Each little Slug here, cutting a rug here..

Ah, the joy of a holiday weekend. A rare occassion when, despite having two different jobs, I still manage to have at least a 2 days off IN A ROW.

Tag and I decided to go to the Long Beach "Aquarium of the Pacific" for one of those glorious days. Although it was slammed with folks who had the same idea, we still enjoyed every moment. From petting the sharks and rays in the touch tanks, to watching a touching 5 min movie on the majesty of whales...it all excited and amazed us.

I love the Ocean. I love water. I love the idea that there are wild and wonderful creatures down there, so strange and exotic. I love that there is still so much unexplored. So much of our living waters and their resident denizens remain a mystery, and I hope they continue to be so for many years to come.

This lemony beastie was one of my favorites.... look how he's acutally holding himself in place, between the rock and the coral. Like a tiny Samson, pushing at the pillars of the temple, save for that look of bored resignation on his face.

Sunday Scribblings: Masks

The weekend has been busy and it's nearly 9:30 on Sunday night before I finally get a peek at the Sunday Scribbling prompt for the week.

Synchronicity being the funny thing that it is.... I notice this prompt as we are watching "Labyrinth", in preparation for "Labyrinth of Jareth", the annual masquerade ball which I attend each year.

Watching this movie when I was young, all I wanted to do was disappear inside of it. Travel its various terrains and meet its random denizens. How wonderful and amazing that someone else had a similar thought, so much so that they manifested the event. Of course, like all such celebrations, the labyrinth has morphed and become its own entity.

Costume is required (or at least formal wear with a mask.) "Elaborate costumes" are recommended. And believe me, it is very clear that some folks work on their outfits all year long and make quite the showing. While some creatures are straight out of the movie, others are a wide variety of goblins, pirates, and fairies.

In the room, packed full of masked beings and living fantasies, one can completely lose oneself. Drop into the dance, listen to the bands, watch the shows, and disappear into another world, unrealted to reality. Masks and costumes have a built-in freedom that releases us from the mundane and opens a door to what we wish would be.

For beautiful masks and other such artistry, be sure to check out the pictures from years past.

Oh you Clever Corporate Bastards

Is it not enough for you that I worship at the shrine of your beloved soda?

Now you invite me to the Coke Side of Life, and tempt me with your frivolous and arty "coke creator" program, sucking mindless moments from me as I design my very own Coke poster...

Wheeeeeeeeeee!

Morning After

Day 1 - Post Detox, wherein the world attempts to return back to "normal"


Our dietary journey has ended (although many of the healthy habits will be retained). It was both challenging and insightful. I was thrilled to imbibe in my first cup of coffee this morning, but didn't need my usual amount of sugar. Lunch was tofu chili, but there was freedom in it because I knew that if I'd wanted to, I could have had meat in there instead. A world of new culinary options has opened up to me, and while I will return to my omnivore ways... I intend to continue my love affair with our Jack LaLanne Power Juicer.

However, when it comes right down to the nitty gritty of it, one discovery leaps to mind as most important.

I am not an alcoholic.

I apologize if that comes off somewhat tongue in cheek, because it is not meant that way. It is in fact a very solid and relief-filled statement. Many a time in my life, my addictive personality has leaned towards one vice or another as a form of escape. I've shared the company of several alcoholics (recovering and otherwise) in both my romantic and platonic relationships, enough times to make me wonder at the "birds of a feather" phenomena. And there are definite periods of my life wherein my own behaviors and tendencies scared me (like the 10 months I kept a bottle of vodka under the driver's seat of the car, for lunch breaks.) Therefore, the concept of going 30 days without alcohol seemed absolutely daunting. In practice though, abstaining was surprisingly easy.

Sure, there were bad days, stressful situations, & maudlin moods, to which my first instinctive response was "If only I had a glass of wine..." But then I would remind myself that it wasn't an option, and the urge would pass.

Let me repeat that.... the urge would pass. It didn't haunt me. It didn't keep me up at night. It didn't keep me from going to work, or dealing with unpleasantness. It would just fade away, like most of the other cravings (and faster than some.)

We have a bottle of red in the house even as I type, but it never occurred to me to open it prematurely. It was bought for that celebratory glass at the end of the road, and that's what it is waiting for still. (T minus 5 hours, and counting)

And when that long awaited moment comes, I will toast to willpower, to strength I didn't know I had, and to a future of better health and wiser coping mechanisms.

I will also toast Tag, as I couldn't have done this without him. *mwah* Thanks babe!

Long Awaited

...wherein I reveal the joy I've had for the last 2 1/2 weeks.

I did it! I'd been wanting to for years, and I finally did it (corporate office be damned!)

It's just hard to be pouty when your mirror shows Pretty in Pink.

Note to Parents: Before you go off on what a ridiculous form of expression you may or may not believe this to be... please let me remind you that it is neither a new tattoo nor a new piercing.

Small Work Rant

Look, I am not a tiny or fragile girl. I have upper body strength, more than most women in my office (thank you pole climbing). However, there are those sturdier and more equipped than I. There are also MEN on this floor. In fact the lordgodking quarterback, Mr. Fitness (aka my boss) is prone to show off his "guns" or tell us what he can bench or lift.

So why is it that 4 out of every 5 days .... I am the ONLY ONE replacing the 5-gallon jug on the water cooler!?!?!

I see people take their cups up to the spout, and when nothing comes out, they look up, see the empty jug and walk away. These same people later come running like a cat who hears the can opener, when I make that recognizable glug-glug-glug of a new jug pouring into the resevoir.

Seriously people... it's not that hard.

Sunday Scribblings: Second Chance

The jingle of the visitor bell was as stereotypical as the musty smell of the little curiosity shop. The thought humored Doreen as she entered the dimly lit store. Despite its cramped quarters, the shop felt like a safe haven from the haggard and hurried streets of the city. Furthermore, it was the sort of place where no one came looking for anything or anyone in particular, and as she was busy hiding from her wreck of a life, “Second Chance Curiosities” seemed a perfect place to spend an afternoon…. Or at least the next 15 minutes.

As she was wont to do, she dragged her hand along the surfaces of items nearby, feeling the rough covers of old books or the crisp synthetic quality of baby doll hair past its prime. The shelves were uncharacteristically dust-free, and she appreciated the care the owner showed in displaying his wares, however dismal they appeared. Leather cracked around the spine of what looked to be a weather-beaten journal, and Doreen longed to read the pages. Picking up the book, she closed her eyes and held it to her chest, breathing in the stale warm smell of old pages and imagining what treasures it might hold

“Memoirs of a Civil War Soldier,” a voice whispered.

Doreen looked around startled to be caught in such reverie, but found no one. She caught movement in the corner of her eye, and did a double take, only to see a small grey spider scurry across the edge of a wooden shelf.

“Hello?” No response came

After a moment of silence, when it seemed that she really was quite alone, she brushed off the disturbance and tried to go about her browsing. She set the book on the table without much more thought and continued down the row.

At the back of the shop, past a splendid display of rusty shields and ancient masks, Doreen stopped in awe at the vast array of snow globes spread along 3 tall bookcases. Everything else in the store had been dust-free and tidy, but these shelves and their inhabitants glowed as if they were polished hourly. In each miniature glass planet, a blizzard whirled around tiny monuments and their petite patrons. Some were recognizable, like the Eiffel Tower, or St. Basil’s. Others seemed tribal or aboriginal in nature. A small handful seemed celestial or downright alien. Despite this assortment, Doreen found herself drawn to one that was terribly mundane. In the swirling snow sat a figure alone. The tiny woman was brightly dressed against her colorless backdrop, and her posture and facial expression embodied a passionless calm.

“That one is called ‘Blank Slate’.”

Doreen almost dropped the glass orb at the sound of the voice. However, this time when she looked up, she found she was not eerily alone anymore. A small bespectacled man with slate grey hair and mustache had appeared at her side. Doreen was frightened and embarrassed to have not heard him approach and tried to cover this with a note of irritation.

“You shouldn’t sneak up on people so,” she stated. “At least not when they are holding glass.” She added a small laugh to soften her words, as she realized that she was being unnecessarily rude to someone who was, no doubt, the owner of the establishment in which she was currently a guest. The gentleman simply smiled.

An awkward moment of silence passed between them, making Doreen suddenly uncomfortable in these dimly lit cramped quarters. Still, she wasn’t ready to let go of the globe in her hands, so she fumbled over words until she managed to ask, “Is this for sale? I mean, how much is this? I want to buy it. I mean, I … might be willing to buy it… if the price is not too high.”

Again the grey haired man smiled. “They are very special to me,” he said, nodding his head towards the globes. “I’m not one to easily part with something so….” His pause was longer than needed and his eyes met hers with a jolt that chilled her. His smile grew larger. “But for a young lady who needs a ‘Blank Slate’, I can make a deal.”

He turned and shuffled towards an antique cash register. His legs were rickety, and his skin seemed tissue thin. Aging had taken its toll, but Doreen guessed that he wasn’t a very handsome man in his youth either. He had a bit of a greasy peddler feel to him, like an old time salesman, or the carney barker who calls you to the view the Freak tent. He seemed as much an old oddity as the items he sold, only he was in much more disrepair. Still, he was going to make her a deal (or so he said), and so Doreen put her disrespectful thoughts aside and followed him to the counter.

A bit of haggling and $20 later, Doreen found herself carrying home her new treasure, wrapped in paper and plastic. The globe drew her in, and she wanted very much to see it up close again. She waited until she was safely seated on the subway train before she began to unwrap it. Holding it in two hands, she was mesmerized by the tiny woman and all her vast possibilities.

“A blank slate…. A clean slate… a second chance,” Doreen murmured to herself as if the words would conjure such a state for herself. She locked eyes with the petite figure and wished with all her might that it might be her. 7 years ago, she’d moved to this city, desperate to run from her mistakes and shame. 7 years she’d spent fighting demons and stuffing regrets. 7 years, and all she had to show for it was a dismal job that barely covered rent on the one room apartment she’d spent 7 years hiding in. Her list of failures in love and life was overwhelmingly long, and she’d found it easier to wallow in mediocrity than it was to just forgive and move on. 7 years that brought her face to face with the fact that the old adage was true, “Wherever you go, there you are.” And here she was- on a subway, bleary-eyed with tears, wishing she were that calm little woman in the white-out world of her blank slate.

The subway was oddly quiet, and so Doreen didn’t notice when she missed her stop. She didn’t notice the people who got on or off. She was nearly invisible, in her back corner of the train, focused on her little glass world. She felt herself slipping away, imagining endlessly what she might do were she that woman in the globe. She pulled her thin sweater tighter around her, and snuggled tighter into a ball as she felt the temperature drop, but her gaze never waivered from the face in the snow. Harder and harder she wished and wanted. More and more she dropped into that place of possibility. Real life seemed to fade from her thoughts as she dreamed and hoped and desired and irrationally craved the life of that calm figure in the whirling snow. The glass grew foggy with her warm moist breath as the truth of the subway drifted further and further away. Her fevered prayers for a blank slate erased the hard lines of reality until everything else vanished. And then Doreen simply disappeared as well.

No one remembered the small girl on the subway that night. At least, they wouldn’t have if any one had asked. But when the conductor did a walk through at the end of his shift, and found the lone snow globe in the corner seat of the last row of the last car, he didn’t question. He merely assumed that someone had carelessly forgotten; their lives too full of other matters of consequence. He tucked it under one uniformed arm, and walked off to clock out.

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

The jingle of the bell as she opened the door was just like a spooky scene from a movie, Annie thought as she dipped into the tiny curiosity shop, and Annie loved movies. She loved all things having to do with escape. Her job was dreary and monotonous, the heat outside unbearable, and her lunch time walk had found her wandering in search of a midday vacation. She felt like a soul possessed by the singular urge to ‘get away from it all’, and that craving for something new had led her feet to the tiny store she’d not noticed before. A twinkle caught her eye as light reflected on some glass at the back of the store, and intrigued, Annie walked towards what seemed to be a shelf full of glass orbs.

Flurry

I've had so much on my mind, and such the urge to write, but the laptop never seems to be nearby when I'm feeling eloquent... and the time I do spend on a computer (work) is wasted on scheduling and SAP. So instead of several eloquent posts, each dedicated to a single event - you get a bullet point list to summarize the flurry of activity.

• First of all, HAPPY WEDDING DAY to Slackmistress & Be The Boy. Their Detective Agency is finally "official" (and, I actually had time to watch it on the live webcast. She looked beautiful.)
• Speaking of blissful couples, Tag and I celebrated our one year anniversary yesterday. *grin* Well, actually we're celebrating it tonight, with a couple of tickets to the Loreena McKennitt concert.
• The Griffith Park fire- yes, Tag and I and the kitties are ok, as is our domicile. However, we were far closer that I ever want to be to another raging inferno. My breath caught in my throat as I stood on our street corner, watching an endless stream of cars of the evacuated citizens who lived a mere 2 -3 blocks north of us. The skies were never dark that night. They glowed deep red, or bright orange, depending on the fire's intensity. We slept to the overpowering sound of constant helicopters as news crews kept watch all night. And we awoke at 4am coughing, finding our bedroom filled with smoke. (We have no air conditioning, and so we have open windows and fans. Not great for breathing when 800 acres are burning less than a mile away). Thanks to a diligent and tireless firefighting force, the Zoo and several other landmarks were saved. Sadly there was still a great loss of wilderness and wildlife. The cause is still not officially released, but a "badly burned person of interest" was being treated for burns on his chest and arms. According to his story, he fell asleep while smoking. I'm working on tempering my outrage towards him, so instead of beating him about his burned torso, I'm just going to post today's PSA image:

*image courtesy of The Fireman. He so rocks!

• Lastly, this link was sent to me earlier today. That's right ladies... a shoe sale whose proceeds go to charity. Now you can dress those tootsies in your favorite designers GUILT-FREE!

That's it for today my dears.... Tag is here, and so I'm headed out the door and off to our evening events.

Sunday Scribblings: Ocean

When I was young, I had many dreams that occurred like memories of another life. They had no action to them, and they repeated themselves over time. It's like hoving over a snapshot.... only I could feel the emotions of the moment. This writing comes from one of those dreams.
She stood on the weathered dock like a ghost, pale grey and lifeless. Her long skirts hung with the weight of multiple layers of wool and petticoats, sodden with unrelenting rain. Only the crisp blue of her eyes seemed alive, constantly scanning the endless horizon of swirling water.

Some called her “The Watcher”, others “The Widow,” though never the latter when she was nearby. Even the slightest inference that he wouldn’t return was met with glaring blue steel from those vivid eyes. Death was not an option in her world. Just endless waiting for the proper conclusion.

Wild winds whipped stray pieces of hair about her face, lashing her skin with cold, wet wisps that had escaped her untidy bun. Around her shoulders was a tattered crocheted shawl that provided no protection or solace from the storm. And yet, she seemed unaware of the squall around her. She just stood, stone still against a large wooden post, and stared out to sea.

The Nor’easters had come early this year. Late enough in the season that wise and wealthy crews had finished their haul and come in… but early enough to catch small fishing boats who had stayed too long. Unlucky were those working class men whose livelihood depended on their haul. Some had returned. But a few remained asea, above and below the waves.

One long pale hand, cold and wet, reached up as if with a life of its own, to the locket she wore. Old beaten metal full of hope, she clutched it whenever her thoughts were darkest. Day after day now, she’d watched ships larger and stronger than his, come limping home, battered from the gale. She was dockside when the dawn broke, and still at her post when it slipped below the horizon again, but still no word had come. No sign. No affirmation. Just raging waters and bleak barren skies.

Her petite lips moved, whispering prayers to any who would listen. To God, that he might protect him. To Poseidon, that he might return him. To Davy Jones, that he might reject him from a water grave and send him back to the surface. And in her blackest moments, though she would admit it to no one, she would pray to the Sirens, that they might recognize a good man, and care for him if they could not send him back.

Time became meaningless. Aging, pointless. The universe had frozen in this moment….. eternally waiting, praying, searching. And bit by bit, she is eroding, like the shores and pier pilings, her hopes dashed on the rocks in endless waves.

*picture from this website

Unexpected Turn of Events

Detox: Day 18

Clearly all this healthy eating has caused an egregious misfire of the synapses of my brain...

For I found myself thinking just now, "Oooh, wow... this tofu patty is really yummy today."

P.S. The sauteed asparagus was friggin fantastic too.

Detox: day 16

That's right folks, I've now passed the half-way mark on the 30 day detox.

16 days with no fast food
16 days with no alcohol (!!?!?!)
16 days without my beloved Coca-Cola
*pout*

It's fascinating to see the mind break down without its comforting numb haze caused by saturated fats and sugars. I'd like to say I've had an epiphany. I'd like to say that the cravings have gone away. But I'd be lying. 16 days without has only made me 16 days cranky.

I long to sink my teeth into a hot searing piece of meat. Don't get me wrong, I love our friend the cow. I love their eyelashes and the sounds they make. I love their velvet noses, and the softness of their tongues as they lick the side of my face. I love that there's a spot on a calf's chin that, when I scratch it just right, causes him to flop his head heavily into my hands with a sigh. I also happen to love a high-quality cut of beef, with horseradish and worchester sauce on the side.

I am an addict, to be sure.

Sunday Scribblings: Secret Identity

He’s saving lives, I know he is.

He wouldn’t want you to know it of course, and I’m probably breaking several International treaties by mentioning it at all, but I don’t want him to be so misunderstood.

I’d like to say he uses his powers only for good. I’m sure all mothers would. But I can’t promise you what I don’t know. He slips away, through a rip in the fabric of time and space. He vanishes without a trace and you can turn the whole house upside down and never find him. But hours later, he comes sauntering out of a room you’ve checked a dozen times and he flops across the green plush sack, exhausted with a long day’s work.

Mind you, no matter how relaxed he seems, he’s never unaware. Let a strange set of footsteps sound on the stairs outside the apartment, and he’s 2 feet in the air and then POOF, only a cloud of well shed hair appears in the space he once occupied.

Friends jokingly call him “Snuffilupugus” because only Tag and I can ever see him, but I swear he’s real…. And so much more than a mere house cat. He’s Double-O Dobby, secret agent…. And somewhere right now, he’s sipping a dry martini and saving the world.

(see the tiny eyes in the dark... that's him)

Banditos For Peace

Today, I'm working a half day (joy!), after which I will drag myself over to the Westside to get my hairs did (more joy!) Post salon, I will drive down for a 2 hours session of Kundalini Yoga at the studio.

However my Saturday will not be nearly as lush.... as Tag and I will be participating in the "DisplaceMe" event sponsered by Invisible Children. IC is a grassroots organization, who with their film (of the same name) brought to light the plight of Ungandan children (known as "night commuters") who flee their villages at night in order to avoid being pressed into service as a soldier in the Lord's Resistance Army.

13 different cities across the US and over 61,000 people are participating in the Displacement (6,248 in Los Angeles alone).

Wanna spend your Saturday night making new friends, creating a community of people who care? Then please, come join us!

Taking Action

WHAT IS DENIM DAY IN LA?

In 1999 an Italian Supreme Court decision overturned a rape conviction because the victim wore jeans. The justices stated that the victim must have helped her attacker remove her jeans, from which they inferred consent. People all over the world were outraged. Wearing jeans became an international symbol of protest against erroneous and destructive attitudes about sexual assault. The Denim Day in L.A. protests here in Los Angeles, spearheaded by Peace Over Violence (formerly the Los Angeles Commission on Assaults Against Women), have evolved into an annual county-wide, highly publicized rape prevention education campaign.

Last year, over 250,000 individuals, 400 organizations and businesses and 49 cities in Los Angeles County signed up to support Denim Day in L.A. Thousands of men, women and youth wore jeans, posted rape prevention education materials, supported prevention programs by donating to the Dollars For Denim campaign and talked with friends and colleagues about rape myths and realities.

Even if you aren't wearing jeans today, or you don't live in Los Angeles... you can still make a difference.

There is no excuse and never an invitiation to rape.

Help Stop the Violence!

Toxic Tantrum

Tag and I have begun a month long detox. The 30 days are broken into 10 day segments, each with their own purpose, and thus their own dietary guidelines. However, for the entire 30 days some rules stand fast: No MSG, No High Fructose Corn Syrup, No Hydrogenated Oils. That’s all well and good. I can deal with all those. But there a few other policies in place for the long haul that are killing me. Those include: No Meat, No Dairy, No Sugars, No Alcohol. In short, the 4 staples of my diet. Oh shit!

The first 10 days are the “Elimination” cycle, designed to help break addictions to things like sugar and alcohol (also to caffeine, nicotine, and any over the counter medications). I knew going in that it would be challenging, and that addictions I didn’t even know I had would likely come up and bite me in the ass. Have to say… haven’t been wrong so far. However, I'm somewhat surprised by what I'm finding to be most difficult.

I was raised on fast food. My father worked odd hours and my mother was a busy career woman who didn’t have a lot of time or patience to cook for a finicky child. Burger King, on the other hand, promised that without trouble I could have it MY way, and thus we visited a lot. Partially due to laziness, and partially due to the time constraints of my overly-scheduled life, I have continued my less than stellar drive-thru diet. I know it’s not wise, but it's easy, (and oh the price we pay for “convenience.”)

However, I didn’t grasp that my attachment to fast food went far beyond mindless routine and MSG-addiction, and had an emotional compontent until the other night. I had received a disturbing email, at the end of a long drama-filled work day, on top of Day 3 of a killer headache. Although stoicism is not really my nature, I held it together through class and the long drive home. However, fatigue won out, and I found myself in my kitchen, blurting out the whole onslaught of woes in snotty sobs. I collapsed into Tag's arms with this final note: “And I just want some meat…. And a COKE.”

Some people find ice cream and chocolate to be their comfort foods. Others salve their injuries with coffee and cigarettes. But apparently my "woobie" is Combo meal #2. A world of solace can be found sipping 32 oz of syrupy carbonated sweetness as the softly purring motor of the car sings a lullaby. It fills a lonely place in my heart that fresh daikon sprouts and beet juice just can’t touch. And silly as it sounds, without that blanket of numbness that chemicalized beef provides, I’m being forced to face feelings that I have been stuffing down for a very long time.

I’m sure that there will be more writing, more thinking, more purging before my 30 day hell is all said and done. But until then, remember this:

The world might be a safer place if I could just get some “biggie fries” STAT. *sigh*

The Great Turtle Race!

Are you watching?

For more than 100 million years, leatherback turtles have graced our oceans. At an astonishing eight feet long and up to 2,000 pounds, they journey between continents and dive to incredible depths. But in the last 10 years, 95% of the leatherbacks in the Pacific Ocean have vanished, victims of human pressures.

The Leatherback Trust, Tagging of Pacific Predators, Conservation International, Costa Rica?s Ministry of Environment and Energy, and Yahoo! invite you to join the Great Turtle Race. Follow 11 leatherback turtles on a two-week journey as they swim from their nesting sites on Playa Grande beach in Costa Rica to the Galapagos Islands.

Tag is rooting for Saphira (as sponsored by the Bullis Charter School). I adore both Genevive & Billie..... but I also love to root for the underdog. So today I'm putting my cheering power behind Drexelina, who has managed to get herself all turned around on the beach and is heading in the wrong direction. Send her the positive vibes, won't you? That way, she can get herself back on track and headed towards her home in the Galapagos Islands.

Soundtrack of My Life

My horoscope made comment of finding new music to inspire and motivate me. Oddly enough, about the same time, I ran across this meme in Amandarin's archives. (yes, sorry... another blog theft). I used this synchronicity as a prod to make me discover (or in some places re-discover) the tunes that move me, that have memories associated with them, or the ones that just light up my mind with visual images.

If your life was a movie, what would the soundtrack include?

The opening title: Female of the Species-- Space
The waking-up scene: Heavy in Numbers-- Dragster Barbie
The average day/menial tasks montage: One Angry Dwarf & 200 Solemn Faces-- Ben Folds Five
The secret crush: You look like Rain-- Morphine
The first date/blind date: Secret-- Maroon 5
The party: Alcohol-- BareNakedLadies
The dance sequence: Stand Up Fever-- Ludacris vs Peggy Lee Mash-up
The falling in love/"spark" scene: Can't help falling in love-- Elvis Presley
The lovemaking scene: Angel-- Massive Attack
The fight scene: Suck it up-- Die Warzau
The break-up: Vinager & Salt-- Hooverphonic
Long night alone: Wild is the Wind-- Nina Simone
The reconciliation: Call & Answer-- BareNakedLadies
The mental breakdown: Girl Anachronism-- The Dresden Dolls
The stalking: Touched-- VAST
The explosion/shoot-out: Beautiful People-- Marilyn Manson
The get-away/driving scene: Bad Blood-- Ministry
The learning-a-lesson montage: Grace Under Pressure-- Elbow
Deep thoughts: When I'm Down-- Chris Cornell
The flashback: Scenes from an Italian Restaurant-- Billy Joel
Regrets: Full of Grace-- Sarah McLachlan
The death scene: And Dream of Sheep-- Kate Bush
As the closing credits roll: But Not Tonight-- Depeche Mode.

Passive Agressive Catharsis 2007

A little over a year ago, Amandarin did a fabulous meme titled “Passive Aggressive Catharsis.” At the time, I contemplated doing the same, but didn’t feel in a safe place to do so. But as I’m about to start a month long detox, I find myself readying to get rid of what I no longer need. This includes things that need to be said, but never have been. And so…I now step up to the plate and play along.

List up to ten (10) things you want to say to ten (10) different people. Do not state who these people are. Do not confirm or deny any ‘comment speculation’.

1. Stop Whining! It’s not all about you, your job should not be your whole life, and WOW you are exhausting to be around.
2. I feel like you’ve already gone, and I know I’m going to miss you more than I’ll ever express.
3. I bet you still sit on your high horse thinking everyone else needs to sort out THEIR issues. Denial is a powerful thing.
4. 15 years later, I still remember your touch.
5. Thank you- for being here, for listening, for accepting me, for laughing with me. Endless thank yous.
6. When I leave, I replay our conversations in my head, just to make sure everything is still “ok”.
7. I did as asked and stopped communicating with you. But I cannot and will not ever forget you, or stop caring about you. Be well.
8. I wonder what you say about me when I’m not around.
9. Some of the lessons you taught me still scar me daily.
And lastly….
10. Still at the bottom of a bottle? It’s wrong I know, but sometimes I hope so. Because if you did for her what you flat out refused to do when I was around, then I’m PISSED. I have such mixed feelings about you. I miss you. I’m still angry at you. I wish I could apologize to you for the fact that when we were together, I was NOT in my best place. Some days I curse you. Some days I mock you. But on my best days, I remember you kindly and then release what we had to the Universe, trusting that the wind will blow blessings to you, erasing all the bad memories from us both, and leaving us with a faint but happy essence of what we once shared.

101 in 1001- Latest Update

I realized that it had been a while since I'd updated my list on line, and that lots had been accomplish (or changed) since my last posting. So I've made some updates on my progress


Read the latest 101 in 1001 here

Words to Catch at my Heart

"The soul should always stand ajar, ready to welcome the ecstatic experience."
- Emily Dickinson

"The world is composed of rival gangs of hypnotists, each competing for your entranced attention." --graffiti on the wall of a public restroom at Northgate Mall, San Rafael, California

*****************
That's it. Wish I had more for you, but the daily grind has sucked dry my brain like a grape left on the dashboard of a car in a Southern Summer. *sigh* I finished Eat, Pray, Love and now find myself in that same void that one feels when one returns from a blissful vacation, only to plunk back into the morass that is everyday routine.

Trancendance, Table for One- Part 2

Friday afternoon is light, and I've decided to let myself off the leash again for a lunch moment. I cross the street to a little eatery where the salads are lovely and corners are dark. Here, I can disappear for an hour, and yet never feel any panic about being far from the office.

Over a goat cheese appetizer and tuna salad nicoise, I read about Elizabeth's further adventures in the Indian Ashram. I envy her meditation caves and her silent turets. I wonder how anyone can get close to the divine in this busy madcap world.

That's when a few distinct noises break through my reading focus (a difficult thing to do, for when I read... I block out the world)

The first is a conversation between a waiter trainee and the day manager of the restaurant. They are speaking of "sunday school", of verses and psalms, of religion and teachings and things that ease their hearts.

The second is a line from the song playing on the restaurant's overhead speakers. It is the 70's hit "Rock the Boat".... the line that is instantly absorbed by my consciousness is "love and devoooootion!"

I throw my head back and laugh out loud, aware for a moment that the "all-encompassing divine" is in fact in full force around me. It always is, whether I am in an Indian meditation cave or a North Hollywood restaurant. I just need to be reminded once in while.

In a state of bliss, I finish my lunch.... chuckling and feeling loved.

I'm DEFINATELY making lunch a more regular event.

Imagini-art

Saw this on Mardougrrl's page, and just couldn't resist all those yummy images.

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Trancendance, Table for One

Lunch. It’s an infrequent luxury in my world, and as I walked away from the office today, I actually heard the “Rocky” theme music in my head…. As if unchaining myself from the desk for 60 min were a feat of Herculean proportion.

My intention was to pick up some Taco Bell and drive to a near-by park, where I would read my current obsession, Eat, Pray, Love. I believe that this book was an Oprah recommendation or something similar, and I admit that did not really fill me with confidence that I would find it either inspirational or motivational. However, my dance studio offered it up as the book for discussion one month, and I wanted to have some idea of what people were talking about.

I couldn’t be more pleased that I did. What an amazing discovery!! This book fills me with hope and drive and all things that feel bubble-bath good in one’s soul. It has been a long time since I repeatedly laughed OUT LOUD at a book’s passages, much less chased someone down (usually poor Tag) saying, “Wait… you have to hear this. It’s hysterical.”

Elizabeth Gilbert’s telling of her year long adventures in Italy, India and Indonesia rousts parts of my soul that had settled into the numbness of neglect, giving it both wings, and the urge to fly. It has lightened my heart and filled it with giggly madness and joy. This is the kind of book that poets weep for and established governments should fear, because it cajoles me to be bigger, to be more courageous, to be more alive, to be inspired, invigorated, & ignited into a sacred flame.

As such, I found myself driving past the Taco Bell, and instead to a restaurant (one of my favorites) where I had not been in a long time. There I settled into a table by a sun-heated window, ordered some white wine and a salad, and allowed myself to be indulgent, reading at the table, drinking mid-day, and not keeping any sort of strict eye on the “lunchtime clock”.

While I ate my organic turkey burger and sipped my chardonnay, I found myself entranced by the words on the page. Gilbert’s description of the daily routine of the Ashram is reminiscent of the fantasy I’ve often had about life in a convent, or other spiritual temple. (And yes, I am aware how conflicting that desire is with my inherent inclinations to take long, wine-filled lunch breaks.... bear with me. )

Still, it was all a fairly innocous until I got to the conversation on soul mates:

“People think a soul mate is your perfect fit, and that’s what everyone wants. But a true soul mate is a mirror, the person who shows you everything that’s holding you back, a person who brings you to your own attention, so you can change your life. A true soul mate is probably the most important person you’ll ever meet, because they tear down your walls and smack you awake. But to live with a soul mate forever? Nah. Too Painful.”

When I finished reading the passage, I had to turn my head towards the window, and stare into the bright California sun, blinking back tears and the gasp that was caught in my throat. It’s not that the words were foreign or some epiphany exploding inside of me. The words were much identical to a conversation I had with a dear friend when I lost my first “soul mate”. But perhaps, because so much time had past, and my heart was miles from hurt, I was able to take those words inside of me as I never had before. There was a sigh of relief from within my soul, and I felt both validated and set free.

There have been a few loves in my life, that when they appeared, I was swept off my feet by the disorienting power they had over me. The signs of the Universe blinked in neon, telling me in no uncertain terms “PAY ATTENTION! This one is VERY important to you.” Those loves were passionate whirlpools of intensity, swirling wildly from indescribable joy to unbearable fury and pain. Those loves were also, oddly enough, the shortest in my history. They swept in, broke through walls, ripped open scabs, spilt their iodine and left without so much as a band-aid in thanks.

And here was a book, years later, confirming that it just might be a part of the bigger plan. *sigh* It was an amazing relief.

I turned from the window, back to the room full of diners and felt… just a little different. The couple at the table next to me received from the waitress two plates of pancakes, and I laughed while crying at the beauty and freedom of that. (I can’t explain what I found particularly moving about it…. Just that I did). There was a brief moment of wondering if I was being watched; if anyone noticed the tears glistening in my eyes, or the smile I couldn’t seem to erase. Just as quickly as that thought appeared, I realized that I couldn’t possibly care. I was in that moment perfect and pure and enjoying a state of amazing bliss.

I finished my glass of wine, paid my bill, and returned to my car. A moment of transcendence, disguised as an everyday meal.

I really should make a point of taking lunch more often.

Under Ice

News reports that two mammoth ice shelves in the Weddell Sea have collapsed into the sea. While the event is a sad & tragic example of global warming at work, it has opened up a portal into which marine biologists can peep, and see some of the glorious and mysterious creatures of the cold deep.

Among the findings was this new species of epimeria, sampled near Elephant Island, Antarctic Peninsula.

However, my favorites have to be this brilliantly colored shrimp-like creature

and this remarkably magic octopus.


I will forever love and be in awe by the unexplored portions of our watery world.

Open Water (with a twist)

In a sea of flannel sheets, the couple clung to one another, desparately trying to hold on to sleep that was slipping away with the growing light.

It was in that silence of early dawn that the first attack hit. A nudge, a whisker in the ear, and then a void that was as startling as the tickle.

Next, one sandpaper tongue began to wash the woman's eyelid. Over and over its unforgiving texture lapped at her unprotected flesh. She flailed and twisted away from the pain. Her pursuer slipped back into the abyss.... leaving a false sense of security and hope.

Suddenly in mass they swarmed..... One head pounce, one eyelid wash, and from one below, one paw of razor-tipped claws sank into his unsuspecting butt-cheek. He yelped in unspeakable pain, the noise of which pierced her ear. She ducked, seeking santuary in the endless tangled wrappings of the sheets, but her actions only caught the eye of the ever watchful predator, who mistook the gesture as the beginning of a game. Sharp talons of death came out for real as the near-slaughter continued..... all was lost for our heroic couple.

...

...

And just as the pain was subsiding from his mangled hiney, the alarm sounded, and poor Tag had to get up and feed the beasties before heading off to the office.

yeah.... like this...

only our sleeping bodies in the same perilous position

as that poor catnip plant.

Dear Duchess of "Rap"*

Read It, Live It, Learn It.

Spelling does not count as song writing.


I first noticed it during “Pump It” when you felt the need to remind us that we were listening to the “B-L-A-C-K-E-Y-E-D” Peas. The spelling was quick the beat was danceable and I let it slip by.

Then you went solo, and took your one trick pony with you. Not only did you repeatedly point out that you are “D, to the E, to the L-I-C-I-O-U-S” and “T, to the A, to the S-T-E-Y”, but you also offended the literate by not even spelling the last word correctly. *headdesk*

The final straw came this weekend, when I was subjected to a larger than life big screen, with your image prancing across it, declaring for all who would listen that you won't change for the “G-L-A-M-O-R-OUS”

I know I sound like a crotchety old person who can’t stand that music that “the kids are listening to these days”, but let me assure you… that is not the case. I like to be open to a wide variety of different tunes and beats. Given my mood, I can be found listening to anything from Punk to Classical, from Rap to Rock, from tribal drumming to full orchestra Musical Theatre.

But I haven’t gotten into a spelling song since Sesame Street had me humming along with “C is for Cookie”

So please, for the sake of us all… Get some W, to the R, to the I, to the T-I-N-G skills.

Kplsthx!



*note that rap is in quotes because I use that term really loosely when it comes to your music.

Being & Becoming

From "Words of Wisdom for Women" by Rachel Snyder

Be

Remember that life is in the being, not the doing. Be every bit of everything that you are. Be tough, be soft, be dramatic, be subdued. Be a little bit of this and a little bit of tha. Be the one who always shows up on time or be th eone who lives according to her own inner clock. Be the one who never forgets a detail or be th eone who never remembers. Be happy when you feel like it and be sad when you are down.

Be who you are-- not who they told you you should be. Be able to cry in front of someone you hardly know, if it's time to cry. Be willing to be real. Be talkative if you are; be quiet if you are not. Be ready to drop your masks and your protective armor and be genuine. Be in the moment. Be in the light.

.... And just when they think they know exactly who you are, be prepapred to be something altogether different.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Class was good today. Stirred my soul, moved my aching body (damn the migraines... damn them all to hell), and allowed me for a moment to slip the surly bonds of the everyday, and just Be. I wish the same bliss for you today.

Sunday Scribblings: Yummy

WOW.. what an easy prompt for me.

For years now, my alias has been YummyTeece. It came as a combination of my then boyfriend's nickname for me (Teece), and my favorite word, Yummy.

To me, Yummy is about so much more than taste. Yummy is the epitome of all things good. Sunshine after a rainstorm is yummy. The smell of newly-mown grass, which stirs memories of childhood's carefree summers... That's yummy. The warm glow of a first date gone wonderfully right... you know, that cloud you walk on for week after? That's the essence of being embraced by a big pink bubble of Yummy. It's the feeling of being loved, the feeling of self-confidence, the feeling of entering a room and stopping all the traffic in it.

Maya Angelou captured it when she said:

"The span of my hips
The stride of my steps
The curl of my lips.
I'm a woman
Phenomenally
Phenomenal woman
That's me."

Phenomenal women are Yummy!


Therfore when I embraced "YummyTeece", it was my way of speaking into the Universe the idea of me, to my highest power. Me at my most invincible. Me at my most self-loving. Me at my most courageous. Me- unfiltered, undiluted and unfraid.

I put Yummy out there to others when I meet them and have this conversation. I challenge them to find the Yummy in themselves, to embrace the Yummy in others. Paint the whole town Pink, a warm yummy bubble-gum pink of sugar sweet honesty and love.

Yummy....

I'm in such a better mood now. THANKS SUNDAY SCRIBBLINGS!!

Pouncing Anxiety

For more than half my life, my winters (specifically January and February) have been plagued with a diagnosed bout of depression. It hangs on, unwelcome, like the cloying scent of decay, and is terribly annoying to boot. My physical body aches and spasms, my sleep & eating patterns go out the window. I become irritable and moody.

Knowing that this is a biological cycle, I do what I can to fight it. Try to watch what I eat and drink, keep an eye on whether or not my response to any stimulator is ‘overly dramatic’ or otherwise unwarranted. I don’t like to think of myself as a depression “sufferer” but more one who trudges through the slime and muck and arrives eventually on the other side.

However, in the last few years, my winter visitor has come hand in hand with a new friend, Paranoia. I find myself questioning motivation for each comment addressed to me, as well as constantly checking myself in the mirror for what may have gone horribly wrong since last look. (and yes, I'm speaking of something more than just fresh zits or spinach in my teeth.) Each car behind me is either ‘undercover police’ or ‘intentionally harassing me’. Hang ups on the phone are stalkers trying to find me. Each ache and pain is sign and symptom of some incurable malady. My emails are being monitored; my bank account is being secretly hacked. It’s hell on my nerves, and even more of a drain on the folks around me.

*sigh*

BUT… even in the darkness, there are moments of light and joy. Just last weekend, Tag and I decided to celebrate his birthday with a visit to our local zoo. It was rainy and cold, and thus there were few folks meandering about. We headed to the snow leopard cage, hoping that the darkened winter weather would have aroused them from their usual mid-day slumber. Sure enough, they were not only alert and out in the open, they were in the mood to play. Upon hearing us approach, one of the young males climbed to a vantage point in his habitat and readied a pounce. Seeing him, I dove behind a bush and rustled the dry leaves on the ground. Intrigued, we watched each other for a moment before I sprang out and ran down the path. Inside his enclosure, he ran the corresponding length of his cage. I doubled back and so did he, and when we reached our starting point, I flopped slightly sideways in submission, and he did similarly, with a big cat “chuff”, clearly proud of himself.

The moment lightened my spirit and reminded me that this life I’m currently living…. 9 – 5 at a desk 5 days a week, is not one that I’m truly meant for. I need outside time and interaction with animals. I want to attend school again, and move forward in a way that feels so fitting. I want to talk with the animals, walk with the animals… play hard and live big. Perhaps when I finally fully inhabit the life I’m intended for, these winter doldrums will ease their hold on me.

Living is achieved in the same way that depression is conquered- one day at a time. Moving ever forward, not sitting and waiting it out. Fighting and winning small battles each day. Getting up and getting dressed, when you really just want to pull the covers over your head. *sigh* WOW… this little pep talk is nauseating even me.

What can I say? It’s January, almost February… and I’ve never really liked that time of year. I’m grouchy and nasty-tempered, in pain and in a lousy mood. However, I remain ever thankful for a love that stands beside me, and pouncy moments at the zoo.

Peace out my lovlies.... go do something fun with your day!

Riding The Wind

“Wild nights are my glory”
- Mrs. Whatsit, A Wrinkle in Time


That quote struck a chord in me as a child, and stays with me still to this day. If you don’t know the book, first let me say, “Go read it!” Mrs. Whatsit is an entertaining creature that Meg (the book’s protagonist) mistakes for some sort of homeless tramp. I often envisioned her as a nearly vomitous burst of colors and smells that is both alluring and off-putting at the same time. By today's adults, women fitting that description are often passed by, dismissed or overlooked. But like a child full of wonder, I would like to think that if I discovered her today, I would have the insight to find her as fascinating and enticing as Meg and her younger brother Charles Wallace do.

There are three such magical women who aid the children in their travels, Mrs. Whatsit being the youngest and most verbal. Perhaps I connected with her for that reason alone, although I think more that it had more to do with her transformation. Mid-book (and I don’t mean to be a spoiler, but hey…it’s my blog) Mrs. Whatsit turns into a beautiful centaur-like creature. Now being Sagittarius, I felt some sort of bond with her equine form, and dreamt of shimmering into such a shape. The cover art showed iridescent rainbow wings spreading out where arms might be, and in that corporeal body, she rides the children up, out of the atmosphere, for a “bigger picture” of the Universe & the endless battle of Dark vs. Light.



Last night, as the unusually strong winds whipped past windows and shook the apartment, I did what I often do in windstorms. I closed my eyes and pictured the great Mrs W spreading those glowing wings, facing a fierce headwind, then with a leap, sending herself bucking and blowing across a star-filled sky. I imagine her laughing loudly and robustly, reveling in the whirling torrent. I dream of her riding unharnessed wind and rejoicing in the wildness of night. And I wish, once again, that I was her.

Wrapping up 2006

Oh my dears.... so much time passed. I guess that when I'm happy, I'm a less prolific writer. Therefore pardon my absence, but know that by and large, it's due to a busy and blissful life.

December was a rush. I helped plan the Company Holiday party, which also just happened to be on my 35th birthday. 900+ people at a plush Hollywood hotspot..... quite the way to ring out 34. And as you can see... I looked quite sassy doing so.

After the holiday party, I decided to further celebrate my refusal to get old by coloring my hair a fun and unusual color. My colorist called it "Electric Cranberry".... but usually people tell me it's either Pink or Bright Red.

Winter Solstice brought an early gift for my beloved Tag.... in the form of an ever-curious kitten named "Cash" (as in "the Cat in Black"), seen here giving my schnoz a nibble...

Lastly, we rang in the New Year at an intimate gathering hosted by the SlackMistress , where fun was had by all. Even those who didn't quite make it through the whole party (but I won't name names.... *wink*)

Instead, I'll post pics. *grin*

The Night begins with a little Champagne and a whole lot of Silliness.

Midnight Snugglies ring in 2007.

Oopsie..... turns out Champagne and Bombay Sapphire don't mix well.

I hope that you and yours were able to celebrate as happily and as safely, and that 2007 opens doors that mystify your sense of wonder and elate your heart.

She's Got the Look

The holiday/pre-birthday blues have a bit of a hold on me this week, affecting my dreams and making me a bit paranoid. So needless to say, I was not quite in the mind frame to hear the “compliment” that was given to me today as complimentary.

She said “Oh, you’re a big girl. But you’re surprisingly toned for a big girl.”

A Big girl? I wear a size 8, sometimes a 10.

I am not the “anorexic chic” so popular in Hollywood these days, and certainly no one has ever accused me of having an eating disorder. But seriously folks…

Some of the most beautiful women I know are lush and round and curvy, the way women are supposed to be. We are designed to have layers, which keep our innards warm, so that we can create and sustain life within us. (Subsequently, we are more likely to survive hypothermia as well. Go Girls!)

The whole contemplation of today’s notion of beautiful women reminded me of yesterday’s encounter in Starbucks. I was waiting for my Gingerbread Latte, when a woman came in. Her 6 inch heels were a bit over the top for the 10am coffee run. Her rhinestone bejeweled jogging suit was the best in Juicy Couture (and will never see a moment of actual jogging.) Her breasts were melons of saline so ripe I thought they might pop if someone brushed against her. But most outstanding in her appearance was her face. Modern cosmetic science had so enhanced her facial features that I doubt she will ever be able to “unpucker” again. Additionally, when she approached the counter from behind me, I noted that she mumbled incomprehensibly. I can only assume it was some version of “excuse me”, but who knows!? Between her collagen swollen lips and her overly botoxed nasal folds, she couldn’t move her mouth enough to articulate the English language. This is “beautiful”??!?!?

What happened to Marilyn Monroe and Mae West? Where are the screen goddesses who were naturally bodacious? Kudos to Kate Winslet and Scarlett Johansson for being proud to be curvy and real, while still managing to pull off being beautiful.

Because if our only two choices are “12-yr-old-boy-thin” and “so-enhanced-you-can’t-talk”, then today's women are in a world of hurt.

editorial note: while researching the topic on line, I came aross this post which I found both fascinating and a bit terrifying

Sunday Scribblings: In the last hour

In the last hour of the night, before sleep overtook her active mind and dragged her beneath, she made a list of all the things yet undone. She wrote from her heart, pouring out beliefs and goals, evacuating the small crevices where hope still festered in a largely bitter existence. She dredged up the very crispy bits at the bottom of the cauldron of her being, and she penned each half-burned dream onto cream paper, in a flowery round script aided by the easy flow of her purple gel uni-ball with the chewed up cap.

The last one stood out most harshly, mocking her with its incompleteness: "Fall in love"

In that last hour of dark dim lighting and deep heart stirrings, she mourned her many abortive attempts to lose herself in connection with another. To allow her walls to sink completely and leave herself, not defenseless...but open, to the experience of sharing. Instead of a history full of Hallmarkian tenderness, she looked back on a catalogue of grossly co-dependant relationships, thick with abuse and irony. The 'been there, done that" list of her heart's attacks read like a baby name book, only one where "David" didn't mean "beloved", but more "raving jackass" and "Tony*" was less "priceless" and more "psycho."*

A throaty humorless laugh escaped as she admitted defeat in all games important to her. Her family, broken as it was had left her behind long ago, and her friends had disappeared into a sea of unfortunate excuses. The only element of her life with harmony and humor had passed one week ago today, at an unforgettably sad moment in the vet's office, and now she sat in a lifeless room, in the silence of a falling night, wishing to blot out any memory of her existence at all.

She took the pages where she'd written all her failures and carried them to the bathroom, setting fire to them with a thin yellow plastic lighter someone had left on her desk at work. The low flames blacked the edges of the paper as they consumed their way across the written words, leaving ash and embers in their place. She discarded the remnants into the open toilet and chuckled once again as she realized how quickly and easily it could all be flushed away.

Turning to the counter, she saw collected there a bevy of medicinal remedies for a hundred imagined ailments, and like mixed jellybellys, popped any variety of color and shape into her mouth. Lowering her head to the spout of the rusty faucet, she drank only as much water as she needed to swallow the caplets and tablets that held escape in their grainy pharmaceutical hands. And then she returned to her room, and her bed.

In the last hour of her life, she rested her head on her pillow and wept until the pain faded away.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
* it's a work of fiction. No offense meant to any Davids or Tonys. Well, ok, no offense meant to any Davids, and to 99.9% of Tonys. That .1% knows who he is.

Sunday Scribblings: Hero

What does it take to be a hero? Daily courage, or just an extraordinary moment? Firemen are certainly heros, as are police officers, and our troops overeseas. Is it about risking life and limb? OR just going beyond what normal life would ask of you?

This weekend, I saw "Stranger than Fiction," an interesting film wherein Will Ferrell plays an ordinary man who seems mysteriously to be the central character in a book which will end with his death. An unlikely hero, Harold Chik is an IRS auditor, living a rather humdrum experience, ruled by numbers. However, when he overhears the Narrarator's voice in his head mention his untimely and impending doom, he leaps into action to find the hows and whys of his death, and see if it can be stopped (or at least postponed.)

I went to the movie seeking an entertaining story that would allow me escape from my own daily routine, but found instead a film that wouldn't let me stop thinking about it afterwards. Would I, like Harold, seek out the cause of my demise and fight it? Would I live those last few days as if I were "truly alive", fullfilling the wishes of myself and others? Could I dedicate myself for that time to eat a juicy and succulent life, and so at the end, feel that death, however untimely was neccessary and not in vain?

and if I could do that under those circumstances, why do I not do it now? Why am I not living each day fully and vibrantly? Why do I find myself forever postponing and timing things out..... "well, in two years, i'll be mostly out of debt. I can do what i love then..." How many years have I, have any of us, wasted in that process?

Hmmm, hold on.... There have been moments. I've not spent it ALL looking ahead or behind. I have had a dabbling here and there of being completely and totally present. Where I've been as alive as alive gets, and enjoyed the view. In 2003, I participated in APLA's Marathon Training program. For 7 months of my life, I ran and fundraised to help people in the Los Angeles area who are afflicted with HIV and/or AIDS. And in the end, I did something I'd long wanted to do. I finished a marathon.

Right now, my friend Amandarin is participating in that same project. And while I do not envy her "runner's knee", her aching hips, her heat exhaustion, her recent shoe-blow out, or her constant struggle to fundraise..... I do know that there's not a feeling in the world like running that marathon. Oh, not just the crossing of the finish line (which admittedly is pretty spectacular). No, I'm speaking of another moment, one unlike any I'd ever known.

December 14th, 2003- I was running mile late-teens/early twenties, huffing and pained and wondering if I'd make it when I passed a group on the sidelines. It was a large bunch of yellow-shirt wearing APLA supporters, cheering and hooting and beliving in me. They held signs of all natures. "You can do", and "You're a hero". I smiled and waved. Then I saw him. He was tall and gaunt, and didn't look as if he had much energy left to be standing, much less cheering and waving a sign. But he was giving it all he had. And in his hands was a simple piece of posterboard, which read "You are saving my life. Thank you." Tears streamed down my face, and my pace quickened just a bit, and in that moment, I felt just a little bit like a hero.

So Amandarin, I wish you that moment. That one and a hundred more as you face this monster ride called "training to run a marathon". It's HELLA not easy, but it's worth it.

And to anyone whose reading this.... if you're looking for a hero to support, check out this lady or the team she's running with Phat Girls Running. Or go directly to APLA, and read about the hundreds of heros they train regularly.

Or try the Lukemia & Lymphoma Society's Team in Training The disease is different, but the love and caring and determination is the same.

Or Feed a hungry animal

Whatever it is that makes your heart weep and sing at the same time, go find it and support and be a hero for someone else. Cause I'm thinking THAT's what makes one heroic.... not JUST the courage or the passion.... but the ability to give and do that for someone else.

Here's to making the world a better place.

The Fringe of Danger

A friend of mine, Ms. Scarlett, just came to me, trembling and crying and on the edge of a meltdown.

It seems that last Friday, she was held up at gunpoint, at an ATM less than a mile from where we work. The shock is just starting to wear off, and her conversation with the detective, in regards to identifying suspects in a line up, and the possible impending trial, pushed her over that cliff of emotion. I held her while she cried, and then sent her home ill. She was in no space to manage calendars or answer phones or in any way pretend that the world was fine and normal.

When I relayed the story to Amandarin she remarked that this was the second mugging she'd heard of this week.

Additionally, I just sent flowers to one co-worker for her sister's passing while another colleague is waiting by a phone at home, hoping for some good news regarding her grandmother's recent heart problems.

Laughably smaller, my radiator blew up two week's ago, and I'm just finishing a round of poison oak that I contracted around Halloween (during our pet funeral services).

So my question is... Hey Universe, what the hell is going on!?? October was a month full of deaths (for myself and others), and now November seems to be badly wired, waiting to short out and start a fire.

Is it too much to ask that we gently glide into a warm and uneventful Thanksgiving? I can't speak for the rest of the world, but we Angelinos could use a break!

Hot Cuppa Inspiration

On the side of today's tasty beverage, I found this:

"My father said being an artist was the shortest road to the poorhouse, claiming 'real' work is something you don't like. I ignored him through oppisitional behavior, later reasoning that only an idiot sets out to find the poorhouse, not to mention devote himself to something he doesn't love. Instead, I discovered an interesting back road to the unknown, and deliberately without a safety net.

-- Russell Chatham, painter lithographer, author, publisher and restaurateur"



I long for that backroad. I remind myself that I am an artist, and a dancer, and a writer, and whatever more I may wish to be today..... and I long to create without that safety net.

which reminds me.... I recently found out than an old acquaintance of mine is running a school for Aeiral Arts. I think it may be time for me to take that webwork class that I'd signed up for in college (the week before I tore all the ligaments in my right ankle and spent months on crutches). I long to fly, to spin, to be that girl on the flying trapeze.

What daring things will you do this holiday season??

Limes of Love

The ever-fabulous Amandarin, whose selfless actions brought Tag to my door in June, has once again worked with others to create a generous project of love and giving.

LIME PROJECT is a group of women who have come together to raise funds for a friend, currently fighting Hodgkins Lymphoma.

To quote the website:
We don't know who makes these decisions, but the support ribbon color for Hodgkin's Lymphoma is lime green. Conveniently, this is one of Heather's favorite colors."LimeSuckers" came about because well... pretty much everyone was suckered into it.

Most of us met on LiveJournal, a blogging / networking website, and this idea was hatched there, sprouting from the mind of Bronxelf (also known as Avril), for the group of us to produce and sell calendars to benefit Heather.

Not just any calendars..."naked" calendars. Tastefully done, of course, but still. Cheesecake sells.


That's right kids.... beautiful nekkid women, showing their goodies support for a friend in need.

So dig into your pockets. 2007 is coming, and you need a calendar! Not just one that tells you the days and dates, but one that supports a life AND has bold and beautiful pictures of women not afraid to bare it all to help a friend.

Pay It Forward.... Buy a Calendar!

Ebb & Flow

Change comes rapidly, like a swift Autumn wind. Faster than the seasons can shift, faster than I can keep up. As John Lennon sang: “Life is what happens to you when while you're busy making other plans.”

*pause, to catch my breath*

Although co-habitation can be challenging, Tag and I grow ever closer. However, sometimes it is for unfortunate reasons. Just last weekend, we shared the heartbreak of losing a pet. Brave Neo, who traveled with Tag from Chicago, died inexplicably, leaving the bulk of our Saturday mired in impromptu services in the nearby park. This, added to the sadness of my Grandmother’s passing, has left me pondering the “dark time” and all its hidden gifts.

Traditionally, Samhain is the festival that marks the “End of Summer”, or the time of the Harvest. One tradition states that you could harvest until sundown on Hallows Eve, but not a moment longer. Whatever was not cut by that sunset, you left in the field as an offering to the spirits. From that moment, you could only look forward to the next harvest season; making productive use of what had been brought in, and sowing the seeds for the following year.

During this last season or so, friends have fallen away, life has run at speeds both hectic and humdrum, and of course, love has come to play.

For each birth there has been a death. For each Spring blossom that bloomed, an Autumn leaf fell to ground. Sadness and loss weigh heavy right now, as the days grow shorter and darker. I’ve been battling moments of anger and despair. Last night, in dance class, I found myself weeping, in a dimly lit room pulsating with music and life. I felt like I was a great black hole of energy, absorbing joy and transmuting it into nothingness.

My mood is lighter today, although not completely recovered. My thoughts are scattered and this post is challenging to write. However, underneath it all, I still feel a smidgeon of hope bubbling up through the goop-- the ever-present idea that it does once again get better, that wounds heal, and lessons get learned and at the end of the day, as long as one can surround themselves with friends and loved ones…. it’s gonna be ok.

Cycling

The title and time of year would lead one to think that this will be a post full of reverie for color-changing leaves and the cool breezes that mark the end of another Southern California summer.

I might wax poetic about the onset of Autumn, and how Fall always stirs my blood, invigorates my dreams, and truly excites me.

OR I could, of course, elaborate on how my new life with my love is blossoming and morphing into a reality unlike any I've ever experienced before.

But that is not the point and purpose of this post...

I will instead take this moment to remember My Grandmother.
-the one who played mini-golf with me, the summer I stayed a week in Winston-Salem.
-the one who chuckled at my too tight Jordache jeans, which made it impossible for me to bend over enough to retrieve my golf ball.
-the one who fixed large bowls of ice cream for us both, so that we might sit and bond over the daily episode of "She-Ra: Princess of Power".

It's been a very VERY long time since those memories were an acutality, and since that long ago day, much water has passed under the bridge that pointed to our differences, and not our connection. She is an older Southern woman, with husband and children, ensconsed safely in her house in North Carolina. I am a single female, scattered about various Los Angeles locations, living life friviously, with (until recently) only cats to keep me company. She holds to tradition and security. I look forward towards opportunities, and don't wish to settle for less than I want. I don't think I fully qualify as "the black sheep" of the family... but I'm certainly the one who is "not like the others."

Still, that all seems small and inconsequential today, for as my life blooms with chance and bubbles with opportunity, my grandmother's is coming to a close. She's fought cancer for 24 years, and doctors said that a 5th round of chemo is just not an option. The last MRI showed a tumor in the front lobes of her brain that is as inoperable as it is deadly. She sleeps, most likely to never wake again, in a hospital bed on the other side of the country. And my father, bless him, sits at her side, watching her through the night.

At this time, as we draw closer to the cross-quarter and the veil grows thinner, I will light my candle and wish her spirit safe travels. I honor her strength, and I cherish the woman who vacuumed religiously and worshiped sun-tanning, whose blue eyes danced when she chuckled, and whose laughter will always have a place in my heart.

OH so much to tell

My dears, how I've missed you... but oh the adventures I've been on.

* Travelling cross country with my love.
* Visiting the vibrating metropolis of Chicago.
* Seeing the colors changing as the seasons roll one from the next.
* Drinking deeply the lush tones and tastes of Missouri's wine country (which I had NO IDEA existed!)
* Reconnecting with Friends, nesting in the hills of Evergreen, Colorado.
* Traversing the Rockies in all their majestic glory.
* Hiking Utah's awe-inspiring parks.

and finally coming home, to the furry-purries who missed me!!

Pictures and elaborations to come.

*grin*

Quotable: Security

Security is mostly a superstition. It does not exist in nature, nor do the children of men as a whole experience it. Avoiding danger is no safer in the long run than outright exposure. Life is a daring adventure or nothing at all.

-Helen Keller

Loving the Fool

Per Rob Brezney:

Declare amnesty for the part of you that you don't love very well. Forgive that poor sucker. Hold its hand and take it out to dinner and a movie. Tactfully offer it a chance to make amends for the dumb things it has done.

And then do a dramatic reading of this proclamation by the playwright Theodore Rubin:
"I must learn to love the fool in me—the one who feels too much, talks too much, takes too many chances, wins sometimes and loses often, lacks self-control, loves and hates, hurts and gets hurt, promises and breaks promises, laughs and cries. It alone protects me against that utterly self-controlled, masterful tyrant whom I also harbor and who would rob me of human aliveness, humility, and dignity but for my fool."

Half-light Serenade

Check the email, type the needed documents... another day of corporate drudgery lingers too long. I pry myself off-leash for a moments drive to the post office and fast food, before returning to the daily ball & chain.

However, it only takes a second before the air around my ears stirrs with something exciting and different. Did someone put speakers in the parking garage? Joyfully, I discover no. This aural bliss is nothing short of live clarinet jamming.

Having lived the first two years of college with a classical clarinet major, the sound of that particular instrument is one I know very well, and one I can't resist. Linked to memories of youth and discovery, the clarinet speaks to me in a way that few other instruments can.

I follow the sound, like a dog on a scent, to the edge of the garage. Stretched out next door is a parking lot, but across that, a quiet unassuming apartment complex provides a home for some melodic soul. 3rd floor, just inside the screen door to his balcony, he sways, gently playing. I stand transfixed at the railing, riding on the tune. Melancholy, but not despairing, it dips low and trills up, and feels akin to a magic carpet.

I wonder if he knows he has an audience, or even if he cares. Is he playing only for himself, or would he be amused at the girl, holding KFC in one hand, car keys in the other, slowly swaying at the garage's edge? With my eyes closed, it ceases to be a parking lot in the vast Lost City of Angels.... it is only a moment, rare and magical (like today's simmering storm clouds), that feeds the soul and keeps one afloat.

Gratitude

Dear Universe,

This "beautiful-swirly-grey-clouds,-strong-cool-breeze,-imposing-storm-thing" that you've currently got going on in SoCal...... It's GORGEOUS!!!

Please keep up the good work.

Much Love,
Teece

P.S. Although I applaud your work here in LA, please lay off the earthquakes in Florida. Geez, don't they have enough to cope with during Hurricane Season?

Loss, in black & white

I find an odd poignancy in this story.

Ya Ya tried her best to keep her cubs safe, and in doing so, wore herself out, not properly eating or sleeping. This exhaustion caused her to drop the smaller baby, mid-feeding, and collapse onto the fallen body, crushing the tiny offspring beneath her.

She is “inconsolable, wailing and looking for her baby after its body was taken away from her.”

Although the baby was one of a set of twins, and the elder cub remains alive and in good health, Ya Ya continues to mourn.

How many times have I done exactly that? In the pursuit of something cherished, I have held the goal so close, that in the end, when it all fell apart, there was no one to blame but myself. Road to a personal hell, paved with the best of intentions.

*sigh* I wish her peace.

Like so many others......

I am deeply saddened by the loss of Steve Irwin. What a great man, dedicated to wildlife conservation.

I somehow always thought that in the world of working with wildlife, I would eventually run into him. Now that possibility is gone, and the world seems smaller... darker.

I hope they have crocodiles in your afterworld, Steve. If nothing else, I know you're there with your best mate, Suey. Happy Trails to you both.