I think it's time for some news commentary......
The Swine Flu - Of COURSE I believe it's a pandemic. Everyone who knows me knows I've already bought gallons of fresh water, many cans of tuna fish, and a plethora of twenty pound bags of dried beans. I'm prepared and I know it's going to be just like a movie. I still wonder what exactly will cause everyone (except me, some close friends, family, B, Jay and my neighbors) to become flesh eating zombies.
Arlen Specter - You go, sir. I love it when Republican's come to their senses. Hahahaha.
Chrysler bankruptcy - Probably a good idea. I've driven Honda cars for over a decade and I've never had to take my car in for any repairs at all (unless I've misjudged my turning radius and plowed into another car). Maybe they'll restructure and figure out a way to make it work.
Obama's first 100 days - Yes, It's true, he's done a great job. It's very hard right now to not say things to piss off any Republcan friends I have left after the Specter comment. So, I won't say anything. In real words. Nah nah nah nah nah nahhhhh.
That's all the news I want to comment on right now. But there are two things I'm in a quandry about. They're not big things, or maybe they are, but I'm curious as to how to deal with them. There should be a place to send in big adult life questions. Like a type of Santa Clause who brings answers down the chimney instead of presents. Or a parent "lite" with all the answers but none of the guilt. So, I bring my questions here, because those other two options are unavailable, not for answers but for mulling over.
First, there is a girl I work with at one of my jobs who is clearly anorexic. At what point, as a human being, does one say something? Does one ever say anything? Maybe she's in treatment. Maybe she doesn't realize. I have no idea what protocal is here. Maybe, like Tori Spelling, she's just "thin" and I'm the one with the problem. Maybe it would send her over the edge. Maybe it would wake her up. How do we know when it's right to speak up?
The other is my blog. I've toyed with going private. The only thing is that then everyone has to log in to see it. I like having it public, aside from the fact that I believe there are a couple people checking in on me that are CRAZY. Just so you know it's not you (or so you know it IS you), I'll tell you, one's the ex of a friend, and one's the mom of an ex of mine. Hello, when I stopped seeing your son, I also stopped seeing you. And you, the other one, Miss G, why are you interested in ME? Both of you...it's time to move on. It's new territory I suppose, this web/blog/internet realm, and the nasty, lurking aspect of it is just a part of being visible (can you say obsession?). I can't control who buys my book (yes, yes, buy my book). And I think I might have even looked up, secretly, a few folks from years gone by, but then I let it go. I suppose it really doesn't matter. My blog friend Imez stopped blogging because a couple people she knew started reading her blog. It made me kind of sad when she stopped blogging because her blog was so real and honest and touching. But I could understand. Another blog girl went private and now I have to log on each time I want to read. But I refuse to stop! And I love that some of my friends read my blog. I wish EVERYONE read my blog, well, obviously except for a couple people. I suppose that if my words are that interesting, I should be flattered (that statement is SO my mom).
And lastly, B has a new, cool Etsy pottery site. It's kindkilnpottery.etsy.com check it out
Thursday, April 30, 2009
Friday, April 24, 2009
12th Annual Northern Arizona Bookfest (Whooo-who!)
It's Bookfest weekend. I've been on the board of this darn Bookfestival for seven years. After the fourth year, I said I was done. But I stayed on. Now, I'm done. Or.....
Well, right now I get to just enjoy the weekend. We have Alberto Rios, Diana Gabaldon and Mark Gibbons tonight. More writers all day tomorrow (check out nazbookfest.com for the list...they're all terrific), and ROBERT BLY tomorrow night (Saturday). If you live around here, come to the Orpheum. If you don't, read even more poetry this weekend than you normally do. I've included a Robert Bly poem here......
Snowbanks North of the House by Robert Bly
Those great sweeps of snow that stop suddenly six
feet from the house ...
Thoughts that go so far.
The boy gets out of high school and reads no more
books;
the son stops calling home.
The mother puts down her rolling pin and makes no
more bread.
And the wife looks at her husband one night at a
party, and loves him no more.
The energy leaves the wine, and the minister falls
leaving the church.
It will not come closer
the one inside moves back, and the hands touch
nothing, and are safe.
The father grieves for his son, and will not leave the
room where the coffin stands.
He turns away from his wife, and she sleeps alone.
And the sea lifts and falls all night, the moon goes on
through the unattached heavens alone.
The toe of the shoe pivots
in the dust ...
And the man in the black coat turns, and goes back
down the hill.
No one knows why he came, or why he turned away,
and did not climb the hill.
Well, right now I get to just enjoy the weekend. We have Alberto Rios, Diana Gabaldon and Mark Gibbons tonight. More writers all day tomorrow (check out nazbookfest.com for the list...they're all terrific), and ROBERT BLY tomorrow night (Saturday). If you live around here, come to the Orpheum. If you don't, read even more poetry this weekend than you normally do. I've included a Robert Bly poem here......
Snowbanks North of the House by Robert Bly
Those great sweeps of snow that stop suddenly six
feet from the house ...
Thoughts that go so far.
The boy gets out of high school and reads no more
books;
the son stops calling home.
The mother puts down her rolling pin and makes no
more bread.
And the wife looks at her husband one night at a
party, and loves him no more.
The energy leaves the wine, and the minister falls
leaving the church.
It will not come closer
the one inside moves back, and the hands touch
nothing, and are safe.
The father grieves for his son, and will not leave the
room where the coffin stands.
He turns away from his wife, and she sleeps alone.
And the sea lifts and falls all night, the moon goes on
through the unattached heavens alone.
The toe of the shoe pivots
in the dust ...
And the man in the black coat turns, and goes back
down the hill.
No one knows why he came, or why he turned away,
and did not climb the hill.
Wednesday, April 15, 2009
Random Shmandom
Okay, a few things........
I saw a good movie. It's called "Sunshine Cleaners." Go see it. Kind of in the same vein as Little Miss Sunshine but a bit more believable (no one would ever really get up and dance with that little girl at the end...in fact, that whole final scene was pretty far fetched). There is a scene in Sunshine Cleaners - and this will not spoil it for you - when the main character girl (Amy Adams) goes to a baby shower. She is the feels-like-a-loser/outcast/working-as-a-house-cleaner going to the I-married-a-rich-guy, goodhair/nicemakeup, shiny SUV, diamond ring gal's house. She gets there and realizes who she is. I, and other girls like me, all realize that we're HER, the quirky, heart-of-gold (hahahaha), am-I-ever-going-to-get-it-right, girl. Now, my question is, do the women who see this movie that actually have the fine house with the maid, and the clean floors and the lack of serious paper piles all over the kitchen table (and any other empty space) recognize themselves? Or does everyone, even the perfect hair ladies, think they are the quirky main character? I'm just curious.
Also, there was a weird, depressing, yet horribly late-night-TV-joke-inducing moment at Starbucks yesterday. (Have you noticed I'm using too many - connectors?) So, a woman came through the drive-through. She had a cat in her car. I'm right there at the register, another barista was barring for me. As she starts to get her money out, she rolls her cat's tail up in the back window. The cat, who was up near the headrest of the driver's seat, goes APE SHIT. Starts attacking this poor woman. The cat's screeching. The woman's screaming. The cat's biting and clawing. The tail's caught. We are standing in the window totally unable to help or do ANYTHING. The cat finally gets it's tail out of the window...I swear two inches of tail was left in the drive through lane...and the woman was bleeding and crying and trying (still) to get money out of her purse. We got her a wet clean towel, gave her the drink and said "do not pay for this." We asked her if she could drive and was okay, to which she could hardly reply, and then she drove off. We were both so traumatized neither of us could function for half an hour. And it's one of those things that just replays itself in my head. And my fellow barista did say "there's a reason people crate their cats when they take them in a car." And it wasn't probably a mean cat, I'm sure the woman in the car LOVES that cat. But it freaking attacked her.
B and I went to NCECA, which is a the National Council On Education for the Ceramic Arts. It was in Phoenix this year. It was very cool. There were wonderful pots and bowls and huge clay painted heads two feet tall.
There was some amazing art, and some I didn't quite understand and some I thought. "well shoot, I can do that." Here's a picture of a bunch of ceramic slices of birthday cake. The artist said that she had trouble keeping up with friends while concurrently working in her studio, and so she thought that by doing these cakes, she could do both. So, at the gallery where her work was shown, she was wrapping pieces of pottery cake, boxing it up and sending it her friends. She would put, "do not open until _______" and then have their birthday. It was kind of cool. There was a sign that said that you could be her friend for 60 dollars, and she would send you a piece too.
And finally, no one is blogging anymore. There used to be 10 blogs a day that I would read. People were writing at least 3 times a week if not daily. Now, some of these people are writing once every two months. Come on, people! Write those blogs!! I personally think that everyone is addicted to facebook now and the most anyone can write at a time is a line or two about what they're doing AT THAT EXACT MOMENT. "Chris is drinking apple juice" or "Mary is going to sleep" or even "Chuck is tired of this wind blowing." Or, they're too busy taking a quiz to find out what famous fairy tale character they are, or what their hippie name is. If you do not do facebook, this is what goes on there. STAY AWAY. You too will become addicted to having 618 friends and never actually corresponding with them. Okay, done. I have a few quizzes to take, and for your information my hippie name is Gypsy Willow Dusk.
I saw a good movie. It's called "Sunshine Cleaners." Go see it. Kind of in the same vein as Little Miss Sunshine but a bit more believable (no one would ever really get up and dance with that little girl at the end...in fact, that whole final scene was pretty far fetched). There is a scene in Sunshine Cleaners - and this will not spoil it for you - when the main character girl (Amy Adams) goes to a baby shower. She is the feels-like-a-loser/outcast/working-as-a-house-cleaner going to the I-married-a-rich-guy, goodhair/nicemakeup, shiny SUV, diamond ring gal's house. She gets there and realizes who she is. I, and other girls like me, all realize that we're HER, the quirky, heart-of-gold (hahahaha), am-I-ever-going-to-get-it-right, girl. Now, my question is, do the women who see this movie that actually have the fine house with the maid, and the clean floors and the lack of serious paper piles all over the kitchen table (and any other empty space) recognize themselves? Or does everyone, even the perfect hair ladies, think they are the quirky main character? I'm just curious.
Also, there was a weird, depressing, yet horribly late-night-TV-joke-inducing moment at Starbucks yesterday. (Have you noticed I'm using too many - connectors?) So, a woman came through the drive-through. She had a cat in her car. I'm right there at the register, another barista was barring for me. As she starts to get her money out, she rolls her cat's tail up in the back window. The cat, who was up near the headrest of the driver's seat, goes APE SHIT. Starts attacking this poor woman. The cat's screeching. The woman's screaming. The cat's biting and clawing. The tail's caught. We are standing in the window totally unable to help or do ANYTHING. The cat finally gets it's tail out of the window...I swear two inches of tail was left in the drive through lane...and the woman was bleeding and crying and trying (still) to get money out of her purse. We got her a wet clean towel, gave her the drink and said "do not pay for this." We asked her if she could drive and was okay, to which she could hardly reply, and then she drove off. We were both so traumatized neither of us could function for half an hour. And it's one of those things that just replays itself in my head. And my fellow barista did say "there's a reason people crate their cats when they take them in a car." And it wasn't probably a mean cat, I'm sure the woman in the car LOVES that cat. But it freaking attacked her.
B and I went to NCECA, which is a the National Council On Education for the Ceramic Arts. It was in Phoenix this year. It was very cool. There were wonderful pots and bowls and huge clay painted heads two feet tall.
There was some amazing art, and some I didn't quite understand and some I thought. "well shoot, I can do that." Here's a picture of a bunch of ceramic slices of birthday cake. The artist said that she had trouble keeping up with friends while concurrently working in her studio, and so she thought that by doing these cakes, she could do both. So, at the gallery where her work was shown, she was wrapping pieces of pottery cake, boxing it up and sending it her friends. She would put, "do not open until _______" and then have their birthday. It was kind of cool. There was a sign that said that you could be her friend for 60 dollars, and she would send you a piece too. And finally, no one is blogging anymore. There used to be 10 blogs a day that I would read. People were writing at least 3 times a week if not daily. Now, some of these people are writing once every two months. Come on, people! Write those blogs!! I personally think that everyone is addicted to facebook now and the most anyone can write at a time is a line or two about what they're doing AT THAT EXACT MOMENT. "Chris is drinking apple juice" or "Mary is going to sleep" or even "Chuck is tired of this wind blowing." Or, they're too busy taking a quiz to find out what famous fairy tale character they are, or what their hippie name is. If you do not do facebook, this is what goes on there. STAY AWAY. You too will become addicted to having 618 friends and never actually corresponding with them. Okay, done. I have a few quizzes to take, and for your information my hippie name is Gypsy Willow Dusk.
Sunday, April 5, 2009
Sunday
I have to write a blog post. Have to. Must. I've just shuffled through all of the other blogs that I read and no one is writing. It's up to me.
I'm back. After writing that sentence I got up and made a cake. A white cake with chocolate frosting. What one will do to get out of writing! But, I can't escape it. And, I have been writing a bit. But I'm not going to talk about it. I always hate when people (me) just talk about what they're *doing* but never really *do* it. So, moving on. My seedlings are growing. They're huge and sprawling. And it's too damn early to plant them outside. BY A WHOLE MONTH. Timing was way off. The other picture on this post is of SNOW on my lawn taken yesterday.
Jay has a fever. 103 yesterday morning. The advice is this; if it's over 105 and Motrine won't bring it down, bring him in. So, he's laying in bed. Do you ever feel like a hundred and three fever would just be worth the opportunity to lie in bed and do nothing? No errands or chores or phone calls. And you could pull the covers up and over your head and everything would look bluish and even, like a winter sky? Yeah, me too.
We have a bagel at Starbucks called a chonga bagel. They look really good, sesame seeds, poppy seeds, cheese, etc. But as a customer I could never order one because saying the words "chonga bagel" seems so wrong. I also feel like I can't really tell funny/embarrassing stories about Starbucks or my customers because, when I wrote about Guinness beer once, I had a comment from Guinness within a DAY. It was a nice comment...they just gave me a few facts I had left out, but it was weird that as soon as I put their name on my blog, they KNEW. And I need to work, so, no crazy ass stories about customers coming through the drive through with three freaking tiny dogs all trying to devour my hand as I give them their triple mocha frappicino with one pump raspberry syrup, three pumps vanilla, extra whip, two shots of espresso and carmal drizzle.
I did a youth poetry festival last weekend. It was fun and I felt like I knew my stuff. I had a reading Friday night and I taught a workshop to 13 - 19 year old kids on Saturday. There were 14 of them. They were aware and talkative and wanted to write. I love doing those things. I'm good at it. People like me. Why do I end up doing that kind of thing maybe twice a year? Hmmm.
A good movie (on video) I saw; Lars and the Real Girl. A good movie (at the theater) I saw; Race to Witch Mountain. A good book; Same Kind of Different As Me. The Race to Witch Mountain thing.... I LOVED that book when I was a kid AND The Rock was cool.
I think I may have made the cake just to smell that "baking cake" smell.
I'm back. After writing that sentence I got up and made a cake. A white cake with chocolate frosting. What one will do to get out of writing! But, I can't escape it. And, I have been writing a bit. But I'm not going to talk about it. I always hate when people (me) just talk about what they're *doing* but never really *do* it. So, moving on. My seedlings are growing. They're huge and sprawling. And it's too damn early to plant them outside. BY A WHOLE MONTH. Timing was way off. The other picture on this post is of SNOW on my lawn taken yesterday.
Jay has a fever. 103 yesterday morning. The advice is this; if it's over 105 and Motrine won't bring it down, bring him in. So, he's laying in bed. Do you ever feel like a hundred and three fever would just be worth the opportunity to lie in bed and do nothing? No errands or chores or phone calls. And you could pull the covers up and over your head and everything would look bluish and even, like a winter sky? Yeah, me too.
We have a bagel at Starbucks called a chonga bagel. They look really good, sesame seeds, poppy seeds, cheese, etc. But as a customer I could never order one because saying the words "chonga bagel" seems so wrong. I also feel like I can't really tell funny/embarrassing stories about Starbucks or my customers because, when I wrote about Guinness beer once, I had a comment from Guinness within a DAY. It was a nice comment...they just gave me a few facts I had left out, but it was weird that as soon as I put their name on my blog, they KNEW. And I need to work, so, no crazy ass stories about customers coming through the drive through with three freaking tiny dogs all trying to devour my hand as I give them their triple mocha frappicino with one pump raspberry syrup, three pumps vanilla, extra whip, two shots of espresso and carmal drizzle.
I did a youth poetry festival last weekend. It was fun and I felt like I knew my stuff. I had a reading Friday night and I taught a workshop to 13 - 19 year old kids on Saturday. There were 14 of them. They were aware and talkative and wanted to write. I love doing those things. I'm good at it. People like me. Why do I end up doing that kind of thing maybe twice a year? Hmmm.
A good movie (on video) I saw; Lars and the Real Girl. A good movie (at the theater) I saw; Race to Witch Mountain. A good book; Same Kind of Different As Me. The Race to Witch Mountain thing.... I LOVED that book when I was a kid AND The Rock was cool.
I think I may have made the cake just to smell that "baking cake" smell.
Thursday, March 19, 2009
insight?
Well, the whole insight/epiphany thing appears to be a wash. I MAY have another insight or epiphany in my life but they seem to come few and far between. Actually, I think I might have had all the insights possible, and now I just know everything. Hahahah. So, the 30 days of insight is not going to happen. I'll be sure and send out an alert when I have one but don't expect much.
Instead, it's just a random day. Stan, who was featured in the Stan's man post, does have another man, who has already lost quite a bit of stuffing. But Stan's dog love shines through and he himself placed his man cozily close for nap time. I'm now buying those funny little men by the three pack.
Here's a really unappetizing picture of my dinner. BUT, it was really good. The orange colored food is MASHED POTATOES. Yes, mashed Idaho and SWEET potatoes. It's so good. And it's good for you! And, it's ORANGE. I put a little sour cream in them and Jay loves 'em. The other thing on the plate is tuna and noodles. This is one of my favorite foods.
My mom used to always make it for me on my birthday. It's a comfort food for me. Just in case you want to make it, it's easy....Take a 2 quart pan, boil some noodles, drain, add one can of healthy choice cream of mushroom soup, a bit of milk, a can of tuna (albacore packed in water?), and some cheese. Heat until warm.
I worked today and was very tired when I got home. I even napped, which I NEVER do. When I got up, around 4ish, I planted seeds in these Jiffy greenhouse cups. I planted broccoli, cauliflower, zucchini, pumpkins and cantaloupe. I'm going to plant lettuce and onions outside tomorrow (cool weather crops).
With the weather getting warmer, I just want to garden. Last year I didn't have a garden at all. I was busy moving back to my most wonderful house, and getting ready to travel to Kansas. This year, I'm going to garden again. That dirt just does my heart good. So, I have moments when I don't want to go to work. I mean, like I NEVER want to go to work again. And this is even a job I like. With benefits. And free coffee. I think about how great my year of opus was, and sometimes I miss it. But I have to work. And, I realized, I HAVE to garden. The dirt, the act of sprouting, the flowers on a pumpkin vine, and the beautiful smell of it all mixed together. Ahhhh. Coming out of winter (yes, I know it's going to snow again). But the season is changing. I'm ready. And speaking of...tomorrow is the first day of spring.
Instead, it's just a random day. Stan, who was featured in the Stan's man post, does have another man, who has already lost quite a bit of stuffing. But Stan's dog love shines through and he himself placed his man cozily close for nap time. I'm now buying those funny little men by the three pack. Here's a really unappetizing picture of my dinner. BUT, it was really good. The orange colored food is MASHED POTATOES. Yes, mashed Idaho and SWEET potatoes. It's so good. And it's good for you! And, it's ORANGE. I put a little sour cream in them and Jay loves 'em. The other thing on the plate is tuna and noodles. This is one of my favorite foods.
My mom used to always make it for me on my birthday. It's a comfort food for me. Just in case you want to make it, it's easy....Take a 2 quart pan, boil some noodles, drain, add one can of healthy choice cream of mushroom soup, a bit of milk, a can of tuna (albacore packed in water?), and some cheese. Heat until warm. I worked today and was very tired when I got home. I even napped, which I NEVER do. When I got up, around 4ish, I planted seeds in these Jiffy greenhouse cups. I planted broccoli, cauliflower, zucchini, pumpkins and cantaloupe. I'm going to plant lettuce and onions outside tomorrow (cool weather crops).
With the weather getting warmer, I just want to garden. Last year I didn't have a garden at all. I was busy moving back to my most wonderful house, and getting ready to travel to Kansas. This year, I'm going to garden again. That dirt just does my heart good. So, I have moments when I don't want to go to work. I mean, like I NEVER want to go to work again. And this is even a job I like. With benefits. And free coffee. I think about how great my year of opus was, and sometimes I miss it. But I have to work. And, I realized, I HAVE to garden. The dirt, the act of sprouting, the flowers on a pumpkin vine, and the beautiful smell of it all mixed together. Ahhhh. Coming out of winter (yes, I know it's going to snow again). But the season is changing. I'm ready. And speaking of...tomorrow is the first day of spring.
Saturday, March 14, 2009
Insight two
No customer will ever order their Starbucks drink correctly. I had two solid weeks of training and have now worked there for four months and I still don't get it right. So how in the world can an UNTRAINED person ever be expected to know what in the heck to say. So, here's how it's done....first, tell me if it's iced. Then, the size, then what it is (latte, mocha, etc), then tell me if you're going to want extra shots of coffee. That would be, I'll have an iced grande latte with an extra shot of espresso. Okay, then let me know if you want any special milks or syrups. Whole milk? Non fat? Vanilla? Hazelnut? Then, the little things...light ice, no foam, extra hot. Half decaffeinated, one-third whole milk/two-thirds 1%, 4 pumps of raspberry and 1 pump vanilla. Yes. It's true. The kicker is that if someone orders their entire drink and says "iced" at the end instead of at the beginning, I have to cancel everything out and start over, trying to remember it's a grandeicedlattewith3pumpscaramel2pumpstoffeenutwholemilknofoam drink. Here's a recent drive-thru window conversation......
Me: Hi, welcome to Starbucks, this is Jill, how are you doing today?
Guest: Great.
Me: Can I start you off with a muffin or some of our tasty oatmeal this morning?
Guest: No. I'll have a grande mocha with a latte on top.
Me: (thinking, HUH?) I'm sorry I didn't get that last part. You want a Grande mocha? Is that correct?
Guest: Yes, with a latte on top.
Me: (Trying not to laugh into the headset): I'm sorry, I'm not hearing you very well. That was a mocha with vanilla?
Guest: NO. A LATTE ON TOP
Me: I'm so sorry. We have mochas and we have lattes but they're two separate drinks. (Thinking...Hahahahaha) Which one of those were you wanting?
Guest: Oh. Okay, I'll have a mocha.
Most people, however, know what they want....
Me: Hi, welcome to Starbucks, this is Jill, how are you doing today?
Guest: Great.
Me: Can I start you off with a muffin or some of our tasty oatmeal this morning?
Guest: No, but I'll have a grande two pump mocha, with one pump vanilla and three pumps of peppermint, no whip cream, whole milk, with an extra shot of espresso in a venti cup. Can I also have that at 180 degrees?
Me: I'm sorry, that was a mocha...with...?
Guest: (They repeat their order)
Me: Okay, that was a grande in a venti cup? And how many shots of peppermint?
Guest: (They repeat their order)
Me: Okay, and that had an extra shot?
Sigh...
Me: Hi, welcome to Starbucks, this is Jill, how are you doing today?
Guest: Great.
Me: Can I start you off with a muffin or some of our tasty oatmeal this morning?
Guest: No. I'll have a grande mocha with a latte on top.
Me: (thinking, HUH?) I'm sorry I didn't get that last part. You want a Grande mocha? Is that correct?
Guest: Yes, with a latte on top.
Me: (Trying not to laugh into the headset): I'm sorry, I'm not hearing you very well. That was a mocha with vanilla?
Guest: NO. A LATTE ON TOP
Me: I'm so sorry. We have mochas and we have lattes but they're two separate drinks. (Thinking...Hahahahaha) Which one of those were you wanting?
Guest: Oh. Okay, I'll have a mocha.
Most people, however, know what they want....
Me: Hi, welcome to Starbucks, this is Jill, how are you doing today?
Guest: Great.
Me: Can I start you off with a muffin or some of our tasty oatmeal this morning?
Guest: No, but I'll have a grande two pump mocha, with one pump vanilla and three pumps of peppermint, no whip cream, whole milk, with an extra shot of espresso in a venti cup. Can I also have that at 180 degrees?
Me: I'm sorry, that was a mocha...with...?
Guest: (They repeat their order)
Me: Okay, that was a grande in a venti cup? And how many shots of peppermint?
Guest: (They repeat their order)
Me: Okay, and that had an extra shot?
Sigh...
Thursday, March 12, 2009
Stupid, Happy Animals
Hmmmmm. How about 30 days of epiphanies (a moment of sudden revelation or insight)? I had one tonight, while taking a lovely bath with anti-stress bath bubbles. And a glass of red wine. And a tall glass of water. And a book (Falling Through The Earth by Danielle Trussoni).
When I was a child, my parents and I were really just stupid, happy animals. We lived in a simple house, and we just lived. There was no weirdness or alcoholism or addiction or games, except for dominoes and gin rummy. We ate and slept and went to work and school. My parents, who were married for 65 years, had their share of fights, but there was no violence or tears. They were pretty fucking happy. They golfed and played bridge and bowled. My dad gardened and fished. My mom cooked and did volunteer work. Yes, we were simple animals. They did some things together and some things on their own. They each taught me different skills. We watched Wonderful World of Disney on Sunday nights.
This is why I have a hard time, occasionally, in the world. I have to deal with people. It just seems so simple to me. We had a home, not a fancy one, we had food on the table, not fancy stuff, and we had folks around to play dominoes with. Eat, work, play, love. As a teenager, of course, I suffered, for several years, from hormone induced hysteria (like all teenagers) which did make me scream "I hate you" at my father, and secretly buy birth control pills (which my mother found in my purse), and so I turned my back on the pack. But, over time, I regressed again to the cult of the simpleminded. That's where I am now.
Thirty days of Epiphany? Shhiiitttt. Does that sound high falutin or what!? It might take me 3 months to come up with 30 days of epiphanies. Fine. I'm going to take my time. I'll just write them down as they strike me. But I'm going to shoot for 30. For a stupid, happy animal there might be some pretty simplistic ideas, but revelation doesn't have to be complicated. I could use a little insight, and like beauty, I don't mind searching for it.
Everything should be made as simple as possible, but no simpler. - Einstein
When I was a child, my parents and I were really just stupid, happy animals. We lived in a simple house, and we just lived. There was no weirdness or alcoholism or addiction or games, except for dominoes and gin rummy. We ate and slept and went to work and school. My parents, who were married for 65 years, had their share of fights, but there was no violence or tears. They were pretty fucking happy. They golfed and played bridge and bowled. My dad gardened and fished. My mom cooked and did volunteer work. Yes, we were simple animals. They did some things together and some things on their own. They each taught me different skills. We watched Wonderful World of Disney on Sunday nights.
This is why I have a hard time, occasionally, in the world. I have to deal with people. It just seems so simple to me. We had a home, not a fancy one, we had food on the table, not fancy stuff, and we had folks around to play dominoes with. Eat, work, play, love. As a teenager, of course, I suffered, for several years, from hormone induced hysteria (like all teenagers) which did make me scream "I hate you" at my father, and secretly buy birth control pills (which my mother found in my purse), and so I turned my back on the pack. But, over time, I regressed again to the cult of the simpleminded. That's where I am now.
Thirty days of Epiphany? Shhiiitttt. Does that sound high falutin or what!? It might take me 3 months to come up with 30 days of epiphanies. Fine. I'm going to take my time. I'll just write them down as they strike me. But I'm going to shoot for 30. For a stupid, happy animal there might be some pretty simplistic ideas, but revelation doesn't have to be complicated. I could use a little insight, and like beauty, I don't mind searching for it.
Everything should be made as simple as possible, but no simpler. - Einstein
Wednesday, March 11, 2009
I love cookies
Last night, as I drifted off to sleep, I thought about a great blog to write. I even contemplated getting out of bed and writing it. But the lights were off. My eyes were closed. I was in that quite heavenly drowsy space where the sheets feel like some strange kind of good medicine, and the pillow is fitting itself perfectly underneath your neck, and frankly, there was no way I was going to disturb that. So, in my intoxicating sleepiness, I vowed to remember my blog thought. And today, IT'S COMPLETELY GONE.
B had seconds, so did I, and Jay ate cookies. Kidding. I made him cheese enchiladas, and THEN he made cookies afterwards. And I did make him eat some tomato.
I'm open to ideas for my next 30 days of you-call-it. (30 days of crap? 30 days of Mondays? 30 days of dealing with rude people at the post office? 30 days of self-improvement? 30 days of finding silhouettes in the wood grain of the laminate flooring?) If I feel like I have to write, I WILL write and I WILL enjoy it. Forced writing. Hmmmmm. Or maybe I should just keep a notebook by the bed for when I have my own ideas. SO I DON"T FORGET THEM.
Instead, once again, I'm going to write a little bit about food. Haha. I LOVE food. Tonight I made spinach and mushroom enchiladas. I sauteed the garlic and onion first in olive oil until the garlic got all hard and crispy (acquired taste) and then added mushrooms and spinach. The rest of it's in the recipe...
Sauce:
Garlic (you decide what you can handle)
1 can condensed cream of mushroom soup (healthy request, damn it)
1 8oz carton light sour cream
1 small can diced green chilies
Filling:
olive oil
onion (real or dried minced)
2 cups mushrooms
Garlic (see above)
Cumin (same deal)
About 20 oz spinach (I use fresh, your choice)
1 cup shredded jack cheese
10-15 corn tortillas
Prepare sauce ingredients in a bowl.
Put oil in skillet, saute stuff for filling, add half cheese when off heat and stir up.
Fill tortillas with filling, roll them up, and put seam down in 9x9 square pan (this recipe makes two pans so one can go in the freezer for a whole other night!).
Cover with sauce and some cheese.
Bake at 350 for 30 minutes.
Yum.
(If you have children who are spoiled, just make a few cheese enchiladas too and don't make them eat any vegetables. They will love you at that minute but will resent you later in life for screwing up their health.)
B had seconds, so did I, and Jay ate cookies. Kidding. I made him cheese enchiladas, and THEN he made cookies afterwards. And I did make him eat some tomato.
I'm open to ideas for my next 30 days of you-call-it. (30 days of crap? 30 days of Mondays? 30 days of dealing with rude people at the post office? 30 days of self-improvement? 30 days of finding silhouettes in the wood grain of the laminate flooring?) If I feel like I have to write, I WILL write and I WILL enjoy it. Forced writing. Hmmmmm. Or maybe I should just keep a notebook by the bed for when I have my own ideas. SO I DON"T FORGET THEM.
Saturday, February 28, 2009
one month
(Thirty days ago I started "30 days of beauty" and this is the 30th day)
Looking for and enjoying beauty is a way to nourish the soul. The universe is in the habit of making beauty. There are flowers and songs, snowflakes and smiles, acts of great courage, laughter between friends, a job well done, the smell of fresh-baked bread. Beauty is everywhere." - Matthew Fox
The ideals which have lighted my way, and time after time have given me new courage to face life cheerfully, have been kindness, beauty and truth. Albert Einstein
I don't think of all the misery, but of the beauty that still remains....My advice is: Go outside, to the fields, enjoy nature and the sunshine, go out and try to recapture happiness in yourself and in God. Think of all the beauty that's still left in and around you and be happy! - Anne Frank
Walk on a rainbow trail; walk on a trail of song, and all about you will be beauty. There is a way out of every dark mist, over a rainbow trail. - Navajo Song
Looking for and enjoying beauty is a way to nourish the soul. The universe is in the habit of making beauty. There are flowers and songs, snowflakes and smiles, acts of great courage, laughter between friends, a job well done, the smell of fresh-baked bread. Beauty is everywhere." - Matthew Fox
The ideals which have lighted my way, and time after time have given me new courage to face life cheerfully, have been kindness, beauty and truth. Albert Einstein
I don't think of all the misery, but of the beauty that still remains....My advice is: Go outside, to the fields, enjoy nature and the sunshine, go out and try to recapture happiness in yourself and in God. Think of all the beauty that's still left in and around you and be happy! - Anne Frank
Walk on a rainbow trail; walk on a trail of song, and all about you will be beauty. There is a way out of every dark mist, over a rainbow trail. - Navajo Song
February 27
Yes, I have a facebook. I have a myspace. But my heart belongs to blogspot. Still, I have come to see a virtue in the other two. I have a huge group of folks I know; some I have known for years, and some have known me from the day I was born. So, I can kinda keep in touch through these other forums. I can see pictures of them on vacation, or find out when they're playing the guitar at a local gig. I check in once in a while and have even started to participate, albeit, minimally, in the poking, sending gifts, and joining odd clubs. But the blogworld is home. It's words. It's stories. It's not a single sound bite, it's a concert. In blogworld, we don't start out as familiar, we get there through our writing. Every once in a while people stop blogging (where are you Hermitgrrl? write me Imez!) and I miss their words. Sometimes they switch from one to the other, for good reason (Hi jillyineyre). And sometimes they reply and contribute. Yesterday, Tyge from neonlounge sent me this recording of jjgrey and mofro relating to my Feb 26th blog. Thanks Tyge! I loved it!! It's the second song, Nare Sugar, and if you want to skip to the Flagstaff reference (although you might just want to listen to the music) go 1:30 into the song. Check it out......
http://www.archive.org/details/jjgreyandmofro2007-03-28.matrix.flac16
http://www.archive.org/details/jjgreyandmofro2007-03-28.matrix.flac16
Thursday, February 26, 2009
I'm just warming up
Warmth. It's finally warm outside. I'm ready for tulips to emerge from the ground and I'm ready to start planting tomato plants and pole beans. Hahahahahaha! Wait, I live in Flagstaff. Here's what will really happen.....the next week will be stellar; warm, sunny, no jacket. People here will start wearing flip flops and shorts. The sale of sunglasses will sky rocket and the cinders still littering the streets will slowly disappear. Everyone will be happy and slightly giddy. The greeting will be, "Isn't this weather wonderful?!" and the reply of "Ohhhh yes, it's heavenly outside" will ring through the streets. It will be Who-ville, only instead of being excited about Christmas, we'll all be excited about the temperature clocking in at 55 degrees.
Then, sometime in March, the Grinch of snowandchill will bite us all in the butt. We'll go to bed with only a comforter and a flannel sheet and wake up FROZEN. We'll look out the window and the whole world will be white. Hahahahaha. That was the Grinch laughing, not me. My son will have a dreaded snow day. Augghhhh. B will have to shovel the driveway. Curses! And I will turn the heater up to 80 degrees. $$$$. Damn.
There will be several more snows before spring. Realistically, there's no planting to be done until late May. I just might have chains on my car tires again. So, I suppose the beauty is that during the middle of winter, there are warm, sunny, short-sleeve, flip-flop weather days. Even the chickens are out in the sun indulging in dust baths.
And talking about chillin' with my peeps, I want to give a shout out to a couple of gals who I know are reading my blog; Dale and Greta. I hope you enjoy reading it half as much as I enjoy writing it! Rock on, girlfriends!
Then, sometime in March, the Grinch of snowandchill will bite us all in the butt. We'll go to bed with only a comforter and a flannel sheet and wake up FROZEN. We'll look out the window and the whole world will be white. Hahahahaha. That was the Grinch laughing, not me. My son will have a dreaded snow day. Augghhhh. B will have to shovel the driveway. Curses! And I will turn the heater up to 80 degrees. $$$$. Damn.
There will be several more snows before spring. Realistically, there's no planting to be done until late May. I just might have chains on my car tires again. So, I suppose the beauty is that during the middle of winter, there are warm, sunny, short-sleeve, flip-flop weather days. Even the chickens are out in the sun indulging in dust baths.
And talking about chillin' with my peeps, I want to give a shout out to a couple of gals who I know are reading my blog; Dale and Greta. I hope you enjoy reading it half as much as I enjoy writing it! Rock on, girlfriends!
Wednesday, February 25, 2009
Memory
I wrote a post a couple days ago where I just listed a bunch of things that were beautiful to me. One of them was memory. Sometimes I read about (in People magazine!) someone who has no memory at all, and I always feel so sad for them. Memory is what keeps me going at times. I had to fill out this form for Jay tonight and it had a space on it for "in case of emergency" and I wanted to put my dad. Silly. I thought, well that's who to notify. But, as I've mentioned before, I do not have his phone number anymore.
I must make my father out to be a saint sometimes. He wasn't, of course. He was a good man; honest and kind and salt of the earth. But he also did things that weren't so good. Once, when I was maybe ten, we were at a golf tournament. Me, my mom and my dad. It was toward evening and we were waiting for all the results to come in. Now, my dad was not a heavy drinker. My parents never had drinks when it was just the two of them. They'd have a couple bourbons when they went out with friends but nothing too extreme. This one night though, at the clubhouse, in a town about 90 minutes from where we lived, my dad had eight Bloody Mary's. I know this because my mom asked him and he told her. I remember being mortified. I remember it was eight. I remember he slurred and wobbled. A friend of my dad's had to drive us all home. My dad was funny, as opposed to mean, but as a kid I was horribly embarrassed.
Now, as an adult myself, I like that memory. Memory reminds me of where I come from, it lets me remember my past and my parents. There were time I never thought I would live through their deaths. We were very close, the three of us, and there were certainly times I couldn't imagine myself without them. The beauty of memory is that I don't have to live without them. They are in so much that I do. I keep them in poems and stories and the way I raise Jay. I recall the past, and I can see and hear them again. Now, if I think about the night that my dad had eight Bloody Mary's, I remember being so flipping mad, but I also see it from adult eyes, and I wish I could remember what he said, on the 90 mile ride home; his friend driving the car, his wife next to him, his child staring intently out the window, and him, cracking jokes and having a good laugh.
Though we travel the world over to find the beautiful, we
must carry it with us or we find it not.
- Ralph Waldo Emerson
I must make my father out to be a saint sometimes. He wasn't, of course. He was a good man; honest and kind and salt of the earth. But he also did things that weren't so good. Once, when I was maybe ten, we were at a golf tournament. Me, my mom and my dad. It was toward evening and we were waiting for all the results to come in. Now, my dad was not a heavy drinker. My parents never had drinks when it was just the two of them. They'd have a couple bourbons when they went out with friends but nothing too extreme. This one night though, at the clubhouse, in a town about 90 minutes from where we lived, my dad had eight Bloody Mary's. I know this because my mom asked him and he told her. I remember being mortified. I remember it was eight. I remember he slurred and wobbled. A friend of my dad's had to drive us all home. My dad was funny, as opposed to mean, but as a kid I was horribly embarrassed.
Now, as an adult myself, I like that memory. Memory reminds me of where I come from, it lets me remember my past and my parents. There were time I never thought I would live through their deaths. We were very close, the three of us, and there were certainly times I couldn't imagine myself without them. The beauty of memory is that I don't have to live without them. They are in so much that I do. I keep them in poems and stories and the way I raise Jay. I recall the past, and I can see and hear them again. Now, if I think about the night that my dad had eight Bloody Mary's, I remember being so flipping mad, but I also see it from adult eyes, and I wish I could remember what he said, on the 90 mile ride home; his friend driving the car, his wife next to him, his child staring intently out the window, and him, cracking jokes and having a good laugh.
Though we travel the world over to find the beautiful, we
must carry it with us or we find it not.
- Ralph Waldo Emerson
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
Monday, February 23, 2009
Trying
Hmmmmm.
Nope, can't think of one thing.
Damn.
Wait.
My son is beautiful.
Memory.
Neil Young singing Helpless.
Dusk. Perfect peaches.
Talking about anything
and it being okay.
UFO's.
Lemon tarts. Coffee,
double tall soy latte.
Dry socks. Sorrel. Breathing.
Wood floors and rugs.
A hand on your waist.
Yellow.
A glass of red and a medium tenderloin
with butter. Family. An iris in a vase.
Cash. Sitting. Books.
When people like you. Music.
Feeling better after the flu. Green tea.
Punctuation.
Past life spillover.
Healing. Chocolate cake.
Blankets. Giving.
A clean dog. Roly-poly bugs.
Scars. Dirt.
Catching a fish.
Poems.
Nope, can't think of one thing.
Damn.
Wait.
My son is beautiful.
Memory.
Neil Young singing Helpless.
Dusk. Perfect peaches.
Talking about anything
and it being okay.
UFO's.
Lemon tarts. Coffee,
double tall soy latte.
Dry socks. Sorrel. Breathing.
Wood floors and rugs.
A hand on your waist.
Yellow.
A glass of red and a medium tenderloin
with butter. Family. An iris in a vase.
Cash. Sitting. Books.
When people like you. Music.
Feeling better after the flu. Green tea.
Punctuation.
Past life spillover.
Healing. Chocolate cake.
Blankets. Giving.
A clean dog. Roly-poly bugs.
Scars. Dirt.
Catching a fish.
Poems.
Sunday, February 22, 2009
Encore
I was thinking about poetry today. I start the poetry section in my English 102 class soon. I teach poetry on Tuesdays and Thursdays. I read poetry at least weekly. And I write poetry, although not so much lately. There's one poem that I wrote a couple years ago that I love. I know we're not supposed to love our own work. How arrogant!!! But I do love it. I don't even always believe I wrote it, I like it that much. My friend James calls this poem my "Freebird." You know, how every time Lynard Skynard played in concert they would play Freebird and it was like their anthem. Shoot, it was everyone's anthem. I read this poem every time I do a reading. Get your Bic lighters ready......
Current
I jump in. The water covers me. I am being
born. The water is air. I start to swim. I start to cry.
I keep swimming. Some things die but mostly
things grow. Marigolds at the side of the house,
puppies from the hunting dog that lives
in the back yard. When I hurt, my mother says
I have growing pains. I’m not popular
but I’m not the outcast. I’m not smart but I’m not
the idiot. I’m not even swimming really. I’m doing
the dog paddle. I stay afloat. In the sixth grade
I have knobby knees and long hair. I’m embarrassed
most of the time in a general way. I sit outside
at night and watch Venus rise. I go to Dairy Queen
with my mom and dad. I keep swimming.
Things are still dying or growing. I go to movies.
I try a sip of bourbon. I get
my high school pictures back. I shake the water
out of my eyes. People swim
along side me sometimes but mostly
they don’t. The water flows so fast. I choke
on air. I love moving. Sometimes I’m so tired,
I don’t move at all. Some days I go back,
some days I go forward. But I keep swimming.
I write letters. I like the taste of stamps.
I miss my mom and dad but I live far away
and don’t call. I’m in a big place.
I worry about freeway shootings.
I swim away. I live where things are covered
in fog. I can’t tell the difference between the growing
and the dying. I play pool or shop for post cards.
I may still be having growing pains. I may
be drowning. I may just be plain and average.
I move to a small place. I never drink champagne.
I date sad men. I like addicts.
I read books. I practice blowing out
birthday candles. One day
I grow legs. I walk on land. I am still not popular
but I am still not the outcast. Once in a while
I have sex appeal. I watch my parents get old. I talk
to them every day. I become patient. I understand
the importance of photographs. I grow vegetables
in the backyard. I keep walking. Sometimes I close
my eyes when I eat. I chuckle
when I’m by myself. I find people to walk with. I dance
in the living room. I have a child. He is swimming.
Current
I jump in. The water covers me. I am being
born. The water is air. I start to swim. I start to cry.
I keep swimming. Some things die but mostly
things grow. Marigolds at the side of the house,
puppies from the hunting dog that lives
in the back yard. When I hurt, my mother says
I have growing pains. I’m not popular
but I’m not the outcast. I’m not smart but I’m not
the idiot. I’m not even swimming really. I’m doing
the dog paddle. I stay afloat. In the sixth grade
I have knobby knees and long hair. I’m embarrassed
most of the time in a general way. I sit outside
at night and watch Venus rise. I go to Dairy Queen
with my mom and dad. I keep swimming.
Things are still dying or growing. I go to movies.
I try a sip of bourbon. I get
my high school pictures back. I shake the water
out of my eyes. People swim
along side me sometimes but mostly
they don’t. The water flows so fast. I choke
on air. I love moving. Sometimes I’m so tired,
I don’t move at all. Some days I go back,
some days I go forward. But I keep swimming.
I write letters. I like the taste of stamps.
I miss my mom and dad but I live far away
and don’t call. I’m in a big place.
I worry about freeway shootings.
I swim away. I live where things are covered
in fog. I can’t tell the difference between the growing
and the dying. I play pool or shop for post cards.
I may still be having growing pains. I may
be drowning. I may just be plain and average.
I move to a small place. I never drink champagne.
I date sad men. I like addicts.
I read books. I practice blowing out
birthday candles. One day
I grow legs. I walk on land. I am still not popular
but I am still not the outcast. Once in a while
I have sex appeal. I watch my parents get old. I talk
to them every day. I become patient. I understand
the importance of photographs. I grow vegetables
in the backyard. I keep walking. Sometimes I close
my eyes when I eat. I chuckle
when I’m by myself. I find people to walk with. I dance
in the living room. I have a child. He is swimming.
Saturday, February 21, 2009
Feb. 21
There is a chair in my bedroom that makes me very happy. It's not because it looks good, actually it boasts a fairly hideous
"green flowers and brown leaf" motif. It's certainly not comfy. I suppose I haven't even sat in it for several months. Plus, it's kind of a burlap bag material, a little scratchy and rigid. I find this chair attractive because it holds all the laundry I don't feel like putting away. It gets it out of the laundry room, keeps it off the floor, and it will stay on that chair until the pile gets so tall that it almost topples over. "Check the pile on the chair" can often be heard when my son asks where his socks are. I love that chair.
"green flowers and brown leaf" motif. It's certainly not comfy. I suppose I haven't even sat in it for several months. Plus, it's kind of a burlap bag material, a little scratchy and rigid. I find this chair attractive because it holds all the laundry I don't feel like putting away. It gets it out of the laundry room, keeps it off the floor, and it will stay on that chair until the pile gets so tall that it almost topples over. "Check the pile on the chair" can often be heard when my son asks where his socks are. I love that chair.
Feb. 20
These are fresh eggs. They are beautiful. The shells vary; sometimes very light brown, some darker, and some are bluish green. They taste really good. The yolks are very yellow. The hens scratch about, eating Layena and scraps. They love broccoli and pumpkin. They don't make much noise except when they're laying an egg. Isn't it an amazing thing, how those eggs, all full of protein and good stuff (yeah, there's a bit of cholesterol but not bad if you eat them in moderation) pop out of the backside of a chicken?! And they come out all clean and dry. It's kind of a miracle.
Thursday, February 19, 2009
Wednesday, February 18, 2009
Vague Beauty Post
The following is an excerpt taken from a life. It is merely a work of fiction:
There is a man playing the guitar in my garage. Electric. Not loud. Beautiful. The guitar rests against his leg. He is playing along to a CD. There is a light in one corner casting a thin glow, shadows everywhere. I could listen to him for an hour. No, a day. Longer. He is concentrating, his head moving softly with the notes. There is stillness and motion. It is almost like a movie.
If I was a writer I would write a story about it. It would be filled with metaphor and heat. It would be beautiful.
There is a man playing the guitar in my garage. Electric. Not loud. Beautiful. The guitar rests against his leg. He is playing along to a CD. There is a light in one corner casting a thin glow, shadows everywhere. I could listen to him for an hour. No, a day. Longer. He is concentrating, his head moving softly with the notes. There is stillness and motion. It is almost like a movie.
If I was a writer I would write a story about it. It would be filled with metaphor and heat. It would be beautiful.
Tuesday, February 17, 2009
Two
I don't have anything for yesterday. I kind of ran out of beautiful things. Yesterday was just a day. The thing is, I did look for beauty. I look every day now. It's a really good perspective. When I stood out in that parking lot that night (the 28th, I think) and looked at the sky, I realized that I'd forgotten to even look. Concentrating on it every day has been a blessing. It's THERE. Now I look all the time. And I FIND it all the time. So I did look yesterday. And there were good parts of the day. But I never decided to write about any one thing. So, there was no ONE thing that I felt inspired enough to write about.
Well, and then about 8:30 last night the battery in my computer died and I was too lazy to walk into the kitchen and get the cord and plug it in. I was too tired and warm to get out of bed.
Today, my beauty-full moment came when I was in kitchen making dinner. I was fixing home-made tacos; ground beef, refries, cheese, tomatoes, etc and you just take your plate and make your own. I was by myself and I looked out the window over the sink. There in the east was another perfect sky. The color of the inside of a watermelon, right near the rind. Kind of pinky/icy/taupe. The rest of the sky was bluer, kind of wispy and empty. It was a strangely lonely moment. One of those where you know that the world outside yourself is huge, and yet the world inside yourself might even be bigger, and that you'll probably never know either of them as well as you'd like to.
It's been a long time since I've closed my blog with a quote or two (These are quotes I aspire to, and also find lovely and balancing).....
To laugh often and much; to win the respect of intelligent people and the affection of children, to earn the appreciation of honest critics and endure the betrayal of false friends; to appreciate beauty; to find the best in others; to leave the world a bit better, whether by a healthy child, a garden patch or a redeemed social condition; to know even one life has breathed easier because you have lived. This is to have succeeded.
Buddha
When you plant lettuce, if it does not grow well, you don't blame the lettuce. You look for reasons it is not doing
well. It may need fertilizer, or more water, or less sun. You never blame the lettuce. Yet if we have problems with
our friends or family, we blame the other person. But if we know how to take care of them, they will grow well, like
the lettuce. Blaming has no positive effect at all, nor does trying to persuade using reason and argument. That is
my experience. No blame, no reasoning, no argument, just understanding. If you understand, and you show that you
understand, you can love, and the situation will change.
--Thich Nhat Hanh, Vietnamese Zen Master
Well, and then about 8:30 last night the battery in my computer died and I was too lazy to walk into the kitchen and get the cord and plug it in. I was too tired and warm to get out of bed.
Today, my beauty-full moment came when I was in kitchen making dinner. I was fixing home-made tacos; ground beef, refries, cheese, tomatoes, etc and you just take your plate and make your own. I was by myself and I looked out the window over the sink. There in the east was another perfect sky. The color of the inside of a watermelon, right near the rind. Kind of pinky/icy/taupe. The rest of the sky was bluer, kind of wispy and empty. It was a strangely lonely moment. One of those where you know that the world outside yourself is huge, and yet the world inside yourself might even be bigger, and that you'll probably never know either of them as well as you'd like to.
It's been a long time since I've closed my blog with a quote or two (These are quotes I aspire to, and also find lovely and balancing).....
To laugh often and much; to win the respect of intelligent people and the affection of children, to earn the appreciation of honest critics and endure the betrayal of false friends; to appreciate beauty; to find the best in others; to leave the world a bit better, whether by a healthy child, a garden patch or a redeemed social condition; to know even one life has breathed easier because you have lived. This is to have succeeded.
Buddha
When you plant lettuce, if it does not grow well, you don't blame the lettuce. You look for reasons it is not doing
well. It may need fertilizer, or more water, or less sun. You never blame the lettuce. Yet if we have problems with
our friends or family, we blame the other person. But if we know how to take care of them, they will grow well, like
the lettuce. Blaming has no positive effect at all, nor does trying to persuade using reason and argument. That is
my experience. No blame, no reasoning, no argument, just understanding. If you understand, and you show that you
understand, you can love, and the situation will change.
--Thich Nhat Hanh, Vietnamese Zen Master
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