Music's Like a Snuggie for Your Soul

MUSIC'S LIKE A SNUGGIE FOR YOUR SOUL

Thursday, May 31, 2012

Your Daily Dose of Aerobics

The 80's were somethin else.




I could watch these all day.


Yeah. Oops. I can't stop watching.


How about some facial aerobics? Hard to believe,
But i don't think she's kidding. What's your vote?



Okay, i'll stop now, but do know i spared you Richard Simmons and Gospel aerobics. You can find loads more of these videos on YouTube, but i would caution you against it, lest you wind up like me 3 hrs later feeling like you've been lost in some bizarre, sequined, lycra-sporting, big-haired, scantily clad, sexually-suggestive time warp.

Tuesday, May 29, 2012

Molokai Hoe

In high school, i played nearly every sport possible, even volleyball (for which my lack of talent was laughable). But my true love was swimming. Testament to the abilities of our phenomenal coach, we placed at states in the medley relay and when the individual results were figured, my terrified freshman backside found it's way in the top five rankings more than once. I never made it to the podium, but i don't remember being too bummed, as it was only a handful of months before i was crying in my goggles learning how to flip turn off the wall. 

We worked our spandex-covered keesters off, but we had a lot of fun. I was co-captain my junior year; it was a big part of my life.  (Thankfully, thankfully, not before) but just after states my Jr. year, i was informed i wouldn't be able to swim on the team anymore (i guess their concerns were legit on account that seizures and water can be a lethal mix, but it didn't help my feelings about it at the time.) I responded with grace and understanding (of a tempestuous two-year-old). 

Fully prepared to Eeyore away my senior year, i was scooped back up by the angel of This Charmed Life, and a coach for the school outrigger canoe paddling team advocated on my behalf to let me join them for the season. So rather than swimming back and forth in a pool, i got to do this:


Among the guys in the video above (and builder/designer of the boat!) is a friend of mine named Luke Evslin. Our parents are cohorts, we went to a few state science fairs together and we'd both competed in several ocean-related races and events.

Every year Hawaii hosts a 41 mile canoe paddling race from Molokai to Oahu by way of the treacherous Kaiwi channel. It's been deemed the World Championship of outrigger canoe paddling. Each year thousands come from around the globe to compete in the Molokai Hoe.

In October of 2010, Luke was making an open ocean change when, in a freak accident, he was hit by the escort boat. The prop sliced through his back five times, breaking his pelvis, and ever-so narrowly missing his spine. My friend Makana (who made the video above- thanks Makana!) was in the water with Luke when it happened. He said they were all fairly certain when they realized the extent of the damages, that Luke was gonna die.













It was a long, agonizing battle, 
but his spirit prevailed.

Race day, Luke posted on Facebook:
I happen to open Facebook to the prompt "What's on your mind?" My FB therapist, just what I need at 4:30 in the morning. Well, since you asked... Eighteen months ago I was sure I'd never race the channel again. The beautiful, alluring and deadly Kaiwi channel has now sat festering in a dark part of my mind for a year and a half. It's always there, darting in and out of comprehension. And finally, on this windy Sunday morning, there is no hiding. What began on Moloka'i on 10/10/10 will now finish on O'ahu on 5/27/12. And, Facebook, to answer your question: I am petrified. 



 








The journey was long. The swells were huge. My step-mom, also a paddler, kept me appraised by phone throughout the race.


Finally: this picture- the lead boat had appeared in the harbor. And who was it that claimed the first place victory among thousands of the burliest,  gnarliest, ridiculously fit outrigger canoe paddlers?


This rag-tag bunch of guys. Luke, despite his harrowing ordeal, steered them home for the win, showing triumph of the human spirit trumps just about everything including; terror, vicious, pitching oceans, great distances and the efforts of far more muscular men.

To Luke, Makana (another courageous soul i could do a whole nother post about), and the rest of the World Champion paddlers: Congratulations! I'm ecstatic for you guys. Praise and awe and happy tears and mounds of pride in knowing such resilient, remarkable young men.

Sunday, May 27, 2012

Dream Catchers and Other Various Rear View Danglers


Something i see all the time, that i don't understand, is dream catchers hanging from the rear view mirrors. I mean, the last thing i want to be doing while i'm driving 75 down the highway is catchin' me some dreams. But that's just me.

I definitely don't want to be fielding my own dreams. That's just risky. And dreams left behind by other drivers on that stretch may have started out nice, but surely they could not have ended well.

Actually, i'm embellishing a little, i don't actually do much driving. Unless you include tractors! which don't have rear view mirrors. So i'm trying to think what i'd hang there if i did. Do you have a dream catcher danglin from your rear view? No? What do you have there, if anything? 


 








These <cough sputter> hideous <cough> blingy mirror doodads are retailing for $75! (Free shipping- get yours today!)
Hello Kitty anyone?




How about a bacon-scented air freshener? Now you can have breakfast all day, and not just at meal times! I'm not really a bacon fan, so the appeal is lost on me. I just hope they draw the line at bacon because an egg-scented air freshener would be a gag-inducing sort of fresh, at best.
Now this one, i could almost get behind, but only because i'm a child of the 80's and it reminds me of Animal from the Muppets.

(No comment)


Why, people? Why?! After my cursory (Google image) search, i've come to the conclusion that people will hang practically anything shamelessly from their rear view mirrors. I wouldn't even be surprised if some hippie is out there at the wheel with magic crystals swinging alongside a taxadermied set of Jerry Garcia's testicles. Don't get me wrong, i'm glad people are satisfying their need for self-expression. I really am. I just find it an interesting means for doing so, albeit highly entertaining.




Soon, if all goes according to plan, my mornings will look something like this. My internet access will be limited to a day a week, but fortunately river life is pretty ripe for stories (the etymology of 'riparian'? wah wah. But maybe). So fewer posts, but potentially juicy. I'm anxious; both in the sense that i can't friggin wait, but also nervous as a black dog lost in the junglous Philippine highlands. (i'll think of a less stereotypical analogy, but my apologies to all the none-dog-eating Filipinos for now.)

River guiding was my identity. I knew since i was 9 that's what i wanted to be. My sister and i were lucky boogers and spent a couple summers 'swamping' for an outfitter friend of our parents. It was back in the days before self-bailing boats, so we'd ride along on the cargo rigs and run the bilge pumps. We helped set up camp and in the kitchen (where i'm sure we were much less help than we believed ourselves to be). But, regardless, we were pretty good at schmoozing guests.

When i turned 16, i called up the outfitter and solicited my fairly physically adept derriere for the summer, that he might teach me to row boats in return. I never told him i had seizures. I'm sure the realm of 'reasonable accommodation' is about as thick as an anorexic butterfly in the river guiding business. And wilderness ingress is probably grounds for immediate equal employment opportunity defenestration. Who in their right mind would hire me? Seriously.

It was really, really foolish, i know. But in my defense, at the time, the most frequent i'd ever seizurecise was once every three months, and the water element plus exercise lends some degree of amnesty (not perfect i've since learned, but up to then it pretty much was). I was deeply entrenched in denial. At the time my mom didn't even know. So off i went to Salmon, Idaho. Totally stoked on a summer rowing boats on the River of No Return.

Only some secrets, it turns out, are pretty hard to keep, no matter the willpower you devote to their concealment. Fortunately i wasn't on the river when the fecal matter whizzed all up into the blades of the metaphorical air-circulating device. Since i wasn't old enough to be licensed to row guests, i didn't have a full summer's worth of trips, so i spent a few weeks babysitting my boss' kids.

His wife (their mom) owned a sporting goods store in town. When they first called to report the babysitter maybe just died, the store girl who answered the phone, familiar with the kids (whom we affectionately dubbed 'Birth' and 'Control') thought it was a grand idea to play dead and didn't think much of it. Until they called back five or so minutes later and reported she still wasn't awake even after they'd poked her eyes and stuck some Pokemon something or other up her nose (what, i don't know. Nothing's been dredged up as of yet and that was ten years ago.) So they dispatched a neighbor to the house where the cat had effectively gnawed its way out of the satchel.

For the first few years i just rowed cargo, but after countless rounds of worst-case-scenario-ing and much consideration, my boss convinced me to row guests. (!)



Now, you're a guest. Maybe you've never even been rafting before. Your guide looks fairly capable, for a mere female. But little do you know, not only is she suffering from Y-chromosome insufficiency, she's got the epilepsy. (Gah. I've come a long way, but i still don't like to type it or say it out loud.) Now tell me you're not gonna be a little freaked out. I wouldn't blame you. (For reals, comment away- tell me how you'd feel. I'm super curious.)

Anyhow, in '07/'08ish, it seemed i'd grown a tolerance to the medications that had formerly worked pretty well for me. I'd maxed out on the dose, so i had no choice but to try a different drug and hope for the best. It went really well, (if by 'really well' you mean the noun- deep and dark and terrifying and you're drowning and hopelessly disoriented and alone.) I tried one drug, then another, and another. I was a disaster. By the time summer rolled around i had no choice but to relinquish my beloved job; my summer lifestyle; the very thing by which i defined myself. I was devastated.

I mourned it like a death. I figured my life rowing boats had been long since dead and buried. But this mortal coil seems bound and determined to take me by surprise, because my stars and garters, this summer, provided the cosmos remain in some semblance of alignment, i'm going back to work as a river guide. Holy smokes. Oh my jeepers. Cross your fingers.

Saturday, May 26, 2012

I'm really a cynic about the whole marriage thing, but this proposal was pretty sweet. People never cease to amaze me.

Friday, May 25, 2012

Mom, Flowerpots, Golf Clubs and Watermelons



Sometimes the hardest part is figuring out where to start. Daunted, and with wavering confidence, i find myself embarking on this blog that will likely wind up being a lot about me. (Sounds outlandish, but we're goin with it.) Given that, i think a logical place to begin is with The Mom. 

My mom's been a rock and a source of strength in my life, (even while we suffered a two-year-long, correspondence-less falling out while i was in high school after i moved in with my dad on a whim). Her fierce nature is encoded into my genetic makeup, so no matter the state of our relationship, i can draw on that venomous ferocity coiled within the spirals of my DNA like serpents; potentially lethal and poised to strike at any time.

My mom was a rugby player in college. They called her Monster. Although she's small in stature, she's a force to be reckoned with. (I'm an Amazon though. When my rugby friends met her they said, "I didn't expect your mom to be so... petite." Um, thanks!) Anyhow, the lady has a way of inspiring terror in the hearts of all who cross her.

I'm incredibly, profoundly proud of my mom for the insane amount of progress she's made in matters of her emotional health. She's like a new person now. But when we were kids, some days, she was guano-flipping psychotic. 


It wasn't her fault though. Her childhood left a lot to be desired. My grandma was as warm and affectionate as a brick of polar bear scat left for a winter alone in the arctic, (not to mention the slew of abusive, alcoholic boyfriends my mom and her siblings were subjected to after their dad died). 

Consequently, we never knew when she was going to go ballistic. My childhood was nearly-constant eggshell negotiating. It didn't help matters that she's been in a loveless marriage with my step-dad for 20+ years and that he spent much of their marriage in the military while my mom raised 4 kids feeling intensely alone. And she was; we moved constantly so she had little support in the form of friends, and stay-at-home saints have no coworkers to speak of, just us miniature freaking demons and the dog.

One late afternoon when i was 8, we were in the process of selling our house and my parents were fighting. The volume crescendoed and i peeked out to see my mom had picked up a large houseplant (a big ficus if i remember correctly). It was a big terra-cotta pot and she was threatening my step-dad with it. "Lucia, you wouldn't!" (dimwit)
"WATCH ME!" She roared, and hurled it at him.
It was, i kid you not, like a scene from a cartoon. I don't know how the guy wasn't dropped unconscious, but he stood there reeling while the cuckoo birds circled and stars punctuated the space around his dumbass head. A mound of dirt remained there on his dome and he managed to stagger his way, still swaying, out the front door. 

My mom got on the phone (with her mom, as i recall) and i hastily swept the clay shards and the soil up into a dustpan.

Later that week the realtor stopped by and as they stood talking in the foyer, she noticed the conspicuously poor, taupe putty smear of an attempt to conceal the gash in the wood floor. "Has this always been here?" she asked. 
My sister chimed in, "Mom got mad at dad and smashed a flowerpot on his head!" 
Mom was duly mortified.


***

I guess there was a similar, spectacular incident prior to the formation of my long-term memory-retention centers that involved my biological dad's head and a watermelon. And a couple years ago, my step-father cheated on her and my mom caught him on the phone with the lady at the golf course (where he knew he was supposed to be meeting up with my mom soon). She wielded a club right there on the driving range and beat the ever-loving shit out of him. Which, in this instance, i'll admit, makes me intensely proud.


Our relationship is way, way less eggshellish. She's warm and quick to accept my regular huggy-bear embraces. It's terrible how bad memories stick to you like gristle on a bone, because i'm sure it wasn't always that way in fact, rarely, but i remember time and again going in to hug my mom and being brushed away in a gesture as icy blue as her eyes. I'm sure i was clingy, and snotty and pestiferous and i'm sure she had a deeply-rooted resistance to physical contact for reasons i now understand, but those cast-offs are still buried deep in the recesses of my brain somewhere. (Croup, sorry, it wasn't my intention to get so cathartic on you, dear readers.)

Anyhow, i couldn't be more grateful for the leaps and bounds and leagues of progress my mom has made. She's more attentive and tender and huggable than ever. And i'm grateful now that i wasn't sheltered and coddled and we were free as kids to run amok. And i need her now more than i can begin to articulate, so it's worked out great. And i'll never take a bit of that nurturing or any hugs from that woman for granted for as long as i live.

Thursday, May 24, 2012

 
I'm cooking up a story, going for a bike ride and observing a standing weekly dinner date with some friends i'm liable to tell you about sometime. 

For now, get a load of this video. You've probably already seen it, but i'm slow on the uptake with a lot of things. I only just recently saw the double rainbow guy. How in the world did i miss the double rainbow guy?  


 Also here's an explanation about the first video by a professional astronomer.

This is my home base for the summer. Not a shabby little podunk town. I lived here as a kid and always enjoy coming back, especially when i'm greeted by a bright and shiny as the swaddled, beaming baby Jesus, double rainbow.

Wednesday, May 23, 2012

Things That Don't Suck pt I

Well 2012 has been full of, in my opinion, more than it's fair share of douchebaggery and WTFery. Thus, i was inspired not long ago to create this list of Things that DON't Suck:

pillows

manatees
rainbow suspenders
serendipity
lavender
harmonicas
remission
chaco tans
cold beer at the end of long, hot days
sipping quiet cups of coffee as the sun rises
catching lightning shows from the dry, cozy safety of your sofa
poetry
bicycles
nice cops
good samaritans
whirly-gigs and wind socks
legos (so long as you're not stepping on them)
the enthusiasm of six year olds
gardens, orchards, faeries, sprites & gnomes
the 80's (okay some of it sucked, but nothing day-glo, spandex and Strawberry Shortcake couldn't make up for)
tie-dye
moms
soldiers coming home
licking the beaters, baking and stand mixers
whipped cream
chickens
stay at home dads
caregivers for elderly or people with special needs
911 dispatchers and nurses
Cookie Monster
Giant Palouse Earthworms
crushing golf balls at the driving range
boats
garage sales and thrift stores
tetherball and 4 square
live music and Pandora
hope and silver linings
artists, innovators and scientists
garden fresh and home-canned goodness
fruit rollups
smores and campfires
sleeping under the stars
frogs, doggies, turtles, birds, fuzzy caterpillars, etc.
a bunch more trite, cliche and or random, luscious stuff and things...


What's your list? I know it's hokey, but you won't regret reflecting on it for a bit. At least i didn't.  (This'll prolly be a fairly regular installment.)

Monday, May 21, 2012

Stories







I've been thinking a bunch about stories. It's interesting once you take the plunge into blogging how your perceptions change. The same way they do when you plod into the woods toting a tensely strung bow and a quiver of razor-tipped arrows. Your senses are heightened; you stop and observe more; relying on your reptilian limbic system to tease out the meaningful details along the way.

Only blogging I'm not sure if i've even decided what sort of critter i'm after. I have a bundle of stories. Are any worth telling? What sort of blog will this become? It seems like such a mecentric endeavor, but brains are so fragile, and mine's proven less reliable than the average bear's. I'm acutely aware that in a blink it could all be gone forever.

Our favorite images, cherished memories and all we look to and rely on to relate appropriately with our environment, are swirling vulnerably, ballerinas and Van Goghs encased in a mere ceramic-thick skull of a basket; a breakable little shell. And not only that, the whole electrical panel could short itself out any time and fry the whole lot of it. So i've decided, worth it or not, i'm gonna start writing. At all y'all's expense i suppose. (All 3 of you.)

And which stories? Hm. Even within our friendships and personal lives we define ourselves by the stories we tell each other; the stories we tell define us. So besides boring the hell out of you, i hesitate to become any one of the struggles or ludicrous anecdotes tucked into the recesses of my cabeza. But at the same time, it also seems stories that are locked away and left to fester become part of our DNA, wreaking havoc throughout our bodies and wearing on our hearts.

Hopefully there's at least some decent entertainment value in the adventures of a young person with a brain that spontaneously malfunctions. And hopefully i can convey some from growing up in Hawaii, being an identical twin, river guiding, care-taking a ranch in the wilderness, chasing off evil stepmothers, gardening and being a highly-evolved monkey here in Idaho; so i'm not just some histrionic, attention-seeking seizure girl. (Well, maybe i want your attention, but firetruck your sympathy.)

I'll apologize in advance for everything i post that belongs on the proverbial editing room floor. (Then again, if i scare everyone off, there's a lot less pressure slangin shit out there under the radar.) And who knows i'll prolly see a squirrel and forget all about this blog compulsion, or experience a moment of lucidity and realize none of it, after all, is really worth repeating.

There are so many brilliant stories already out there, and i have no intention on outdoing a one of them, but i'm pretty stoked on the unique opportunity these interwebs have provided in this day and age, to add to the beautiful fabric of this realm, if only in my wabi-sabi, special sort of way.
Our school farm- the canola's aglow right now.

Purples and umbels upon umbels


Saturday, May 19, 2012

Michael Lovejoy Danger Andrew Notsexpistol

 A year ago, i lost my soul mate.

 He was my only secret admirer. Still the 
only person ever to leave love notes in my locker.

 We stopped dating when my family moved away, but we always 
stayed in touch. He was my trusty critic; every bit of art or verse of
poem was submitted to his honest, meticulous eyes and clever ears.




 He was a genius; doing quantum physics when i was 
still struggling with long division, but he chose to devote 
his life to music and poetry and feeding the hungry.

 ***

We miss him.

I'm so glad i can still listen to and share his voice: 
He lived life like a love poem. He really friggin did.
Here's to you, Michael Lovejoy Danger Andrew Notsexpistol 
I love you.

Friday, May 18, 2012

Happy Mt. St. Helen's Day!

Today's theme is a nod to Henrey Wadsworth Longfellow who said:  
Being all fashioned of the self-same dust, let us be merciful as well as just.
 
Amen
 
  On a related note: 
 by Gerald Grow


I was moved by an editorial 
about how the Hubble telescope 
is showing us the immensity of 
the universe. With our sun one 
among 50 billion stars in our 
galaxy, among more than 50 
billion galaxies, it is easy to 
think of ourselves as lost on a 
speck in space.

Indeed, one common outcome 

of modern education is the 
widespread feeling that we 
humans are forever separated 
from the rest of the universe by 
unimaginable distances, and 
that the forces operating in the 
universe are utterly alien to us.

Spiritual traditions give us ways 

of feeling connected with the universe. 
I want to remind you of another, 
scientific, way of feeling connected 
to the stars.

The same science that reveals to us 

the vastness of the universe also 
tells us another story: Astronomers 
explain that all the elements heavier 
than hydrogen originated inside 
stars. The carbon in the ink on a 
page, and the silicon in glass and 
microchips, were created in the heart 
of a star, long ago, as that star shined 
by fusing hydrogen. The iron that 
carries the oxygen in your blood as 
you read this, was created when a 
star, in its dying phase, exploded.

You and I are not merely separated 

from the galaxies by unimaginable 
immensities of space; we are also 
connected to them by unimaginable 
immensities of time. We are literally 
made from stars. We are their 
descendants. The only difference 
between us and stars is time.

I don't know how this way of 

looking at things strikes you, 
but it raises in me an absurdly 
wonderful sense of celebration, 
and I look at the night sky 
not with a sense of hopeless 
separateness, but with a feeling 
of kinship: There shine the origins 
of every element in our bodies. 
Because stars exist, I exist. The 
processes that created those billions 
of unimaginably distant galaxies 
also created us.

We human beings are not separate 

from the universe. Those galaxies 
are not merely distant-- they are 
distant cousins.

With this in mind, I urge you 

not to miss the nightly wintertime 
rising of Orion in the Southeastern 
sky, followed by the star, Sirius, 
flashing red, blue, and golden light. 
Or the summer rising of Scorpio 
across the Southern sky, with red 
Antares burning at its heart.

That is a kinship worth celebrating.




Namaste-  
I honor the place within you 
where the entire Universe resides;
I honor the place within you of love, 
of light, of truth, of peace; 
I honor the place within you, where, 
when you are in that place in you, 
and I am in that place in me, 
there is only one of us.

 *Namaste*

Also, I'll admit i wasn't even alive during this eruption. Anybody have any good stories to pass on to my Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle, Strawberry Shortcake generation? 

 

Seeking Indoor Enthusiasts

The Best Craigslist Ad Ever hailed from our little town in Idaho:

Thursday, May 17, 2012

Jobtions

Job-searching is wearying. You submit your little vulnerable celestial body and soul out into the job market abyss, hoping to find an orbit to settle into that's gratifying and has the capacity to support the lifestyle you've grown accustomed to. It's such an integral part of life, making a living; and winding up in the wrong job can be dreadful, miserable, agony.

I especially hate the application forms: What's the most valuable thing you took from your last job?

I want to respond, I never took anything worth more than 5 or 10 dollars.

And: What do you do when you're not working?

Well, I drink a lot of coffee, then i pee a lot. I read Soap Opera's Digest. I knit kitty hats and scarves and sweater vests. I put m&ms on the ceiling fan and see how many i can catch in my mouth when i turn it on. I milk my neighbor's ferret. I like sucking the propellant out of whip cream cans, telling kids there's no such thing as Santa and running barefoot in the winter through warm cow pats. (Much of this is true, i'll admit.)

I'm sure the people going through the applications would appreciate a bit of something to break up the monotony.


Anyhow, the toils of the hunt paid off and i landed a kick as little job at an organic garden operation working for more than minimum wage for a local lady and her family.

The farm is on the edge of some of the only extant native prairie in this region. Our soil, being largely volcanic in origin, is some of the most fertile in the world.

Stole this pic, but i swear that's exactly how it looks.
On either side of the garden, animals are filling the air with their cozy cow and chicken sounds and earthy animal scents. Right now most of the cows are hanging out in the orchard as a brand new calf is imminent. It's a peaceful sight, isn't it?

 However, i also scored another awesome gig river-guiding in the Frank Church River of No Return Wilderness, where a piece of my heart always lives. I'm lucky as a leprechaun, in this economy especially, to be facing the conundrum of: 

...or This?









This?

Pretty awesome.

Monday, May 14, 2012

On second thought, my answer is NO.

 
My sister really wants to go. 
What do you think?

Although she just made me some sriracha-blessed fish sticks and a heap of the tenderest, most verdant mongolicious brussel's sprouts i've ever laid eyes on. (Fare i couldn't be happier with.) Harder than ever to say no. Taking a dip with the devil at her request would still fall many trips to the moon short of all i owe her. 



For my friend, Liv at 'a slice of my heart'. I happened upon this poem yesterday by a guy from my school:

Home

I've been around the world
and there's one thing that I learned:
no matter where you go,   
all roads lead to home    
I've done a thousand things    
and some things were the right ones  
but I'll cling to no regrets      
cause life's flowing like a river
it keeps on keepin on

And I'm slowly getting better
day by day and song by song
And time returns the balance
and the rights outweigh the wrongs

Embrace each passing moment
as it might just be our last one
savor days we won't get back
like a wind that's come and gone
Follow your dreams 
great lengths til you've caught them
for as long as you've loved
you're never forgotten
Remember it's about the journey
and the connections that you form

I've been around the world
and if there's one thing that I learned
it's that no matter where you go
all roads lead to home
I've done a thousand things
and some of them were right ones
but I have no regrets
cause life flows like a river
so keep on keeping on

I've been around the world
and there's one thing that I learned
it's no matter where you go
all roads lead to home
and your heart is home
your heart is home
your heart is a beautiful home
-Morgan Douglas



Is it weird that i really like this? The end is the best, but i've watched the whole thing several times now. It makes me want to learn German like never before.

Sunday, May 13, 2012

Say Yes

That is all.


*    *    *


E.E.O.C. my B.U.T.T.

  
Sassafras. This really pee-pee soaks my cheerios. Recently i've been in the market for a job (joyous), and just got thrown under the short bus. A former employer of mine is well known in the hospitality business here in the Northwest, and makes for a pretty stellar reference. I'd used her before, so i didn't think twice about listing her again.

However, i was nothing short of flabbergasted when she revealed to me later  she felt morally obligated to disclose my personal medical information to my prospective employers. (And this was my dream job we're talkin' about here, darlings; suits me to a T and a U-V-W-X-Y-Z.) Sheesh.

Based on what i'd known of the hiring/firing process, i assumed there was no way she was legally allowed to divulge that sort of thing. Yet, lo and behold, to my chagrin, not all employers are covered by ADA mandates: discriminating against a person based on race, color, religion, sex, pregnancy, national origin, disability or genetic information is perfectly okay if the business has fewer than 15 employees, or they've worked less than 20 calendar weeks in the last 2 years. Neat. 

Yeah that's not blooping arbitrary or anything. Feel free to screw over 14 employees, but 15? God forbid 15.

I feel duped. Especially since my boss has become somewhat of a mother figure of mine. It's a seasonal job. I left on great terms with plans on returning, but the position was axed by the ranch owner (not my boss who's just the manager). We've had what i'd perceived an awesome working and personal relationship for the past six years. How do you not take it personally?  

In any case, i'm ready to storm the castle (the white one) to eliminate the asinine, schmegsaucy loops in the system. It isn't right. Equal my beakwul. I will fight them.

Saturday, May 12, 2012

I love this place i live. 
The camas is blooming. Blue blue blue




In our neck of the woods we have a trail that winds through an expanse of rolling hills, prairies and farmlands. It winds up to a forested summit and plummets back down through trees and moss and ferns to the next little Idaho logging town.


Naughty, Spicy Bean Curd




Saw this at the Asian food mart the other day. I didn't buy it. (???)! I went back today, because the intrigue got the better of me, but they were SOLD OUT! The lady said they'd been selling like hot cakes (Of course they were!) and now I may NEVER know if they are in fact as naughty and spicy as they claim to be.

I'd at least like to take a gander at the ingredients. They say tofu takes on the flavor of whatever it's with. Who knows what you'd need to marinate your molded, coagulated bean curd in to get it to taste sufficiently naughty. Maybe i can just find solace in the fact that i may never know. hmmf.

Friday, May 11, 2012

I Wanna Be a Bear

Painting by William Beard

I want to be a bear. It's really more my style.
And when the world turns cold and harsh, I'll hibernate a while.
I'd revel in a mountainous, riparian milieu-
picking berries every day until my tongue turns blue!
I'd take my time a-lumbering. I wouldn't have to rush.
I'd stop and sniff the flowers in the meadow sweet and lush.
I wouldn't need no bear friends, as they tend to let you down.
I'd befriend ol' Mother Nature, as she'll always be around.

As a bear I might even consider procreating,
as mama bears give birth to cubs while they are hibernating.
The baby bears are walnut-sized. You'd be surprised how small.
Not like baby humans barging out like bowling balls.
And you had best believe I'd be a badass mama bear-
hurt my cubs and you'll be disemboweled beyond repair!

But... I guess I'm only fronting with this talk that I'm so tough.
I'd really be a teddy filled with soft and squishy stuff.
And a life that isn't shared, is a life that is without.
I'd long for other bears that I could love and care about;
to snuggle with and cuddle with and comfort when their blue.
I'd give them all my stuffing, just to dry a tear or two.
It's true that life alone is less fulfilling, kinda boring.
It's best to have a pal around to play and go exploring.
But, sometimes life is hard, and bear friends have to leave
and hearts are left all by themselves alone to think and grieve

It happens to the best of us. So brace yourselves my sweets.
Even bears are not immune to heartbreak's claws and teeth.
I'll tell you of a gorgeous bear who thought she'd never mend
when life was such her partnership had reached a sudden end.
She sulked back to her cave to get over feeling sad
and dreamt about the time they shared and all the fun they had.
But when her stomach grumbled, and the birds began to sing,
She stumbled from her den into a brand-new, brilliant spring.
She soaked up sunshine kisses and the scent of flower blossoms,
returning to her first true love, so warm and sweet and awesome.
In mother nature's arms once more she found herself secure,
swept away and smitten by her beauty; wild and pure.
She realized that she'll be okay sans mortal, earthly love
with all the heaps of blessings that are sent from up above.

That is, until on day, while savoring a berry.
She saw great big boulder that was brown… and kinda hairy.
She was downright astonished when it moved all on it's own
and when a face popped out, she swore the handsomest she'd known.
He smiled at her surprise and sent her pulse into a flutter.
Her stomach filled with butterflies so wide they made her stutter
… "Hi" she finally managed, and he laughed as he replied, "Hi"
… and then she realized she'd been lost inside his big brown Bambi eyes.
"Would you like to pick some flowers in that meadow there with me?"
She said, "Why yes, I'd love to." And the rest was history.

So whether you are human, or whether you're a bear,
so long as your heart's beating, it is not beyond repair.
And like there's lots of fish out there in that gimungous sea,
there's plenty bears out in those woods, you'll find eventually.