Spring Fever in Autumn

Spring ought to begin taking some lessons from Autumn. Don't get me wrong; I love Spring. Flowers blooming, spring rains, the weather warming up and the earth is about to be abuzz with activity after a long winter's slumber are all lovely things. People get antsy to get out, and supposedly, love is in the air.
Autumn is when I really fall in love though. With my self, that is. Not my ego self, but my Self self. The one who is in need of grace every moment of the day. The one who can't keep one thought without another clamoring for attention. Every activity takes on new life. A cup of tea in the fall is more than just tea, it's a ritual. The light is different, as I gaze out the window, the sun has begun a different dance. She skirts around the earth a little more lightly.
What is it about a chill in the air, a different light and Autumn smells that totally changes my psyche? The world seems like such a beautiful place and I am seated at her table in the fall. Is the Harvest symbolism so ingrained in my psyche that Autumn represents harvesting all that the universe has conspired to teach me throughout the year? Is it that I'm collecting gratefully each thought like a cherry tomato perfectly ripe and bursting with flavor? Are my branches heavy with the fruit of observation and realization?
All I know is, life is beautiful, and when I greet Autumn warmly at the door, I usher in my perfectly ripe self. Don't worry, I don't think I've arrived. I'll slumber through the winter and start all over again next year. Next Autumn, I will be surprised anew at this love affair, and sit in wonder at the fullness of life.

Typewriters and jumbled thoughts

This morning, I read something that made me laugh. It also sent my thoughts churning about something I've already been giving a bit of thought to. I'm reading Writing Down the Bones, a little handbook of creative writing, if you will. The author's intro suggests different mediums for writing, and the possible implications for each. Perhaps a small handy notebook while being convenient will also limit your thoughts. Writing outside the margins on lined paper will perhaps give you freedom. And then, the typewriter. That thing in a museum, that will make your "block black letters reveal a little something else about yourself."
And then, she mentions the "Macintosh." Not the Mac. It is at this point I realize I have just entered a time capsule. She dreams about using a computer, where there is a thing called "wrap-around" and you don't have to hear the ding of the typewriter. Does one get used to the ding of a typewriter? I wouldn't know.
It's all very surreal to me, as this morning's news announced the possibility that the Postal Service will be increasing the price of a stamp by another 2 cents. Soon, a stamp will be 50 cents. Half a dollar. Equivalent to the price of a gallon of gas 30 or 40 years ago. I remember when I used to write letters to my friends and family. I would gather my note paper, and carefully write out my thoughts, as there is no delete button with pen on paper. Now, I know I'm not the first person to wax poetic about this, but I'd send my letter, and then wait. Sometimes only days, sometimes weeks.
I think about what information I brought to a letter. I wasn't writing the Great American Novel, so the letters would contain high-lights of my goings on; just enough information to keep the friendship informed.
Now, we can communicate with 5 different people in 5 minutes. The landscape has very obviously changed entirely. Now, instead of buying a book of stamps for however much they will be, we pay for internet service. Now, instead of addressing a letter, Dear so and so, we share what's on our mind in a newsfeed, or we twitter or tumblr. We both share too much and too carefully craft a persona on line; the me we wish people to see.
I think of all of this in conjunction with writing. A writer needs to practice writing daily. It is not usually, unless you are JK Rowling, something that one just does. Just as an artist sketches, a writer must write just to write, with no real direction. So, I wonder what kind of impact this instant communication has on writers, and readers as well. I can spend hours on the computer following blog trails, and come away feeling like I was really enriched, or as if I'd wasted quality time. I can also sit down and bang out an email full of stories I otherwise may have not communicated via the written word. I wonder if the emails are actually good training for the writer in me, or if they stunt my creativity. I also wonder if our soundbites of information makes us antsy and perpetually moving, when maybe what we need to do is sit and be. Just be.
I obviously do not have the answers today. I know I will be thinking on these things, all the while being grateful there wasn't a single ding in the writing of this blog post, oh, with the exception of the ding of my i-phone informing me I'd just received an email.

Half Moon Pose

We have this pose in Bikram Yoga called the Half Moon Pose. (Ardha Chandrasana) It comes early on in the series. The name is derived from the posture itself, to lean your body in such a way as to look like a half moon. (Duh, right.)
I have had quite a journey with this particular posture. It seemed at one point in time that I had the best half moon, until I realized I was doing it wrong. Now, it's so so. I've had to recalibrate it so many times. Before it was the best, (which it never really was), it was the worst. Seriously, the worst. I began the yoga with a damaged body. I'd jammed my back so many times, I didn't realize I was completely crooked. So, I'd do this posture completely out of alignment. I'd just fold right in half. Hips here, arms there. I was so proud of myself, until I realized, I was the one folding in half. Over and over the teachers say don't fold in half.
Here's where I'm going with all this. The dialogue can be confusing. And it makes me wonder how it applies in life. See, when new students come, they hear lean to the right, and they lean to the right; arms projecting forward, because that's our bodies' natural inclination. Somewhere in the dialogue, the teacher says your body is to look as if it could slip between two panes of glass. But then, to guide the new students who are hunching forward, the teacher says something that seems contradictory, if you are already slipping between two panes; the teacher says to lean back. The problem is, the ones who are meant to hear that don't, and still stand in this weird awkward hunched forward position. On the other hand, there's a whole group who think the direction is for them and wind up in some weird sideways back-bend. Very few hear the instruction to be able to slip between two panes of glass, or if they hear it, leave it at that.
And so I wonder, how often do we follow something, an inclination, an instruction, hearing what is meant for someone else, and wind up in some weird back bend that was never meant to be? Seems like life is like this one single posture. It's a series of recalibration and paradigm shifts. I guess the important thing is to listen and to translate what is important to disregard, and what is important to apply.

nearly a year...

It doesn't matter that it's been nearly a year since I've written in this blog, as I'm the only one who currently reads it. I am making myself sit and write, as I can't seem to do anything else. As I go through the motions of the day, I sometimes find myself reflecting on how another blogger wrote about a similar thing, and how much more glamorous it seemed in words. I don't think putting into words is going to make dumping the last of my very large bag of frozen beans into a steamer pot just to get rid of them any more glamorous than it already isn't.
I find myself hungry all the time, and I realize, it isn't really a hunger for food. (Though I try very hard to ingest all manner of food and the like to quell said hunger.) Wanting very much to maintain my current pant size for financial as well as vanity reasons, I shove baby carrots in my mouth like a form of second breath.
This has got to stop.
I've been job hunting for far too long, and at times find myself completely paralyzed and unable to read another job posting. I need to revise my resume, but that same hunk of cotton in my head that falsely tells me I'm hungry also tells me I can't. Yesterday, my cousin posted a quote by Eleanor Roosevelt. "You must do the thing you think you cannot do." She prompted me to revisit the quote as I begged for motivation to scrub toilets and showers. My response was that I had read the quote earlier, and it inspired me to write a book, go to England to work on a movie and the like.
Now, if I could only apply it to resume tinkering, job scavenging and perhaps just writing a blog post let alone a novel; perhaps then I could do the rest of the things I think I cannot do.
Like, make a difference in the world. Oh yes, big leap here. My said hunger above is not a hunger for food, or even for romantic love; it's a hunger for Love. God love. I don't just mean a warm fuzzy feeling that He loves me; I mean something infinitely greater. I mean His Love that touches all. Sometimes I get frustrated with the amount of navel gazing that goes on in my life, and I perceive to go on in the lives of those around me. Of course we get frustrated in our lives. Sometimes our careers crash and burn, or never get going, the laundry never seems to get done, s/he just doesn't understand me; all things that make you go hmmmm. What if the whole world stopped, and collectively all 6,808,700,000 of us (Wikipedia, 2010) decided to just wallow in our pain and frustration? I kind of instantly saw an image of hell in my mind. What if half that number stopped and held the hand of the other half? It's still kind of a frightening picture to me, because even though it's nice to stop and hold some body's hand, there'd still be 6,808,700,000 people sitting around holding hands.
Where am I going with all this. To be honest, I don't really know. I suppose I am looking for balance. There's always going to be people who honestly need someone to walk with them through a difficult time, whether it be an entire country like Haiti needing help to rebuild after tragedy, or one very old woman alone at a retirement home. My soul hungers to both feed and be fed. Sometimes I really do need someone to hold my hand, even if the hand holding takes the form of a good long laugh at a bar. Other times, I want to be the hand holder; but I think here's where the real hunger lies; I want to hold some body's hand far away, outside my circle of comfort. If His love reaches very nook and cranny of the universe, then I want to be a part of that. I'm not sure how or what that will look like. I suspect it may be related to Dostoevsky's remark "beauty will save the world." Alexandr Solzhenitsyn's nobel lecture in literature begins to make heads or tails of the thoughts whirling in my head. In truth there is beauty, in truth falshoods are exposed. When falsehoods are exposed, they begin to lose their power.
When I see the beauty around me, I am not tricked into falsely believing the lie that the world is ugly. There are ugly things in the world, things we must expose to the truth. The Truth is, His love will save us. Sometimes it will be expressed in the soft light of breaking dawn. Other times it will be expressed in a late night vigil by a hospital bed. Feast on His love seems to be the answer, now where to pull up a chair?

Kittens!

Yesterday I picked up Mama Cat and her 6 little ones. See how smug she looks in the overexposed photo above? She is a dear little mom.

When I found myself pet free, I started looking into dog rescue and volunteer situations that would be a good way for me to ease myself back into having a pet. I'm a little commitment shy at the moment, so this is the perfect fit. I signed up about a month ago, went to a training meeting and waited for the phone call. I'm available pretty much 22 hours a day. The first several phone calls all came during the 2 hours I cannot answer the phone. I was so disappointed to miss out.

Finally, the timing was just right and I have a very large litter with a very small mother.

I brought the family in the house, set them up in a corner, and opened the door. I expected a feral cat who wouldn't dare to venture out until I was well out of the room. I could not have been more mistaken. She came right out to say hello. She brushed her head against my leg and chatted me up. For the next hour she took a break from her babies and indulged in scratches from me and a very large meal. We're old friends now.

The babies are not so sure of me yet. They're still pretty devoted to mom. Every so often I can get them to swat at my finger or scratch one under the chin.

I must be crazy. I thought they'd fit in a corner and not take up too much space....they've overtaken my front room. There's the crate, the food, the cat box(yuck) and the barricade of pillows so the curious kittens don't stray too far away and get lost in the "big"house. So much for my tidy home.

But, I'm happy to be doing this. I hope each of these babies goes to a really good home, and that all the squeezing I give them prepares them for their future families.

My previous post

Was kind of heavy....so, just to lighten things up, I am now the proud owner of a camera. I have wanted a camera for a very long time. I did acquire it a week too late. Last week, as I looked out my window, the field was awash with lupine, a vivid purple which is such a lovely contrast to the grass that was still a bright green.

That's okay though. I'm sure there will be plenty more photo opportunities. Like this one:

Aaarrrrgh

This week's news was disturbing, (as usual), and had one sort of happy ending. My Mom and I spent Easter Sunday together, driving up the coast and drinking in the glorious beauty outside. Inside, we were talking about this n that. We finally decided no more current events, because it's all bad news. One thing we discussed in particular is the issue of recent pirate attacks on the sea. In one instance, pirates were holding an American ship captain hostage for ransom. The sort of good news is that he was rescued by Navy Seals. The "sort of" is because we just ratcheted up the stakes for negotiations in regard to future attacks.

In the car I said, "Mom, why do I like Disney's Pirates of the Caribbean so much, when I really hate what pirates do?" Or something along those lines....A part of me honestly felt guilty for contributing to the glamorization of pirates.

We threw out the name Johnny Depp, laughed and steered the conversation elsewhere.

For some reason, an answer popped into my head last night, as random thoughts often do. I realize there is a lot of social commentary hidden in such a child's tale. Perhaps smarter people than I wrapped their minds around this long ago.

The character Will Turner, in Pirates of the Caribbean, is a pirate by birth. In the beginning of the film he does not even know this about himself. Elizabeth Swann knows this. She keeps a medallion she took from Will when he was plucked from the Sea and passed out on the deck of the rescuing ship. This medallion indicates that he is associated with pirates. Pirates are a lot who are guilty by association, even if that association is simply birth. Elizabeth was gracious enough to look past this, and even held a sort of fascination for pirates.

I thought about the way we move about in society. More often than not, it seems that we stick to our own kind. There are instances to be sure of people breaking free of their lot in life and exceeding expectations. Will Turner is one of those characters. He took the news of his identity and used it for good. He was thrust into a situation, and acted with integrity. Jack Sparrow, on the other hand, chose a life of piracy. Though his actions and choices are a bit more shady, he still occasionally operates in a selfless manner for the good of others.

So where did I go with all this? It's the age old story. Sometimes, we like to root for the underdog. More than that, I think on some level, we like to see people move outside of what is expected of them, because we are encouraged even if only subconsciously, that we can then do the same thing. These thoughts comforted me.

Then, I realized, on some level, we are all pirates, hijacking other people for our own needs; whether it be lashing out in anger, manipulating, lying, bragging et al...Whenever we put our selves first and make others pay for our own desires, we are acting no differently than the pirates today.

The beauty of it is that we can move outside of that and learn to live with honor. And, I can keep enjoying my Disney movies guilt free.

I have a resident squirrel

I feel so blessed that when I sit in front of my computer to work, I look out onto a hillside with a sweeping tree line. There is a ranch fence just feet away from my panoramic window, which once kept horses in. The horses are long gone, but a squirrel now uses it as his thoroughfare. Instead of seeing folks in suits and whatnot breezing by with Styrofoam cups of coffee, I occasionally make eye contact with a very fat squirrel. I wonder which one of us is more unsettled.

I have long had a desire for a fish pond. Rabbits, squirrels, raccoons, deer, bobcats, coyotes, hawks and cougars are not enough. I need gold fish. I stumbled across a plastic tub the other day in the refuse pile, and decided it would do. Though it's not a glamorous rock pond with natural curves and grace, it will hold water, and therefore fish. I dug a hole and dropped the tub in, hoping to surround it with rocks and lessen its perfect roundness. I have to cover it with wire because of the aforementioned raccoons. It's a project; I love a project.

I dragged my mom to the local pet store, and bought a starter five. At 15 cents a pop, I don't feel guilty in this recession splurging a whole 75 cents. A little food and plants, and I'm on my way. Every morning, I eagerly step out to my back deck to see if they've survived another night. So far, so good. Though I'd still like to adopt a furry pet, for the time being, my little five put a smile on my face.

Gratified

Several years ago, I was depressed. I was studying environmental science, and surrounded by people who spent half an hour washing dishes with the water running the entire time; even walking away from it to collect pots and pans throughout the kitchen. The utter thoughtlessness of it horrified me.

Commercials were getting under my skin too. A distant cousin to the Stepford Wives was appearing on my screen. Back in the 50's, it was all plastic and space age looking appliances. The new push for "homemade cookies" you take out of the freezer and plop on a tray thereby making you a good mom, or the snack sized over packaged everything saddened me. What kind of a world are we creating?

Thankfully, the book I wanted to write is being blogged all over the place. I've stumbled on a wealth of blogs calling women to the life I've dreamed about. This life touts the merits of not only homemade cookies, but homemade bread as well. It used to be that your shiniest newest gadget and scads of Tupperware was the simpler life. Now days, it's producing your own food in a garden, baking and all the opposite things that have been heralded to simplify ones life.

I am so gratified to these people who are reinventing the world we live in. They are taking back what Madison Ave tried to steal, and it is good.

The Pope, condoms and Africa

I still haven't figured out where I want to go with this blog; but something struck me so today, I just have to write about it.

On a trip in Africa, Pope Benedict XVI says condoms are not the answer to HIV and AIDS. Please tell that to the countless orphans who have lost both their parents due to AIDS.

Why is it so easy to solve a problem in theory, but not in actuality. AIDS is not the result of people not abstaining from sex, as the Pope recommends. AIDS is the result of sexual actions that occur for a variety of reasons by which merely applying the platitude to practice abstinence is not going to stop the problem. I apologize for calling abstinance trite. Abstinace can be an amazing thing, a calling in fact.

Therein lies the problem; if someone has not heard the calling to practice abstinance, why then will that resolve the problem? We all know that there is a risk of being killed while driving in our cars, but because we need to get from a to b, we take that risk. Why is the Pope not addressing "a to b"? As I mentioned earlier, people engage in sexual acts for many reasons. Why not make it a practice of first meeting people right where they are? Just as we buckle up to make our journey in our cars a little more safe, why not encourage people to be just a little safer as they travel from a to b, and from that point encourage them to maybe drive from a to c...and maybe eventually they will start walking or riding a bike.

Transformation takes time. It is easy for some to lay down the law, and traffic in black and white ideas. It is another thing all together to recognize we cannot ask people to take action based on ideas they are not surrenered to.

As I deal with people on a day to day basis, I hope I can give them grace as they use the tools they are familiar with to get from a to b. And perhaps offer them new tools along the way.

loved by many

Sunday was a very sad day here. I had to part with a sweet little companion named Twiggy.

I wish the photo showed her beautiful blue eyes, which were crossed, which so endeared her to me.

I inherited her at the ranch. She belonged to Suzanne who passed away when Twiggy was just a baby girl herself. Over the years, there's been many cats who have come and gone, but Chief Wiggums, as Caroline called her out lived them all. She was the most tenacious cat ever. A little slip of a thing, all the bigger manlier cats cowered in her presence.

She was a little bit like a dog, in that she greeted me when I came home with Siamese meows. It was a very sad day when she and I didn't communicate very well, and when I thought she'd gotten out of the way, and she thought I stopped, I ran over her with my car. We raced to the vet, and that girl lived on. One would never have known, except her right hip jutted out a little more than her left after that. I kept her in the house, carefully supervised for 2 months after that. Before the accident, there were times I couldn't get her out of the house. After her 2 months of confinement, she was so mad. The first thing she did when I finally let her outside was to run up to the big house and climb up to the roof. I think she wanted to be good and sure everyone knew she was fine, and nothing was going to hold her back.

I did discover through that visit to the vet that she was in the beginning stages of kidney failure, and they didn't think she would live that much longer regardless of the accident. She lived over a year more. Long enough for Caroline to return from Scotland and spend a little more time with her.

She charmed nearly everyone who came around. Some people couldn't help but just laugh at her crossed eyes. She had that curious cat habit of finding the least cat friendly person in the room and jumping on their lap. She was convinced that she belonged there, and somehow, she did. One scratch under the chin, and her motor was running. Everyone has a pet that is the sweetest best most wonderful pet; but she really was a special girl, and has a big fan club to prove it.

She was such a part of the fabric of my life. It's odd to come home, and not be greeted. I was very blessed to have her. I think she's somewhere happy now, eating as many cat treats as she wants, catching mice and generally charming the heavenly host.

Family

I know, I know, I missed Christmas by about 2 months. A Christmas scene came up yesterday, and prompted some thoughts. I was watching the new PBS adaptation of Oliver Twist. I'm sure most know it's the story of an orphan who endures terrible hardship and abuse to be reunited with the family he was not even aware existed, even as they were not aware he existed. The closing scene for this particular adaptation showed Oliver in the coziest family setting playing the piano with his Aunt, (I think) and his Grandfather looking on with a Christmas tree in the background.

Why did this strike me so? I Think Christmas represents birth, just as much as Easter. Young Oliver was rebirthed into his family, and into life.

I thought about my own experiences with Christmas. I've always had to battle with my Mom a little bit to set Christmas aside, make it special. To her it's just another day. If there is ever a time to come together as a family, and bask in warmth and loveliness, it is Christmas. It is the send off of last year, and the advent of a new year. Not that our lives really should be measured in years, but I do believe we humans need to set aside times to reflect, to settle down, to start anew and to enjoy one another. So, I wonder how to achieve that Christmas feel more often, without diminishing the absolute joy of the calendar Christmas season.

I don't know why, but when I saw the family setting in the movie, the sheer enjoyment the characters so obviously had in one another, I got an image in my head of men in white t-shirts watching sports, women fretting and a hustle and bustle that lacks meaning and purpose. I compared it to the warm cozy image in the movie, and guess which I prefer? Of course, I realize, it's a movie. It's easy to look cozy and together when an army of people decorate your "house", dress you, prepare the "food" and create the details of the overall picture. I realize we live in a real world with limits on our time and resources. I do believe what I really keyed in on in the scene, was as I mentioned before, the pure enjoyment of the family.

I hope that I can cultivate that in my own life. Though there won't always be a cozy fire, or sparkly Christmas tree; I hope that I can truly enjoy the moments that come my way, that I can be prepared to appreciate the best in life.

Erised

I was reading an aritcle by someone I find very thought provoking the other day. The particular article I've been pondering was written in response to fears in some Christian groups that the Harry Potter series is dangerous. They suggest it promotes witchcraft. He makes a distinction between the actual occultic world, and fantasy. I appreciate that distinction. I appreciate any time a distinction is made which enhances the subject. More than just distinguishing the books as fantasy, and not necessarily a handbook to witchcraft, he fleshes out some bits of the story that are quite wonderful.

What I have really been pondering is the mirror of Erised. In brief, it is a mirror which when you look into it, "it reveals the deepest most desperate desires of our hearts." I've been walking around with the name Erised in my mind, because as Haack pointed out, Erised spelled backward is desire. I know if I looked into the mirror, I would see something, and it would not be God. I yearn for both: to desire God with all my heart, and at the same time, I yearn for the images I would see in the mirror to be fulfilled. Haack quotes Dubledore's explanation to Harry this way also, "The happiest man on earth would be able to use the Mirror of Erised like a normal mirror, that is, he would look into it and see himself exactly as he is." That makes my heart palpitate.

It's the paradox of life I think; looking in the mirror and seeing only a reflection, and looking in the mirror and seeing God. How can we both be happy in our position, and as well hope for more. And, more importantly, how can we keep that which is greater than all above all? How can we be both satisfied, and move forward?

The other interesting connection is the association of the mirror of Erised to the greek god of strife and discord, Eris. The supposed association between the mirror and a god is yet another reason to shun the books according to some. For the sake of calling a spade spade, Haack points out the mirror is actually called Erised and not Eris, similar but not the same. The interesting thing to me is that strife and discord is often the product of untempered desire. So, the association does work for me. That said, how often do we do that in our life? We take the tiniest association, and turn something into an entirely different thing. How often do we miss the beauty of something, because we are quick to judge. I think, had I decided the Potter books were handbooks of evil, I would have missed out on some great imagery to take and use in my own life. And I would have missed out on a great story that speaks to me. 

wrapped up and cozy

Lately, I have felt very blessed. I may have mentioned my big picture window before; it looks out to the hills. Whenever I sit at my computer, I am entertained by jack rabbits and deer frolicking in the clearing below the tree line. I feel so grateful to have this experience. One day, when I have access to a digital camera, I will download pictures of the actual view.

I've long been processing the purpose of this blog, and as yet, it is still mostly just my own ramblings to myself. One thing I've long wanted to do is write a book about living simply. Now I see, I needn't. I've found wonderful blogs of women picking up the mantle of simple living. When I need inspiration or a distraction, I wrap myself up in the lives of women who are doing such great things, and I feel cozy.

I was laid off this month, but somehow, I'm not in a panic. I think it is due in part to the fact that times are tough for everyone, and I know how to live simply. The up/downside of being unemployed is that I have lots of time to think and process. Thus, my online journal of sorts.

Experimenting

I'm experimenting with my blog. I have been reading other blogs lately which inspire me. It's been raining today, even hailing. We desperately need it. Thus, a watering can image, in irony of my not needing to water today.

odd things

Two things struck me today. Actually, many things, but I'll stick with two first.

We don't listen anymore. We don't read, we don't let space be empty. We fill it. I was reading a thread on facebook about a friend sending her daughter to pre-school. There were several comments between women, and the Mom shared a lot of information about this experience, including how much her daughter has enjoyed pre-school over time. The final

comment was a question, asking if the girl liked pre-school.

It reminded me of the time I was spending the weekend in a cabin in the snow with friends.

A group of us had descended upon a grocery store late at night to pick up some odds and ends. We were all drunk on life really. We stumbled upon the "toy"section which for some reason was funnier than anything ever in our lives. I may have pee'd my pants.

When we got back, we had to explain to those who stayed behind just what they'd missed. I was so caught up in how funny everything was, that even though I watched my friends imitate the battery operated creepy toy gorilla, when they were done, I yelled out "do the gorilla!" Somewhere midway through them repeating what they'd just done, (laughing at my stupidity under their breath) it dawned on me that I sat there taking in the exact same story only moments ago, and it just hadn't registered in my brain until that moment.

I think that's how we are in life. We're so busy caught up in our moments, our wants, our needs, our whatever, that we miss what's happening in the moment.

Meanwhile, I glossed over an interview of sorts by a country music star. (Hypocrite, aren't I? Glossing instead of reading.) He made comments that he wouldn't be sharing details about his wedding because it's private. He doesn't understand how people can sell pictures of their wedding or babies, because those things should be personal. While I agree they should be personal, I don't see how pictures makes them less personal; unless of course, you are of the belief system that your image on film steals your soul. Granted, it creeps me out that people would sell their pictures, but if the proceeds go to a good cause, how can you argue with that?

Then I got to thinking why there is even a market for these personal things. One thought came to mind (today). It may be related to the above story about how we don't listen anymore. Aside of the glamour; the exotic travel, and endless clothing budget, I think the ordinary person is drawn to celebrity, because it's a way of connecting without really connecting. We can watch a couple date, marry, give birth and divorce all without having to do anything. We can see photos of their fashion dos for inspiration and feel smugly better about ourselves when they look like they've been awake for 72 hours. We can watch their relationships rise and fall without ever having to be on the other end of the phone wondering with a sobbing person where it all went wrong. We can look at baby pictures because these people have become an extension of our selves; and who doesn't love a baby? (If it's not your own of course.)

I have no problem with someone doling out pieces of their lives, even for money. Because, at the end of the day, no one really knows what Brad and Angelina say to each other under the covers and behind closed doors. I think there's still loads of things the two of them share that the masses aren't allowed into. I don't see a difference between a picture of their baby, and an interview about an album. It's all the stuff the mill knows we the people eat up. So, I guess what I am trying to say is I have a problem with people who choose a career dependant upon other people's interest in them, and who give interviews, but knock the publicity of others. It it's any group that I find unsavory, it's the one I belong to; those who are fascinated by other people's lives. Perhaps if I filled less space with all that, I'd have more space to listen.

pink raft

This past weekend was, how shall I say it? Not what I expected.

I go through phases of feeling friendless. Though, truth be told, I have many wonderful friends. Distance, children, jobs and sheer flakiness keep us apart. This past Saturday, all those things came together in a way that resulted in: I had no plans. So, I made a plan. If I plan to sit by the pool all day reading my pile of books, then I am actually doing something. So that was it. The plan was made.

I packed up my books, put on an old ratty swimsuit, foregoing a shower, as it would just be me. I read for a little while, warming up under the sun. Then, I pulled out my new pink raft I'd just picked up at the drugstore. Truth be told, it is the first raft I have ever bought. I have always relied on the kindness of others for my rafting needs. I blew that thing until my cheeks were stinging and I was light headed. Just as I put my new pink raft in the pool, and readied myself to join it, I heard cars pulling up the drive.

Family members of the home owner, and entourage had decided to utilize the pool; again. (They'd already taken over the 4th of July.)

There I was, not really in a position to be seen. I scurried home to make myself slightly more presentable. I returned to the pool, not quite knowing what to do with the rest of my day. I sat and tried to make conversation....which lasted about 5 minutes. I wasn't really part of the group. All manner of negative things popped into my head. I won't repeat them. I will say I am terribly jealous of the niece, who had a lovely wedding in her 20's, married to a great guy and they've just recently added a daughter to their household. She has everything I have ever dreamed of; so when her husband jumped in the pool and lounged on my new pink raft, it was too much.

I said good bye, and slunk down to my cottage with a little Eeyore cloud following me. I tried to read, but reading on my couch on a lovely summer day felt so, well, uncomfortable. Then I dozed a little. Finally, I called a friend in the city, and though we had plans for Sunday, we switched things up and decided I'd drive down and have dinner with her, the new boyfriend and his visiting friend.

Off I went, with some nebulous plan of dinner with friends and strangers. About 20 minutes into my drive, I get a phone call. Can I pick up the guys on my way into the city? They've biked over the Golden Gate Bridge and missed the ferry by minutes. Um, sure. I'll pick them up. Two men I've never met, and two bicycles. I would fit them in my car; along with the bag of clothes I brought not knowing what kind of evening to dress for, the blanket, towel, sleeping bag and pillow that seem to permanently live in my trunk, because you never know when the camping bug will hit. Oh, and about 6 jackets and sweaters that never made it back in the house. And some books. Somehow, after much tugging and such, we latched the trunk and were on our way.

Some very scandalous driving later and a rendezvous to pick up the friend, and we wound up at a crepe house, eating copious amounts of food. It was a lovely evening. I forgot about my new pink raft and savored the moment.

Kellogg made your kid fat

Kellogg made your kids fat.
What kind of a world do we live in that Tony the Tiger has more power over kids than parents?
I just read an article on the net that Kellogg is going to reformulate their products to have more nutritional value. This in respone to the threat of a lawsuit from parents and advocacy groups. Don't get me wrong, I think sugared cereal is the devil. It just seems like the world is out of control, that's all. People's entire careers are based on manipulating young minds to buy their product. And then when that works, another group of people make a career out of suing those people.
Where are the parents in all this? The branding works because kids are sitting in front of TVs hours on end. They're soaking in whatever advertisers want them to; and oh, they're bored out of their minds and eating to pass the time.
I do think it's good that there is some regulation in advertising. It just makes me sad that we're a society of babies that need our hands held and blame everything on someone else. Maybe if parents spent some time with the kids instead of parking them in front of the tube, maybe, just maybe they wouldn't get to be obese. Why don't those advocacy groups that sue advertisers sue parents for being lazy and neglectful. Oh, right, where's the money in that?

If only I were a camera

This was a weekend full of photos. Too bad I am not a camera, nor do I own one, nor could I have always had it out in enough time to catch all the sights of this past weekend.
It was a lovely busy weekend of concerts outside, trail clean-up, and perhaps a cocktail or two.

How do I tell you about the woman who brought her hula hoop to the concert in the park on Saturday? Do I tell you it was the biggest hoop I have ever seen? Or perhaps I should mention she was wearing white mom pants which harkened back to the 70's, which is, I think the last time someone actually brought a hula hoop out in public. She was tall and lean, and could really move. Like on a pole kind of moving. But, isn't a hula hoop a kids toy? I'm confused.

Somewhere else in that sea of humanity, there was a little boy and a little girl, about three years old each. They were dancing together, and it looked like little adults courting. Where did they learn to dance like that? Pocahontas?

I waited for our small town's rock-n-roll loving, amateur public access video maker to do his customary high kick, but I waited in vain.

The next day, I went to hear a community band on the square with some friends. After the concert, we had a round of cocktails and caught up on life. The cocktails and the cold sent us to indecision bench, where we sat for an hour watching the tourists go by. You basically have not lived until you see a big old truck with an Australian Shepherd hanging mostly out of it, wearing pink goggles and a bandanna tied around her neck like a little old, how shall I say this without causing offense? Little old lady. Someone in my group may have pee'd her pants. I can't say for sure.

My kingdom for a camera.

a month

I can't believe I have not had a single thought in a month. Oh, well, that's not true. I've had so many thoughts, I just don't want to share them. They're mine.
Summer is on the way. I love summer. I took a break from the office this afternoon, and just pointed my face toward the sun. I guess that explains why I can't get enough moisturiser on my skin. The sun gives me strength and energy. I'm eating peaches and strawberries and even though the kids on What Not to Wear on the Discovery Channel told me not to wear short skirts after 35, I'm doing it anyway. I've taken up jogging, just so if they did point their camera on me their horror would not be justified. I figure, it's more area for the vitamin D to sink in.