow, and still sometimes unsteady or falling. He is still interested in his food, which is beefed up with yummy biotin beef tasting B-complex vitamins, he still dives after whatever size Greenie you give him, even the ones larger than his mouth! He still teases our other dog a bit about her bone and they can make a little game of it, very very occasionally, and it is a very slow game, one where it is easy for him to be knocked down. (If he gets knocked down, he is usually stuck, unless I or my husband give him a hand back to his feet.) Our other dog, Girl, a small Chow Chow, still dotes on him and worries if he is out of her sight for long and gives him the once over inspection when he returns....all good.

But lately I am really noticing how very tired and disoriented he is. I question whether he is newly tired or whether I am getting tired and so finally really noticing. It has taken some time (a year) for my husband to grasp or at least admit out loud that the things we are doing for Moses, the meds, the tacky carpeting on every surface of the floor, the little adjustments are all not going to improve his health, but really only make him comfortable as he is not to ever go back to his young self again.

He has frequent accidents in the house. I have tried with all my heart to make a routine, any routine, so that I could have a schedule and some predictability and not feel like every time I leave the house it is a risk to return to stinking difficult-to-clean grossness on him and on the house. I think I may be a little depressed by this imprisoning, though also a bit guilty about my own resentments. This wouldn't be such a drastic change if both our dogs did not used to be able to hold it for 10 hours, and if there was an emergency, 11 or 12. I always tried to make it back to them within 9 hours, but knew I could rely on them both doing all they could to avoid going within our home. It freaks Girl out if Moses does it while we are gone, but Moses seems to have lost the concept. I have made it a point to yell at him every time it happens, and praise him when he goes outside, but again I am not certain that he understands or is concerned about the difference anymore.

Last night, when he was sort of pacing about in uncertain circles, I pulled him up onto the sofa with me and put a movie on to watch. I pulled his old bag of bones on top of me as I stretched out, and he rested his head on my chest so that his long nose was right under my chin. He looked into my eyes and his body relaxed and he began to breath as though sleeping, with a little purring snore. I stroked his soft soft soft head and ears and tried to fathom what life was for him, in this day, in that moment.

My husband is at work all day. I believe he has faced the truth of what may be coming very soon on a mental level, but I fear for him and pray about how it will effect his emotions, and me too. I think of the best outcome for both of us, that we will have our grief in the moment that Moses is gone, and then the joy for knowing he is just resting worry-free forevermore after that. I know I am clinging to him, to his body and cuteness. FOr those moments where holding him seems to be what makes him the happiest, the stillest, the most at peace. There is really nothing else I am able to make my life about at the moment. I pray every day for him to die softly in his sleep.

Promoting the Flow, Paying Attention and Playing Nice.

2009-02-04T15:38:00.006+01:00

One thing that works well for collaborative efforts is something called version control. I understood this concept before but only recently learned it had a name and a fairly standard way of working. I think this practice is useful because it fosters trust and stimulates interest in a project.

It is a simple idea. There is an original which is available to all participants. Each time someone has their turn at adding to or editing the original it is "checked out" and cannot be altered by anyone else, although all participants continue to have access to view it as it exists so far.

Creativity does not necessarily follow a linear path, and this allows the creative thought for a project to percolate along for everyone simultaneously, while not holding up the movement of the whole piece when one person has it checked out for editing or additions. I believe this can create synergy which is not necessarily quantifiable, and without which a project can stagnate or otherwise be high-jacked.

In a blog circle situation the simplest way to achieve this is for each participant to publish the story so far once they have done their edit. This creates a record of progress, and if there is interest in the story, a need for readers to progress on to the next writer's blog to get the next bit of the story. Each time a part is published, the original could be considered to be "checked out" by the next writer until they publish their own edit.

Monkey Story

2009-02-03T01:00:00.006+01:00

This is group story as it left my hands, having first been to Art Thief, on January 15.

********

"It was a dark and stormy night..."

Candi stared at the monitor for a few seconds and decided to try a different approach. She deleted most of the previous line.

"It was a dark time for the people of the village..."

It still felt wrong. She wanted a strong opening. Something declarative and definitive. Certainly she was no Dickens or Melville, but she still knew she had something more in her. Again, she deleted. This was the third day in a row that she'd attempted to start this story. She still hadn't really fleshed out the middle, and she certainly had no clue how it was going to end, but she felt that if she didn't at least start, the idea would just fester and die in her head. Sure, the fact that the beginning wasn't coming along so well gave her pause, but she was in no mood to quit yet. After all, if a thousand monkeys working on a thousand typewriters for a thousand days have just as much chance of creating a work of genius through sheer coincidence as one writer sitting at one keyboard, then this monkey would just keep pecking away until something clicked.

"The storms of a dark time had come to the village..."

Candi stood up from her chair. She looked for something to either inspire or distract her. Her eyes swept the room and she wandered over to the record player. She turned it on and put the needle down on the Nina Simone album that had already been sitting on the plate. As the lush strings swept out through her living room, she contemplated the smoking habit she had only recently and reluctantly agreed to stop. Pulling a beer from her refrigerator, she dragged a chair over to the front window took a spare pack of Camels from behind a bookend on the shelf nearest the front door. With the window now open, she could hear the drizzle like a steady hiss outside. It would probably come down harder as the night wore on, but right now it cooled the air blowing into her house. She took a drink from her beer and lit a cigarette. It would just be this one, then she would get back to the writing.

"A dark storm of smoke and fire engulfed the village of Simoen..."

She wondered what Jeff was doing tonight. He hadn't called all day and she was almost thinking of worrying about him, but she was still too angry at him. She would give him another day before she called out the FBI. For now, she just wanted to stew a little longer. She just wanted to know that whatever happened from this point out would be up to her. She tired easily of his moods and whims and had almost ended things with him twice before. Not that he knew that. It was just one of those things that floated formlessly in her thoughts, waiting for something to make it solid. but each time, he had taken his head out of the lion’s mouth without ever having realized it had ever been there in the first place. But now, she could feel the lion growing hungry. It would have to be placated one way or another, and a simple apology would probably not be enough this time. After all, she had even gone as far as to quit smoking so as to make him happy.

"As we drove our camels before us, the distant fires of the village of Simoen illuminated the cool, dark night..."

Candi lit another cigarette. This was getting futile. Recently, she'd begun to feel as if she had been getting nowhere with her writing and tonight just served to reinforce that. She regretted leaving school before she got her degree, but her logic was sound at the time and she also suspected that even if she had graduated, she would probably still be here in this very same spot, unable to even start, let alone finish a single thought. Jeff had tried to convince her to move in to his house. No rent meant that she could afford to go back to school, but the strings attached to his offer were too thick for her comfort. And, she was too attached to the house she was renting now. The wood floors and high ceiling reminded her of her grandmother's house in Shreveport.

"Nina thought back to her days in the village, before the storm, before the fires and she was filled with an overwhelming sense of nostalgia..."

Suddenly, Candi felt a bit more certain. This felt, well certainly not right, but at least more right than before. No longer caring about decorum, she lit another cigarette at her desk and opened another beer. The record had stopped playing a while back and all she could hear was the crackle of the needle as it hung on the last groove, endlessly looping around and around. The cool air that wafted in through the open window had turned colder as the rain started to come down in earnest.

There was a knock at the door.

With beer and cigarette in hand, she went towards the door, and paused to take a breath. If Jeff was going to just show up without calling now, especially now, that she felt she might actually be getting somewhere, he was just going to have to accept her and the situation as is.

Through the window on the way to the door, she could see he was folding up a black umbrella, and that it was really pouring now.

Facing Candi eye to eye when she finally opened the door was not Jeff. The individual standing there, strangely soaked in spite of the umbrella, was about her height. He had brown eyes and reddish brown hair, including a sort of wispy beard. He wore a long sleeved grey hooded sweatshirt, jeans, brown leather shoes.

“Yes?”

“Hi. Yes. I am looking for Candace?” His eyes looked at hers expectantly.

She searched her memory for where in the world she might know this slightly familiar seeming guy. “I’m Candace, what’s this in regards to?”

He smiled. “It’s about clearing up a small misunderstanding. By the way, your fag’s turned to ash. God, this rain! May I come in?”

Her cigarette had indeed burned down to the filter. She tossed it out on to the porch floor and stepped out a bit to stamp it with her shoe. She said, “Do I know you?”

He pushed his hair back from his face. “You should really stop smoking. No, Not exactly. We are sort of connected to the same group....My name is Simeon Skyes. Do you have another of those?”

Pushy. But there was definitely something cute about this guy too. “Another cigarette!? Didn’t you just tell me to quit?”

“No thanks,” he smiled. “I mean another beer. I think a brief conversation will clear everything up. I just want to give you some information and then if you like I am off on my way again in this.. hideous weather.”

She sized him up. She liked surprises, and he seemed like he could be one. But she felt cautious too. “What group are you talking about? I am sort of in the middle of something, and anyway.” She paused. It was dark with the storm but it was still pretty early. Her neighbor should be home in a short while. “Look, if you want to have a chat, that’s fine. Have a seat here on the porch couch, and I will in fact go check to see if I can spare a beer. Why not.”

He smiled and turned around to look at the ancient rattan and green sofa that was up against the long wall of her porch. He gingerly sat down, and looked up at her, eyebrows raised, saying nothing.

“Right. Be right back.” She stepped back and shut the door behind her, and locked it. Inside the room her monitor glowed. Sort of in the middle of something. That was a slight exaggeration. Nevertheless, her imagination felt awake. She took the needle off the Nina and flipped through some discs, finally settling on the Mingus. She grabbed two more beers and headed to the front porch. She would find out what this Simeon thing was all about, and then get right back to it.

“Nothing exciting had ever happened in the sleepy village of Jefferson, until that fateful night, when a stranger blew in with the storm.”

He was waiting, shaking rain out of his hair when she opened the door.

********

Art Thief's last sentence in this part of the story is "There was a knock at the door."

The Long Long Lost Story.

2009-01-28T22:25:00.014+01:00

I once was helped out by a white haired wild eyed Vietnam vet I met at the Exxon station. My car had exploded on the highway in a town far from home where I knew no one. After knowing him for about twenty minutes, I got into his windowless custom van and we drove away. This is not an action I would recommend to anyone---I was without a doubt, desperate.

It was 2001 I think, and I was having difficulty getting a job. But I had begun to volunteer at the milk bank again. The Mother's Milk Bank of Austin is a beautiful organization that does just what you'd think they'd do by the way their name sounds. They accept donations of breast milk for pasteurization, processing and distribution in the Texas area. I had worked for them in the past, and when I left I stayed on as a volunteer, mainly for pouring milk for pasteurization, which is a lovely process and a story for another day. Anyway...

They had another volunteer position which involved driving to certain large cities in Texas, visiting hospitals and picking up donations of milk from special freezers, then driving back to Austin and putting the milk in the Mothers' Milk Bank of Austin's (MMBA) freezers.

This volunteer position involved a mileage reimbursement, which I was sadly desperate for at the time. A round trip to Dallas or Houston would yield a nice chunk of change. I had a great car, my parents' eight year old silver Chrystler LHS, with grey leather interior, which they had recently sold to me. I actually could fit 3 or 4 large igloo coolers in the trunk, and 3 or 4 more in the back. These plus the fact that I love to drive made the volunteer driver position perfect for me. After a year of volunteering, I would be employed by MMBA to do this job, but this story takes place on one of my early drives.

Now, my mother swears that when they agreed to sell that car to me, they told me that it had overheating issues that they had attempted to repair to no avail. She swears she told me not to run the air conditioner. But in reality she was still riding some of the crazy manic highs and lows of the steroid treatment for a certain blood disorder she'd been diagnosed with, and I believe she intended to tell me, but unfortunately, did not.

Well I had been driving it around town, sweet A/C full blast, for more than a month, and may have even had it on a milk drive before. But now it was the heat of the Texas summer. I had started off about 10 in the morning. About a mile inside Temple city limits, the car virtually exploded. There was smoke and steam pouring from the radiator, which of course had a hole in it, and it would not start and not even the electricity would come on.

So I was stranded on the side of the highway. I had on faded jeans and Birkenstocks and my boyfriend's long sleeve t-shirt. I think my hair was quite red at the time. I locked the car, and started walking through the weeds on the road side toward a gas station I saw in the distance. I think I had about seven bucks on me, probably less, no credit cards. No clue of a plan. When I got to the gas station I bought a cup of coffee and got the change mostly in quarters.

While I was doctoring my coffee and trying to stay composed, this older guy came over with his coffee and sort of smiled at me, sort of gave me a look over. He asked, "Where are you headed?"

Now you know how certain white haired gentlemen you can instantly recognize as the sweet and harmless grandfatherly type? And some others you just do not. With him I did not. But I needed help.

"Well," I said, "Right now I am going to sit right down on that curb outside and drink this coffee."

He paused and looked around us without moving his head. "How about I join you?"

Now I almost always prefer to be alone in times of sheer panic, and given time to get a grip, but I told him, "Sure."

He had trouble sitting down, and told me that actually one of his legs was prosthetic. "But if you think it is okay," he said, "I have a van just over there that we could go sit in an drink our coffees, and you could tell me what the problem is. I was just driving down the highway a while ago, I like to drive, and I saw you walking, and I said to myself, that girl needs help. Maybe I can help her. So I drove over here."

I know he could probably feel me judging him as I examined his face hard for a few seconds. "Okay."

Essentially I told him about my milk drive, and about the car and the coolers. The car was a bust. This trip was a bust. I needed to get myself and those coolers back to Austin. I had no money and no one there could come and get me. I could have called my boyfriend. But he was working and more broke than me anyway, and we did not need him to ask to leave his job to come and get me.

He told me that he could not take me to Austin or give me any money but that he hoped he could help me. He said he knew of a gas station where a bus sometimes went through, and if we were lucky maybe it would go through today. He called it the Indian store. He was friends with the Indian brothers who ran it, and he could drive me there now.

Before we left I tried to call my boyfriend at work but couldn't get through. I called and left a message on our answering machine, including the license plate number of the van. I got in the van again with him and we drove off. While we were on the road I notice there were some modifications to the steering column and pedals of his van. I also noticed there were no seats except the front ones, and there was a mattress in the back. He noticed me notice the mattress and said, "Sometimes I like to drive in the country and pull over and take a nap. Or sometimes me and the missus will sleep back there when we travel." Made perfect sense.

The "Indian store" was one of those super divey non-chain gas stations. There was a booth seat in one section of the store. He gestured for me to have a seat and I did. We sat there for a minute looking out of the glass wall store front, expectantly, for what? He got up and had a chat with the store keeper, to let them know what we were up to: hoping for a bus. (While they were talking I noticed the fully accessible magazine rack to my back was filled with cheesy skin magazines, in a catagory way beyond Playboy, ya'll. This was not the kiddie section.) The bus in question did not have any actual scheduled stop at the Indian store, ever. The driver just had a habit of stopping for gasoline there.

After about twenty minutes of waiting, I was nevertheless sort of amazed when a small commercial silver and blue bus turned up. I saw my white haired friend get a vigilant scout look in his eyes and demeanor. It was uncanny. He had icy blue eyes and was quite tan. We watched some kids file out of the bus and into the store. He pointed at the uniformed guy pumping gas. "That's the driver. When he comes in here, after he pays, I'll see if I can't talk to him."

It turned out that he was headed with this group, a church group, into Dallas, and would be returning with an empty bus on the way back to San Antonio around eight pm. He agreed to take me and all my coolers back to Austin if I was there when he passed through. For nothing. Amazing.

So there was a long time to wait and I still needed to do something about my car. My friend "knew a guy." He talked to the guy and the guy agreed to tow it off the highway to a nearby parking lot and look at it. We all met there. It was obvious the car was not going anywhere with any quick fix. Now, if I had been clever or rich I would have called a dealership and asked them to tow it to their shop. But I was not. This "friend" had his own "shade tree garage" at his house out in the country, and he agreed to take it there and to work with me if I paid him over time for parts to get it fixed. What could I do? I agreed. (In the end, four months later, this arrangement did not work out, and my father had to go out to his place and retrieve the vehicle, which is a whole other story. I refer to this time as my public transportation initiation period.)

So I put the coolers in his van, and we drove around. I told him I wanted to try again to call someone from home and let them know what was going on, that I could call collect, maybe from his house? He explained that his lady was still working her shift at a nursing home, and that I was "so pretty" he'd better wait until she was home to let me use their phone.

We drove around. He said he knew this great Mexican food place, and asked if I would eat lunch with him. Of course I said sure. We ate and talked about not too much. It was quiet but relaxed, and the food was great. At some point he used the phone and called his wife and let her know we would be coming by.

We had some time before his wife would be home from work. He drove us to the hospital. He wove through the sprawling parking lot to one edge overlooking a hill. There was a view of the whole city, and the sky was changing from blue to pink and orange. He talked to me about his wife, who was dealing with an ongoing medical condition. He said he came out here sometimes while he waited for her to have exams a t the hospital. He removed his prosthesis and rubbed his leg. We talked but not too much. I thanked him. I told him I felt so much more hopeful than I had in the morning before I met him, and that under the circumstances things were turning out much better than my worst fears.

We drove to his house. It was small and tidy. His wife was petite and nice. I used the phone and called home, collect. My boyfriend answered. Explaining everything to him was hell. If nothing had gone wrong I would be coming home about then. But the situation as it was was frustrating for him to try to grasp. I think he felt helpless, but he acted angry. He said, "What guy?! You are at some guy's house?! Who is he!!!?" He was off the wall. I said, "For crying out loud, he's your dad!" I meant this metaphorically, and after that he calmed down. After I talked to him, I called my parents and told them what was going on. I felt so contrite when I spoke to them. I had somehow destroyed the car. Only later would I find out that this was a recurring theme, the radiator issue.

He took me and my coolers to the Indian store. He waited inside at the table surrounded by the magazines. We had gotten the coolers out of his van, and they were outside on the curb, so I felt I needed to stay with them. We watched out, with the glass wall between us, for the bus to return. And it did.

The journey home was unremarkable except for a fuel stop on the edge of Austin. The bus driver dropped me off at my door, and said, "Hey no problem," when I thanked him. I still had a ton to deal with: crazed boyfriend, broken car, job not done. But at least I was home. It felt a bit miraculous.

What DO Women Want?

2009-01-27T12:57:00.011+01:00

This New York Times article written by Daniel Bergner is how I spent my spare time yesterday. It was interesting to me especially because I participated in one of those University of Texas studies, what, 7 or so years ago. Obviously, as stated in the article, this research is detailed and time intensive. I really appreciate that the differences between men and women are being investigated with such passion and respect.

The Good News: I'm A Heartless Bastard.

2009-01-26T13:41:00.004+01:00

First the Bad News: We were not able to see Emir Kusturica and the No Smoking Orchestra on Sunday night. Last year we were able to just walk up and get tickets, and they were fantastic, but this year, even on a Sunday, even though we showed up (uncharacteristically) early, the show was already sold out. Part of me was disappointed, but noticing the blend of Zurich straights and hippy kids in line in front of us, another part was sort of glad that this gypsy Balkan music was so well received. I wonder if this supportive turn-out is related to the February 8 vote about whether to extend EU states' citizens of Bulgaria and Romania their EU status priveliges in Switzerland. Maybe, maybe not. Could just be great live music.

Never mind though...live music plan B was pretty smokin', and had been a tossup for plan A all along, Lo and behold, James McMurtry (and his band, the Heartless Bastards) was in town, along with Jon Dee Graham! Yeah, in Zurich! So we headed over to El Lokal and caught them. El Lokal, the bar itself, is more than a little bit Austin weird and wonderful. It had been years since I had seen James McMurtry in the flesh, and I have to say a decade's worth of miles and years and facial hair really does him justice....the baby face is gone. These guys are so familiar to me from going out and listening to the radio in Austin. I felt like I was touching home, and theirs was a serious Continental Club vibe, except for slightly less tattoos and tank tops, and way less dancing given the caliber of the show. Most Swiss enjoy almost all genres of live music as though they are watching a classical orchestra in theater seating, greatly internalizing their emotion and enjoyment. They did give it up more than normally though. I feel a little self conscious myself in a crowd like that, but there was no way to stop myself from shakin' it. Who hoo. :)

By the way..the song Choctaw Bingo is seriously genius dark poetry truth and so wrong all at the same time. Love it.

Forget Poe: Catching up, Muddling Through the Suggestions, Introducing Characters, Style Experiment.

2009-01-18T20:06:00.018+01:00

(Postmodern, bossa nova, middle eastern cuisine, laissez-faire, nubilous. Fighting or conflict.)

Sitting here sweating in robes, drinking mint tea and trying to discuss the nubilous issues surrounding the most recent movie I have seen....I find my self at odds with Cheryl. She is a little Dutch mod girl, with Chinese friends. I am American, child of the seventies, a free-Tibet fair trade fan, a post modern chica.

"How can you say their ways are outdated? Where does your certainty that industrialism is the superior way to live come from anyway?" Did I say this out loud?

I am responding to her statement that the way village people live in Nepal and Tibet, with their dirt floors and religious beliefs, is simply an outdated way of life, and that Tibet is China, absolutely, and that they will simply have to conform to "modern life" in the present day.

Before meeting her here I was in a cinema seeing "10 Questions For the Dali Lama" and was virtually looking into the man's face for almost two hours. I went into it with a Lama-positive outlook, and all those beliefs were confirmed for me in watching the movie. Who am I, who is anyone to say this man is not a god on Earth? I suppress my redneck outrage and remember that this is my friend and that I am civilized. Also that I am far too enlightened to resort to anger, and should instead persuade. I try to contemplate her point of view.....

But let's be honest. Cheryl is a very young, multi-degreed, about-to-be married woman. Her hair is blond and her skin is freckleless and perfect. Her tall, slim frame has never worn the hunched shoulders of a conflicted conscience. Her job is to learn, on behalf of the government, how to overcome the negative stigma associated with something like, say, nuclear power plants, how to make such a thing more appealing to the public.

Where do I start?

Ten years ago I would probably never have a friend like Cheryl. She is dear to me. She asked me to meet her here, I have discovered, so that she can relate to me the almost affair she could have had when a colleague confessed his feelings to her over a very platonic dinner on a business trip in a very exotic city (with her approaching wedding but a month away!), and also to confess that it made her ego feel good. I feel pretty charmed by her in this. So I tread lightly and mentally map out a plan to change her mind over time about what she probably considers a very small thing. No need to throw things. Yet.

Another friend, Tara, a very smart friend, told me she believes there is no reason to make a bed. That it is a waste of time since you are just going to get right back in it. My husband has the very same opinion. I smile at this and wonder how she must regard me, and my ever increasing domesticity, how much of my world revolves around such rituals, and why I do it. I find value in the ritual of it. I do it because it means I have a bed, and time and energy. Why do the dishes? Why make house at all? Why pray? Why wear clothes? Why do anything?

In his fantasy-bachelor-life my husband would find a way to end up working at his company's branch in Brazil. I will see every samba show that comes to town with him, and wiggle my ass off with him, and mean it, but when it comes right down to it, so far, I say no to the idea of anything more involved than a vacation in Brazil. And I know that it will never happen unless I change my mind. He will have to make do with the same old bossa he knows and loves..this may be the reason I make the bed.

My cousin Jenna chats with me long distance about trying to find a gift for her friend's wedding. "I've got the registry list, but tell me, does anyone ever use the crap they are given? And really, for a couple getting married at thirty-five, do they really need a crystal flower vase? Or candy dish? Or any other thing more to dust?!"

I understand what she is saying. But I also recall a different world, a different life, a million years ago, another me. I recall the daily morning sweeping of the previous night's broken glass. I explain to her, "A glass whatever on a shelf in a home tells everyone that fragile things can survive there."

Listen to the Moth.

2009-01-18T13:21:00.007+01:00

It is here.

Carol of the Thirty Days.

2009-01-16T15:49:00.006+01:00

Carol is not her work. Unfortunately, she spends quite a lot of time and energy in that direction anyway, utilizing her ever present and beloved telephone, networking and communicating and generally running her corner of "the show" (and some other people's corners as well) no doubt for great benefit of her organization. By beloved I mean that the telephone loves her, not necessarily the other way around. When not working, Carol enjoys indulging in her many hobbies, including caffeinated beverages, miniature football, the decorative impaling of radioactive gummi bears, and not to mention, writing. She occasionally brings her "hobbies" to work, to the wonder and enjoyment of her office mates. An excellent gift for Carol might be some state of the art headphones.

In Case of Zombies or Whathaveyou, the Basement.

2009-01-15T20:33:00.005+01:00

As long as the emergency horns give us enough lead time to make it down to the basement, I realize we should be fine! The basement is actually a functional nuclear fallout shelter as well, with thick steel doors and industrial bolts and electricity and no windows. Then we just let the Swiss militia get down to business, and wait it out. The zombies have no chance against the soldiers.

Swiss citizens are asked to keep provisions in their shelters in the case of nuclear disaster, and I have seen that my neighbors do. It seems paranoid, and yet somehow, wise. I intend to do it too, but momentarily all I have is a six pack of liter water bottles. Our section is full of luggage and dog carriers, and about 40 boxes of my husband's research life on paper, waiting for the genius organization and tabulation system I have devised to be applied to it. I have not put any noodles down there yet.

As I see it, as soon as we hear sirens, we grab the dogs, and if there is time, cel phones and chargers, and a laptop and charger too, and go down. I think I could out run one zombie, but I worry about being cornered. Also, Moses the dog cannot run and Girl the dog would try to attack, and the last thing I need would be to get all sentimental over some zombie Chow Chow. No. We stay.

I do need to communicate this plan to all my neighbors ahead of time, and it would be a good idea to get a telephone-tree in place so we can know when we have everyone that is coming down there, before we lock up. We probably need a password or a secret knock.

Maybe if I have a chance to grab some groceries or liquor on the way down I should. And the coffee, kettle and french press. And dogfood. We will be pretty much at the mercy of my neighbors otherwise, and it's always better if you have something to share too, other than dog poo. Poo bags. I should grab those too.

Eh. Zombies. What a hassle.

Flying Fecking Team Colors.

2009-01-13T21:12:00.011+01:00

I have read several of the groups' posts about the teams and they are truly awesome. I froze up on this subject. I started pondering all those little connections involved in really being a full on team fan, watching team sports on TV at home, especially at the holidays, team colors and paraphernalia, etc.

I kind of sank into my pondering, and was unable to find the funny or the quirk. It was a relief to read the posts of those who did.

I played team sports for a while, and right up until I stopped, I was pretty good at it and enjoyed it a lot. I have though, never fully gotten into talking about or watching team sports, professional or otherwise. Maybe I dug it a bit, when I was young and it was always football, and always the Dallas cowboys, with my dad and maybe some friends around. But later, as I got older, I found that though I enjoyed watching a game enough, my tendency to root for and pay attention to individual players based upon the number on their jerseys, regardless of which team they played on, this tendency could make real die hard fans on either side who may be watching with me ...pretty pissed off, for some reason. I tended to prefer eights or threes, alone or in whatever combination, and sometimes sevens or fives, and also some other patterns which seemed important but are now hard to either remember or explain.....the point is I have been accused of killing the buzz with my, er, banter, and was perhaps not invited again next time. I don't get why.

Maybe it's that neither side could be sure I was on their "team" even if I might like one or more of their players, and clearly (or clear to most) THAT is NO FUN. Clearly defined boundaries and identity are very important in team sports. The very thing with teams and hardcore fans is all that us-versus-them and mob rule stuff that it taps into in all of us. I know I have that primal thing within me just as much as the next, but I also say it sort freaks me out, and I shy away from it.

Along the lines of us-versus-them, I thought I would share with you all a (hopefully) small part of Zurich and Swiss culture, that we seem to be bombarded with during voting times here:

Hate Mongering Political Billboards from the "Swiss People's Party", the SVP.

Whoo-hoo! It is immigration debate time! Apparently one team wears red and white and has pink skin and probably fair hair, and the other team is pretty much everybody else.

IN the fall of 2007, it was this one:

Notice the evicted sheep. Nice. "Sicherheit Schaffen" translates to "create security".

There was another at the time which showed a red Swiss passport in the center and about seven hands reaching into the frame to clutch at the passport. Most of the hands (except one, so not all) were brown or black.

And now, since one week ago, the latest:

To me, this looks like the kind of thing that should be in some museum somewhere in the Southern United States. Or possibly some sort of WWII relic. I cannot believe that this is a current acceptable political campaign in Switzerland.

So...just in case you thought Zurich was all chocolate and cheese and cows, and precision watches and excellent public transport and generally Brilliant Design, and the "temperance" and "tolerance" of the Swiss temperament...well, no, I am here to tell you, they have some shit slingers here too.

The SVP is not a tiny political party in Switzerland. Also, by sheer numbers of these billboards hitting the streets, the SVP has quite some cash to spend. In the minds these types, I believe, after 911 certainly, and further after 7/7/7 (July 7, 2005) in London, especially in Europe, it became within realm of the acceptable to hate Muslims. This is not news to anyone reading this. I have had discussions, probably you have too, with people who had previously been reasonable, peace-loving, Christian- seeming people who became zealous across-the-board haters in the face of these circumstances. In this political climate, the debate here now is about accepting immigrants seeking asylum, and which countries' citizens qualify. It seems anyone dark skinned and maybe not Christian is targeted here. SVP is using this provocative image to spark the fears which are typical in a debate of this kind, the fears which say, "they are taking our jobs, our resources, diluting our culture, and teaching our children to paint graffiti." Har har. Blah blah. Their rhetoric is to do with "not harboring criminals", etc...but in cases where the foreign governments claiming said asylum-seekers are criminal are themselves criminal, nothing is so black and white.

Well tonight one of these posters just turned up at my home tram stop. There may be a little graffiti in my future as well. Sharpie ready. Arggh.

2009-01-12T23:59:00.001+01:00

Subject confounds. Need more time or to write about something else. edit later. JPM

Bananan Nana Fo Fana...

2009-01-11T01:10:00.011+01:00

Just keep using a

Pen or a computer to

Make words into sentences.

*****************

AS AN ASIDE, I would like to mention that I am addicted to listening to This American Life online. I especially want to draw attention to last week's episode for the last entry in the hour long show, "A man tries to calculate what love costs. From Lydia Davis's book Break It Down, read by actor Matt Malloy" If you use the link, you can click "full episode" and stream it for free, or otherwise download the mp3 of it, and if you make it through the rest of the episode, the Lydia Davis piece, or possibly the actor's stylistic interpretation, makes a distinctive impression.

Writing Horoscopes From the Hip.

2009-01-10T10:26:00.001+01:00

Taurus. In the latter part of last week you have been coming out from under your "brain cloud" Use the weekend for clearing out your closets and giving unused items away. This will make space in your life for better flow of energy and ideas. Though you have some anxiety that a major relationship is changing, you will find clues that assure you that your are loved.

Gemini. You are burning up the pavement, socially speaking. Your world is swirling with new voices and faces, and somewhere in there may be a connection that advances your career prospects. As you are reaching out to your group, relax and be yourself, and remember to listen as much as you speak. Get chores done early so you can go out guilt-free, and sleep in the next day.

Aquarius. Not everyone understands the unconventional way you express your love. But the one that counts will. If you are attached you can trust that your significant other gets you. If you are single, pay attention to the one who can finish your sentences...there may be more there than you realize. Now is a good time to kick a bad habit.

One October, By Moonlight.

2009-01-09T13:08:00.007+01:00

A brown bear and a resplendent bird walk into a nightclub. Many of their friends are there too. The drink flows. They dance. He is amazing...finding beats easily in tunes from every era, even the cheesy ones, as he raises his elbowed wings occasionally in exuberance, and to claim space around the two of them as the crowd grows larger. She dances, and heads turn, for you know, it isn't so much how well a bear dances, but rather amazing that it is dancing at all.....

They overhear someone say, "See, I told you we should have worn costumes."

Slow Progression of Heat.

2009-01-08T21:08:00.019+01:00

I feel the need to do it occasionally. It can be because the cold has got in my bones, or also because Texas is in my bones and it has been too long since I felt that true heat.

It is best to go on a day when I have bathed before bed the night before, and my hair is dry and clean. I head out in the morning as soon as I can after my "have tos" are done.

********************************************************************

I take the tram or bus into the zentrum and hike into the Niederdorf, to the Fitnesspark. The woman at the desk raises her eyebrows, and I say "Hamam." I pay and she hands me a key. Beside the desk is a metal rack with many large plaid flat-weave cotton towels. I take one.

I enter the women's locker room, and find an empty locker. I remove my shoes and all my clothes, and wrap the hamam towel around me. It makes a sheath that covers me, cleavage to knees. I put my hair up, and walk over to the showers. There are usually a few other women in the locker room. We are all courteous to each other, but definitely not chatty. At the shower stall I hang my towel on a hook. I set the temp for mid warm and push a button which provides a 45 second rinse. I step out and re-wrap myself in the towel without otherwise drying.

I exit the women's locker room, dripping. I walk down a flight of stairs. At the landing mid-way down and continuing on each step of the lower set of stairs, someone has strewn rose or lavender petals along edges. Nice. I nod and smile to the female attendant behind the refreshments desk, and she does the same back to me. If I have one with me, I ask her to place my paperback up on one of the glass shelves behind her. She is in her early twenties and is wearing a white tank top and a mid-thigh fringed wrap skirt in a plaid similar to my towel. There are three or four others like her attending to various chores in these rooms.

Against the wall is a heavy wooden table. Stacked upon it are forty or so slightly ornate silver metal bowls. In a large wooden bucket beside them is a pile of freshly laundered rough-woven unbleached cotton hand cloths. I take a bowl and two cloths and open the door just beyond the table.

I enter a room filled with steam. The warm room. The heat emanating from the tiles is wonderful on my bare feet. The room is about ten by five meters, with bench seating all around its perimeter. Along the walls at even intervals are about 5 water spouts with huge copper bowls, which sit upon the benches. There are a few other men or women in the room as well, sitting up against the wall, or stretched out on the benches, or sitting quietly and talking two by two, or otherwise attending to their own ritual at one of the copper bowls. Everyone is wrapped in the plaid towels, women cleavage to knees, and men at the waist. If someone is right beside you speaking to you, you can hear and understand them. Otherwise all the noise are only echos of voices and water.

There are a few traditional steps common for hamam, and one can do research and find them, or ask for a map and instructions from the staff. But if you go once or twice you grow to realize that it is personal, and different for everyone, so you adapt the routine that makes the most sense for yourself. Everyone does.

I choose a seat beside one of the copper bowl in the least crowded area. I turn on the tap and adjust the temperature for as hot as I believe I can stand. I plug the drain the the black rubber stopper and wait a few moments, adjusting to the warmth of the room. With luck by now I am beginning to truly sweat. There are two large steam generators in the middle of the room, on top of which there are wire baskets full of petals. The aroma is spicy and floral.

I stop the water at three quarters full. I have set my hand cloths aside and for now I simply use the bowl. I dip it in the warm water and bring it out. I place the bowl's edge against my chest and tip it toward me. The water spills out over my skin and the towel, soaking both. I do the same now against my belly, one leg, then the other. I stretch my arm out and soak it, and then the other. I perform the challenging maneuver of soaking my back in this same fashion, without wetting my hair. All of this is done at a slow pace over about 5 or 7 minutes, with some waiting in between. I am gently rinsing away my perspiration as it appears. Finally I pull the plug and sit back. I will stay in the warm room for about altogether for twenty-five minutes.

When I am ready I enter the next door, the women's bathing area. (Traditionally, the sexes are in separate areas in the hamam. But this is Europe, and no one cares, so the main large rooms of the hamam are for both men and women. It is only a smaller room where there is the option for women to remain separate, which I do.)

As in each room here, the lighting is dim, and every surface is tiled: black, brown and white in Moorish patterns. The space is about five by five meters in size. There is a small neck-deep pool in the center, and benches and copper bowled taps in the edges. I enter another closet sized room on the left where there is another copper bowled tap. I turn on the water, adjusted to as warm as possible, plug the drain, remove my hamam towel, and place it on the hook. While the copper bowl fills I use the silver bowl to re-wet my limbs and torso. I take each of the glove-like hand cloths, one per hand, and firmly stroke my skin, which reddens. I work from the outer reaches toward the heart. This removes the residue of my perspiration and likely some outer skin. Once the copper bowl is three quarters full I stop the water and use the silver bowl to rinse. I wrap the hamam towel around me again and step out and into the pool. There are candles burning and flickering in two large metal lamps hanging down from the ceiling.

Since coming in to the hamam I have been experiencing temperatures starting around 103 degrees Fahrenheit. In each successive room the temperature increases. The water in the pool is quite warm, but it seems to be the same temperature as my skin. As I step in, my towel floats and clings around me. I go to the side, face outward and rest my arms on the edge, eyes closed. I will stay here, floating and sinking, for about fifteen minutes. When I am ready, I step out of the pool and out of the door and back into the warm room. I may stay there a minute or two, until I feel sure am warm enough to go on to the hot room.

I walk through the large main rooms toward the hot room. Once inside, the steam is thick and the heat hits my sinuses immediately. It smells wonderful. This room is again about five by five meters, but the ceiling is very low, and there are no taps, only concrete and tiled slab benches where people may sit or lay, and sweat. The temperature is around 117 degrees Fahrenheit. I find a seat near the steam generator and try to assume a Tara-esque, crossed leg position, a serene mental picture, and then to maintain. I usually stay in the hot room about 7 minutes. It is not wise to push your boundaries in this room.

As I leave this room, I pass shower stalls in each side of the corridor. Some bathers will do a bracing cold rinse at this point. That sounds dangerous to me. I make the water warm and have a rinse. The idea in my ritual is: slowly heat up, slowly cool down. Nothing too sudden or "bracing".

I go back into the women's area where there is another closet sized room, like the other one, except this one has a wooden bucket, where I drop my hand cloths, and soap dispenser. Remove towel, get soap, lather up, rinse. Re-wrap.

In the center of the rooms there is an large open space, and in the middle of that there is a large round black stone slab. I go and lay upon it, back down, using my overturned bowl as a pillow, for about twenty minutes.

Throughout all these rooms I from time to time hydrate myself by cupping my palms under the tap and taking a cool drink. I do this now. I get up from the slab and go back more or less to where I started, where the bowls are. I deposit mine there and put on one of the robes from on the racks. I discretely remove my hamam towel and deposit it, tie up my robe and ask for my book. I walk into the lounge.

The room is large and there are wide wooden platforms around the perimeter. Wooden columns rise up to support the second level, the floor of which creates shade and a sort of intimacy on the platforms below. The center of the room is open to the ceiling, from which candle-lit lamps hang. We all nap or read or otherwise sit and allow our bodies to regain a normal temperature. How long I stay here depends on the time allowed in the day, usually about thirty minutes. I sweat still, but I smell like flowers and sea salt. Finally I must walk back up to the locker room, put on street clothes again, and go on about my day.

I leave feeling as though my skin has been refitted to my frame. My sinuses are crystal clear. I have a natural blush and more length in my spine and a happy, easy grin that can last for hours or even days.

I See Us Traveling Together.

2009-01-07T19:37:00.006+01:00

Dear Monsieur Bourdain,

I understand you are a celebrity, like Gordan Ramsey, who I have seen cook more than you, and who you are not un-fond of. As you both are potty-mouths, I can understand the kinship; Also I recognize that a certain turrets-esque tempermentalness can often go hand and hand with virtuoso talent, therefore, I salute you!! I would like to be your best friend! I would dare ask to be your "companion" for your next culinary adventure.

About me. My taste buds are small and few, and have been blunted by years of strong coffee and cigarettes. Nevertheless I enjoy food of all kinds, and as you can imagine, my ass has become quite large as a result! (We may need extra burros or yaks to tote it if our adventure takes us to Himalayas or similar.) I have a deep appreciation for native food, which I cook, natively in fact, within my kitchen every day, authentically!

Dear Anthony (may I call you Anthony?), I confess I have read your wikipedia articles, and along with many other exciting informations regarding your "skills" and "interests" I have noticed your birth date, and that your are a "Moon Child". For that reason it is with great assurance I tell you that my zaftig appearance is as cozy as my demeanor, for even when packing light, I carry "cozy" with me where ever I go! I am sure this will fit right in with whatever usual preparations you make when going far afield, and we shall always feel right at home, even in the wilds of Tokyo!

Finally, I want to mention that I am a natural divining rod for street food. I am fearless in the face of grease laden cart-grills or insulated push trolleys, and that viral germs which are capable of laying triathlon athletes on the floor in misery either run when they "see me coming", or otherwise agree with my "system" just fine. I don't want you to think I might be sick on film.

Very Best Regards,
JPM

We Were Wild Love

2009-01-06T13:56:00.018+01:00

The fact that you nearly killed me once did not prevent me from mourning the loss of you, the loss of us, for a long time. You were a fox I tried to put a leash on. I know it nearly killed you too.

I am loving a human now. It's better.

Two Idioms and A Winter Afternoon.

2009-01-05T20:57:00.027+01:00

Why does she do it? She's been warned. She's been fined. She's even been banned. But she doesn't stop.

The water underneath is cold. The air above is just damp enough. She thinks that it will be okay this time, once again, as she views the distant and grey horizon.

It's not as though she began by intending to go out as far as...beyond. It's just that over time her desire and imagination grew to overtake her caution and reason.

She places her weight upon the freeze, and glides. The blades are sharp, and together with the wind make the only sound. She goes far far away from where she started, far beyond the normal boundaries. The vertical wooden slats delineating the edge of safety whiz by in a brown blur. She reads the sign but it doesn't register. She is driving herself beyond the marks of any others...to where it is blank.

He is watching. His rail of a frame is camouflaged in tattered corduroy as he sits by the side of the tree dotted boundary. His hollow chest and bony spine form a question mark as he squats and leans back against the wood.

He should stop her, he knows, but he can't. She is pushing further and farther out, and he is frightened for her. Yet he knows she can only have something so special planned. She is too far to touch now, too far to reach. But still, if he could break from his trance he could call to her, coax her back. Could he make her change her mind? Should he, when he knows what is worst and likely to happen? Ah, but if the worst does not happen, how can he destroy her chance? Who is he to even consider it?

Even before she reaches the part of the ice where the white fades into turquoise and sapphire, it begins to unfold. She is all momentum and grace in these moments. She starts to trace the peels and fractal curls from her mind onto the untouched plane she has at last reached. Her pace brings the indigo marks to the surface in woven spirals and dashes from her jumps.

He sees a handmaid's henna forming on the fingers of this lake. It is spectacular but he looks away, bothered.

With her speed and slickness she has become indistinguishable from her canvas, and only the brief and trailing splashes give away her location. They can be heard until the crackling sounds like distant fireworks under water begin to drown them all out. But the cracklings are not distant. They surround her.

Her blades circle the center of her kaleidoscope wheel vision where a sharp nose of granite juts out above the glistening plane...she pushes, leaps, twirls, lands, and her blades dig in and stick into the grey stone. Her hair settles around her neck but her eyes are still on the horizon. She stretches her head impossibly around to see the finish. Broad and fine arabesque shapes of thin crisp sheets are appearing and rising three hundred and sixty degrees around her and then sliding and vanishing into the deep. Ice lace. Seconds pass, and then it is over. She peers beyond her own cheekbones and out into the distance again.

He whistles long and low under his breath, and taps out applause no one can hear. He looks at his watch and contemplates what to feel. His fists fall open.

She is planted still onto the rock. Dark blue tongues of water lick the edges of the stone.

Which will end first? Her balance, or the winter?

He doesn't know.

Some Natural Disasters I Have Witnessed.

2009-01-04T16:11:00.020+01:00

Imagine.

You are newly married and feeling so sexy and slinky and secure, so you go on The Pill so you can have mad unprotected pregnancy-free sex with your spouse. The freedom is awesome and so are the huge round breasts you suddenly possess. But wait, what is this? When did your ass and your pooch grow so large too and why can't your lose the twenty-five pounds you gained in two months even after your decided to stop The Pill and live somewhat dangerously A YEAR AGO?! Geez.

You have strategically hidden tweezers in every room of your home and always in your handbag, because apparently, increasingly over the last decade, your female body has decided to grow a beard. You jokingly call them "wisdom hairs" and try to think of the thick spiky black things appearing hourly on your chin as marks of some type of higher spirituality (you have seen photographs of some Indian and Nepalese women..) but you realize in your heart that if you are ever stranded with your hot husband but without a mirror and tweezers on a lush and tropical desert island, no matter how the sun and island air and walking everywhere and working to survive will generally improve your exercise-deprived body, your sweet face is screwed baby. (You begin to research how to create dilapidator or bleach from twigs and plants, just in case, and pray that love really is transcendent.)

You go partying at the reggae show with the cool kids ten years younger than you, have an rare and amazing fun time, get your dance on (after somewhat believing that your groove was gone forever), drink slightly more than you planned (4 ammarreto sours and was that 3 vodka lemons before starting in with the classy-girl white wine? oh sure it was over HOURS and HOURS) but still somehow manage to get into a taxi with your husband and the other last-man-standing from your group and convey to the driver the address of where you live......you get home feeling so hip and chic, and into the elevator with the mirror on one wall where you notice that a prominent front strand of your long rock and roller hair has turned bright silver grey in the last eight hours, and clearly and undeniably you are old.

Mother Is An Aquarius/Pisces cusp Ox.

2009-01-03T01:02:00.021+01:00

now Pull towards the goal.
you Believe this is hard work?
having fun is Work.

Try. To. Write. Every. Day.

2009-01-03T00:09:00.006+01:00

So. Nudged by Bob, and lead by Laurie, I am here now, participating in 30daysofwrite , which seems like a positive peer pressure device for writerly procrastinators. I think I am one.
So. First suggested topic is along the lines of "new year....five words....clean slate.. set intention.." etc. I read it and immediately thought, "hey I know this one."

Take. Care. Of. Dogs/House/Bills. First.

or

Don't. Buy. Shoes. Form. Sentences.

or

You. Owe. This. To. Yourself.

or

Content. Counts. More. Than. Spelling.

or

Moleskin. Will. Be. Useful. No?

So. Already it is after midnight, but no matter. See ya tomorrow.