Qualms

So, Joe and I have begun an affair of sorts. Is it an affair if you aren't going all the way? It seems that the diabetes and smoking are taking their toll -- it's difficult for him to properly perform. Birth control is hardly necessary.

That doesn't bother me as much as the fact that I am the instigator of all our times together. If I don't ask to see him, I won't see him and the affair will fall flat on its face. I think about him but does he think about me? I can't tell.

He's dying, you know

He developed Type 1 diabetes six years ago. He's aging fast, he says. That's okay with me. I said back then that if I couldn't have all of him I'd take a part, and if I couldn't have him healthy I'd take him sick. I still mean it. But now that I have him, I realize how heartbreaking it is to take someone who is sick, someone who is dying before your eyes. I can do it; I want to do it, but I also want to know him while he's still well. I want to have memories of sailing and motorcyle riding and hiking and watching him fix things.

I'm in love with a wonderful guy

"I am in a conventional dither,
with a conventional star in my eye
if you'll excuse an expression I use
I'm in love with a wonderful guy!"

Well, we did it last night, though it took some doing. Today I'm wandering around in a golden haze, as I usually do after spending time with him. Today's worse than usual, though. I had thought that if I finally got my arms around him I'd be able to get some sleep. I wouldn't lay awake at night wanting him. So instead I lay awake thinking about every lovely moment, every word, every look. I don't think I slept last night at all. I don't want to forget any of it. And today I'm saying, "Thank you, God. Thank you, God. Thank you, God. "

I told him I couldn't live without him

But I bet he's gonna make me.

Motorcycle Ride

Went on that ride and it was heaven. I got to have my arms around him in a non-threatening situation which is exactly what I wanted. The most special moment – he put his hand on mine while it rested on his middle. I was really happy as we zoomed around the hills. Back at the shop, we talked. I told him about my feelings without using the word 'love'. We touched more intimately. I admit we probably went too far at that point. We'll have to back off there, but I hope I can still go on motorcycle rides with him.

I like you, you like me, you need touch, I want to give it. You have to stop thinking in terms of right and wrong and instead think in terms of love and respect. What will be the most loving and respectful solution for the three of us? What can we work out that we are both comfortable with?

Do I tell him I love him?

I've had the best time with him this week – had him over for dinner last weekend, talked on the phone a bit Tuesday (during which he invited me for a ride on his motorbike), dropped in to his place with Don for TV and games Wednesday night, had him over again this weekend for dinner and a movie, and on Sunday he brought his little girl over to play at our house. She and I had some private time which I really enjoyed. This weekend was really nice.

Saturday, we all three (Don, Joe and I) sat in our front room watching World's Fastest Indian, which Joe picked out 'cause he thought I'd like it. I looked at him thinking, I am so hot for you. Afterwards, we went outside to party a little. That's a euphemism for smoke some pot. This was only the fourth time I've ever had it. Neither guy had his pipe so Don very cleverly made one out of a pop can. Joe helped me as I have so little experience. He held the can for me, lit it, and clued me in as to inhaling.

You know what's really weird -- having Joe makes things better with me and Don. Partly because I'm happy; partly because I learn from Joe how to joke and tease, and I bring that into my relationship with Don. I'm hoping for that ride on the motorcycle this week. Do I tell him I love him?

Baby Present

I went shopping at lunch today for a present for Sarah's new baby. He's just a week old. I wasn't sure what to get the little guy. Clothes, toys, baby music, board books -- there are so many choices! And should I get him something he can use now or something he'll grow into? After all, there's lots of cool stuff out there that he can use later. So I got him a pack of cigarettes.

I'm kidding. I got him a bead and wire toy. And boy, is he ever cute. He's probably the most handsome baby I've ever seen.

Dream - House on Fire

I dreamed our house caught on fire. It was over by the dining room window where I have the candles. I first thought that the candles had started the fire, but soon saw that the fire had started inside the wall, not outside. I bashed a hole in the wall with hand-size hammers, Don filled the sink with water, and we used cups and bowls to splash water onto the fire. I got the sledge hammer and smashed a bigger hole, and we used the hose to totally drench it. We put the fire out before the fire department showed up. The fire had started down in the basement. That's where Michaela's room is. I could see the spot where it started. I continued to smash up the house with the sledge hammer, then I woke up.

Joe

I find myself in the unusual state of wanting to be worthy of him. I don't feel nearly pretty enough, or interesting enough, or bold enough, or anything enough.

Besides his bright eyes and 100-watt smile, I really like that we can communicate w/o words. We can use words and gestures sometimes, and that's enough. We understand.

Weird

The weirdest thing just happened -- my 16-year-old called just to talk! And not to ask me for money or a ride or to buy her something! She's upset about her ex-boyfriend and apparently needed to let off some steam about it. I'm totally flattered.

Fallen Hero/Fallen Soldier

On Monday, June 26, 2006, Staff Sgt. Raymond J. Plouhar, 30, died of injuries he suffered while conducting combat operations in Iraq’s volatile Anbar province. Thank you, SS Plouhar, for your sacrifice for the ideals of our country. May you rest in peace.

I'm So Ugly

I hate myself because I'm so ugly. My features aren't so bad but my skin quality is just awful. Every now and then I start to think I'm pretty, but then I see a photo of myself and I realize, 'No.' My love for my husband includes a certain amount of gratitude that he thinks I'm attractive; that he even loves me at all. How silly of me to even think someone else might want me! How silly of me to be all mopey about Joe. Like I'd ever stand a chance with him.

Here's What I Should Have Said

When I saw the candy and the coke:

Could I talk to you a minute? (they go outside)

"The complications of diabetes are really severe. I don't want you to go through all that. You're actually pretty important to me, and you have been for several years now. It's one of life's little ironies, I suppose, that you live on my street and my husband gets to be your friend, and all I get is look up at your window when I drive by. The universe mocks me. "

"Be that as it may, I still need to know that you are okay in there. I want you to be doing well. I want you to be around for a while. I don't want you to be killing yourself with this crap that you are eating. "

I didn't spill my guts like that, though I did take away his candy and his coke, and I said, "Candy bars? Coke? What are you thinking?"

My Lai Massacre

On March 16, 1968, a bunch of American soldiers wiped out hundred of villagers of Son My village. Old men, old women, young wives and children -- all killed. There was a huge outcry, of course, when it all came to light.

Do you ever think what would make a bunch of normal young guys snap like that? Most of our guys aren't crazy psychos.

Here's why -- because in Vietnam you couldn't tell who the enemy was. They looked just like civilians. They dressed just like civilians. After a day of shooting at American soldiers, they'd go home to their villages and pretend to be innocent bystanders. Those old men and old women, maybe they weren't carrying guns, but they knew where their rifle-carrying sons were, and as soon as our soldiers' backs were turned, they knew their boys would come out and kill them.

The same thing is going on in Iraq just now. Sometimes our guys snap and kill innocent civilians. But are they really that innocent? They know where the roadside bombs are planted. They know where the insurgents are. By not saying anything, they become complicent in the things that happen.

What if they tortured us like we torture them?

So, they found the bodies of our two soldiers, Pfc. Thomas Tucker and Pfc Kristian Menchaca. They had been tortured to death, mutilated so badly that it was impossible to visually ID them (probably while alive), and beheaded. I figured it would end this way. Probably the whole world did. But where's the global protest? Where's the outrage?

The things that our soldiers did to detainees at Abu Ghraib don't even come close to what the terrorists did to our guys. Yet THAT was all over the news for months. Thomas and Kristian experienced real torture. Real torture is the death of a thousand cuts. It's having your eyes gouged out, your tongue cut out, the bones of your fingers and hands broken one by one.

Wouldn't it be great if we'd found Thomas and Kristian alive, and they told us 'horror stories' of being made to crawl around naked on all fours, and being forced to stand on a box with a hood over their heads, and not having been allowed to attend church service or have spiritual reading material? Oh, the terrible atrocity of the insurgency, we'd say.

Those bastards. I want those guys taken down. I want us to pour our whole hearts into defeating them. Let the hammer strike, and let it strike hard.

A teenage snake

Yesterday Kendall rescued a snake from the little kitty. I hate the little kitty. She kills the wildlife in our garden. I'd rather have a snake than her. It's a small snake, but not as small as the baby one Little Kitty killed last year. It's like a teenage snake. I didn't let it go right away because it would just become a cat toy again. I built a lovely terrarium for it in the back yard from that large glass case out there. Lotsa dirt and plants. I bought live crickets for it, too. Today I went to Petco and bought a set of plastic nail caps. If I can get them glued on Little Kitty tonight, I'll let the snake go free.

It's Over Now

What do you do when what you love has gone? You had something once, something beautiful and wonderful, but it's gone now and will never return.

It must have been love, but its over now
It must have been good, but I lost it somehow
It must have been love but its over now
from the moment we touched till the time had run out

Like gray-haired Charles remembering Roxaboxen. Like me and Joe on the sailboat. Like my childhood, and my children's chidhood.

It must have been love, but it's over now
It was all that I wanted, now I'm living without
It must have been love, but it's over now
It's where the water flows, it's where the wind blows

Rhiannon has gone to Minnesota to be a camp counselor. In October she'll go to bootcamp, and sometime after that, to active duty. What if she never comes back? How can I live without her?

Here's some good news from Iraq

Reported by Scientific American:

"In the 1990s the Garden of Eden was destroyed. The fertile wetlands between the Tigris and Euphrates rivers were diked and drained, turning most of 15,000 square kilometers of marsh to desert. By the year 2000, less than 10 percent of that swampland--nearly twice as big as Florida's Everglades--remained. But reflooding of some areas since 2003 has produced what some scientists are calling the "miracle of the Mesopotamian marshes"--a return of plants, aquatic life and even rare birds to their ancestral home."

You can't tell from reading the piece who diked and drained the fertile wetlands, or what might have happened in 2003 that made their restoration possible. Weird. You'd think that would be important in understanding the whys and wherefores of land management and restoration in the area. Or is even Scientific American driven by political ideology, such that they can't even bring themselves to say the words?

Media is Naive and Gullible

Here's letter the OpinionJournal received from a U.S. military officer stationed in Iraq. He asked that his name be withheld.

*** QUOTE ***

I am currently stationed here in Iraq and have been here for the past 11 months; I am an adviser to the Iraqis and meet them on a daily basis. I have been in many locations in the country and am involved on a daily basis together with the Iraqis fighting the insurgency.

The media manipulation by the insurgents is brilliant and extremely effective. The press has become a puppet for the insurgents; the insurgents know exactly what they are doing with these "massacres" (quoted here because the investigation has not been completed, nor have any charges been filed) and the political nightmare they will cause the current administration. Bodies are produced for film, and there is zero fact-checking by the media--the media eat up this "news" like there is no tomorrow. A couple of hundred bucks paid by the insurgents to a few guys/ladies in the town where this "massacre" occurred to make up some bad news and pine for the BBC's or CBS's or whoever's cameras is a nice month's salary for many and money well spent by the insurgency.

All the Arabs (Sunni and Shia), Kurds and Chaldeans I have come to know well here will tell you that Arabs are emotional people who tend to exaggerate. A lot. Experience has shown that "50 insurgents hiding out in XX location" is five, at most 10. "Three hundred dead" at the morgue is at most 40. "A huge cache with WMD" is 45-50 weapons. It is a cultural norm and is accepted over here as a norm. It is reported in the West as fact. With no fact-checking.

When we convoy, all in the town/village know when and where there is a bomb/IED/VBIED that is targeting coalition forces. This is not so true in Baghdad, but in the outlying towns all know. What is the culpability for those people in the village/town? Would the Marines be guilty in the U.S. under the same circumstances?

I do not know whether or not the Marines are guilty. A Marine's job is to "close with and destroy the enemy by fire and maneuver," and I can guarantee its effectiveness. But the insurgents have the ear of the press. Hopefully the politics will be put aside for the investigation and the facts will be told, whatever they may be.

*** END QUOTE ***

Piriformis Syndrome - Oh the pain!

My piriformis syndrome / hip bursitis is getting better. Every week the distance I'm able to walk increases. Last weekend I worked in the yard for a couple hours! I feel so encouraged. Maybe sometime in the future I will actually be pain free.

Here's the story on this: Nine months ago I was doing calisthenics in front of the TV when something in my hip went 'pop'. Ever since then I've hurt. As the months went by the pain slowly increased and I became less and less able to get around. Finally my family insisted I see a doctor. The orthopedic surgeon I went to diagnosed piriformis syndrome and said physical therapy should give me 60 to 70% relief of symptoms so off I went. Twelve P/T sessions and over a thousand dollars later there was no improvement. The pain was as bad as ever. People told me that acupuncture often improved pain symptoms -- gets the body's chi in harmony and all that, so I gave that a try. I did four sessions and each one freaked me out. I can't stand the thought of all those needles stuck in me. It didn't hurt but it was really hard to just lie there like a sick porcupine unable to move. I maybe could have 'stuck it out' (hee hee) if it helped, but it didn't, so back to the orthopedic surgeon I went for a cortisone injection. No perceivable result from that either. I tried a Rolfing session. That felt wonderful while it was going on, but afterwards the pain was there just as bad as before. NSAIDs (like ibuprofen and acetominophen) worked just fine to control the pain and let me get some sleep, but I don't want to take those things long term. They are killers in the long term.

While doing research on this problem on the internet, I bumped into a reference to a book, 3 Minutes to a Pain Free Life. The commentator had had good results from the exercises prescribed within. I bought a used copy for five bucks on Amazon. Lo and behold, the exercises are working for me, too. Two exercises specifically are reliving my pain: 1) squatting with toes turned out and 2) the yoga position called The Cobra. I do these several times a day. The author suggests holding them for 30 seconds each, but I hold them for a minute or two. I can feel the muscles and tendons relaxing, stretching, and letting go.

Today's Adventures

Aren't much to write about. I popped in to Whole Foods at lunchtime for a few essentials, came away with a chocolate parfait -- creamy chocolate mouse layered with chocolate cake and berries. Not essential, and not at all conducive to maintaining my girlish figure, but oh so yummy.

I saw a disturbing video on Google Video today. It was of a freshly born baby girl lying naked in her hospital bassinette. She lay there uncovered, shivering, and all alone, while someone filmed her and voices echoed about her. She cried occasionally, and moved convulsively the way babies do, but no one picked her up or comforted her in any way. And all the while someone filmed her. I yelled at the screen, "She needs to be swaddled, you idiots! She needs to be held!" I felt sorry for the poor little thing. The description reads, "The firstborn child of Chris and Isabelle Burkholder demonstrates her newborn skillz as she clutches her blanket, cries out, gets quiet, and actually clasps her tiny hands as if to pray." She's probably praying to be delivered from such a cold, heartless and ignorant family!

Baby Driver

My daughter Michaela has finally got her permit. She drives to school almost every day, with me in the passenger seat yelling, "Oh my God! OH MY GOD!", clutching the hand rest, saying "Take turns at ten miles an hour -- TEN MILES AN HOUR FOR HEAVEN'S SAKE!!!!" and stomping stomping stomping the imaginary brake pedal. It's quite a good way to wake up in the morning -- gets the old adrenaline rushing.

The fewer, the prouder, the female Marines

Rhiannon did it. She signed with the Marines yesterday.

She's got a deferred deployment, as she was already committed to her summer job as a camp counselor at Camp Courage, a camp for disabled and terminally ill kids. She worked there last year, too.

So, her schedule from here on is:

1) next couple weeks: finish semester (mostly A's, I'm happy to report)
2) end of May: visit friends in Texas
3) summer: Camp Courage, Minnesota
4) September: New York with Mom for a send-off vacation
5) October: Marine Corp Recruit Depot, Parris Island, South Carolina!!!

Rice Krispie Treat

I had to dig something out of my very full trash can, so I borrowed my co-worker's so I'd have someplace to put my trash as I dug. He didn't have much in there, just a few napkins and a nice thick Rice Krispie treat, wrapped in Saran Wrap. I took it out and ate it.

No Miscarriage After All

Good news: Baby and mother fine so far. Placenta is blocking uterus, which in the long term is not good (can't go through labor with it like that) but there's a good chance the thing will migrate in the course of the pregnancy so all will be well. Mother reports that baby is now the size of a jumbo shrimp.

Possible Miscarriage

My sister just called, to inform me that our sister Ramona, who is 12 weeks pregnant, is experiencing bleeding. Ramona will go for an ultra sound today to see what's going on. They really want this baby.

Our smelly visitor

A good friend of my daughter's has been staying with us the past few days. She's a great person, but she smells. She smells like she's got a yeast infection. I'm glad I'm not the one spending lots of time with her.

I made a vow

I will not try to see Joe.
I will not go out of my way to see Joe.
I will not think about seeing Joe.

Today -- again -- he didn't come over to say hello. He walked right past. I don't know what it is going to take, girl, to convince you.

He forgets me.
He doesn't want to see me.
He doesn't want to talk to me.

Today, March 4, is my new anniversary.

Success

At age 04 success is ... not peeing in your pants.
At age 12 success is ... having friends.
At age 16 success is ... having a drivers license.
At age 35 success is ... having money.
At age 50 success is ... having money.
At age 70 success is ... having a drivers license.
At age 75 success is ... having friends.
At age 80 success is ... not peeing in your pants.

Who are you if you can't remember?

Michaela's 17-year-old boyfriend got a concussion while snowboarding on Monday. Monday night Russell was still having trouble with short-term memory. Michaela talked to him on the phone late, keeping him up 'cause he wasn't supposed to go to sleep yet. He couldn't remember past a minute. What if he never gets better? Would it still be Russell? I guess it would be, but it would be a Russell caught in a perpetual now, the eternal shining moment, nothing behind and maybe nothing ahead either. Never getting old, always 17. All there is is now. It's like achieving immortality. Who are we if we have no future to plan for, no past to warm us on bleak days? We could hardly even carry on a conversation. We'd be like the animals. Maybe it's our memories and our planning, our dreams and our regrets, that make us human.

Paleo Diet

This week I began the Paleo Diet. Luckily I've already been eating pretty healthfully so this new way isn't too much of a shock. I do love my muesli and milk and peanut butter, though, and will have to give that up. Basically, the diet calls for the elimination of grains, including whole grains, no legumes and no dairy either. This cuts out most Mexican, my favorite food genre. I'll eat lean meats and tons of fruits and veggies. When I'm hungry, I'll eat more veggies. I'll let you know how it goes.

My weight this morning was 120 lbs. It's been consistently low, I'm happy to say, hovering at 120 - 121 for the past week. Oddly though, my backside isn't slimming. Still got the same largish butt. Largish for my frame, anyway. Like most of us, I want a smaller behind. Because my weight is pretty low, I've decided not to cut calories any more and instead focus on my workouts. In January I started every-other-day weight lifting, and in mid-Feb added aerobics on the off days. My goal is stronger bones and toned muscles. Hopefully the effects will show within the next month.

My stuff

My photography
My tarot
My religious studies
My digital art
My drawing
My house
My cooking
My bodybuilding
My family
My friends
My SCA

Who would Jesus bomb?

I saw this question question on a bumper sticker today. A simple question, a simple answer, from simple-minded people. Jesus of course would bomb no one, so let's make the question a little tougher: Who would Jesus bomb if he knew someone is going to poison a schoolhouse full of kids? Anyone? No one? If no one, why not?

How many schoolhouses full of kids need to be on the hit list before Jesus will order out the bombers? There must be some number, some quantity of people whose deaths are just too many. Maybe it's not schoolhouses, maybe it's ports, or towers full of people, or whole cities. Would Jesus order the use of fatal force then? Surely there is a time when Jesus would use the power at his disposal in order to protect the people that are in his charge.

Or maybe not. He's God, after all, and we've seen God's modus operandi -- God just sits back and lets it happen. Personally I'd rather have a leader who was more pro-active.

FEMA wasted millions in Katrina aid

And still, everyone clamors to put them in charge of disasters. Ridiculous. What a fucking big screw up, and the governments of New Orleans and Louisiana are even worse.

Miserable

So, saw Joe at the Rec Center again, him swimming with his little girl, me working out. We waved at each other through the glass. He pointed me out to his daughter, and she waved too. In this way we pretend we are friends. I watched them swimming, smiling, having fun and was jealous jealous jealous. Last time I saw him I spoke to him too, and I spent the day being all warm and glowy with the after-effects. This time I didn't speak to him. These after-effects are sad and blue.

Life is only worth living when you love with all your heart

And from now on, I'll do my best to do that. My best moments in the past have been the one's when I loved immensely -- the people, the places, the things that I was doing. In the future, I will let that feeling flow and grow. I love this moment. I love these people. I love everything that I have.

Looking Forward to the Future

It's amazing how much cool stuff there is to look forward to. Lots of it falls under the category of Simple Pleasures, but occasionally something more exciting is thrown into the mix.

For me, there's Veronica Mars to watch tonight with the kids. The Olympics start this weekend. Tomorrow night is archery practice. I'm making valentines with my nieces Saturday afternoon, and chatting with the Joseph Campbell Mythology Group on Saturday night. I'll work on my photography this weekend, and maybe go ice skating too. Next week is the annual University Communications Chili Cookoff. (My chili won a prize last year!) Maybe I'll go to Borders with Rhiannon again on Friday. Plus there's cuddling time with my husband. This summer I'll go camping with the SCA, maybe work in a trip to Albuquerque and maybe a trip to somewhere else as well. Who knows, maybe I'll take sailing again. If Joe teaches, I will!

We Pawns

I bumped into the name of an old college friend of mine today. I was getting the School of Journalism newsletter onto the web, and there it was. Sheila. But is it really her? The woman's picture is only a little like the girl I remember. There was an email address. I wanted to contact her, to say, is it you? Are you the Sheila that went to Steamboat Springs with Daisy Trench? Do you remember the pics we took of each other by the auditorium?

I felt silly doing that, so I did something even sillier. I sent her a poem that she wrote long ago, and I asked: Sheila, is this your poem? If she recognizes it, that will prove it's her without me having to ask all these personal questions.

The poem is called 'We Pawns." She wrote it when someone broke her heart. She would never tell me who it was.

We Pawns
So what gives you the right?
Am I such a burden now?
To you, I guess I was just a bug on a pin.
A specimen for all your friends to examine
And exclaim "ooh" and "ah"
While looking at you enviously.

What gives you the right
To toy with my feelings, you fool?
Do you know, I really loved you?
I doubt you care -- not even
In the deepest corner of your heart.

Heart? Heart? Do you have a heart?
Or is it just a piece of data processing?
A little microfiche stamped "heart."
A miniaturized computer with tabs
That say "motives" and "drives."

You will never know how happy I was with you.
Did you ever guess that one night
I actually pinched my knee
Because I couldn't believe that it was you
Sitting across the table from me!

And that's not like me, either;
Usually, emotions are broken down
Into little components with "reason" and "judgment"
Imprinted on them.

But for this once, I decided
To dispense with the analysis of emotions.
Just experience them, maybe it will be better.
After all, emotions are not concrete.

For this, I was dealt a blow.
No return, only your greed.
Blind at the time, I fulfilled your need.
I guess I was just a pawn.

Well, we pawns have feelings too.
And believe me, it won't happen again.
Thanks for the scar on my heart
Which will prevent me from ever
Experiencing love as with you.

You took what you wanted and left me in the street to die;
And I did die, a thousand times,
As a friend joked that maybe
You'd given my bracelet to another girl.
That hurt! So bad, like a knife
Reopening a wound. My bracelet;
Why couldn't you have given it back, only two blocks away?
It won't fit you. It's made for a tiny wrist -- like mine.

On Death

I went to my dad's last night to help pay bills, as I've done every week without fail (practically) since Mom died five years ago. Dad's 70 now. His hair's been white for a while but suddenly last night, he looked old. Suddenly last night he looked like he might becoming frail. It was easy for me to imagine being at his funeral the way we'd been at Mom's.

He told me a story of a hawk that he saw catch a sparrow. The hawk perched on his back fence and ripped the sparrow to shreds. He said it was horrible to watch. I spent the evening thinking about how death stalks each one of us. It lurks right behind. We might die violently or gently, but we are gonna die. Remember that, and let it make each moment sweeter.

Welfare Sucks

Welfare sucks. It creates a bunch of worthless idiots. Case in point: the black welfare mom who chewed out New York City mayor John Lindsey: "I've got six kids and each one of them has a different daddy. It's my job to have kids, and your job, Mr. Mayor, to take care of them." What baloney! What arrogance! These people need their welfare checks stopped. I've worked hard to take care of my kids. Why do I have to pay for this kind of crap from her?

To Do Before I Die

Raise good kids -- and love the heck out of them
Play a team sport
Learn to play a musical instrument with some degree of skill
Learn a foreign language
Explore a foreign country
Learn to sail a sailboat
Ride horseback on the beach
Visit a real castle
Get published: book, article, or letter to the editor
Go cross country by bus
Go on a pilgrimage or vision quest
Dance! Learn a style and go several times, enough so you get good at it.
Learn NATO phonetic alphabet
Go caving
Take a road trip around the state, visiting all its interesting and unusual places
Swim in the ocean
Eat a fresh durien
Eat mangos fresh from the tree
Read a book that's considered influential
Go target shooting with guns or bows and arrows
Join a Living History group
Go skinnydipping
Roleplay
Teach a class
Get good at reading tarot cards
Memorize a poem (or several!)
Love someone even though it makes no sense
Ice skate on a river
Hold a butterfly
Hold a baby chick
Be present at a death
Plan a funeral
Join a community, any community, and work to make it work
Get banned from somewhere for improper behavior
Be the boss
Be in a play
Teach someone illiterate to read
Be able to entertain a group with a story
Visit a concentration camp
Attend a really huge rock concert
Be responsible for kids: babysitter, camp counselor, etc.
Visit the Panama Canal
Visit a rainforest (there's one in Oregon)
Go on a backpacking trip, 3-day minimum
Go camping
Go whitewater rafting
Ski or snowboard
Climb a mountain
Go to a Rainbow Gathering
Be there for a total eclipse of the sun
Take a ride down a subterranean river
Ride a mechanical bull
Be a nude model for an artist or drawing class
Visit New York City's library and Central Park
Go see Lady Diana Spencer's grave
Make a friend and sustain the friendship over many many years
Get a master's degree
Become really and truly myself
To Be Continued . . .

Melissa Plaut, New York Hack

I'm fascinated by bloggers who make the big time. Lots of us are. Bloggers are reality shows over the internet. We like to see how and what other people are doing.

So here's another one: New York Hack. I read about her in Yahoo News this morning. She's a cab driver in New York. Unlike myself, she posts her real name and pictures of herself on the site. It's kinda cool to see New York from a cab driver's perspective. She's down with the real people of the city. New York is such a fascinating place. So much hustle and bustle. Will Melissa Plaut get a book and T.V. show like Stephanie Klein did?

http://newyorkhack.blogspot.com/

Stephanie Klein: Another Blogger Makes Good

Stephanie Klein, Greek Tragedy. A voyeuristic peak into a chatty girl's life. She's become immensely popular, has a huge following. She's landed a book deal (Straight Up and Dirty) and I hear they are going to make a sitcom based on her story. Why she's so popular: her blog is a real life Sex and the City. She's young, she's pretty, she's chatty, she talks about everything (nothing is too sacred or personal to share), she blogs in the nude, she posts lots of pictures. She lets herself be known.

I don't do that. You don't know who I really am. It has to be that way. I'm a wife and mother of teens -- I can't be known! I post stuff here that's secret to myself. I don't mind letting you, gentle reader, know all. I've told you that I love someone else. But I can't have my husband or my kids finding out, now can I?

http://stephanieklein.blogs.com/

What a great weekend!

Friday Jan 27: Right after dinner, Rhiannon and I took off for Borders Bookstore. We love hanging there. We snag two comfy armchairs right next to each other, order up two hot drinks (usually chai) (a comment on their chai recipe: too much pepper), scour the store for interesting books then spend the rest of the evening reading. It's great. Right before we left, guess who called up? Joe. He wanted to come over and see Don, allegedly to show him the new interior he's put in his van, but I bet it was really 'cause he was out of pot and wanted to score some from my husband. I'm glad I wasn't there.

Saturday Jan 28: My birthday! To celebrate, I went shopping at Costco with the free pass they sent me in the mail. The included brochure neglected to mention that Costco only accepts cash, debit cards or American Express. I drove all the way out there, fond out my Visa card wasn't good enough, had to drive all the way back to my bank, then all the way back to Costco. I was pretty pissed but went to all that trouble because I had my heart set on shopping at Costco for my birthday. I bought a ton of stuff but don't think I'll get my own Costco card. I'll sponge off my Dad if I need to shop there again. After that, I took a friend and her kids to see Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, showing at a Cinema Savers near their house. The movie was much better the second time. I was able to see it as itself this time instead of constantly comparing it to the book like I did last time. I was even able to be less upset about Dumbledore. Emma Watson and Daniel Ratcliff are so cute! I love them both. Back at home, there was a present from Kendall waiting on my bed -- a little Faberge egg with a chocolate truffle inside. Don and Rhiannon made lemon poppyseed muffins, stuck them full of candles and sang me Happy Birthday. Don gave me a beautiful opal and white gold ring. I should stop being a bitch to him about what he cannot do (can't support the family, can't be a good dad) and just be nice about what he can. When the presents were opened, we settled down to watch "Sideways." I was amazed by the wine discussion. It illustrated to me once again the value of going deep within a subject, letting it move you and learning all about it. This mastery of subject is one of the things that makes life sparkle. I frequently spend Saturday evenings chatting with my buds at the Joseph Campbell Mythology Group. Couldn't today, though -- our router's down so I can't connect. A sad note: the Challenger disaster happened 20 years ago today.

Sunday Jan 29: Off to the gym for a session with the weights. I'm getting stronger, no doubt about it, but I'm not getting any slimmer. The waist and hips are just the same as when I started this program six weeks ago -- possibly because I'm having difficulty with the controlled caloric intake. I keep cheating. Afterwards I stopped at the cemetery to do some more comparison shots with different lenses. Then we were off to Dad's house for a family party. Ray, Maria and Tessa came with all their kids. The four of us had a rousing discussion about religion and morality. I say morality doesn't come from religion. They, being religious, have swallowed their church's teachings that sans God there is no morality. Fools. Don't they know that all, even sacred writings, even God, comes from within ourselves?

Goals for the New Year

Today's my birthday! As the clock of time ticks onward toward my death (a motivating thought) I ponder, what do I want to accomplish this coming year?

1) Master the art of conversation
2) Take good pictures
3) Become a good tarot reader
4) Increase web design skills
5) Pass Level 3 in ice skating
6) Get the ol' body in shape
7) Understand Ultimate Reality
8) Live by all of Charity's Laws

Rhiannon and the Army

Rhiannon, 20, has been toying with joining the military for more than a year now. She finds the thought of boot camp intriguing. Could she survive it? Dang that Rhiannon -- tell her about a challenge and of course she wants to try for herself. Plus there was that incident in AmeriCorps, when she so impressed her supervisors that one of them, an Army major, told her he'd write her a recommendation to West Point if she wanted to go there. She pondered that possibility for a while. It'd be great to get college free.

Now she's decided she wants to follow her love of languages and become a linguist. She's found that the Army runs a total language immersion college and she wants to go. The Army will pay for it all. She talked to a recruiter about it yesterday. (She expected them to be good at their jobs, she said, and boy where they ever. They made her feel very cared for. Of course, she's smart and funny with an hour-glass figure -- they probably couldn't help themselves.)

If she passes the linguist test, the odds are good that she'll sign on.

Dang.

I've been dreading this for years -- the day when she leaves for good. Being a camp counselor, joining AmeriCorps, running off with the Rainbow Family -- those were all temporary separations. Joining the Army is permanent. She'll be an adult when she gets out and she'll live somewhere else. I almost sank into depression but luckily my affirmations and the things I've learned in Religious Science came to my rescue. It's not bad that life changes. Even though Rhiannon's gone, things will continue to be bright. And interesting. And even exciting. Heck, it could be a good thing for all of us.

Michael Moore and his PhotoShopping ways

On MM's web site today, (www.michaelmoore.com) there are pics of Chris Matthews and Osama bin Laden, apparently the best of friends.

The pictures are both funny as heck and tremendously ironic.

They are a fantastic illustration of the way Michael Moore makes his movies. With these Matthews/bin Laden pictures, Moore took real photos, cut them up, pasted them together and ended up with a lie -- something fake made of something that originally was real.

In the same way, when he makes his movies he takes real video footage and interviews, cuts them up, pastes them together, and ends up with something that looks real but actually never happened -- a lie PhotoShopped from bits of truth.

Valentines

On Sunday, I packed up all my valentine fixings and went to my sister's to watch the game and make valentines with the kids. Tessa's troops (She's got ten. Really.) are always so excited when I show up. They run around like crazy yelling, "Aunt Daisy's here! Aunt Daisy's here!" Then, all talking at once, they tell me their news du jour. It's great for the self-esteem.

Well, I haven't made valentines since my daughter Michaela was in elementary school. We set up in the dining room and I set to, cranking out one work of art after another. I listened to the game with one ear (our team lost) but mostly I focused on valentines. I was a valentine-making dynamo. Doilies and hearts and glue and glitter everywhere. I left them all there, drying in rows on the piano. They were for the kids, not me. I can't wait to do it again.

Lace and Flowers

Today a co-worker told me she saw a blouse at an upscale department store that totally reminded her of me; said it would be perfect for me. It was all antique lace and flowers, with flowy sleeves and an old-fashioned bodice. Sounds lovely, yes? But this is exactly why I never wear that style -- because people think I'm lace and flowers even though I wear sports jackets over jeans and a t-shirt. I like to be feminine and graceful. As a matter of fact I make it a point to be. People are always so surprised when they find out I can shoot a rifle and ride a horse, but don't know anything about growing roses. They think I'm so delicate and girly. If I wore lace and flowers, I'd be a ridiculous caricature of myself.

The Power of Affirmations

I've been doing affirmations for a month or so now. The ones that have really worked for me so far are:

"I am beautiful." It's amazing how quickly this one has worked! Yea, I still have my same face, but I FEEL beautiful now. And people look at me like I am.

"I have many friends of all ages." This one has helped me to being open to all ages of people. Yes, I can be friends with people who aren't my age.

"There is abundant love for me in the universe." I just started this one. Two days ago I went to a cooking class full of people I don't know. I said this to myself whenever I felt the fear arise, and I was able to be open and friendly, instead of my usual scairdy-cat shyness. The others responded to me in a positive way. It was wonderful!

Don't Look Back

Make a decision then go forward. Do the best you can and don't look back. You can't live your life with regrets.

I say this to encourage myself to live this way. Sometimes it seems that all I've ever done is live my life with regrets. It's not working for me. I have to accept that I didn't say what I didn't say. I didn't do what I didn't do. Why look back now and wish I'd done different? It's all water under the bridge, as they say. I can only go forward from where I am.

Anniversary

I was cleaning out my closet and came upon Mom's old purse, the one she took to the hospital the day before she died. I keep thinking I'll give the purse to the Salvation Army but I never do. I keep it to remember what it was like to be at the hospital. I stayed awake all night with her in intensive care. My siblings had planned to, but when they fell asleep I didn't wake them up. My wakefulness was a gift I gave her. She died in the morning, and after an hour or so of grief and shock, we took her stuff and went home.

There is absolutely nothing like taking someone to the hospital and leaving next day with a bag of their stuff. I can't even describe it.

Mom died five years ago this month. Dad still takes it pretty hard.

If Only

Here's how I feel about Joe:

No matter if the sun don't shine
Or if the skies are blue
No matter what the end is
My life began with you.

From No Matter What by Boyzone

I'm Discouraged Today

I'm discouraged because I can't keep my body as beautiful as when I was younger -- I'm skinny all over except for my waist and hips. I'm discouraged because Joe loves me and I love him but we'll never be together. Because my kids are teens and I don't know how to parent them anymore. Because I can't really talk to my husband. Because I'm shy and scared of people and can't stop.

But you know what? Kendall gave me a floating orchid candle for my bath yesterday. She thought of me and bought me something. I'll think of that and be happy.

Why are poor people so fucking fat?

Who is paying for the huge quantities of food that they are consuming? It takes some doing to hit 250, but they are doing it. They can't stop shoveling food into their mouths.

Type 2 Diabetics are Idiots

The New York Times is running a series on the country's diabetes 'epidemic' as though it were a real disease. It's a sickness caused entirely by the individual's behavior, and these people are idiots. Here are some quotes from people afflicted with the condition:

Mr. De La Vega nodded. "We love eating trash," he said. "We grew up eating McDonald's, and I still find myself eating candy and chocolate cake." People got huffy about their doctors. "Mine tells me, 'Lose weight, exercise more,' " Ms. Matos said. "Let him live my life and see." Mr. Rivera said: "You know what I think? I think there's a cure. We're the poor, so they don't want to give it to us." "Listen, if I want to eat a piece of cake, I'm going to eat it," Elsie Matos said. "No doctor can tell me what to eat. I'm going to eat it, because I'm hungry. We got too much to worry about. We got to worry about tomorrow. We got to worry about the rent. We got to worry about our jobs. I'm not going to worry about a piece of cake."

Why not stop with the doughnuts and fried calories and eat salads, drink diet soda?

James De La Vega laughed. "We've got cultural differences," he said. "Here, for a guy to eat a salad, he's a wimp. He'll eat a big portion of rice and beans and chicken. The women can't be chumps, either. A woman can eat a salad but has to eat it on the low. She has to do it quiet. They make fun of you: What are you, a rabbit?" Mr. De La Vega said: "Nobody here goes out and gets an apple. They get cake. People here associate diet as unhealthy. If you're dieting, then you're sick. You look at the people on the streets, they're heavy. That's the way we grow up here."

Me again: These people are idiots. Why should I pay for their health care? I'll only agree to that if I can dictate their diet and lifestyle.

Dreams

I went to bed late last night, slept soundly, dreamed good dreams of visiting with my sister then woke suddenly before the alarm, filled with dread, as though there were something important I had not done, or some important decision I had made wrong.

More sleep, more dreams, these ones of driving with Joe in his van, then stopping to make out in a tangle of arms and legs and blankets. Joe had the face of my husband, though.

FanFic Parody

A friend wrote this mockery of fan fic, to make fun of the idiots she runs into.

Starbringer59: i am liek hawt n standin in teh gardnn. hello i sayz ur hawt leggy wanna cybre plzkthx.
Mississippienne: Then Legolas slaps her, once and very hard. Then he walks away.
Starbringer59: leggy slpas me n i m rely sade n start cryin leggy why u slaped me n he cums back n hugs me n crys im so sorrie plz forgv me n i do.
Starbringer59: than leggy n i get maried n gangulf n teh elf kinge (sorre i forgit hiz nam) cum n tehy mak us teh king n quenn off teh hol midle earht.
Starbringer59: leggy n i rul good ovre teh land n we hav mane kidz. i have triplts harry pottre hermone potter n giny poter, n tehy grow up n nede r help 2 fite teh dark lorde voldimort n we fite him until he diez.
Starbringer59: kan u rate my fanfic?! plzkthx but dont rate if ur gona say bad stuf cuz ill droun my kiten iff u do.

Oh the Pain

Woke up this morning with muscles aching from my workout yesterday. I'm in week three of the Six-Week Fat to Muscle Makeover. (See book of that name on Amazon.) Week three adds a couple more weight routines. It's the arm one that killing me, weakling that I am.

The program is working great so far. I've been able to increase the weights almost every time I go, and even though I've cheated on the prescribed diet, I've lost four pounds. I'm back in my regular jeans (hooray!) and by the time I'm done I'll be back in my skinny jeans.

I saw a lady at the gym yesterday whose body was a bad example, a terrible warning of what my body could become -- is becoming -- if I don't get in shape. She was slender all over and even had a lovely small waist, but her ass was massive. It was completely out of proportion to the rest of her. She probably has a desk job just like I do. She sits all day, like I do, and any extra calories go straight to her hips.

The Julie/Julia Project

Julie Powell. A blogger has hit the big time. Totally cool and good for her! Her story: shel felt stuck in a nothing job with a life going nowhere, so she started cooking. She set herself the task of working through Julia Child's "The Art of French Cooking" in one year. That means she's making two or more recipes a day. That's a lot of kitchen time. She blogged about it, talked abou what it was like to kill a lobster and search for unusual ingredients. A loyal readership gathered round who encouraged her, bought her groceries, didn't let her give up. The story ended happily with a new book ("Julie and Julia") and a new career for her (she's now a food writer for I-don't-know-who). I'm proud of her.

The Julie/Julia Project

Hope

I'm not sure if my hope will ever see the blog.
But just knowing that it is out there makes me happy.
Someone read it on it's journey, someone saw.

A Christmas Present to Me from the Universe

In the morning, I went up to the rec center to work out. There was Joe's car in the parking lot. He and his little girl were there swimming. When they were leaving, all wet and bundled up, they stopped in the workout room to say hi. We chatted about nothing important. It was very nice to see him. I feel like it was a Christmas present to me from the Universe. I spent the day very happy and excited about life, because he has that effect on me -- everything's better when I hear his voice. That evening when my husband and I made love, I pretended it was him. I probably won't see him again for months. But ya know, I've had some nice times with him. I'll just have to remember those and be thankful. I've been out to dinner with him. I've sailed with him. We've been driving. I've kissed him. I've had him in my arms. So I've had what I want.

Thoughts on Heaven and Hell

We all go to the same place. What makes it heaven or hell is what we have inside us. Some of us carry heaven inside us, so every place is heaven. Some of us carry hell inside, so every place is hell.

It's like that old Chinese story. In hell, all the people are seated around a long dining table piled with delicious food. Each of them has six-foot-long chopsticks. They are all starving because the chopsticks are too long and they can’t eat. In Heaven, it is exactly the same: long table, tons of food, six-foot-long chopsticks, but everyone is well-fed and happy, because they are feeding each other.

I've been to hell, as you may recall. I spent many years there, as a matter of fact. Anger and resentment made my life hell. Time passed, the feelings gradually lessened, and afer a while I'd finally had enough of them so I completely let them go. I never want to go back to that way of being.

Lesson: what we must learn is how to make our lives here and now a heaven on earth. The virtues which do are well known -- and have been well known since before the Bible was written -- the foremost being love and forgiveness. If the Christian system gets you there, then good. If not (and it doesn't for everyone. For some, it's ruined their lives) then you must leave it behind and find something that does teach you how to create heaven here on earth.

Thoughts on the Bible as a Spiritual Guidebook

The Bible works where it encourages its followers to love and good works.

The Bible fails where it encourages hate, intolerance and fear. And yes, it most definitely encourages hate, intolerance and fear.

Where it describes a theological system, it is neutral. One's theological system doesn't matter so much except as it encourages happiness here on earth. Christians spend so much time arguing amongst themselves about the particulars of their theological system when really it doesn't matter one whit.

The Bible works where it teaches how to find happiness here on earth, and fails where it teaches otherwise.

Movie Review: Chronicles of Narnia - Lion, Witch, Wardrobe

The writers and directors did a great job of bringing the book to life. They were able to bring the story to the screen almost exactly as Lewis wrote it. There are small changes, but they enhance rather than detract. The important bits, like the death and resurrection of Aslan, are all there.

The children all did a fantastic job. Lucy is bright and plucky, Susan beautiful and valiant, Edmund deceitful then remorseful, and both he and Peter brave and handsome. Especially Peter. I'm totally in love with him, as I bet are all the females from 12 on up who've seen the movie. He does a fantastic job playing the oldest son trying to live up to the responsibility that is thrust upon him.

The show starts with a very exciting scene that explains why the four Pevensie children were on their own in a big country house -- in WWII, London children were evacuated to rural safety during the German bombing of their town. The scene where bombers fly over the Pevensie house is tremendously exciting, and obviously Peter learned something of war methods during the incident for he uses the strategy in his own battle.

The faun Tumnus was perfect. I'm in love with him second after Peter. The White Witch was not as I pictured. I did not care for her costume or make-up. Eyes and lips too pale, and why the strange ugly dress and the blonde dreadlocks? I thought of her as having skin white as snow, lips red as blood and hair as black as ebony, in no small part because that's how Lewis described her. Her character portrayal was spot-on, however. No complaints there. She was cold, cruel, proud, manipulative and a fantastic knife fighter, too. Very impressive.

I thought the Christian allegory was downplayed a little, which could be a good thing or a bad thing depending on your point of view. They certainly didn't hit us over the head with the fact that Aslan was the True King. I thought some important lines were left out, but my daughter Rhiannon tells me they worked them in in other places. Did I miss the Beavers saying, "He's the King of the wood, the son of the great Emperor-Over-Sea" or did they just not say it? How about Father Christmas saying, "Long live the true King!" And Lucy asking, "Is he safe?" with the Beaver's reply, "Safe? Of course he isn't safe, but he's good." And especially, "He's not a tame lion."

Aslan's death scene was very moving and intense, though less intense that it could have been. Lewis didn't mention blood, but surely an allegory of Christ's death isn't complete without it. Aslan should have been lying in a puddle of blood and it should have been dripping down the sides of the Stone Table. But maybe that would have tipped the movie into a PG-13 rating, which perhaps the movie should have had anyway. I don't recommend this movie for young children. It has scary battle sequences and frightening moments.

I'm happy to report that the movie has more action than the book. We get a good look at some of the things that Lewis mentions only briefly -- like the wolves going after the Beavers and the big final battle scene itself. There is a great scene of the children crossing the thawing river while pursued by the Witch's wolves -- not technically in the book but it fits right in, and we get to see Peter be heroic, too. Sadly, Peter's very first battle, him against the wolf captain, wasn't well portrayed. It was pathetic, as a matter of fact. Peter doesn't do anything but hold his sword out until the wolf jumps on it.

I could do more nitpicking, but I won't. Bottom line -- excellent character portrayals, exciting action, slight changes to the pure storyline that add rather than detract, Christian allegory downplayed but not omitted -- all in all it's a great story nicely told. And did I mention that I'm in love with Peter?

Christmas Party

David's employer took everyone out for Christmas dinner. It was so nice to see everyone again. I haven't seen them in years -- since they left David's shop to start their own. We met at Jamie's, chatted over wine and cheese, then went to an expensive French restaurant. I had a marvelous time. They all hugged me when I got there, and we all hugged again when we left.

Joan and I talked about our kids, of course. We both have three, and we were pregnant at about the same time with all of them. We talked about what it's been like all these years. It makes me think how important long-term relationships are. They make you feel stable and connected. I hardly have any long-term relationships. Because I don't do relationships. I don't know how. I am afraid, and I just don't care.

Many times I'm very happy by myself. But sometimes I get lonely. That's when I wish I were better at making and keeping friends.

Christmas Party

David's employer took everyone out for Christmas dinner. It was so nice to see everyone again. I haven't seen them in years -- since they left David's shop to start their own. We met at Jamie's, chatted over wine and cheese, then went to an expensive French restaurant. I had a marvelous time. They all hugged me when I got there, and we all hugged again when we left.

Joan and I talked about our kids, of course. We both have three, and we were pregnant at about the same time with all of them. We talked about what it's been like all these years. It makes me think how important long-term relationships are. They make you feel stable and connected. I hardly have any long-term relationships. Because I don't do relationships. I don't know how. I am afraid, and I just don't care.

Many times I'm very happy by myself. But sometimes I get lonely. That's when I wish I were better at making and keeping friends.

Affirmations

I am not afraid of people; I easily converse. I am not afraid of people; I easily converse. I am not afraid of people; I easily converse. I am not afraid of people; I easily converse.

Over and over I write this. and as I do, the pit of fear in my stomach grows. I AM afraid of people; I DON'T easily converse. I sit with the fear for a minute, feeling it, and as I do, it dissipates.

I am not afraid of people; I easily converse. I am not afraid of people; I easily converse. I am not afraid of people; I easily converse. I am not afraid of people; I easily converse.

The fear returns. The truth is, I am afraid of conversing, afraid of speaking, afraid of not having anything to say and looking foolish. It is a valid fear, but one can be resolved with some preparation. I know what to do -- discuss the news, remember a story about myself, share a joke. I CAN do it, but not off-the-cuff. I have to prepare.

I am not afraid of people; I easily converse. I am not afraid of people; I easily converse. I am not afraid of people; I easily converse.

Yes, maybe I can.

A Jeans Jacket with Black Velvet Sleeves

That's what I'm wearing today, with jeans and a white lowcut t-shirt. I look pretty damn good, which admittedly is easy when you're wearing what I'm wearing. There's not too much that's cooler than a jeans jacket with black velvet sleeves.

We're Walking to the End of the Beach

It was a busy family time down in Sarasota, but Don and I found time to walk on the beach on Siesta Key after the sun went down. One should always find time to walk on the beach. Our last night was wonderful -- hand in hand, on powdered sugar sand, a full moon overhead, pale clouds drifting by, the dark shape of a heron in the shallow water. We walked for an hour. It wasn't so much romantic as companionable in a very deep and intimate way. "We should walk to the end of the beach sometime," said Don, and I thought what an incredible metaphor that was. The beach is our life together. We're walking hand in hand, and we're committed together going all the way to the end. I haven't always wanted to do that, as a matter of fact for many years I've been waiting for the right time and place to leave this beach. Things have changed though; I no longer feel that way. Now I want to walk hand in hand with Don to the end of our beach.

A letter from a Marine who died in Iraq

Cpl. Jeffrey B. Starr, First Battalion of the Fifth Marine Regiment, died in a firefight in Ramadi on April 30, 2005, during his third tour in Iraq. He was 22. This letter was found on his laptop, to be delivered to his girlfriend in the case of his death.

"Obviously if you are reading this then I have died in Iraq. I kind of predicted this, that is why I'm writing this in November. A third time just seemed like I'm pushing my chances. I don't regret going, everybody dies but few get to do it for something as important as freedom. It may seem confusing why we are in Iraq, it's not to me. I'm here helping these people, so that they can live the way we live. Not have to worry about tyrants or vicious dictators. To do what they want with their lives. To me that is why I died. Others have died for my freedom, now this is my mark."

The Death of Pheasants

Boiled up three pheasants last night with the goal of making pheasant with dumplings. Don's friend Todd shot many many of them on a hunting trip and now we get the fruits of his labors, such as they are. As I cleaned them in the sink I thought about their deaths. It must have been pretty scary for them in that field that day, with all the yelling and tromping and gunshots. The shot drives their feathers into their flesh, pokes their bodies full of little holes and breaks their bones. One of the pheasant was shot at pretty close range. Its body was a mess -- not much left of the breast on the left side. This is what it means to be shot to hell, I guess. The chicken we buy in the store is so so clean. We even buy it deboned now, which removes us yet another step from the fact that this was a living creature. It's more obvious what you are eating when you have to pick the shot out, break its leg joint with your hands to get the claw off because the joint is too tough to cut through, and remove bits of lung tissue and heart. Life feeds on life, says Joseph Campbell. It's one of the mysteries of this life. I live because it died. Thank you, pheasant, for what you have given me.

They Love the Sound of Their Own Voices

I'm listening to a Stanford college lecture through iTunes called "Leading the Good Life: Lessons from the Greeks." It reminds me of one of the things I hated about college -- the long-winded professors. This guy's got one hour to get through his lecture. He's told us in his introduction that he's going to cover five important philosophies. He's still making the introduction, though, and it's 15 minutes into the lecture. He's told us what he's going to do immediately after the lecture. He's told us how important this lecture is going to be to us. He's told us how we all want to lead the good life. But he's only just beginning to get to the substance of the lecture. And to think I had to spend $600 per credit hour for this blather when I was an undergraduate.

My Own Little Shoplifter

Kendall turned 18 in April. In May, she was caught shoplifting. She had to pay $200 to the store, and she has a court date, too. (And since she doesn't have a job, it means that I had to pay $200 to the store. She promises to pay me back, but realistically, I don't think my chances are very good.)

From the Colorado Revised Statutes: "Concealment of goods is commonly referred to as 'shoplifting.' If a person conceals unpurchased goods owned by, held by, or offered by a store for sale, whether the concealment is on his/her body or somewhere else, he/she may be charged as having intended to commit the crime of theft (18-4-406). An adult or an emancipated minor who takes possession of any merchandise from any store without having paid for it will not only be responsible for paying the actual price of the item, but also a fine paid to the owner of the store for not less than $100 and no more than $250. The parents of any unemancipated minor will be responsible for paying not only for the stolen item, but also he fine to the owner of the store (13-21-107.5(2-3))."

Thrift Story Junkie

That's me. I love popping in to the neighborhood thrift store on my lunch break or after work to see if I can score a treasure. Everything's so affordable that I can indulge my urge to shop without running up huge bills. I can indulge clothing whims, too, quite affordably. One season I decided I was only going to wear skirts and so I did. The downside of all this is that I have a ton of clothes. My closet and dressers are bulging. Somehow a whole bunch of clothes spilled out of my closet yesterday and lay there in a huge pile. I wasn't sure how to get it back in so I put the pile on my bed. It will probably move back and forth from my floor to my bed to my floor for a few days until I finally have time to purge the closet and dresser and find room for it all.

The moon was beautiful this morning. It's full. It was almost directly ahead of Mel and me as we drove west into town. Behind us, the sun had just come up. The moon hung over the western mountain range for a few moments, looking huge and bright against the dark morning sky, then slipped away behind the mountains, moving so quickly we could see it sinking. Smaller, smaller, just a tiny bright sparkle, then gone.

Hurricane Katrina/George W. Bush

"Is there any problem in the world that is not Mr. Bush's fault, or have we reverted to a belief in a sort of witchcraft where we credit a mortal man with the ability to create terrifying storms and every other kind of ill wind?" -- Ben Stein

Dinner and a Movie

Don and I went to Joe's apartment for dinner -- tilapa, tortellini and homemade ice-cream -- and a movie -- Brazil. The three of us are starting to hang around together a little bit more, which is quite interesting. I was so in love with Joe a couple years ago, if you'll recall. Still am, a little, from afar. At one point in the evening, while the two of them were in the kitchen, I looked over from the couch and thought, "There are the two men that I love." Then Joe came into the front room and we smiled at each other, very sweetly. Back at home, Don said I looked so pretty that evening and said, "I wonder if Joe thinks I'm lucky."

"You are lucky," I said.

Yes, it is nice to be all together. I certainly hope that no one suggests a menage a trois. Yes, I still wish I had Joe in my arms, but I also think sex is sacred. I wouldn't want to go that far.

Death is My Lover

Death is my lover. He wants me deeply, intensely. He loves the way I move, the way I gesture when I speak, the way I tilt my head. He can't wait to get me alone.

He comes to me at night. He whispers love words in my ear and my mind goes swirling away into dark emptiness, a pale mist dissipating in the boundless unending abyss.

Death touches me as I lie in bed, so tenderly and so gently that I can hardly feel it. But my body turns to hard dry clay and bit-by-bit in flakes and shards I crumble away.

He sits beside me in the garden. The sun is black, the roses withered, the insects tiny buzzing skeletons. Eternity weighs upon me then. It is so heavy I can't move, so loud I cannot hear.

My husband doesn't know I have another lover, one who is faithful and infinitely patient. Death waits for the day that I love him back, for the day when, in his arms, I forget all the other things I've loved.

I want to kill myself sometimes

Sometimes I just end it all, because I don't think there are any answers to life's difficult questions.

Why are we here? Why is there death? Why does life hurt so much? I'd rather die now than wait for the incredible pain that will happen when my husband passes away. It's coming. It's coming. I'll sit by his grave one day and I'll weep.

Unless I make him sit by mine.

And honestly, I would never do that, not on purpose. (She laughs at the irony.) So I'll just sit here, enjoying the sunshine, waiting, and watching, and knowing that heartbreak is on its way.

He went to Paris lookin' for answers
To questions that bothered him so
He was impressive, young and aggressive
Savin' the world on his own

But the warm summer breezes
The French wines and cheeses
Put his ambition at bay
The summers and winters
Scattered like splinters
And four or five years slipped away

Then he went to England, played the piano
And married an actress named Kim
They had a fine life, she was a good wife
And bore him a young son named Jim

And all of the answers and all of the questions
Locked in his attic one day
'Cause he liked the quiet clean country livin'
And twenty more years slipped away

Well the war took his baby, the bombs killed his lady
And left him with only one eye
His body was battered, his whole world was shattered
And all he could do was just cry

While the tears were a-fallin' he was recallin'
Answers he never found
So he hopped on a freighter, skidded the ocean
And left England without a sound

Now he lives in the islands, fishes the pilin's
And drinks his Green Label each day
Writing his memoirs, losin' his hearin'
But he don't care what most people say

Through eighty-six years of perpetual motion
If he likes you he'll smile and he'll say
'Jimmy, some of it's magic, some of it's tragic
But I had a good life all the way'

And he went to Paris lookin' for answers
To questions that bothered him so.
by Jimmy Buffet

Is Dumbledore Alive?

Probably not. The phoenix sang a song of mourning, remember, and Dumbledore's picture now hangs in his own office.

Hard Edges

I spent a bit of time with my cousin's wife. She's pretty, kinda, and blonde, and isn't afraid to speak her mind. She has hard edges, though, and being with her made me more aware of the kind of person I want to be. I want to have soft edges and a firm core. I want to be a sweet, gentle person who won't be swayed from what I think is right or from the path that I have chosen.

The Program is Working!

I was all discouraged yesterday because my butt looks just as big as ever, even though I'm jogging more and working out at the gym too. I figured I might as well find out what the bad news really was, so I pulled out the tape measure and wrapped it around the ol' hips. But guess what? I'm an inch slimmer than last month. It's working! In spite of my inconsistencies in diet and exercise, it really is working!

I'm jealous

I'm jealous because K is a better photographer than I am. I'm jealous because his work has come to the notice of our head of photography, who is going to get him some freelance work. I'm jealous because K can handle it and I can't. I'm too nervous, too scared of people, too socially anxious to be in the spotlight. Could I ever handle the work, even if I got it? Probably not.

This is funny

I watch a lot of TV.
I drink a lot of coffee, too.
But you know what's really addictive?
Heroin.

The Tao Has No Pity

The Tao has no pity. The Tao has no face. The Tao does not hold out comforting arms. It cannot be contacted and cannot be used. It is silent and unreachable.

When one observes the actions of any of this world's gods, one sees the Tao. One sees a god with no pity and no face, a god not moved by entreaties, a god who behaves as though he is not there.

Does God exist? It doesn't matter.

A day with Joe

I just spent an hour with Joe. He changed my headlight for me. Don's been so grumpy; I didn't want to ask him to do it. I got to see Joe's shop and we chatted for a while afterward, too. It's always nice to see him. He looked a little thin and pale. I didn't get a chance to ask him how he was doing physically. Our conversation ran this way and that but didn't go there.

Was I powerful enough? Was I bitchy enough? Did I monopolize the conversation enough? No, not enough, but I did some. So our time together was a moderate success. I don't figure I'll see him again for a long time. I'll hope, of course, as I always do, but my hopes will be dashed, as they always are. Though you know, it's not that big a deal. It's not like we're right for each other. We aren't. He's into kinky sex and drugs; I'm not. Sure, he's funny and enjoyable to be around, but I need someone who's going to listen to me talk. I don't talk that much so I don't think it's too much to ask. Just a little, thank you, with a few questions here and there to show you care.

So we're not right for each other. I still want to be friends, and I'm not going to sit around waiting for him to call. That will never happen. I'm going to take matters into my own hands and invite him over, him and his little girl, to see our bunny and meet my little nieces.

I want someone I can talk to and tease with like I do with Professor Rogers.

Later: What a wonderful, lucky day! An old wish of mine was granted -- I got to go driving with Joe.

He called in the evening to ask a favor of my husband. Joe had dropped off a customer's car and needed a ride back to his shop. My husband wasn't in so I did the favor instead. I picked him up at his apartment (and got to see his new kitten) then drove him to his shop, 30 minutes away. We chatted amicably the whole way. We talked and teased. It's a beautiful drive and it was a beautiful evening.

I've always wanted to go on a car trip with Joe. And now a wish of mine was granted.

She's gone, and I've no idea where

I just did a stupid stupid thing. I'm a very bad mother. I let Rhiannon go visit a friend. An online friend. Who bought her a plane ticket to come see him. I don't know one thing about him. I don't know his address, or his phone number, or his chat name, or his email address. I haven't got one single bit of info to help me find him, except that he is a college student, his name is Will Ogden and he lives in Pennsylvania.

That's is. That's all I know.

I don't know where Rhiannon is.

I let Rhiannon have full control of this trip. I didn't meddle in any way. I let her be a grown-up. Now I'm paying the price through worry. I forgot that a real grownup doesn't make loved ones worry. She said she'd call but she has not. Yesterday I called the Will Ogdens in the Philadelphia area, to no avail. Tomorrow I call all the Ogdens in Pennsylvania.

Back from camping. We went for one night only as Rhiannon needs to get ready for her trip to Pennsylvania tomorrow. What a traveler she's become! And what a great time we had with the SCA. Weather was good, up till Sunday afternoon when we left. Our garb was great. We knitted. We met people. We stargazed. We watched the archery and the heavy fighting. I learned to juggle. We had a blast.

We became better friends with the Wardens and made plans to form an encampment with them at Talons of Fury in September. We'll have our own roaring campfire and entertain one another with medieval games, stories and songs. Our camp will be a thing of beauty, ringed with tiny lanterns and with a pavilion in the center. Maybe I'll make a new dress for the occasion. I've got tons of cloth to use up, after all.

Back at home, Rhiannon made herself a new pair of pajama pants. I helped. We had a ton of fun, laughing and giggling about all kinds of silly things. We have a new saying to laugh at -- "I'm stumped!"

Going Camping with the SCA

I'm going camping tomorrow, going camping with Rhiannon and the SCA. The event: Crossroads up at the Pawnee National Grasslands in the Kingdom of the Outlands. Tomorrow night will find me in a long flowing dress and a warm wool cloak, sitting around a campfire and listening to songs of love and glory. Huzzah! I'm very excited.

Stem Cell Debate

You're telling me that the miracle of embryonic stem-cell research must have federal funding to emerge? You're telling me that the souless, greedy, capitalist drug company lords are not willing to invest the money necessary to unleash what--if we're to believe most Dems and the ESC lobby-- could be the greatest medical advancement of all time (and consequently, the greatest money-making medical advancement of all time)? They're just passing on that?

Actually, those soulless, greedy, capitalist drug company lords hold the patents for this research. Since destructive embryo research resulted in dismal failure, the only way they can regain their investments is to be born-again as soulless and greedy socialists. They are using the BIO lobby to edge their way closer to Momma Sow's teat.

reprinted from http://www.townhall.com/clog/archive/050522.html#041944P

How to Overcome Shyness - Lesson Two: Thinking of Others

You got this way by thinking a certain way, but it's just not working for you. Are you willing to completely change the way you think? Turns out that popular people, extroverted people, think about other people. Really. You're going to try that too.

Your assignment: You're going to spend some time just thinking about someone you know. Choose someone. Now, set a timer or keep your eye on the clock, and think about them. What do you know about this person? Do you know where he/she is from? Is he/she married? Kids? What do they do for a living or for fun? And what do they think about all of it.

That's it. That's the assignment. Do it every day, choosing someone else to think about. You are practicing a hugely important skill, something that is vitally necessary if you are going to overcome your shyness. You are learning to think about other people.

How to Overcome Shyness - Lesson One: Being Happy

Do all your needs have to be met before you can be happy? What if only some of your needs are met, can you be happy then?

Yes, you can. You can be perfectly and completely happy when only some of your needs are met.

Your first assignment is to think of the things that make you happy, most especially, the things you can do WHILE ALONE.
Here's what makes me happy: Being in a library and thinking of how I'm surrounded by the thoughts of the human race. Being outdoors. Working in the garden. Playing with my dog. Watching my cat play with my dog. Watching my gerbils. Sitting in the sunshine. Taking walks at night. Taking pictures. Drawing. Writing in my journal. Iceskating.

Next time you do something on your list, I want you to do it wholeheartedly. I want you to feel the happiness within your body. You are not ever to think, 'This would be so much better if I were doing it with someone else.' Allow yourself to be happy alone.

When I Die

When I die, I want to be buried in the earth unembalmed. I don't want to be filled with preservatives or placed in a thick casket or entombed in a concrete vault. I want my flesh to touch the earth; my body to be cleaned by the bacteria and bugs; my bones to be stripped and purified.

My death comes, maybe slowly, maybe quick. Mortality weighs upon me, almost suffocating. It makes the present moment seem brighter -- the sun on the grass, the rustling leaves, the wind, the brightness of the street. I see these things from my office window. Inside are my office mates who one day will be bones too. This moment is precious beyond anything anyone can imagine. This moment stretches behind and ahead into eternity, and is itself eternity.

One day the thing that is me will be gone; only bones left. Same with Don. Same with Rhiannon, and Kendall, and Michaela. Their uniqueness gone. The expression of the universe that I loved, gone. The little bit given me, gone.

What remains? For people, only love matters. In the greater scheme, only the earth remains. Only the earth, and the sky, and the wind.

Freakonomics: What Makes a Perfect Parent?

An interesting book, for sure, but this chapter doesn't prove what it sets out to prove. What makes a perfect parent? Apparently it's your kid's test scores. Hmmm. Not whether he's a joy to have around? Gets a long well with his siblings? Does the dishes when you ask? How about if he's really good at what he loves, would that count? What if he works to make the world a better place? Well, no, not according to the author. That kind of stuff can't be tested. All that matters is test scores.

So right off the bat, the guy's judging parenthood by one of the less important factors in a person's life.

He starts the chapter by saying that apparently, parenting doesn't have much to do with how a person turns out. He goes on to say that going to a good school doesn't make much difference, either. A few pages on he talks about how kids do better in good schools than in bad ones, and he finishes the chapter by talking about how parenting makes a difference in the long run.

So what makes a perfect parent? I can't say. I don't think Mr. Levitt can say, either. I'm not sure I know what the guy believes, or even what the numbers show. Apparently the numbers can prove just about anything.

A lovely weekend

What a fantastic weekend! It was one wonderful thing after another.

Friday night: went out to eat with Rhiannon, then to a coffee shop where we ate chocolate, sipped lattes and talked about the meaning of life. I love that!

Saturday: I watched Finding Neverland, a wonderful movie about the man who wrote Peter Pan. I chatted with my chat group. I had a really neat revelation about accepting our limitations and circumstances. What if you were locked in solitary confinement for the rest of your life? What if your cell were pitch black? It would be utterly horrible! And yet, you still can choose how you'll react. Even in utter darkness, lonely and alone, there is an element of happiness to be found. Even then. So why do I complain about my spacious well-lit peopled cell? Because I want it to be even more spacious, well-lit and peopled, that's why. And thus I make myself unhappy.

Sunday: While walking the dog, I came across a bumblebee that needed help so I saved it. A bit further down the path I almost stepped on a rattlesnake. It coiled and hissed at me, showing its fangs. Pretty scary; pretty cool. Later, I had an excellent meditation on immanent and transcendent divinity. Also realized as I did The Work on my fear of others, that my fear wants to protect me from rejection, and when I learn to handle rejection (which I plan to do by rejecting it) then my fear will be able to sit back and relax. Also sat in the sun and soaked it in. God is Light. Is light God? Rhiannon gave me chocolate, Michaela gave me a card she painted, and Kendall wished me Happy Mother's Day.

A photographer

While out practicing my close-up shots yesterday, a little girl asked if I was a photographer. I hesitated a moment before replying, "Yes!"

I am a photographer. I'm an amateur who is just beginning her serious study of the art, but I'm a photographer nonetheless. I've been taking photos and reading photo books for years.

A photographer

While out practicing my close-up shots yesterday, a little girl asked if I was a photographer. I hesitated a moment before replying, "Yes!"

I am a photographer. I'm an amateur who is just beginning her serious study of the art, but I'm a photographer nonetheless. I've been taking photos and reading photo books for years.

Fairy Tales

I spent the evening reading the fairy tales of The Faun and the Woodcutters Daughter, an excellent collection of new fairy tales written in the classical fairy tale style.

• Fairy tales teach -- how to have courage, what to watch out for, how to be a hero.


• Fairy tales entertain. They are packed with beauty, danger, conflict, and daring deeds, all the stuff that makes a good story.


• Fairy tales remind us to view the world with wonder -- it's full of fairies and magic.


• Fairy tales encourage us to have hope. Though the witch has cast a spell on you, with perseverance and a pure heart, you can overcome it.

Are UFOs for real?

Are UFO's for real? I don't think so. Many people claim that the Army and NASA know that we're being visited by extraterrestrials but hide the truth because they don't want to cause widespread panic. I say baloney. Here's why:

First, a question to get you thinking: What does the Army need more than it needs anything? This is question goes to military theory. I'm asking about any army, any military, any where and any time in history -- the tall and proud United States Marines, the great fighting machine that was the Roman Legions, a band of braves on the North American prairie. What does a fighting force need?

First and foremost, it needs an enemy.

Ain't nothing for it to do if there ain't no enemy.

Extra-terrestrials would be the perfect enemy. If the Army or NASA could prove that we were being visited, then their budget would explode. They wouldn't have to close bases or deal with budget cuts. We'd throw money at them! Our best and brightest would sign up to deal with the alien scourge. Warriors and scientists and explorers of every stripe would be salivating to get their hands on this problem. Thank God, something to do! What a fantastic challenge! The existence of extra-terrestrials would be a good thing for NASA and the Army. That's why I don't believe in a cover-up.

Kendall turns 18

I wondered all day what surprise she'd have for me now that she's reached her majority. You know how kids ask to do crazy things, and the answer is generally 'Yes, when you're eighteen!' So what will she have today? A tattoo? Bright green hair?

Later: It's a tongue stud. And a pack of cigarettes. So after dinner, the girls and I went out on the porch and had a smoke. Really. Even Michaela, who's 15. The girls all looked pretty cool and sophisticated with their cigarettes. They obviously have more experience than they've let on. For me, that was probably the fourth cigarette I've ever had in my life. I learned something, though. I learned that sitting around smoking with friends is a neat way to pass the time. You talk and shoot the breeze. I had a good time.