bad winter.

I don't know why fall makes me feel so

well, I don't know

awake.

the colors are stronger and the air is colder and it 

moves and pushes and swirls

a rejoicing in the death of all the green things

spinning them in circles, up from the ground

dancing and dragging across asphalt with that sound

the crackling of a fire or

the crashing of the waves.

celebrating, because death is happening all the time

while we're alive and we pretend it's not there

so a little secret part of me

is grateful that someone, something 

is celebrating death, so it's not so scary.

and I wonder, always here I wonder

at this time, I wonder

wrapped in warm things,

did I lose you when I wasn't looking?

they say it was a bad winter

they say it was a lot of ice

they say it and shake their heads when they say it

and it was a bad winter

I was in a bad way, the storms had stopped my movement

it was a bad winter in my head, behind my eyes

it was a miracle I was still alive

it was a bad winter, they said

and during that bad winter

when you fed me, bathed me, stroked my hair

did I use up all your love for me

in that bad winter?

concentrate it into one eternally long season

and dry up the reservoir, empty it out before our time?

it's here again, the just-before time

and the prayers on everyone's silent lips

especially mine

are whispering that they hope, I hope

this winter will be a good winter.

Dark Day.

A few days ago I was walking a dog at the Humane Society and felt something happen in my lower back. I don't know how to describe it, other than a 'shift' - it felt as though something moved. Since then, I've had consistent discomfort in the same areas that I had before my surgery to remove the herniated disc material. Essentially, I'm worried that I have reherniated the same disc.

Why is this causing such outright depression from the moment I awake in the morning? Well, because last year was so fucking terrible that, at one point, I thought about death and felt such relief that I wept right then and there. That's how bad life was. The pain was unbearable and kept me from performing even the simplest of tasks without trouble, and there was an 8 day period where I literally could not stand up or walk. I took Percocet every 4 hours on the dot and spent that week on the sofa. If it was not for Erin, I would not have eaten. In fact, if it weren't for Erin, I probably would not be here right now.

Fortunately I was awarded a free surgery from a local medical volunteer organization. I left the hospital that day in more joy than I'd felt in four months - the pain was gone. Since then I've been getting more and more active and recovering what was lost of my life. I don't think anyone really realizes just how bad this past winter was. Except for Erin.

So to wake up with discomfort in the same place and have strange new sensations is really pissing in my cornflakes. Not to mention I'm unemployed and have no health insurance. 

I could just throw up.

This is a silly rant.

I realize there are more important things to talk about on a blog, but I really need to vent my aggravations towards modern cookbooks right now.

Being a conscientious omnivore has its serious setbacks - including that, for the most part, cookbook-searching is limited to vegetarian publications. I can't just round up a side of beef or a few chicken breasts for an evening, so my recipe selection more often involves tofu and cheese.

Sometimes the cook calls for items that I do not have. A cast-iron skillet, for example, or a pizza stone. Sure, you can do without these items, but you're left feeling a little like your food will turn out mediocre instead of how good they say it will.

The problem with most cookbooks is that they are written by well-intentioned cooks. Maybe this is obvious, but I am not a cook. Therefore I do not have access, as cooks do in big cities, to the variety of international ingredients often gracing the pages. True, these recipes often sound delicious and I would love to try them out, but I'm not roaming all over God's creation to find these items. 

Furthermore, many recipes call for a very small amount of a certain ingredient - say fresh cilantro. Cilantro, where I live, does not come in 1/4 cup servings - it comes in a bunch weighing about .5-1 pound. Most of it, sadly, ends up going to waste. You can only have so much dried herb, and that's if you remember you have a pound of herb in the fridge before it goes all black and gross. 

These two factors - the not-easy-to-locate ingredients and the ones that will sit around in a house like mine - frustrate me if for no other reason than because on a limited budget, wasting food makes me nauseous. We are a simple people. We want simple recipes. Something like, "50 Ways to Eat a Potato" or "50 Ways to Eat a Noodle." Something written by people who do not get paid to cook - who work all day and want something healthy but easy to make and simple ingredients-wise. Maybe a cookbook where there are two or three recipes in a row that use most of the same ingredients so you can be sure to use everything. 

Someone like myself also needs an easy introduction into other types of food groups. Growing up, we had pasta, pan-heated vegetables, and meat - usually meatballs, pork-chops, or chicken breasts. This did not prepare me for something like "frisee salad with lemon-miso dressing." It sounds good, but upon reading the title, I couldn't tell you what the hell it is.

Erin is a potato and Indian food person. I am a pasta and pizza type person. I just want something with a bread factor, a tomato factor, and a cheese factor. I realize this is a terrible way to eat all the time (so I don't), but what could possible be better than these three foods together? 

I know this is stupid. I can't help it. We try to make interesting food all week long so we're not always eating the same stuff, but going through these cookbooks makes me want to tear my hair out sometimes. I suppose this is the price you pay if you want to eat healthy and keep the food choices fresh at the same time. I promise I'll keep trying.

Zounds.

So I've been inspired by my best friend to start using this blog as a platform for writing about things I know about or love. Problem is, I'm one of those common Americans plagued with, well, liking too many damn things. My brain is constantly a mishmash of unmatching ideas. I have no consistent direction. I can't seem to hold a steady job for more than three months lately. I have no idea what to do or where I'm going.

Here's an example.

Things I wish I could do with my life right now:

1. Be a wildlife biologist.

2. Be a wildlife rehabilitator.

3. Be an interior designer.

4. Be a graphic artist.

5. Be a writer, both fiction and non-fiction.

6. Rescue and rehabilitate dogs, namely pit bulls.

7. Have my own sewing business.

8. Working for myself.

9. Have a farm where I can produce vegetables, fruit, dairy, and meat products for myself and to sell to others.

10. Form my own tribal community.

11. Work for a cause. What cause? I have no idea.

Things I'm interested in:

1. The origins of our food and conscious eating.

2. Native American spirituality.

3. Massage therapy and other gentle, healing modalities.

4. Art quilting.

5. Helping veterans.

6. Rehabbing "problem" dogs/dog psychology.

7. Locating my strength as an artist.

8. Nature.

9. Animals. More than anything, animals, animals, animals.

10. The ethics of shopping and eating locally.

11. Dream interpretation, the effects of energy in our personal environment, self-manifestation.

12. Human rights, especially in terms of race and sexual orientation. 

Okay, that's what I can come up with off the top of my head anyway. Picking and choosing what to write about seems almost like more of a headache than it's worth, but if you, my whole 2 readers, have any suggestions, please put them forward. 

I've come to this realization that I may have gone in entirely the wrong direction with my life; this passion for animals that I have cannot manifest itself in many ways, save for the occasional volunteering at the local Humane Society to walk dogs and the few people in the community that I worked with to rehabilitate their dogs. (ha! I'd forgotten I'd even done that! sweet!) I'm going to massage school having had this realization, but also keeping in mind that I'm not especially stupendous at math and sciences; I'm good at ecology, but once we hit numbers, my attention span takes a nose dive. Biology, if nothing else, is a science, and so I am left wondering if my talents lie elsewhere. For now, I am happy to interpret animals and the lessons that they have for our lives.

Wow, I don't even know where I'm going with this. I suppose if I write anything, it will help to accomplish one of those items on my list, the wanting to be a writer of some sort. Maybe I'll just give it a shot?

Today was such an uncomfortable day for me. I think, without seeing it coming, I was hit by the truck of purposelessness and am still stuck to its grill. After a summer of non-stop motion, non-stop managing of details, non-stop hanging out with energetic kids, I wasn't prepared for the sudden nothingness of the last two days. Erin called and is doing fine, but she sounds very, very tired. I don't think I've ever been so excited for her to come home; strangely enough, instead of feeling distance after all this time together, I keep falling in love with her. There is a comfort level that I have with her that I've never in my life had with a male. She's beautiful, funny, and can't dance worth a shit. She's perfect.

So I guess I'm lonely too. At least when she left on assignments before, I had roommates, friends, and family to spend time with. That combined with the looming reality that I have zero job prospects has been unsettling to say the least. I've been slightly manic, distracting myself with completely useless tasks and ignoring the cleaning and sewing that I've been really wanting to use my time for. Fortunately I have a babysitting gig for the next few days and at the very least, it will keep me busy and make up the cash that I have to pay the city of Bend for breaking the law. Fortunately the judge lowered my fine today and will allow me to go to traffic school, which will keep the ticket off my record - whew. 

I miss home, too. I miss the freedom of picking up and driving out to see Tiara and spending if only a few short hours with her, because those hours are inevitably filled with laughter and sharing. Tiara and I have been on the same wavelength since we were kids, I think; once, in highschool (and this will sound silly to all of you except the two of us), I was searching for a completely random name in my head and Tiara tried to chime in to help - simultaneously, the word "Jeremiah" came out of our mouths. Neither of us knew anyone named Jeremiah, but we said it at the same time and followed it by a stunned silence and staring at each other. I still remember it, too - we were walking up the stairs to the second or third floor for class. This, among other things, I have taken as assurance that Tiara and I are soulmates, and I couldn't ever want for a better friend. I routinely think of her husband as my brother-in-law, and he and I have been tossing around the idea of writing a kid's book together. If it happens, I'll eventually have it in my Etsy shop, available through the authors and not through a bookstore. 

I also miss spending the day with my mom, making her pee her pants laughing (sometimes I'll hold her down and tickle her until she laughs so hard she can't breathe) and chasing Tink around the yard. Home calls to me, but not so loud that I would consider moving there again, not yet anyway. I'm just not satisfied being so far away from her, so I've planted the seed in her ear of moving out here with me. I think it's growing, but still far from blossoming. 

I can't wait to have something productive to do tomorrow.

Cripes.

Is my current life evidence that I need constant adult supervision? And what I mean by that is Erin needs to come home ASAP.

Our attempt at camping out with the kids was a total disaster. The spot chosen was on the other side of the mountains in the Willamette forest, which is essentially a Pacific Northwest rain forest (I think) - so, of course, it was raining. And it was cold and gusty. We opted not to stay there, but the truck carrying the camping equipment and all of our food broke down and, currently, is still sitting on the side of the mountain. I thought perhaps to find a spot on the east side of the mountains, in the high desert, but then realized that our food would be rendered useless to us as campfires are prohibited at this time of year and our food relied on a campfire.

So the kids ended up coming back to my apartment. I put down a tarp because they'd been running through the muddy woods for hours, and we popped in Lord of the Rings. One of the kids passed out, but then later proceeded to sleepwalk into the bathroom and piss all over the floor. Besides that, all the other boys (who were all at least 8 years old) managed to miss the giant toilet hole and sprinkle the seat or floor as well. I would think at that age kids could manage, but I guess when you're in someone else's house it doesn't matter if you piss on the seat (or elsewhere). The next morning another boy pissed his pants (thank God for the tarp). 

Can you say, "Birth control"? Because I can.

So yesterday was my last day of work, and I'm trying not to think about the fact that I am now officially unemployed. This morning, I woke up at 3:30am and looked in the mirror to find my right eye swollen, red, and pooping out all kinds of gunk. Good. Pink eye. I took an allergy pill to see if that would magically work and I'm happy to report that it hasn't gotten any worse - yet. I'm considering calling a doctor, but when you don't have health insurance the cost is outrageous just to have a doc look at your face and go, "Yup, pink eye. Here's a prescription." I wonder if some diluted soap in the ol' peeper would do the trick.

On the bright side, I'm going to get a massage today, going to IKEA tomorrow which will hopefully alleviate some of my apartment-clutter woes, and in less than one month my mother is coming out here to visit. We'll hopefully be taking a trip to Crater Lake and a variety of other fun local spots. 

I need a nap.

Funny Quotes for This Week.

My mother, after viewing a photo of me riding in the cattle drive:

"You look thinner, but you are on a horse."

Jennifer, after hours of discussing religion and how little interest I have in Christianity (and at 9:30pm during a storm after being on the road for 8 hours straight):

"Are you sure you're okay to drive home? I'd hate for you to crash and die...  and go to hell."

Into the Desert.

Let me start off by saying a few things:

First, today I got pulled over and I am NOT happy about it. It was my own stupid fault of course, but a mistake that I do not believe should cost $250. Tomorrow I'll go for my Oregon driver's license and pray that I pass the test the first time around. 

Second, Erin is officially out on spike and I have realized that I eat like a 15 year old boy left alone when she's gone. Cinnamon Toast Crunch is not a healthy dinner. (To my credit I mixed it with a little granola so I'd feel better about myself.)

Anyway, onto the good stuff. Since my photos wouldn't load, you'll need to check out my Facebook page to see them.

This past weekend, my coworker Jennifer invited me to travel with her to Mountain Home, Idaho, to pick up two of her sons from her brother's house. Charlie, her brother, owns a huge ranch and the boys were there helping him out for the summer. I usually would say no to something like that, being the control freak and homebody that I am, but I threw caution to the wind and agreed to come along. It was an 8 hour drive both ways, but the scenery on the way there was incredible. It constantly amazes me how diverse Oregon is when it comes to landscapes. There are huge mountains covered in wet coniferous forests in one part, then rolling sagebrush deserts in another part, then you have the coast and the valley, and everything in between. Deep lakes, raging rivers, the sea.

We headed out in the early morning, greeted by a number of raptors, including golden eagles and smaller accipiters that I couldn't identify. We talked for hours and stopped in the most random little podunk towns you could ever imagine. We discussed the differences between bigger towns and smaller towns, since we're both from one or the other. Jennifer explained to me that small towns are more self-managing (meaning that if you have a problem with someone, you take it right to them, not to an external authority), but that people also get away with a lot because the town is small and people are accustomed to each other's strange quirks. It gets swept under the carpet and unfortunately a lot of child molestation and incest never gets reported. But on the other side of that, the community is strong and the people support each other at all costs. In a big town, you don't have to tolerate any kind of abuse because the authorities have a greater outside power. But there's little community; if you have a community, they are usually spread out and separated from you by great distances. You don't speak to your neighbors and you don't watch out for each other. 

We drove through a miniscule town called Unity, Oregon. We went into a bar to use the restroom, and there were dollar bills with names (and other things) written on them, stapled on the ceiling and walls. Jennifer smiled and handed me a dollar bill, so I wrote my name and Joan's name on it and handed it back to the lady. Then I used a pointy post it note to locate Baltimore on a big US map tacked to the wall. 

Over mountain passes we prayed to see elk and bears, but to no avail. We discussed creationism; Jennifer is a firm believer and I pelted her with questions from my little archaeologist's brain. Just as science is an interesting theory, so to is creationism. I can't say I could really draw myself to believe in the tenets of creationism, but I think, really, vehemently defending one side or the other is really missing the point (and a huge waste of energy). She's in love with geology and contends that things happened a lot more quickly than scientists suppose (think hundreds or thousands versus millions and billions). We talked a lot about Christianity, but fortunately for me she's one of those people that can talk about it without trying to convert you. (I could tell she wanted to, but she restrained herself.) I'm always up for a good spiritual debate anyhow, and since picking up this path, I've never been more satisfied with my spiritual ways. Christianity just isn't for everyone - although Christians feel it's their right to make sure everyone knows that Jesus is the only way to Heaven, a habit I find somewhat tiresome but better understood after having Jennifer explain to me that if you believed you had the absolute truth and you saw people walking off cliffs, you'd want to give them the truth that could save them too. I prefer to let people come to me if they so choose, but everyone is different.

Once in Idaho, I could not believe what, and excuse my terrible lack of respect for the earth, a complete wasteland it appeared to be. In the blazing heat, there was only vast stretches of yellow with patches of green-grey sagebrush. No trees for shade, no boulders for shade, just low rocks that will break your ankles and hundreds of miles of emptiness.

We passed an exit sign on the interstate that said, "US Ecology Idaho Waste Site." It made me sad, but made me physically roll my eyes when we passed another roadside sign that claimed, "Idaho is too beautiful to litter." So.. nuclear waste is not what we're considering 'litter'? On the way home we passed a dump site for the government - all you could see for miles were huge mounds of earth, placed symmetrically apart across a vast expanse. I rolled up my window and shuddered at the thought of what lay beneath the ground out there - trickling into our water, poisoning the sand, delivering cancer bit by bit to the unfortunate humans that lived nearby. And the lies that accompany such activities by our government.

We arrived at Charlie's and the house was gloriously air-conditioned. I was instructed not to play with the five dogs, who can take commands like, "Left" and "Stay" as though they were human. These five dogs could single handedly wrangle a herd of cattle, just by Charlie's words. Charlie himself was an unimposing man, tall with the prerequisite mustache, two bouncing children and a do-it-all wife. He smiled occasionally and laughed more often than I was expecting him to, and referred to his nephews as worms and numbnuts. 

Charlie loaded us up in his truck, dogs in the back, and we drove through this painful desert to arrive at some paddocks where horses eyed us in that way that horses do; unsure, easily swayed by the scent of food. We brushed them and loaded them with saddles. The first saddle's stirrups were too long for me (surprised?) so I was switched to a slightly smaller saddle and I immediately remembered how much I loved being on a horse. This horse, Levi, ended up being quite a pill, but most horses are the first time you're on them. They're smart enough to know that they can push you and test you, and only with a fair bit of confidence and grit will you tame them. This is what I love about horses - they have spirits of pure fire. There is a legend that they came from the sea under Poseidon's command, and Native Americans contended that they were creatures of the thunderstorms. This makes the horse all elements of existence - air (thunderstorms and wind), water (their watery origins, water also being associated with the earth), and fire (their ferocity, power, intelligence, seductive nature). It isn't a wonder to me that they have always been creatures of great respect across all nations. It hurts me to think of how horses are broken and tamed, but I will not pretend that I don't one day want one for my very own. 

So, loaded on horseback, we set off across the desert, tiptoeing through jagged volcanic rock and shielding our eyes from the overpowering light of the evening sun. The cows on the land were there in part because Charlie sells them for their meat, but also because the environmentalists and ranchers were working out a system of rehabilitating the land (overgrazing, of course, does terrible things to the land and cows are notorious for being un-picky eaters, whereas buffalo, for example, will actually encourage natural health by picking and choosing which grasses they eat and when they eat them). We had to move the cattle from one area to another to reduce the amount of grazing they were doing in the first area. Being from a city of a million, I had no idea how feisty cows were - they brayed at the top of their lungs, glared daggers at us, and charged the dogs that tried to corral them. We didn't harass the cattle, just closed in on them slowly and surely so they'd do the moving on their own. We crossed streams, went up the steepest hillsides I've ever seen, and my damned horse tried twice to hang me up in a tree (meaning he walked about as close as he could to the trunk and tried to leave me in the branches). Horses do this intentionally, to test you. I have to admit the second time he really scared the shit out of me - we were on a terribly steep incline and he picked up speed as he went down, bouncing me around in the saddle when I was already leaning as far back as I could without falling off. He happened to pick up this speed right as he crashed me through the boughs and headed into the water. Bastard horse. 

At any rate, I had a blast. We returned to the house and de-saddled the horses, and Henry (Charlie's boy) showed me the best plum tree in the yard, full of tiny purple fruits a bit smaller than ping pong balls. The first bite was sweet like candy, and then tart as hell, making your lips pucker up. We went into the house and gorged ourselves on delicious foods, reveled in the feeling of clean, hot water coursing over our filthy bodies, and slept hard as rocks. Yes, the more I am exposed, the more I know what my life will one day look and feel like.

On the way home, we passed through towns bearing 110 degree weather - we had no air conditioning and even with the windows down going 75 miles an hour, it felt like hot sand being blasted onto our skin without the scratch of particles. It was like driving through a furnace, unforgiving and without shade. I have realized, being in the desert, how the body aches for water and not just when you are dehydrated. It's a deeper, primeval feeling, not only that you want to drink it but that you want to immerse yourself in it, bring it up over your head and face and bless yourself with its life-giving powers. It's so beautiful that you just want to praise it, thank it, take it with you. Your 75% water responds to its flow, its movement, the coolness it exudes in the air that could easily, literally cook you were you not careful.

We stopped in Pendleton and broke into her parents' home since they were not there, ate their grapes and green beans from the garden, drank their tea, marveled at their beautiful home, and were on our way again. We approached Madras at dusk, with the fire of the sunset bursting through heavy leaden storm clouds that, in the distance, emitted enormous lightening bolts that danced from cloud to cloud or exploded upon the earth's surface. 

As I prepare for my second night alone and without contact from my lover, I find myself hoping that the storms have been careful with her and her crew; that they will give them work to do but steer around them and keep them safe. Whenever she leaves for a fire, I feel as much anxiety as a mother must when her only child leaves for the world on their own; I always cry and tell her a thousand times how much I love her. I do this because I will not hear her voice or any word of her safety or unsafety for 14 straight days, and the worry I contend with would overwhelm me if I let it. Firefighting is not an un-dangerous profession but it is the one she has chosen. 

So I imagine white light around her, see her laughing face behind my closed eyelids, and wrap my arms around her pillow so I can bury my face in her scent. 

Grump.

Erin was out yesterday fighting fire from 7:30am until 10:30pm.

And she has to go back in this morning at 9:30am.

Her last day off was my birthday, July 26th.

Not a happy camper.

Warm summer day..

I am currently listening to Belleville Outfit and they are flat out awesome. 

I have been sewing up a bloody storm today and have successfully completed two beautiful projects. Once I make a few more of, well, each thing that I would like to sell, I'm going to get that Etsy storefront up and pray my bum off for success. I want so much to support myself, at least in part, with a skill that I have. I have spent the vast majority of my life feeling skill-less, and would feel just dandy if my shop was a hit. 

I've had this thing on my mind all week and I want to throw it out here. I work very closely with a woman and her son (at our summer camps), and they're both strongly Christian. Her son is young, only 19, and headstrong as any of us at that age. He's a wonderful guy - a fun mixture of sensitive and "macho," if you can call him that. At any rate, we got into a discussion about menstruation. Usually I'm much better at keeping my mouth shut about the religious divide here, but I was tired, cranky, and hot, and I lost control. He truly believes that menstruation is a curse given to women for eating the forbidden fruit - or moreover, for getting that sissy pushover Adam to partake. (I feel that God wouldn't create such a wimp and then give him a strong sexy woman.. let's just set the human race up for failure.) I countered with my own logic - how can anything natural be a curse? Why wasn't Adam cursed for taking the fruit? He could have said no. It's our JOB to say no when we're tempted to do something we know isn't right. So basically women get fucked for introducing wisdom to the hearts of men, who would otherwise just march along without questioning anything. Sounds a lot like a curse on pagans and an easy way to oppress those of us with ta-tas. 

But then I started thinking. Why DO we have these horrible periods? For many of us, myself included, it's a week of pain, moodiness, and general discomfort. Was this the best evolutionary path for mammals to take? I suppose if it didn't kill us, it didn't have to get tossed into the wastebasket of the universe. But why is it so awful? I'm not saying I think it's a curse, I'm just realizing I can see how easy it would be to believe that. Is it wretched to make us appreciate the life that comes forth from the process? Or have we, as some faiths suggest, actually made periods this painful and awful simply by being trained to believe that they will be; that the "curse" mentality has actually created a whole race of women who truly suffer and have been trained not to find any joy or appreciation for the fact that we (and, consequently, not men) are born with the ability to create life? I daresay that creating life is awfully God-like. 

I suppose men didn't want us figuring that out and getting too uppity.

Any ideas on this front would be appreciated and pondered. 

I'm starting to really loosen up I think with all the kids every week. Some things I still bump heads with my coworkers about, but for the most part I've managed to let go of the maniacal need to have every moment planned out. My main partner in crime is getting her MD in free-choice education - basically allowing kids to figure things out for themselves while you stand back and only really jump in when they want you to. No sitting down at a desk for 8 hours and expecting a tiny developing brain to really benefit from the experience. I myself have always thrived on order, the day-to-day routines even if they ebb and flow. College was a blast for me; I even enjoyed writing my thesis (64 pages). People who are free to the wind and seem to have no sense of responsibility have always made me a little uncomfortable, because I've wanted to experience that. I suppose in a small way I've been working on it through camp - not stressing out if I don't have a thousand things planned, just knowing that wherever we go, the kids can find something fantastically interesting *on their own*. That's really magical, and I can see why my coworker thrives on it. Plus, the whole MO of our camp is making the attempt to give kids what their parents and grandparents had generations ago: wandering around in backyard woods and ponds, getting dirty, getting scrapes, getting hungry, and connecting with nature - which, really, they are still so very close to, having left the womb so recently. 

There is a forward that has been passed around and it goes something like this: a little boy's mother had just had a baby, and she has placed her in her crib and left the young boy to visit with her. Once the mother has left them alone, he checks to make sure he truly has privacy, then leans over the crib and whispers to his freshly born sister. He says, "Can you tell me about God? I'm beginning to forget."