7.18.06 | the second coming...

He's coming. I can feel it. Pete Yorn is on his way. 6 more days. The countdown is on.

I have a lot to look forward to in these next few weeks. I think I may have found a horse to ride. An arabian. Thanks be to Allah. I get to meet him on Thursday. Thursday is a very auspicious day. I decided to go into more debt and get AC so I can work during the day. This heat is wracking me. Next Friday another dear friend is rollin into town, and the weekend after that, another dear friend is rolling into town. Man, I must have landed in a wave of good Karma.

I suppose it's due time to start blog page part deux...coming soon.

7.16.06 | scorcher

On hot summer days, the guy who used to clean the dirty horse blankets at the barn always used say: "You know, when it's cold you can always add more layers. when it's hot, there are only so many layers you can take off."

It's been hella hot here. So hot, that I can't even think of things to blog about. So hot, that the keyboard is sticky because of the layers of dried sweat on it from working in the hot front bedroom weekday afternoons. So hot, that 3 cold showers a day doesn't seem to make a difference. So hot, that my pansies are stuggling. So hot, that the grass is drying out again. So hot that the dog doesn't even want to go outside. In fact, he doesn't move much. He goes from cold air return to cold air return and sleeps all day. So hot, that even Ginger's little paws are "sweaty." So hot, that ear wax was melting yesterday under the spectators tent at the Polo match. So hot that K and I are figuring out how we can afford airconditioning. So hot, that after sweating all day in the house I have to run at night to put the phrase "sweating profusely" back into proportion. So hot, that I can only comfortably eat fruit and liquids. So hot, that I don't want to move, yet I still sweat when stationary. So hot, that I am ready to stick ice cubes down my pants. So hot, that I am gracious for whatever cosmic event allowed for my favorite ice cream shop to mix up the chocolate covered raisins with the chocolate covered ginger, and for whatever reason made them think of sending us home with the "ruined" pan of ice cream.

All I can say is that I hope the global warming naysayers are starting to feel the heat. And I hope that if the climate really does get all hay-wire and screwy, that eventually a giant snowstorm will bring respite and Jake Gyllenhaalwill come resue us.

6.29.06 | Seeing and being seen

After a gruelling ping-pong match during a greatly anticipated friendly visit, Kevin and I packed up and headed down to Durango, CO, for a weekend of long awaited surprise. This time we were bestowing the surprise upon my grandpa who was in Albuquerque for what he thought was a nice trip for his 70th birthday. Little did he know that we had all rallied together for the past 6 months to plan a heart-stopping surprise in the meeting place of Druango. We called this "Operation: BorpBorp," and my aunt Sandy even had colorful T-shirts made for the occaision. When Gramps arrived at the Steelworks brewery on the hill in downtown Durango last thursday Afternoon, he never expected to see all the grandkids and their significant other all in one place. The rest of the family had hidded in stores along Durango's main street and popped out as Gramps and Grams walked by. Soon, there was a huge entourage to take him out to lunch. Everyone we saw who wasn't in the know regarding Operation: BorpBorp asked us what the hell it meant. So, we had to tell them the story, and then tell them the plan and the surprise. Most people thought it was the coolest thing ever and said that gramps was a lucky guy. He knew that. And we're all pretty lucky to have a cool gramps to surprise.

The rest of the trip was nice. We stayed at two condos where Dee and Mike's Condo's are in Tamarron, just 20 minutes north of Durango. It is beautiful there in the Animas Valley, and it was wonderful to share the landscape and the peace with the whole fam--all 18 of us. We all wrangled ourselves to a chuck wagon dinner, to train rides, to golf, to lunch on the town, to family style dinners at the lower condo, to the indoor-outdoor pool and hot tub, and best of all, to rafting. Granted, it was just the not-so-mighty Lower Animas River, but the scenery was nice and it reminded me of all those quality canoe rides I took down the mighty Chip' in Eau Claire. Our raft consisted of a Jeffrey, a Jena, a Michelle, an Ali and a Kevin (and Mike, our raft guide). The afternoon on the water made me realize that I want to be a raft guide in my next life.

Overall, it was nice to get out while in Durango, even if it meant staying in and hanging in with the fam. Basically, it was nice to see people. All my people. The most getting out that I've been doing has pretty much just geting out for a morning walk (or run) with the little bear, and going on a longer run (or walk) after dinner. Some runs are good and effortless, and some are more painful and trying. I see Deer a lot of the time, and they see me. Sometimes, we sneak up on each other. But most of the time, we run up on each other with no fear, just quiet acknowledgement of each other's presence. They look up and then keep eating as I run by so close I could almost reach out and touch them.

I had a day dream yesterday that I met Pete Yorn while I was out running around the lake. I've been tracking his myspace.com site and blog, and I am not certain what to expect of this summer's tour. I was thinking I would start a new blog after the concert since this one is getting a little heavy, and since it's the second coming of Peter Joseph Yorn to the Fox theatre in Boulder. After this holiday weekend, we get to slide into a concert with the Counting Crows and the Goo Goo Dolls at Red Rocks. This will be Kevin's First Red Rocks experience.

While Kevin is working this holiday weekend, I get to entertain myself and Finn bear. I get to take care of some horses, which will be nice because lately that's been a nagging fix that needs a' fillin. Hopefully, I can work on some unfinished business, like websites that need work, like my website that needs work, and work on some picts to add to the site in Photoshop. I'm trying to line up more things to do for Sat-Tuesday: 1.) see a movie. 2.) try to get together with people that are hard to see during the work week. 3) hike something big. 4.) meet someone new for coffee on monday. 5.) swimmy swim at the Eldo pool. 6.) try a new restaurant. 7.) read a book. I should have plenty to keep me busy.

And lately, I feel like I need a diversion. I like work and all, and I have nothing to complain about, but there's a part of my gut that is itching to direct all that energy spent on marketing campaigns that I find little meaning inand crabby computers to writingg/editing/proofreading. Luckily, I have been able to keep my paws in those writing things after 5, but they are not as dominant as I would like them to be. There's still that part of me, too, that wants a piece of professor-dom. I need to think long and hard about these things, and see how it all might just pan out.

6.12.06 | with a cherry on top

I was asked a couple of weekends ago how long I run/walk a day. "5-7 miles," I said.
"Are you training for something?" I was asked.
"No," I said. "I'm just trying to tire out my dog."

But I've been thinking there's another reason that has finally come to light, and that I am willing to admit: I run so that I can eat ice cream (and hot pots of chocolate) with out the consequences. This has clearly been a prime exercise motivation for a long time: I need to earn my dessert.

Thinking back to all the strange food motifs I've eaten through in the name of health, I always made sure there was an ice cream group. It could have been fat-free, frozen yogurt, sugar-free, sorbet, or home-made sorbet, or ice cream with grapenuts on it, but there was always room for ice cream. I made sure of it.

My summer memories are scattered with frozen treats. Grandma and Grandpa's chest freezer was always full of ice cream sandwiches, creamsicles, pop-sicles, and sherbert. Grams would make us rootbeer floats and flavored ice and malted milk shakes. At parties, there was always vanilla ice cream and chocolate and caramel and sprinkles. Throughout the year, a favorite after dinner treat of my dad's was a big bowl of vanilla ice cream smothered in chocolate sauce and covered in peanuts. There was nothing better after a hot summer's day of riding than a bowl of ice cream for lunch.

In high school, I was introduced to Ben and Jerry's. Even at my peak of health consciousness, their saturated fat content didn't phase me. I loved to polish off an entire carton at the movie theater with friends. Phish food, Chunkey Monkey, Cherry Garcia, Everything but the...; it was all Soooo goood. In the sugar headache aftermath of a pint of B&J's, there was little guilt.

When I went to Montana State University in Bozeman, MT, there was a killer ice cream shop behind my dorm attached to the Pickle Barrel sub-shop and the Badass coffee shop. They had some amazing flavors of Wilcoxson's ice cream: coffee, moose tracks, chocolate runs through it, pumpkin spice, black cherry. I remember one lonely winter night in the dorm I went over there by myself and bought a cone of 'Chocolate runs through it'. Mind you, the cones there were greater than the size of the average person's forearm and contained close to a pint of ice cream within those waffled walls. It was bliss for the blues when I was bummin. Although, I will admit that after eating that entire cone all by myself, I did feel a little ill.

When I first met Kevin, our first "non-date" was a trip to the Ben and Jerry's store in Minneapolis by the U of M campus. We each got the Dave Matthew's inspired flavor, "One Sweet Whirled," which remains one of my most favorite B&J flavors to date. Once we shared more dates, we started to expand out frozen horizons to the mango sorbet in the freezer case: just as much mango flavor, no dairy guilt, and you didn't have to eat it in the shower. On our night out on the town in Minneapolis, the fun nights always ended at Sebastian Joe's ice cream shoppe. Here was world famous flavors of Raspberry chocolate chip, Spumanti, and oddball tates like Garlic Lemon and the urban-legendary "hamburger" flavor. It was all so good. Nothing took the bite out of a Minnesota summer quite like a cone from Sebastian Joe's and a walk around the lake at dusk with good friends.

Our tour of Boulder's chilled decadence started with Ben and Jerry's. Then, we moved to Soy Delicious Chocolate Obsession and Peanut Butter Zigzag. For a while, I enjoyed the hemp ice cream sandwiches from the local Co-op. Then there was the guinness ice cream at the local irish pub, Connor O'neills. Then there was Boulder's own Glacier ice cream with crazy flavors and Gelatto and the sugar overdose ice cream headache. Pistachio and Coffee Stracciatela was my most favorite combo until November rolled around.

Since then, it's been North Boulder's favorite ice cream shoppe--the Hatton Creamery--which has made the artisan ice cream dreams of this end of town come true. Candied Ginger, Caramel and Brandy Poached Fig, Honey Hibiscus sorbet, Lavender apricot. And it just keeps gettin better. Who knew oatmeal stout-oatmeal cookie-choc.covered raisin ice cream could be so damn good? The concoctions at that joint are downright legendary and memorable, with flavors that cater to nostalgia and all those feel-good memories of dripping cones and sticky fingers seeking cool, sweet respite from summer.

 

5.31.06 | Redivivius

Pete Yorn tix for the Fox go on sale this weekend, FYI.

So there have been a lot of things happening here, in the meantime, while waiting for the second coming of Pete Yorn to the Fox.

1. I have a job with the website company. It's work from home and I'm not complaining one bit. It's a job I've day dreamed about. I've been conditioning myself for working at home through the thesis process. I see it has all flowed togetha.

2. Still thinking about getting my Ph.D. I had Vivid dreams about it over the weekend. I think I'd just love to teach, sometimes I even think High Schoolers wouldn't be that bad. Then I quickly knock sense into my head again. I'm encouraged by a dear, dear mentor, and by my gut, and by that piece of my noggin that wants to disseminate its masterful information.

3. Mom visited last weekend. My to everyone's surprise, it wound up being a work weekend. After 3 long 18 hour days and 2-3 people working at any given time, Kevin and crew made strong headway in converting the garage into a stuidio--HIS studio. I took advantage of taking over the last room in the house--the spare bedroom/computer room/DVD room/storage room--and took liberties to hang more horse pictures and get some updated and inspired office furniture.

4. After working on websites all day, I then enjoy a brief dinner, walk the dog (tonight we got hailed on), and then sit back down at the PC for more website projects. I am getting websited out, and don't know if I want to volunteer my services much anymore to new projects. I am also learning that I have huge gaps of knowledge that need patching, and that would make my web-life much much easier.

5. The Moxie Solutions site is finally live and connected to its own URL. Now, I need to remove the advertising and it will look a thousand times better. We also sent out our Direct Mail postcards this week. *crossing fingers* here's hoping it pays off...

6. Because of all this sitting I've been doing from 9-5, M-F, Finn and I have been taking ourselves for 2 sessions of walks each day (when the weather cooperates), and I've been loving it. I don't know if Finn feels the same way. I wish Kevin liked to walk. Why don't boys like to walk?

7. Finn is Dreaming. He's laying here twitching. He had fun in the hail storm with all the flash flood puddles. I, however, didn't have a dry layer on me.

Time for bed. Working "third shift" (the go-back-to-work-after-dinner-shift) is rough. It makes for a two-or-three--part day feeling, but I don't know if it's as productive as working for 3 days.

5.23.06 | Undercover

I am in love with Pete Yorn. I wallpapered him to my computer again. He's coming to Boulder on July 25th. If anyone would like to join me, let me know and I'll buy some extra tickets. If you go to www.myspace.com/peteyorn you can hear one of his latest tunes. Yes, there's an album coming out in August, right after Rob Breszny comes to the Boulder Bookstore (*finally*). And with a big trip and visitors in June and July, this summer is going to rock, literally.

I learned about Pete's visit in an email that came last Friday, after a long hot day of gardening. I had to put more layers on to remain fully covered so as to protect the bad-ass burn that I had recieved the day before. (I'm starting to peel now...nice, eh? Oddly, there was a big artcle on Skin Cancer in the latest issue of Men's Health, right next to the interview with Gore about global warming.

I took the gardening job because I liked the woman who owned it and I thought being outside after all those thesis months would be a good change, reminiscent of summer's past. Not only was she plant savvy, but she was a Master's in Philosophy and liked Merleau-Ponty. Who knew I would be discussing continental philosophy as I was weeding someone's flowerbed? But, the summer heat has crept into spring, with temps in the 90s already. Did I ever mention that I'm a shade girl? Yes. And I hate the greasy feel of sunscreen. I do like to sweat, though, so I had that going for me. Just two days of weeding inspired me to take charge of the weeds invading my yard, both front and back, so I got some extra practice in over the weekend.

I had Monday and Tuesday off from being a ladybug. I looked forward to getting the odds and ends done on my list-of-things-to-do before I was a full-time ladybug. Then I got this email from a place that I had sent a resume to the week of graduation. He wanted to know if I could meet for an informal coffee meeting sometime Monday or Tuesday. I took the Monday slot, not expecting anything to come of it, and donned my new cute Old Navy skirt. After 45 minutes, and ready to move on to another meeting at the office, he said: "well, I think I want to take you on a contract basis." I wasn't expecting that. I almost lost my Chai. Kevin was surprised, too. He said it must have been the skirt. I think he was right.

So, today, Day One of full-time real job, I got the 411 and it all seemed to be graspable. I might get sick of sitting in front of the computer all day (never thought that would happen), so I have avowed to take myself for two walks a day, maybe three if the earth isn't melting over noon, and perhaps making one of those walks a run. Just after today's afternoon of work orientation, I was ready to bust out of the house like Forrest Gump and never stop running. I had Finn with me too, and Kevin on his bike. (Finn came home and horked up his dinner afterwards. Always a treat.)

My mom is coming this weekend. I haven't really told anyone yet about this job. Part of me didn't believe it yesterday, and today, I just wanted to pinch myself. Working from home was top on my list of what I was looking for in a job, and what a relief to find one. Now, I don't have to worry about sharing the car with Kevin, or letting the doggie out during the day, or packing a lunch and hoping it will still be good after 4 hours, or getting a new wardrobe. I don't think it has all sunk in yet, but I'm taking it in stride.

 

5.17.06 | The unbearable lightness of being

"When lightning strikes a human being, it's usually bad news. Not so in the case of a man from Maine named John Corson. After experiencing a whitish-blue bolt shoot through his body during a thunderstorm, he testified that his health became better than it had been in a long time. "I feel lighter and 100 years younger," he marveled. I predict a comparable (though less shocking) rejuvenation for you, Virgo. What you're going through or about to go through might cause a breakdown in some people, but for you it will lead to a breakthrough." Rob Brezny, Virgo, week of 5.17.06

So I graduated last Friday in an uneventful way. It was a little surreal, and it didn't feel like it was really happening. Perhaps it was hard to imagine life without homework. Or, life without trips to campus. But that didn't hit until after everything started to decompress over the weekend. On Tuesday at an Ecoarts morning meeting, I was asked if it feels any different to be graduated. I was finally starting to move out of the job-less despair abyss, and begining to feel what life would be like without school. "Actually," I replied, "I feel lighter. Like a weight has been lifted from my shoulders. I still have stress from being jobless, but there is a definite layer of stress that vanished. I feel freer." I feel less dense, airy almost. I feel like now is the time to bust out. I even felt like dancing. Like I have been training with weights on for 3 years, and now I'm about to race the real thing without my weighbelt.

Thanks to the glittering advice from a dear friend, I am starting to not feel as guilty about not working. "Enjoy it as long as you can. You never know when you won't have to work again," she said. She has a point, and right now, I'm taking it.

5.11.06 | who knew?

*I have dated this entry to commemorate the events of last Thursday.

I have never had a good vibe with kids. In fact, most of the time when I talk to them, they give me strange looks like I am speaking Chinese. Kevin, on the other hand, seems to attract them and be able to commune with them. I never babysat growing up, either. Frankly, I didn't trust myself with other people's children, especially the really little ones. But, last wednesday, I got a call for my first babysitting gig. "What do you charge?" the mother asked. "I don't know. I've never done this before." I said. There was silence and shock on the other line. I'm sure she was thinking, "How could two of my good friends both recommend this person who has never babysat before?! Oh, dear."

Thursday night went fine. It was a very silent exchange between the two kids (9 and 11) and myself. I tried to stimulate conversation, but Nickelodeon was much more interesting. It's a good thing I like Sponge-Bob. I even got to see Jimmy Neutron and some other shows.

My job was fairly simple: make pizza, make pizza cookie for dessert, take salad out of container and put in two bowls, clean up, hang out. Around 9pm (bedtime as perscribed by mom), One of them asked: "Should we go to bed now?" I wasn't going to press the issue, remembering what a bummer it was to go to bed at bed time when the babysitter was there. I said: "well, you might want to. If you fell asleep on the couch, I don't think I could carry you both upstairs to your rooms before your mom gets back." And those were the magic words. I turned out their lights and took a little nap on the couch after a few failed attempts at reading HP #6.

Mom (Mrs. Martin), who had been out with the two friends of mine who had recommended me, returned and said that Elizabeth's Husband kept saying, "You let ALI take care of your kids?! ALi!?" "It was all in jest of course," Ms.Martin said. "Oh, but that's what I keep saying to myself," I thought. Regardless of self-depreciating humor, all went well. Everyone lived. And, I might even do it again.

The next day, I looked inside my T2bag and found the 2 DVDs that I had brought with me for babysitting entertainment purposes. My two documentaries surely had nothing on Sponge-Bob.

My mom had called that night, just as I was driving up to babysit. I had no cell recption up in the Canyon, so I talked to her the next morning. When I told her why I couldn't call back, she said: "Ali, You were What?"

"I was babysitting."

"...Babysitting dogs?" she questioned. I could smell the disbelief in her voice.

"No, two kids."

"TWO kids?! Oh my gawd."

5.5.06 | mowed

<new one-page lawn site>

5.4.03 | Flashers

I can remember a few choice incidents of flashing, although they didn't happen to me, on an unmentioned road trip.

Speaking of which, I did my first Flash file today. Check it out <here>

5.3.06 | haikus

alive with color trees bloom
intoxicating
spring air. walking the dog.

unusual hot spring air
makes me dread summer
check out this site: www.climatecrisis.net

If cavemen had to job-hunt
in this economy
they would royally starve

resumes out all over town
no replies come back
worry, waiting, wondering why.

graduation happens soon
I can walk now, but skipping rituals
passed German translation.

playing with Adobe CS2
making websites rocks
moxie site is up with logo <here>

Thesis sitting there, online too
seems like a waste
want a publisher.

art, science, and environment
collaboration
making moving changes: www.ecoartsonline.org

4.30.06 | watching the grass grow, part deux

So, not much has happened since last I wrote. Still looking for jobs. Had a few interviews. One bummed me out royally, and another seemed very hopeful (it was for a gardening place called "Ladybugs." The owner was writing her Philosophy thesis on Merleau-Ponty. I thought that was a plus.) I went for a walk with my advisor on Sat AM and I was encouraged to publish my thesis. It would take some major revisions, but perhaps is something worth embarking upon. I've also recieved the opportunity to add more to my portfolio with another site for Front Range Lawn Care. <check it out here>

4.27.06 | Down to the wire

Just this past week, Finn and I were walking along our snowy route and were being followed by a fox for a block or two. Today I think I ran over another snake on the way to see my friends horse. This is the second snake I have run over, and it is really gross and odd to think about. I always wonder if it is an omen and what it means when I meet other animals in such instances.

This week, I was certain that Mercury was still in retrograde. Tuesday PM I got an email telling me all the things I had left to do to my thesis to get it in the right form so I could hand it in, etc. Margins, CU thesis bond paper, consistency, signatures. Yesterday was a rush to get it all done and the modem broke and the printer went on the fritz for a while. Murphy's Law. Friday I turn it in at 4.30 pm and hope to dispell the demons. Though, I still haven't heard about my German exam.

The job hunt, I'm convinced, is a cosmic joke. The grocery delivery place wanted me to start working on Friday and Saturday. ("THIS Friday and Saturday?!" I asked). I hate driving, I don't know how desperation could have even let me apply for that sort of work. If I'm going to work for $10/hr, I'd rather work with horses. Just thinking about working somewhere I don't want to (but may have to if desperation sets in) makes me want to instantaneously start bawling. I have resumes out all over for all sorts of jobs that would boost my resume in the writing/editing/web fields, but there must be a pant-load of people applying for those jobs, too. Man, oh, man.

This job stuff gets me all wound up. The problem is, I don't want a 'job'. I want to want to do what I am naturally predisposed to doing. I want to learn something new and further my skills. I need creative work. I don't need to do someone else's meaningless busy work. I am confident in my abilities to do what I know I can do, what I'm passionate about. I went to the chiropractor today. That always makes me feel better. I was reminded that I needed to manifest a job. Aha! How soon I forget about that. I've got some manifesting to do.

4.18.06 | Lost in translation

Today, I took my German translation exam.

I had one lesson with my stellar German tutor last week, before we left for Albuquerque for Easter to see my aunt and uncle and mom and Tony and Grandma and grandpa (who were visiting down there). It went well. I felt like I rocked my practice sessions. I was told to relax and not think about German while I was away. I felt confident in my deutsch skills, and someone else did too.

The ride down to ABQ and back was quicker than I felt it usually had been. The visit felt shorter than it usually was. We brought our mountain bikes and went biking on Friday (for Kevin's birthday) on trails that were lined with intimidating cacti. On Saturday, Kevin, Tony, uncle Mike and Finn and I went for a three and a half hour hike up to three guns. We began our trek from the "trail head" which just happened to also be Dee and MIke's new lot for their future home. What a sweet neighborhood. Each night--Thursday, Friday, Saturday--was a gluttonous celebration.Kevin got red meat and angelfood cake for his birthday. We celebrated Easter on Saturday since half of us would be leaving on Sunday. Much like most of my families gatherings, our days together centered around the next meal. Grandma made sure to have plenty of muffins made wiith what gramps called "dynamic ingredients." I thought that was a fitting term for it. Better than calling them "beaver muffins," as in "these things taste so much like sawdust that only a beaver would eat them."

It was nice to see mom in her new habitat. She has a super cute little apartment, and she sent me home with a bunch of stuff that didn't fit in it. Finn bear got to sleep over at Aunt Dee's all weekend since she has a fenced in back yard, doggie neighbors that visit over the fence, and accepting cats.

On Monday, I was tired from the barometric pressure changes and the suspicion that Mercury was going into retrograde again. But I was eager for my last German lesson before my exam dispite the exhaustion that was arresting my brain functions. It was a lesson cut short. We reviewed verbs, sentance objects, and did some practice paragraphs from the book that we had been working from auf Deutsch: Fragmentation and Redemption, by Caroline Walker Bynum. I had read this book auf English during Fall semester and loved it so much I used it in my thesis. It was a great book to translate from just for the materials that it dealt with. We always ended up having plenty of conversations concerning ideas in the text once I had worked through the translations.

I woke up this AM from a dream that they (my advisors administering the exam) had given me 4 options of things to translate, one of which was Bynum. When I got to campus, I was lead to an old office room which was to be my testing room. And there on the table was a copied excerpt from Bynum's book. I was so excited I wanted to call my tutor and tell her about my luck! And when I saw which passage it was, I almost shat myself. It only could have been better if it was one that I had done entirely before, but this one I had done the first few paragraphs of. I felt like I had an edge and some good karmic energy on my side. The exam had some challenging bits to it, more challenging than I remembered practicing. It took longer than it should have--I was there over 3 hours, and miraculously didn't get a parking ticket.

It's hard to think that my degree depends on this exam. But a lot of (fun) work went into studying without it being an overbearing burden. When I came home and read the piece auf english that I translated auf Deutsch during the exam, I started getting worried. But I was kindly reminded that I needed to get the "gist" of it all, and also, any translation from German would not read like the English. Tonight in the shower, while pondering this tid-bit, a little more about the notion of things getting "lost in translation" seemed to hit home. If nothing else, all this German business taught me more about German. I made a great connection with a wonderful person (my tutor) and learn more about languages in general, about religious beliefs in life and in historical accounts, about the uncanny resemblances in the transmitted of stories and ideas across the globe and about conjugating verbs.

4.05.06 | Stairway wit

Regarding some of the events since last time I wrote, I must say that Rob Breszny is still a genius. I am not sure how the cosmos is aligned, but so far this week has been turbulent enough to rough up all my dormant places, well, most of them anyway.

Monday seemed like a very long day. In the AM, I had a proofreading test, which was a blazing success and lead to an impromptu interview. I still got the "well, we're still interviewing all this week, so we'll call next week when we decide if we want another interview..." In the realm of looking for a job (and thinking that you'll never find one) that is not what you want to hear. But, the waiting is the hardest part.

After that, I went home and tried to read my thesis without falling asleep before my defense. It was that time of the month when my body was more inclined to be edgy and anxious, and since a defence is enough to lead one to be nervous anyway, with the chemistry of monday, there was no way I could stop myself from anxiety, shaking, and maintaining my cool. It was also that time of month when the emotions are more, well, moody and easily provoked, like tears for instance. Any bodily discomfort or experiential whatever would take the path to affectivity and crying when least desired. And that's just what happened.

During my defense, I couldn't remember what the hell I wrote in any detail. Then, suddenly, questions started coming out of left field. Things I had never thought about applying to my thesis. Colonialism, gender essentialism. "What the...?" I thought to myself. I froze. I couldn't think. And at some point, I think my self preservation mechanism was to leave the situation mentally, which was not the choiciest move. Anyway, due to physical status and the experience, I felt squished. Like I knew nothing, like the 4 months I had spent on this alone was in vain. At one point, my advisor looked at me and said, "Ali, can you defend yourself?" I looked at what I had laying on the table in front of me and thought, "You mean, with a mechanical pencil and some post-it notes?"

Afterwards, I couldn't help the cathartic tears from falling. I felt like a patch of grass that had been stomped on, and couldn't recoil right away. So, I went home and napped and went to bed early. I was releasing something that night, something that needed to move on and shift. But, I did manage to work on my website's picture pages, and am pleased to announce that they are up and visible. There are 4 links on the photography page (which needs info yet) and that contain a selection of images.

The defense was all a strange experience, indeed. They all prefaced their comments with "it was such a treat to read your writing..." or "You are such a great writer..." But then, in no time, I felt like what I had written was totally misundastood. At the time I didn't know how to process it--it seemed like conflict. I felt very small. Squished. But now, that I have had 2 days to reflect and reel over the course of the hour and half of anguish (what seemed like, anyway), I can see what I need to cut out and where the argument needs to be bolstered and where, perhaps things didn't get read. Today, one of my advisors asked me how I thought it went. I told him that I thought it was an awful experience. And he told me that I had made it into more of an awful experience than they were trying to do. As in, they weren't.

This gave me some more perspective, and oddly, as squished as I felt, I feel like I have bounced back into new form. As thougth I have survived something that (to me) was very uncomfortable and what I felt/thought underminded my credibility. When, in all actuality, it may have made everything stronger, including my argument. I still have a hard time believing that humans have colonized the horse, and that saying that 'women are more inclined to horse activities than men' (by sheer numbers--fact) is "gender essentialism." Everywhere I look in horse things, I see how much there is affectivity. People are deeply affected by horses, and sometimes not even the presence of the real thing. One woman I read about last night said she was given a model horse as a little girl an just sat there cried as she held it. She didn't know why, but it was a deep bond that she felt connected to. There is a great essay in the latest issue of the Eclectic Horseman by Gwynn Turnbull Weaver that taps into similar notions, and is likely to bring tears to any feeling horse person's eye.

As per this weeks Breszny quote selection: "Ultimately what we're touching is the invisible, all-pervasive Intelligence that surrounds us and penetrates us. It is grooming us to be able to tolerate its splendor. It can't just reveal itself openly because we would be forfeited; we'd never know what hit us." -Terence McKenna

4.02.06 | Rieseling and cherry sorbet

Last night, Kevin and I went to Alexander's for dinner (a dive of a healthy, so-good, burrito place) and then went to our favorite, the Hatton Creamery for dessert. "I'm so full," he said. "Yeah, me too. Wanna get some ice cream?" I replied.

So I tried this great new sorbet flavor that was out of this world wonderful. And, since they had been undergoing construction for the past week, I asked if they were going to re-construct their website, too. So, I offered to help and worked out this little site today. need to test it out: hattoncreamery.com

3.31.06 | Waxing poetic on the most welcome scholastic break of the season

Another uneventful spring break has come and is almost gone. When I was younger, spring break meant going down to visit my aunt Dee in Albuquerque, NM. The smell of the budding southwest in march is laden with energy that kept drawing me back for more. Other Spring breaks have brought me down to the southwest, too. The most pivotal of which took me from UWEC to Utah and back on one of the most epic trips of my life, for numerous reasons. Roadtrips became the spring break norm for the next couple of undergraduate years, and since being in Gaduate school, I can't say I've gone or done anything special over break. Although, since I usually flock to the southwest for the sake of spring break, the magnetic pull or my self's migratory instinct to head west in March may be a little quenched since I live in what some would call the southwest. Since there was apparently no need to travel in solitude this spring break, I thought I'd share the highlights of what happened 'meanwhile, back at the ranch.'

I was dumped twice last weekend by my architect for an impending project with an impending deadline. I don't think I'd really been dumped before. Last Sunday, I went to hang with some new peeps at my friend Kara's house while she had a spontaneous pizza party--bring all the odds and ends in your fridge that might still look nice on a pizza and voila!

On Monday, I seeded the lawn with grass seed and watered it, front and back. Then, I made vegetable curry and lentil Daal and rice. I planned to eat it for dinner this week. But as I was filling the pot with veggies, and moving all the veggies to a bigger pot so I could finish adding the veggies, I knew I was in trouble. I have been eating curry for 4 days, 5 meals. ugh. And there's still some left.

On Tuesday, I worked on my German "homework" and visited with my friend and masseuse Elizabethy. I have been craving human interaction, lately, and a massage seemed to be a comforting choice. It worked. I also started looking for a j-o-b. I applied for one at Blue Mountain Arts in downtown Boulder. They were the first online greeting card company. They need a part-time proofreader. I sent them my resume.

Wednesday morning I woke up dreaming about bruised Kiwi fruits. When I went to make my daily smoothie, I realized that I had neglected all the Kiwis I had bought on Sunday andn that there were more than a couple getting soft. I don't like soft fruit. So, I sacrificed them to the blender blades and made us some killer tropical smoothies. Then, I was off to Golden to see Barbara Gardner and her many horses (3). I needed to deliver her a copy of my thesis, so I thought I'd just hang out with her for half the day. She called my manuscript a "philosophical treatise" which I liked better than "academic free-for-all." I told her to tell me if it could be published so that I could pay off my student loans quickly and move on to this horse buying business... Which reminds me, I got to see phamous again. I also got to meet Barbara's little dog, Priscilla--named after the movie, Priscilla of the Desert.

I watched Barbara's lesson on her Andalusian, VIgo. Vigo is a wonder horse. Even when he is not as balanced or connected as he should be, he still looks absolutely smashing. During the lesson, I could feel the sensations of a good ride, a reflection on a thread of my thesis, and a good point to bring up in my defense on Monday. My body knows that rhythm, and can 'feel' it when it's not happening to me. (Though, to be true to Sue Cataldi, feelings don't have to be familiar to be 'felt'.) Anyway, it made me want to ride really really badly. Later, while we were cleaning up Barbara's other 2 horses, she told me about the place she was moving her horses to and the magnificent stallions there, especially one named Nobel. Nobel was a transcendental religious experience, she said. Another woman at the barn seconded that. "He talks to you," she said. I need to meet this horse, I thought.

It's been warm here in Boulder this past week. When I got home from Golden at one on Wednesday, Finn's 'walk' was more like a drag. It's getting to be that time of year when I need to get him exercised before 9AM. What a pansy. That night, Kevin actually stayed home. I needed to work on my German translations, and he worked on our bikes. Then we watched a movie.

Thursday, I awoke early to finish my German translations before my tutoring in the afternoon. I needed to take the doggie for a walk and do other things before then, but I cranked out those translations and was ready to go by 12:30 when I noticed that I had 4 missed calls, and 2 messages on my phone. My tutor had to cancel on me because of a severe migraine. I was really looking forward to meeting yesterday, too. Anxious to see what the real translation should look like! Anyway, I was left with a free afternoon, so I made Indian curry accompaniments and some Gingerbread for thursdays vegetable curry dinner with 3 other people from OZ. I got a call back from the job I had applied for and I have a proofreading test on Monday at 9AM. Now, I need to be savvy with grammatical marks and have the Chicago Manual of Style memorized by Monday. I went out to buy the CMS last night after dinner guests left. It's still probs a fat chance that I'll get this job, but damn it would be nice. Dinner was full of laughs. But there's still curry left :-|

This morning, I used up more soft Kiwis and cleaned the house before Kevin got up. I had Finn out for a walk by 9 and he outwardly refused. I got him to go only 2.5 miles, but they were reluctant, struggling miles. I set out at the beginning of the week to hammer through some German. I've learned that much has come out of this German translation business, except a lot of german translations. I need to kick that procrastination habit...

Today, I'm going for a ride with some OZ peeps at lunch (first trails with my mountain bike this season!), then off to Somerset Farm to hangout with Mary Midkiff and Redge on my last friday of my last spring break. .

3.26.06 | Finn-neigh

If Finn was a horse, he'd be a really cool one.

"Finn has such horse-like movements," said Ollie's mom at the dog park yesterday.

If Finn were a horse, he'd have a stellar extended trot. He'd have a beautiful balanced and collected canter and be able to do canter pirouettes with ease. Which means, he'd be a kick ass dressage horse. He'd also have incredible endurance and keen jumping ability, which would make him an excellent cross-country horse. And, he'd have the agility and attention to play necessary to be the best cow-horse.

He shows off his cow savvy, his pirouettes and his prancy trot when he gets around other doggies.

Some days I wish Finn was a horse. Although, if he was, the backyard would be even more of a mess.

3.23.06 | Green Tee

Last September, I got two new T-shirts for my birthday. Kevin took half of a Tuesday afternoon off to take me shopping for new clothes to beef up my tired closet for my birthday. I wanted a knit, zippy hoody, and I thought Urban Outfitters might be the place to look. Not only did I find a hoody, but I discovered a table full of Tee Shirts in all different colors. AND they were only $16.

This pile of Tees was the coolest thing ever. And to think I could only pick two! (And to think I went in there to get something other than T-shirts....) I got a green one and a pink one. And I love them. They are my "I-don't-care-if-a-horse-poops-on-them-Tees" and my "I-can-wear-this-T-everywhere-Tees-even-if-I-wear-it-to-the-barn-too."

My closet is full of Tees. My most favorite store in Bozeman, MT, the only store I like to shop at, besides the Patagonia outlet in Dillion, MT, is called the Odyssey. The Odyssey is fresh and bright, as it is on a corner and lined with 2 sides of windoes, and always smells lightly of Nag Champa. They carry a brand of Tee that I have not found elsewhere--Mod-o-Doc. Mods' are made of the softest cotton and wear amazingly well. I used to have almost every color of V-necks, but last summer, I spoiled myself with a crew neckin my favorite periwinkle Blue. It's almost like "scrubs" blue, but better. Regardless of Tee-shirt epicness ratings, these Tees are not cheap--$25-30 each. It makes Kevin go nuts. "A $30 Tee-Shirt!?!" "Yes," I say. "Isn't it beautiful? Ooh, and feel how soft it is. And it smells so good.... And it will last for-ever."

V-necks, Crew necks, cotton, synthetic, blends: I have a bunch a bunch of Tees. The thought of wearing a high-powered button down with slacks and stilettos gives me hives. Why can't the world function in a sexy Tee-and-jean combo? I'm going to my wedding party in jeans, chacos and a Tee shirt. (It's my party. I can wear what I want to.) I'll admit that at OZ functions I might get a little self conscious being around all the chics that know how to shop, but I get over it when I realize how uncomfortable it would be to be in their shoes, and the rest of their outfits.

I'm sure Kevin would rather that I wore something different. "What about that other cute shirt you have in your closet?" he will ask. "You mean that see-through, low-cut, frilly, tank-like thing?" I'll say. "I don't like the way it feels. Or the way it looks on me." I'm a firm believer in the seductive power of the Tee shirt and underpants combo.

I used to guard my Mod-o-Doc Tees. I would only wear them out, and never out to the barn, until they were well broken in. But now that I have found the selection at Urban (and online they are only $9! each) I know I may have found a better thing. At least a more local and functional Tee. And, for Kevin's sake, a more preiswert Tee. And, a stress free Tee.

I've stopped my self from indulging in more Tee shirts, despite urges for a new redish one and a steel gray one. "I have enough," I say to myself as I span the hangers in my closet. But can one ever have enough Tee shirts? It's like having a stockpile of comfort at your fingertips.

3.22.06 | bracing for paradox

Well, the German translations have been inserted into my thesis, and it has been handed off to my profs. I defend on the 3rd from 3:30-5pm. As I handed it to one of my profs today, he asked, "Do you like it?" I mumbled a measley "yes" and shrugged. I think I DO like it, but it kills me to have 140 pages of a document that no one will give a rats ass about once I am graduated. It seems like the 4 months that I spent working on it, and the year and a half of thinking about it should amount to much more. I would feel better about it if I could publish it, but who's my audience? What horse person is academic enough for Merleau-Ponty's phenomenology of perception, his Flesh Ontology? Not too many, I assume. I really wanted to publish it and pay off my student loans.

So what else can I do with my thesis? Can I tell people about it while I make them cups of coffee for $8/hr, plus tips? Why do I suddenly feel like my Masters was in vain, and that I am still going to have to work for $10/hr at a dead end job? I was making more cleaning stalls. And why does cleaning houses seem like such a better option than pushing coffee? I'm starting to get depressed. Did I go to school just to clean houses? It may exercise a little practice of Shinto, and maybe "right livelihood" but that may be about it. Was my Masters in vain? I get bummed whenever I see reality peeking through the clouds.

www.exit3A.com is a fun link that was forwarded to me today. He has some great work. Creative and irreverent. I love it. He has apparently done adds for the Catholic Church (check portfolios pages). How does a person get that job?

3.17.06 | Have yourself a Shamrock Shake

My German tutor is one smart cookie. During my German lesson yesterday, she disproved Freud, Jung, and the common psychological assumptions surrounding women and horses. I had picked out 3 pieces auf Deutsch from the internet that seemed applicable to my thesis, and which I need to translate and insert quotes into the thesis to prove the usage of my translating skills. Each artikel was emphasizing a different theory of why women are drawn to horses. One concluded that women need to be nurtured and that the horse acts as an intermediary stage as the girl moves from parental nurturing to male nurturing "when she finds her prince." (I also learned that the Germans are far behind the waves of feminism). Another piece stated that the sensual nature of horses feeds the woman's need to nurture. The third piece began discussing how Freud associated the horse with male energy, and Jung associated the horse with fertility. Someone was then mentioned by saying that the rhythm of the horse mimics the motion of sexual intercourse, in which the woman unites with those masculine energies (or whatever). Anya threw up her hands and said, "I don't believe these writers. If the horse mimics the motion of intercourse and serves as a symbol of masculine energy, then what about men who ride?" I thought to myself, "damn, she's good. I never thought about asking that question. Guess I needed to step back even further." But, she continued: "So men who ride then must be homosexual since they are uniting with male energies while in intercourse motion. So that's what all cowboys were about..." "Brokeback Mountain!" I echoed. "Yes!" she squealed with laughter, "We just uncovered the gay-cowboy. Now, that would be a thesis..."

3.16.06 | request and dedication

Today is mom's birthday. I told her I sent her a copy of my thesis for a birthday present. She didn't check that email account yet. I have been thinking of putting my thesis online as a PDF file, but I worry about people getting it on a google search (files on my site are not sheltered by my site and could actually be found on a google search). I know how much students pirate on the web, and I don't want to lose my research or thoughts to someone's slacker cut and paste project. But, there is one page that I would like to post, and I think I will just paste it here:

D e d i c a t i o n (s)

To RF Fires Odyssey and Magic Carpet Ride: You boys lived up to your names more than you will ever know. I miss you.

To Mom and Dad: Thanks for letting it all happen. To Smalls: Sorry about all that. To Grams and Gramps, Steve and Sandy , Dee and Mike, John and Randy: for hanging out in the barn with me and the horses. To Aunt Karen: thanks for the silver belt buckles. To Erin Kleven-Lind: I still think I learned everything from you. To Gloria and Jim, Petey and Fred, Dave and Rox: for the support, the lessons, the stories, the laughter, the trail rides and the friendship. To Al: For the trail rides full of philosophical questions and girl-talk. I remember standing behind Chad the farrier while he mentioned that the closest friends you will have are the ones you meet in college. I’m glad we beat the odds. To Jen Jen: Thanks for always being there, even through the spaces, to remind me that things are really fine even when they don’t seem that way in the thick of things. To Utah : for my first introduction to wilderness. To Chrissie: for laughing with me and at me about my two-legged crushes. To Jenno: for sharing similar radical opinions and feelings about odd things and letting me know that I’m not as weird as I think. Rock on. To ‘Aunt’ Sue: for reminding me that “it’s OK to be where you are, maybe you’re supposed to be there.” And, for sending me a little email back in February 2002. To the late Dr. Richard deGrood: for introducing me to Meister Eckhart. To Dr. Greider: for introducing me to David Abrams, and so much more. To Bozeman : please don’t change a thing. I plan to return. To Lynda: for transforming the religious studies spark into a roaring fire. I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for you. To Lis: for the memorable hikes. To Hailey (where ever you are): I hope you still quote Woody Allen. To Claire full of Grace: I have never known anyone to pack a Bio-Chem text book up 5 miles of steep trail to study with at the top of Pine Creek Lake. You are hardcore. To Lisa and Sabu: Thanks for helping me out with my ‘desire’ issues. To Mel: for the buddy passes and support. To Ginger: Thanks for waking me up to feed the horses, when there were horses to feed. To Finn: you are lucky you’re cute. To Rob Breszny: for being “strong enough to live without answers and a flaming inquiry that playfully explores the ever mutating truth.” To Lynn : for sticking with this free-for-all. To Lynn, Sam and Loriliai: for shaping my graduate education with memorable and meaningful questions that go far beyond the classroom. To Jay and Helene: for the crucial reminders to breathe. To Nicole: for knowing what I was talking about. To Mary: for your work and your thoughts and your passion for the horse. To Barbara Gardner: for inspiration, and The Legend of Flying Horse. To Gail: for the paintings.

To Kevin: You will never be second to a horse, just in another category. Regarding the horses: it’s OK that you don’t get it yet. You’ll learn to love the question itself and find out soon enough when I get another one. ;)

3.15.06 | the Ides of March

Today is the ides of March. It was a fateful day for Julius Ceasar. I used to know a horse named Ides of March. He was cute. Half Arab, I think. Anyway, I didn't receive a day like Julius, unless it will catch up with me later. I finished proofing a 36 page financial report for my German tutor (and fellow writer/designer). It was bor-ring. But, I was more than stoked for the work. Then, I went to campus to sit in on class. Today was a studio in Religion and Dance, and we got to hear all about the history of dancing in Christianity by Marda Kirn, an amazing woman. I had connected with Marda earlier in the academic year, and she had directed me to Barbara Gardner. She was just as inspirational to getting my thoughts in order about the proverbial question about "what I wanted to do with my life." The question that never seems to be answered.

After talking to a cranky, over-worked, under-paid, sleep-deprived fiance last friday night over ice cream, I decided to get my own freelance "binness" running a lot harder. I ordered new business cards (designed by Stanfield Designs, thanks Karen), and ordered some postcard for mailing promotion purposes. Now, I need to compile a list of contacts to send 250 postcards to. Where to start...? It makes me wish I knew more people, since who you know seems to be the best self-marketing scheme. On Monday late night, in a feat of procrastination, I re-vamped my website to match the design on the business cards. I like it. It is much better to look at. Maybe, it even is a few brush strokes short of a touch of zen. I stil need to re-create this blog page, but am pretty attached to this one. And the thought of seeing a fresh, not as long blog site seems a little lonely.

I want a job. I need to work. I need something to do besides re-do my own stuff. I need to find this work or find a part-time job somewhere in Boulder that is closed on nights and weekends. it's hard to market yourself. How do I convince people that "everyone needs an ALi"?

*Disclaimer*

So, in light of changing up my site a little, I thought that this blog needed a disclaimer for those that stumble upon it unaware of my tone, humor and potentially mighty mental musculature.

DISCLAIMER:
This site, Desultory and Mellifluous, is the unofficial blog site of Allison Nicole Schultz. What is written on this long, scrolling page are Allison's reflections on various things or remarks on the conversations that go on with the sexy voice in her head. The topics discussed, the views expressed, and all the nonsense, are solely the voice of Allison's thoughts trying to make a point, or explore an issue, or expose an issue, or confess strange things, to re-hash her day's events to make sense of the "mundane madness everyday brings" (citation: Mel Bauer), and is by no means ever meant to offend or hurt any innocent reader. If one finds that something on this site makes sense to them on a personal level, or finds any correlation with events of their life expressed on this page, consider it a coincidence unless you are damn sure it concerns you and whatever you want to take personally. This said blog is more like an online journal. And you know what you write in your diary. Ali comes to this space to play with ideas and write down thoughts that are a reflection of her current state of being. It is a space for her to feel like she is in communion with a greater group of people besides her dog and cat since her architect is consumed by the church of OZ. Like all things that change, like my website (check it out: www.auspiciousprojects.com), Ali's thoughts and emotions change too, just like yours do, on a daily, minutely, secondly, cyclical basis.. The sea change of emotional experience is a volatile one, like the waves on the north shore of Kauai in the winter. If you read something that pisses you off one day, remember that change is the only constant in life, and it is not worth getting miffed about. Odds are huge that you misunderstood what I was talking about anyway. (for reference, please read "I am on your side, really" dated 3.12.06) Tomorrow is another day. Maybe even the sun will come out. Whatever the weather, keep in mind, too, that since this is my official blog site, it is an indirect spawn of my website which doesn't get picked up by seach engines like google when you type in "auspicious" and "projects" and the chances are damn small that anyone not in my immediate circle would be reading this anyway. So, please don't keep your panties in a bunch. Your mood will pass too (like flatulence, I'm sure). But if you must, please email me your comments at snowshoerendevu [at] yahoo.com. Thanks, and make it a great day.

3.13.06 | the wooing of whales

While I was translating today, I came across this german word for "female population." But when I typed it into the online translating dictionary, one of the many possible translations could have been "the wooing of whales." I wondered if that was put on the site as an act of sitemaker boredom. I wondered about this language that I was "learning." How much can I really know of the original language when the nuances for one word ranges from 'wooing whales' to' female population' to said female private parts?

This morning at the post office I got another compliment on the periwinkle knit felted wool bag that Jenno made me. That bag has almost as big of a fan base as little Finn, who still has people stop their cars next to us as we are walking to tell me how cute he is. Anyway, the P.O. woman went on about how her granddaughter would LOVE my bag because it is her favorite color. She is a little horse girl and all of her stuff is periwinkle. I told her I wrote my thesis on girls and horses, and the conversation went on from there. The woman was transported from her current job duties to the realm of her story. It was nice, but I felt sorry for holding up the line behind me.

Then I went to Borders while my P.O. meter was still plugged to exchange a CD. When I walked in, the CD I was returning was playing on the boarder's sound system. I had been tipped off to some new tunes over the weekend, and thought I'd check them out. Ambient stuff. Hammock. Boards of Canada. But the guy helping me find these in the borders database had no idea what I was talking about. Either someone had cotton in their ears, or I was especially mumbly this AM. When I said "boards of Canada" the manager walked over and said, "Did you ask if there are Border's in Canada?" Nope. But another, more enlighted being behind the counter concurred with me that Boards of Canada was a band well worth checking out. He also said, "You'd have better luck going to Barts. We don't have any good stuff here..." Gotta love honesty. So, I settled my exchange with Rhett Miller's new CD, the Believer. Let's hope it's as good as his last one.

Over the weekend, I heard Pete Yorn over various sound systems, in the middle of various conversations, in the middle of various moods. Pete always appears in the background of movies, detectable to his dearest die-hard fans. And this weekend, Pete was very fitting. So much so, that it really felt like he was the soundtrack to those moments. I put musicforthemorningafter in the truck on my way home on Sunday and reveled in it. I love that CD. I don't know what it is about that guy, but damn, he's got a good thing groovin.

I just came back from another 3 hour class offered by Boulder Digital Arts tonight. This one was on macromedia Flash, the program that is behind all of the epic graphics and user interfaces on the web. It was a program that we have on our computer, but I have never used. Needless to say, it all felt a little over my head. Way over my head. The instructor of the class was John Vega (www.johnvega.com or www.dancingimage.com) He has an amazing resume and does incredible work. He also has a very sexy voice. When the lesson got too heavy for my limited skills, I just listened to his voice. It reminded me of someone I had heard before, but I couldn't put my finger on it. All I kept thinking was "damn, this guy needs his own 900 number."

Kevin sent me a website to day that he "ran across while he was looking for masking tape." Seemed suspicious to me. But it was a really sweet site. And it made me think about re-vamping mine. I did my site right after my first dreamweaver class. At the time it was what I could do. Now, I have more visions for it. More design, same function.

3.12.06 | I am on your side, really

Friday was a day full of bad timing, bad aim, and the discovery that I only like elitist sports. The day began as usual. Kevin's phone alarm, which he keeps in the kitchen, kept ringing every 15 minutes. Since I was already up and didn't need to hear it, and since he obviously wasn't hearing it, I thought I should let him shut it off himself. I go through this every morning: I unplug his phone from the charger, carry it to the door way of the bedroom while it is still chiming its annoying wake-up carol, and toss it on the bed. That morning I happened to provide a wake up call of gut wrenching proportions. Kevin had been laying face up and his phone hit him square in the junk. I have never heard anyone bellow in pain for more than a minute straight. It almost brought me to tears. I was surprised he talked to me at all that day.

The craziest thing about this incident is that I have no aim, even when I try to aim. In the mornings, I just try to not hit the cat with his cell phone when I toss it on the bed. This particular morning I had what the Buddhists call "non-aim" with Zen like accuracy. But unintentional accuracy... I don't know how that fits into the esoteric philosophy of "non-aim," however. It reminded me of an incident in which I unintentionally inflicted a bloody nose upon a dear friend when she asked for an orange which I tossed to her from the fruit bowl from across the room. It hit her square in the nose. Why the hell couldn't I pull something like that off in gym class? Instead, I had to hurt innocent, unsuspecting people. And when people are crunched up in pain from my bad non-aim, how I am supposed to tell them that I didn't mean to do that? How do I tell them that their pain doesn't mean anything, it just happened? Can't I take that back? "Hold on a sec..." I want to say, as if I can stop those words from penetrating the flesh of the being in my receiving line. But it is always too late. And always a bummer of a mess of well-meanings and lost in translations.

I was talking to another friend this afternoon about bad timing, namely in the context of said things. I am guilty of crossing the god of bad-timing too more than once in my life, and it results in the wrath of living with what you just set in motion even though you didn't want it to be that way at all. I can remember many moments in which this has happened to me, some from very young, and each incident has stuck with me like a marred moment, like a skip in a CD that won't move on. Each time it happens I have to think to myself how my intentions could be so wrongly delivered and so badly received. And cause such an uproar.

Friday night, I think Kevin enjoyed sharing his wake up call to a handful of friends at an OZ architecturally-uber-nice-house party. It was at this schindig that I learned that I do not play the sports of the common folk. I am drawn to the "sports" of the elite: horses, rowing, badminton, tennis, fencing. It was a strange realization for me. It made me think: "Wow, I am really elitist?" I probably am. I just try to keep it under wraps...

3.11.06 | love and carrots

It's Norman's birthday today. He's 18 (!). I'm glad he's growing old with Dania, but I still miss him. I put a picture of him in my thesis, which is done by the way. 140 pages worth of done. I think I met two people who were really impressed and ready to celebrate that achievement. One was my advisor, and the other was a fellow Aloha traveler who herself had just graduated with her masters in December. On to German....I need to be a translating machine in these next few weeks.

3.5.06 | dog days

On Saturday I woke up with a yard clean-up and dog park agenda. Kevin was sore from the OZ ski day all day Friday, in which the office packed up their ski's, loaded themselves on a charter bus, and rode Winterpark all day. I kept myself busy with spring fever yard clean-up, until Finn had a play date with Ollie at the dog park. We brought some tennis balls and the digital camera. It is hard to catch running, excited dogs on film, esp., digital "film." But I put together a site of the picts that made the cut, so y'all could see what the fun was all about. (here it is)

I guess Finn's other friend, Xaus (a wheaten), mopes around the house until he gets to go to the doggie daycare and hotel, Dog City,when his "parents" are away. Finn just has to catch whiff of the dog park to get excited and anxious; and when we start walking towards Ollie's house, he's almost outta control excited. Apparently, his people are not fun enough.

On Friday I dropped Kevin off at OZ to catch his 5:30 bus; then I came home to go back to bed, which I did until about 7:30. I woke up from a dream about Jake Gyllenhaal, and then I realized that not seeing Kevin for more than minutes a day was wearing on me. I also realized that I was really lonely. Whenever I get this lonely, I realize that it has potential to be a crisis well after people already have plans. I asked 4 different people mid-day friday about dinner, and got to go out with one for ice cream. The human interaction (and the citrus-mango with honey-hibiscus sorbet) saved me from sinking into a lonely Friday routine of eat dinner, feed dog, go to bed.

3.2.06 | setting sights on sites

I want to do another website for my barn mate Nicole. I took some picts of her and her horse yesterday, and then had some fun in photoshop. Some of these shots need somewhere to go, and she needs a website, and I need to hone my web-skills. (here it is)

3.1.06 | A war of head vs. heart

Man, has it been that long since I last blogged? Damn, where the hell did February go? I don't even know if I have anything to say about the time that had passed. There was one event that I shouldn't mention for fear of web-attacks, so I'll just leave that one under the table. We did buy some new CDs for the windy ice-covered road trip up north. I needed some new tunes, and we picked some good ones. Death Cab for Cutie's "PLANS" ranks right up there with the Curious George soundtrack as righteous grooves.

The thesis is a conclusion short of being done. And it will be a very short conclusion. I am mentally spent--like a dry creek bed in November. I hope to defend before spring break, and I need to get on those German lessons so I can sprechen me Deutsch besser.

After having been locked in the house for the past 3 months, spending quality time trying to write this tome, I now feel ready for some changes. I have spent most of my days since the fateful end of November in my comfy old barn clothes. Not really as a point of inspiration, but rather an act of convienience. I had been used to wearing these items every morning for the past 2 years, and they were really just a scrubby variation of my normal style. Anyway, I have weeded many of the holier ones out and placed them in the circular file. They were sun faded and splotched and almost see-through. Time for a change. You know that sweatshirt I blogged about? Now that I am ready to come out of the house, I have decided that as long as I own it, I will choose to wear it over anything else in my closet. So, it is in the donation pile. I bought two new ones today, trendy variations on a theme of "the sweatshirt."

The end of November was the last time I got my haircut too. (I must sound like a ragged recluse...). And, I have an appointment with the wonderful Robbie on Monday to trim these dull locks. It's spring. A refreshing time for newness. And I am ready for something new. Ready to shed my thesis skin, revel in the fact of Masters mastery almost over, and ready to launch with Moxie.

Rob Breszny had a good quote today which I want to re-share. To me, it is the crux of something big: "If you love the sacred and despise the ordinary, you are still bobbing in the ocean of delusion." -Lin-Chi, *The Taoist Classics,* translated by Thomas Cleary

Today in the class I GA for I was in charge of the movie and scene selection via video tape. The counter was not at zero unfortunately, and like hell I knew how to zero it. So I counted all the increments and time settings. I learned that VCRs count the number "100" as a unit of 60, not a unit of 100. I was so off.

2.09.06 | Thinking in Pictures

Over a year ago I ran into a book at the library called Thinking in Pictures. It was writtern by an autistic woman named Temple Grandin, a professor at CSU. Grandin discovered that her autism allowed her to think differently that other humans. She thinks in pictures. She categorizes information in her brain by images and details. She also discovered that her way of thinking and feeling the world allows her to get a clearer picture about how animals think.

On Monday night, at the BCHA annual meeting, I recieved the opportunity to hear Grandin speak. "Animals think in pictures, not in words. To understand animals, you must get away from language." Just as Grandin thinks in details, animals are uber sensitive to things happening in their surroundings that we are not aware of and do not notice. This line of thinking lends itself to a discussion of training issues, and can help to explain how and why some animals react to different situations and stimuli.

Animals, like horses for instance, associate images with certain stimuli. These images are arranged categorically in animals brains. "Categories are the fundamental organization of the nervous system." For example, if a horse was abused by a person wearing a black hat, that particular horse, if it focused on the black hat during the incident, would associate black hats with abuse. These two memories--the image of the hat and the feeling of abuse--would be linked. Because it is a fear based memory, it becomes challenging to delete. Grandin says that these memories based on fear cannot be erased, but they can be re-wired if the animal is approached differently so as to create a new pathway in the brain that bypasses the old pathway and its hangups on "black hats."

To avoid incidents like this, Grandin emphasized that the novelty of each new experience for an animal needs to be a positive experience, otherwise these fear based pathways get set. Different types of horses handle novelties differently of course. Less hot blooded horses like the the quarter horse are wired differently than hotter horses like Thouroughbreds and Arabians. Novelties are both a stressor and an attraction. Grandin gave the example of putting a clipboard out in a cow pen: All the cows will come up to see what it is, but when the wind blows the papers, they will all run away. Atrraction and stressor. Unlike horses that are hard wired to be more calm in the face of novelties, a high strung horse cannot be forced to get over a stressor, with out the risk of making the situation worse. An example would be "sacking out" a highly sensitive Arabian, vs. doing the same for your average QH. Because the Arab is wired to be more sensitive, every motion and touch feels more intense than what the average QH would experience. Almost like the difference between a "normal" human and a person with MS, or Autism.

Overall, Grandin brings animals psychology to the table with animal science and biology in a timely fashion. Oddly, her work with animals often involves designing slaughter house systems to be more humane for the animals, to minimize the stressors. because of Grandin's "animal eye view" of the world, she has the ability to notice things that would bother animals that other humans would miss.

FYI: I don't have lepto. Just a nasty virus. I hope it's not bird flu...

2.07.06 | souvenirs

Some people bring home T-shirts and hats and sweatshirts from vacation. I brought those things back for the people who were taking care of our animals, but for myself, I think I brought home Leptospirosis. Lepto is a bacteria found in the natural water in tropical areas that has been contaminated by infected animals urine. Lepto can be "caught" from infected water, mud or dirt, or from direct contact with infected "specimens" of an animal.

I worried that I had it for the past 3 days and felt like a hypochondriac. Even though I have mild symptoms, I still had to dispell the coincidence that it was just too convienient to have certain symptoms after being in a very lepto-ized area. Perhaps what worried me most, is that Lepto symptoms, once the greatly manifest, are much like mono symptoms. I worried for my spleen and my un-ruptured liver. I really just wanted to talk to a doc to dispell my worries, but in the medical industry, it seems hard to talk to anyone with out a visit. I need to know if I was being a hypochrondriac, or if I needed a blood test and some penicillin. But it is never that simple...

I spent the whole morning waiting in doctor's offices, telling my story to a nurse who hadn't heard of lepto, much less know how to spell it, then telling my story again to the Doc who seemed rushed and had never heard of lepto either. I felt like she tought I was making up a story. "Just tell me if I should go on doxycycline..." I wanted to say. This is what people are told to take as a precautionary measure when they go on trips to the tropics and know they will be in letpo situations, like camping.

The solution seemed simple enough, but it was a process: Calling theCenter for Disease control, telling me that "yes, I have had exposure," (that would be why I was there in the first place...), telling me to get my blood drawn at Boulder Community Hospital and pick up a subscription at Pharmaca for Doxycycline, to get started on it right away, and "oh, do you like yogurt?.. Good, eat lots of it and get some probiotics... and I want to see you again on Thursday."

I was still in my pj's through all of this, and by 11:30 at Pharmaca I was starting to get a little self conscious about it. Not having insurance, I hesitated to call and make an appt in the first place knowing that it would be out of pocket (for relatively healthy people this is cheaper than paying a premium each month, but I can see where it would come in handy...) but I didn't want to wait it out when the solution seemed so simple. But I have this looming sense of "what did I DO?"-- was all this really necessary? Maybe it was. So, by tomorrow I should know if I should really be worried or not once the blood tests come back.

2.06.06 | No postage necessary

The POSTCARD from Hawaii is up and running. Click <here> to get to the opening page.

2.05.06 | Tales from the Tropics

Aloha!

After a loong chain of flights back to the mainland, I return exhausted to my landlocked home. Island time moves a lot slower than even those of us here out "west," and it is crazy to think that anything can be more laid back than this half of the US. Those on the islands are "never in a hurry"--a phenomenon that boggled us at a moment of dessert lust. "What?! you're closed? It's only 8:45. It says that you are open until 9pm..." Needless to say, it took us a while to soak into island time with out getting uptight. We went without chocolate that night.

I began this trip with the Breszny-ism that the 11th commandment is "thou shall not bore God." Heaven knows I have been pretty bor-ring lately, so I opted to amend that. Jack Johnson's latest tune from the Curious George soundtrack was one of the first songs I heard as we were leaving Boulder for the Denver airport. I, too, was hoping to turn a few things upside down. I wanted to shake myself out of my dusty rut and was thinking that a new landscape might be the trick as it has always proved to be in the past. The morning smelled like "spring break" and the rising tide of refreshing excitement was already crashing on my shore.

We spent our first night on Oahu on layover. I had forgotten that tropical climates mean humidity, which was a slight shock to my dryed-out colorado system, but reminded me of a Wisconsin summer. I never had a bad hair day on the islands, something I do miss in the dryer climates. I awoke that morning to a rainbow out our hotel window. We crammed all of our large suitcases in the magical expand-o trunk of our rented Dodge Charger, and headed past Waikiki beach and the Dole plantation to Oahu's north shore for our first dose of ocean surf and sandy sandals. We sampled one beach in a perfect little surfing town before hitting lunch at an open air restaurant, where I got my Nalgene filled not only with water, but with a slice of pinapple, a cherry and an umbrella. After lunch, we found our way to another beach to hangout until flight time, watch the waves roll in, and build sand castles. (note to my single people: we also saw some baywatch rescue boys in red shorts and flip-flops...) That night, we met Nate and Beth at the Kauai aiport as they helped us escort all of our luggage and bodies between their Jeep and ours.

The next morning we awoke to see what we had flown into in the night. Kauai was lush and dripping with waterfalls, many of which could be seen looking out our condo's backdoor. We spent the day exploring the resort, chillin on the Princeville beach on Hanalei Bay, checking out the fresh produce at the farmer's market in Hanalei, and running into Kapaa for more groceries for the week and dinner at Lemongrass and ice cream for dessert.

Sunday morning, Michelle and I began our day with a walk and we ran across an albatross nesting on the side of the trail. All of then wranglered ourselves into our Jeeps for an island road trip to roadside island attractions like the spouting horn, Glass Beach, and Waimea Canyon. We returned for a swimmy in the pool (which wasn't heated) and a dip in the hot tub. We stayed in for dinner that night and served up Vigo beans and chips, and were later denied dessert at the Resort Bar (but were not denied drinks...) As we all wound down for the night, Animal Planet was on the television. Lo and behold, there was an episode about the special bond that celebrities have with their horses. I wanted to finish watching it for thesis research... but I recieved a bunch of neighs and snores.

Monday brought itself the discovery of the Resort internet (15 cents a minute) and much relief from my twitching hands undergoing withdrawl from the world wide web. I also recieved a fateful call from my advisor, Lynn, who informed me that there was a GA postition open on campus and would I like to fill it. Heck yes. I was reveling in the chance to lessen my student loans. I started to feel better about things. Then, Kevin and I harnessed a Jeep to pick up my ol' friend Lis who flew over from Maui to join us for fun in the sun and an epic hike on the Na Pali coast. We all then headed for the beach with boogie boards and beach towels as Michelle, Sixxer and Kevin took a 2 hour surf lesson. Lis taught me the finer points of boogie boarding and got me to go out into the ocean much further than I would have on my own accord. There were only a few moments I wished I had my floaties. The surfers went back out for more pounding surf after their lesson to ingest some more of that salt water. That night we made dinner at the condo, managed to get dessert before the kitched closed, and packed for the long 2 days ahead of us.

The Na Pali coast hike is in a state park along the Kalalau Trail. I was reluctant to embark on this journey for a number of reasons. 1. It involved a lot of packing and lugging of more luggage pre-trip. 2. It seemed like a whole other camping-trip-within-a-vacation-trip which seemed like a hell of a lot of work for a vacation. 3. This hike is not a walk in the park. 4. It's not a sunny beach either. Luckily, after discussion with my comrades, we concensorized that the opinion of 3 women is a concensus, and that we only wanted to hike the trail and stay for one night. So we did, with the men in the group concensorizing that Thursday was top-less day.

On Tuesday morning, we awoke sore and burned from the fun in the surf and sun the day before at 6:00 AM. We made a pit stop prior to the trailhead for a cuppa joe pick-me-up. In no time, we parked the Jeeps, packed our packs, and headed up the trail which resembled Mt.Sanitas for the first 2 miles. Mind you, that I would never consider hiking Mt. Sanitas with a camping pack on. The trail wound its way around all of the inlet of the Na Pali coast for 11 miles, switchbacking up and down, crossing large streams, switchbacking up and around the next cove before heading back down again, over and over, traversing all the inlets on a narrow, rocky and sketchy trail, until it hits a beach as the oasis of the 11 miles. Thanks be to Allah.

The trail is worn by travelers (up to 50 a day, by permit only) and by feral goats. The trail is impassable when wet as the streams gush to dangerous heights and velocities. The sound of the ocean is always present as the waves that formed the inlets continue to crash along the sides of the cliffs like thunder. Occaisionally, whales and spinner dolpins jump out in the distant ocean, and goats jump out in front of you on the trail. The vegetation is tight and jungle like. Many fruit trees line the trail--lemon, mango, guava, noni, coffee. We only saw lemons that were ripe enough to pick.

The trail kicked our a**. By the last few winding coves and inlets, we wondered how many more we could handle. But just like the pressure rising in the wave before it breaks, we soon found a sense of release and relief when the beach was in sight. While the boys (whose idea this was) scoped out the camp ground, the 4 women couldn't believe we had made it, and kept hoping that someone had a cell connection strong enough to call a helicopter to pick us up in the morning. Our feet were almost trashed, we were exhausted and starving to replenish our bodies, and we had to hike it again. This was a thought that was too daunting to think about. I've hiked on some sketchy hikes, but this one took the cake. I felt lucky to be alive and ready for a shower and dinner.

That night, I didn't sleep a wink. The waves crashed in the amphitheater of our beach cove so loudly is sounded like an endless thunderstorm. When I did catch some breif Zzz's, I was startled awake by the next loud crashing of the surf. There were many moments I was certain that the ocean would encroach upon our little campsite and wash us away with it. (And that's what Kevin thought, too, when he awoke with a startle to feel his sleeping sheet covered up to his knees in water.... But lucky for him, it was just a leaky water bottle in the tent. :) I wanted this night to end, and I wished I could just sleep. I wanted to get back to the resort, the hot tub, the real showers, more food...

Our alarms sounded before the light began to seep into our beach cove. We all took down our tents, got set for the day, and began the long hike back with sore feet and aching bodies. I was moving in warp speed, in the zone, ready to get out of there. It was one of those hikes that I felt I really streched some personal boundaries, and those hikes are always not fun until you get home and can tell stories about it. Once we all returned from the trail, we headed straight for the fridge. Our priorites were "food" over "showering" and smelling better. But once we washed up and ate up, we headed for dinner #2 at Sushi Blues in Hanalei, just up the road. The Restaurant was on the second floor. We all looked like geriatrics trying to ascend and descend the stairs. We slept well that night--with out the thundering war of the surf--and treated ourselves to another replenishing meal for breakfast. Kevin and I returned Lis back to the airport that morning. It was a rainy day on the island, but none of us were complaining. We spent the day hanging out in the sheltered shops of various towns along the Island. That night we all packed up for the long trip back home.

We spent most of Friday stuck in the middle of traveling. 8 hour layovers, 3 hour layovers, and finally arriving home on Saturday: exhausted. Overall, it was a great trip. I learned that I am not necessarily a beach girl; I am too dependant on my floaties and have too much respect for the water. But I did learn a lot about sea changes and changing tides.

I am working on putting up a postcard website of a selection of our pictures which highlight parts of the trip. If I have my way, it will be up tomorrow. But I have a busy week ahead of me...

1.24.06 | bluebird day

As I was walking the little dog today we passed a woman on the lake trail that looked totally blissed out. "What a gorgeous day..." she said through her beeming smile. It totally was a beautiful day. There was not a cloud in the sky. Much of the sun had dried the sidewalks, but the remaining blanket of moth eaten snow was enough of a layer of added cool to the air. The sun felt almost hot on my skin, but found a delicate balance in the ambient air of the perfect temp. Finn can always tell when the sun is hot, and it takes a really chilly day for him to be OK about the heat. Luckily for him, the north facing lots had plenty of snow for him to roll around in and make little puppy-angels with his slithering and snorts through the shaded powder.

I have gotten used to walking with Finn. I like the sound his paws make as he moves on dry sidewalk and through muddy trails. It's "plip, plip, plip, plip" and "splip, splip, splip, splip," respectively. A few weeks ago, when it was warmer and he was pulling his "it's too hot to walk, so I'm going to lay in the middle of the sidewalk" stunt, we only made it a block before he refused to move. Not up for he challenge, I took him back to the back yard and went out for a walk on my own. It wasn't as fun. It was lonely. There are plenty of days when I am glad that I have a little dog (about the same amount of days as I wish I didn't have a little dog). Such is the case when you subscribe to live with an architect whom you seldom see for more than minutes a day.

As a thesis update, I am past the 100 page mark, about 15 pages past. I imagine that much of it may be whittled down by professors with red markers, but I still have a chapter and a conclusion to write yet. Today, I wondered why I am bothering to write so much. I don't really know. I wish I could just crank it out and be done. I made it into a bigger project than need be, yes, but not on purpose.

In 48 hours I will be in Honolulu. In 72 hours I will be in Kauai. This is the trip. And I'm worried about it. I worry about it, I think, because I might feel all alone in a group of 5 other people, and that is a bad feeling when you don't have a dog to hang out with. I worry about swimming in the ocean and getting swarmed by jellyfish; about walking on the beach and stepping on a beached jellyfish; about hiking on a rugged muddy trail and falling off a cliff; I worry about swallowing water through my snorkel; I worry about being "that person" who would rather not swim or eat at the burger joint or go out at night; I worry that I will hike too fast. I worry that I will be the odd-ball who wants to check her email in Hawaii (why the hell not get a regional email-checking experience?). I worry that I'm going to get skin cancer and that I'm going to have to explain my thesis to people who may not even listen to the depth of what I have to say.

I have learned (by reading a *fave* blog) that this anxiety and worry is not outright negativity (as I have oft been chastised for), but rather "defensive pessimism." I am a defensive pessimist (I scored 76 on the test. Kevin was a 23). It's not that I look for the bad things, its that I want to be prepared for them, should they happen. I want to be able to know how to react should something go awry. It's about preparing for the worst, and hoping for something better. But of course, it's easier to have lower expectations and have them far surpassed than to have high expectations and to be let down. At least, for me anyway. All of this, however, takes a lot of pre-trip energy.

And after all this worry, I know it will be fine.

I'm meeting an old friend who will be staying/hiking with us for 3 days. And I am looking forward to being with someone who knows my context and someone with whom I have a lot to catch up on.

1.18.06 | A shot of moxie

link here to check out the new website I've been working on for my future bread and butter.

1.16.06 | the dog ate my Chacos

I have a difficult time working on the average Monday. Maybe it is a hard time focusing. My innate 'weekend' clock seems to run from Sunday-Tuesday. Today was no different. I worked all morning (somehow) and took a dog-walking break 'round 2pm. The morning of course was smattered with irregular tasks that make thesis writing much more efficient: make mid-morning smoothie, fold laundry, vacuum, pack for Hawaii. I knew that packing was jumping the gun a bit, but I tend to get uber-paranoid and anxious that I will forget something unless I pack it as soon as I think of it. So, I packed everything but the toiletries, I even pulled my summer sandals out of the garage and stuck them in my little suitcase.

The thesis takes so goddamn long, and its just a rough rough dry blah draft. It feels as though the mental constipation has taken over my brain capacity. I am always amazed at how much I don't do and how long it takes me to do that. By 2pm, I was ready for a walk with the dog. The printer was refusing to print anything (student loans can remedy that...), and I think I had given myself gas removing 10 paper jams in a row. On the walk I found that I was a little stiff from the weekend: we went skiing on Sunday up at Devil's Thumb Ranch. I skated for 2 hours with out poles and my knees were not happy with me afterwards. On a much more intimate note, I have this huge blister on the back of my heel that is like a painful growth, and I have a strange pain in my left pinky. On a desultory note, this weekend I learned that my future business partner used to own the very house that I live in now. How crazy is that?

Tonight, I had a little break: I had a dreamweaver class from 6-9pm to sharpen my website building skills. I ended up sitting at a table with two other writers from my online writing group. One of them was the graphic designer for a world religions text book written by a RLST Ph.D who ran a coffee shop in Winona. Small world. I had remembered seeing her site last summer and being hopeful that I could use my degree to write textbooks on the worlds religions for high schools. After talking to her, I still had hope. I also decided that I didn't need to go back to school to be a graphic designer ("the field is flooding...").

When I returned home I found that the little dog had let himself out of his crate. This usually means messes, but this time there were no wet spots or presents. Instead, he seemed to have made a B-line to my freshly packed suitcase and chewed up my Chaco sandals. (I'm sorry, when you have a plethora of chew toys in your crate, and squeaky toys around the house, why the hell do you need to chew on my beloved Chacos?) In the realm of outdoor footwear, Chacos are the coutre culture equivalent of Jimmy Choos, not chew toys. Chacos are supposed to last forever; I had only had these for less than a year (got them the weekend I got Finn, coincidentally enough...). Luckily, the company does repairs and is based in CO. Unluckily, I need them for Hawaii. So, I went online to find them, and the size and color I had are totally sold out. (I want to sell the dog out). But Luckily, many of the other pairs/colors are on sale since it is not sandal season. *sale* lightened my mood a little. But I think that the doggie needs a job...

1.12.06 | trials and tribulations, ebbs and flows

Just a few days ago, Kevin's aunt Susan emailed and asked me if the ring still fits. I replied and told her my literal response, something that I've actually been a little worry about lately. "actually," I said, "my fingers have shrunk in the winter and I worry about it falling off." Susan emailed back and said that I didn't need to be quite so literal.

But there are days (and I am sure Kevin feels it too) when the figurative question of whether or not the ring fits seems to hover over mood or conversation. "Just what have we gotten ourselves into?" I will think. Sometimes we seem so different, we either keep missing each other like ships passing in the night, or inadvertently hurting each other. When these situations arise, I have to wonder how anyone makes it in significant otherness. Meanwhile, I have a couple of single friends that are itching for a single slice of something significantly other.

I have just read an incredible book: 52 Fights: A newlyweds confession (thanks, Michelle); and seen a delightful, Cusack-licious movie: Must Love Dogs (thanks, netflix fairy). 52 Fights is not just a book for newlyweds, but a book to read for those who cohabitate, and for those who need a clear picture about what its like to live with someone else in partnership. Jennifer Patterson, author of 52 fights, wrote 52 essays throughout the first year of marriage, and all are SO resoundingly true that it made me feel SO much better about being in a nearly-wedded relationship. It reminded me that I'm not the only one, and I am about par for the course. I am in that territory of negotiation and comprimise, give and take: the ebb and the flow on the course of love.

I just finished a rough draft of a chapter on how much animal-human relationships are like significant otherness, and I quoted 52 fights. (I don't know what the profs will think of my eclectic and not as academic picks for sources...) significant otherness requires much self work, as well as understanding an other, loving another, and respecting another. There are just as many days that make you shake your head as there are days that make you know that you would never want to be anywhere else but where you are right now.

Take Finn and I for example: For the longest time, although he was so damn cute, all the pooping and puking really felt like a thorn in my side--that I would be so much better off with out him. Then there are other days when I really enjoy taking him on long walks or walking to the dog park because he loves it so much. And there are days that it just doesn't work for him, like lately: He's started stopping and laying down on his side in the middle of the sidewalk in the middle of our walks home. It is as though he is threatening to make me carry him. And currently, in the meantime, I don't quite understand what the fuss is all about...

1.7.06 | "Live life to the point of tears." Camus

Today was a Car-razy day. I wrote about it to my Dear Jenno:

Hey Jenno,

Thanks for calling today. really. I was just thinking to myself that I should call you. That I was going through Jenn withdrawl, and needed a fix--that's what was wrong with me. And as I went to check my phone--there you were. It was a miracle.

I had a doosey of a bummer of a day.

 

It started by waking up early to go to yoga, and then missing yoga because the yoga studio moved. Then, I decided to walk the dog, but Finn needed a day off and didn't want to walk his little paws. So, I decided to vacuum, since that always makes me feel better. When I was done, I pulled the vacuum cord out of the wall from a distance, and the end of the cord--the prongs--hit me square in the right temple. It came out of nowhere. The morning was turning into this great cosmic joke. I went to get a drink of water, and knocked my glass into the sink--shattering it everywhere. *Geezus* I thought that the only place I would be safe was in bed, so that's where I went back to. That's where Kevin still was (11:00). I said, "I just had the worst morning...." and then started to just cry as though I was overwhelmed from trying so hard at nothing. As I was rattling off my list of things that went awry this morning, saying that I just wanted to do something with SOMEONE, not by myself, Kevin added "...and I'm a lazy Bastard..." "Yeah," I repeated through sobs. "and you're a lazy bastard...."

 

Granted, Kevin has been working an unusually large amount of weekly hours since after trukey day, and this week was almost a record. He had been out of it since he returned from work Friday night. It was almost like Ulysses coming home.

 

I had been in a strange mood-funk all day friday too. My brain was fried. Today was not much better. Friday, as I was trying to take a mental break by knitting, I thought to myself, "damn, I need to call Jenno..."

 

After I roused Kevin out of bed this morning, (more like guilted him out), I got him amped for a hike up Mt. Sanitas--named for the fact that it is the most gruelling quick hike in Boulder CO. But it made me feel better on the hard hike up, and the long run down. Endorphins, that's what I needed. Endorphins.

 

But even after showering and having a grilled cheese and pickle sandwich for lunch, I still wasn't feeling right. Starting at 3pm Kevin and I ran all over looking for new shoes for him, and having no luck. By 5:30 we made our way home. I was just thinking about the party we had to go to, and the chance that there might be some rum there too. Ohh, a Dark and Stormy, that sounds good right now. "When life hands you lemons..." I recited, "trade them in for limes and make Dark and Stormys..." (I modified a fellows bloged wisdom). It was then and there I said to myself, "Damn, I really need to call Jenno... it has been waaay too long." As I reached for my phone, you had already beat me to it. I was so sorry that I couldn't return the call and talk for 3 hours on 'hands-free"--we had to get ready for the going away party for one of my fellow boulder knitters.

 

At the party, I connected with a bunch of old faces, and met some new ones. That was very nice to a day of Karmic-equalizing. But best of all, on the fridge in the kitchen, there was one of those philosophically infused magnets that said, "Live life to the point of tears." (Camus) It fit. Not only for the not-as-nice days, but the memorable ones to.

 

Anyway, thanks for calling. I'll talk to you very soon.

OX
alster

1.2.06| a new page

I have had my alarm clock since the fall of 2000, and I have just now figured out how to set the alarm radio on a specific radio station. This seemingly simple little procedure has boggled me for this long, but I set out to try again tonight after making the bed and by-golly it worked. Perhaps, in the past, I was trying too hard. This little incident reminded me of the writing process. I have about 70ish pages written for the thesis already, but not all of them have been easy. I have had to sit with these ideas, take them for walks, try to write fill blank pages about them, take them out for coffee for ice cream, and try again to write while in front of the computer. Some days the words flow much easier than others.

Last night, we went to see Memoirs of a Geisha with these thesis things still running around in my head. I stopped to use a Barnes and Noble Gift certificate on Aqualungs's CD prior to the movie (I was looking forThe Fray...). I was hoping that new music would get the thesis juices flowing, especially since one of the songs mimics the themes of 'that feeling' in my thesis. All throughout the film, the very long, but very good, butt-numbing film, I was highly attuned to thesis themes once again. And, AHA!, I had a few breakthroughs as though the fresh flow of creative juice flooded through the log jam. It was a sea change. I realized more fully that between the lines, my thesis really involves that mystical search for the beloved.

Today, we took Finn for a walk and then went to the dog park. Finn had a play-date with Xaus. They looked like litter mates with their matching and synchronated wheaten mannerisms. Finn was dreaming again tonight as I was writing an intro to the thesis.

Earlier, we had watched "The Wild Parrots of Telegraph Hill," an 'ali movie' documentary about the wild parrots of telegraph hill, a little community in San Fran, CA. *highly recommended* Next on the Netflix list is the Muppet Show, season one. And thanks to Special K, I finally got my own queue for movie lists, so I don't have to keep rearranging the architect movies away from the 'next in line' spots.

For 2006, I want a well shaped bottom. I also want to stop chewing my nails without getting braces. I also want to put up a few more simple websites for people and learn some sweet 'net skills. I probably should keep practicing the fine art of 'letting go.' I want to get up at 6 am too and start my day earlier. And, most of all, I want to graduate with this masters and be done (for a while).

Since it's a new year, I should start a new blog page, eh?

12.26.05 | talking about a revolution

Christmas in Boulder was 70 degrees and sunny. Yes, it was hard to "feel" like Christmas with out the family close and without the bitter cold temps of the north in December, but we survived. It felt like just another day, except that Kevin had the day off. Four of them actually. I didn't know he could stay away from work that long, but he likes to catch up on his sleep when he is away from OZ. Dispite the weather, we really just chilled (and tried not to miss the tradition too much. I think I am too iconoclastic for Kevin most of the time.) I took the boys for long walks over the break to enjoy the weather and the neighborhood.

For Christmas Eve, we invited our friend Mike Six (who has mad cooking skills) over to cook us dinner, I mean, help make dinner. Six brought over some amazing squash soup and spared the bacon grease for my vegetarian palette. Kevin and I made mushroom and pumpkin squash risotto, and we bought honey hibiscus sorbet and ginger-chunk ice cream for dessert (from the delectible Hatton Creamery, which thankfully is in long-walking distance). Risotto always takes SO LONG to make and so little time to eat, that is it a good thing it is so damn good otherwise I wouldn't ever go through the pains of stirring for hours (stirring often, if not always, ends up being Kevin's job).

After a wonderful dinner (orange veggies and ice cream are two favorite food groups), we went to the commercial movie store for some flicks and came home with a marathon of movies to watch. Some great titles were seen in the past four days (if only Netflix could deliver faster). The most memorable for me were: Antwione Fischer (I wasn't the only one crying...), The Yes Men (Brilliant), Hitch (sweet!), Maria Full of Grace (not as bad as I thought it was going to be for a drug movie, amen), Happy Endings (The same sort of "from L.A./Six-Feet-Under-sort-of-odd", but I love Maggie Gyllenhaal), and HERO (Beautiful cinematography).

On Friday, we ran to REI to buy some new tops for our nalgene bottles that had lost their tops to the heating coil in the dishwasher. As we were searching for a parking spot, and Kevin was muttering something about how crazy it was to have a holiday centered around buying gifts, it sparked a bit of a conversation about how the holiday known to some as "Christmas" seems to be very closely aligned with Madison Avenue. Ah, religion, advertising, and the mission to get the W/word out. Hmmm....

It reminded me of an email that I had recieved earlier last week from a woman in my writing network. She had written about the revolution of knitting in her monthly blog for the holidays. Knitting is a form of subversion, an underground revolution. She wrote about a woman how particularly knit socks and repaired socks. When confronted about why she would spend so much time knitting socks instead of buying 5 pair for $3 at Walmart, the woman rested her peace in the nature of handcrafted knitwear. And I think she was right on. What a better way to thwart the consumerized holiday and jam-packed parking lots than by knitting. (Knitters unite!) Even though my knitting skills are limited to scarves and hats, I find that I can never knit enough hats--there is always someone else that I haven't knit a hat for that I think needs a revolutionary knit hat. As long as my hands stay cramp-free, I will keep tackling my "to knit a hat for" list, and keep knitting and purling the way to a revolution away from mindless consumerism, and towards mindful production. ("I have a dream, that some day, everyone will have their own sheep to shear and a pair of knitting needles....)

 

12.22.05 | Dharma and Greg

Of all the shows on television that are being turned into DVDs, I wish someone would get around to getting Dharma and Greg reruns in one place. I loved that show for its significant insights and lessons. And I feel that Chuck Lorre, the producer of that brilliant show (which was based off of Neil Simon's play Barefoot in the Park), was the pioneer of the blog. He included a seconds worth of "written whatever" at the end of every episode. It was enough to get a cult following of viewers taping episodes so that they could pause it at just the right moment to read the latest installment. If you go to the Chuck Lorre Productions website, you can get to all of them all at once, without programming your VHS. This one is my favorite:

CHUCK LORRE PRODUCTIONS #106
The Buddha taught that the first principle of existence is impermanence.
Absolutely everything in this universe is impermanent.
Impermanence creates uncertainty.
I don't know about you, but I have a very low tolerance for uncertainty.
Uncertainty causes me discomfort.
Discomfort causes me to think stupid things.
Stupid thoughts cause me to take stupid actions.
My stupid actions bring about unfortunate results.
Luckily, the unfortunate results are impermanent.
Is this a great universe or what?

12.21.05 | Sheer naked contact

Last year, a fellow graduate student who was off on research in Sikkim sent the Department a vivid holiday letter. It included almost exclusively this quote from D.H. Lawrence:

"In the oldest religion, everything was alive, not supernaturally but naturally alive...For the whole life-effort of man was to get his life into contact with the elemental life in the cosmos, mountain-life, cloud-life, thunder-life, air-life, earth-life, sun-life.  To come into immediate felt contact, and so derive energy, power and a dark sort of joy.  This effort into sheer naked contact, without an intermediary or mediator is the root meaning of religion." 

This piece resonated so deeply with "what I belive" that I thought PW had just sent me my thesis topic at the time. I got close I think, and if I work it right, I might be able to fit this quote on to my dedication page. Nevertheless, I thought it was a perfect meditation piece for the winter solstice.

Let's take a step further back in history before the manger scene (from a voice from the religious left): Because, dispite all the emails going around talking about "Christ-mas trees, not holiday trees," the holiday we know as Christmas began as a pagan holiday of the Sun, around the shortest day of the year. And a tree is just a tree with just as much pagan symbology wrapped around it.

When I reflect back on this time of year, I get a resurgence of a reflective time. The days get darker and darker, keeping me inside. It is like a cave or a womb of reflection and thought and looming creativity that springs from the light of a candle. I remember it being a great time for writing papers, or just writing in general, like writing the family New Year's Eve Bonfire invitations. Or later, when I set up my little sweat shop in the basement, I would practice sewing on whatever fabric tickled my fancy and was in the bargain bin (for the longest time the obsession was polarfleece...Oy. If I could have, I would have made fleece underwear...double Oy). This season, I find myself not only having the same amount of seasonal time to myself, but also much personal reflection. It is a great time to write, and a great time to knit hats. If only I could write and knit hats at the same time. ... I want magic skills for Christmas. ;)

12.20.05 | Moody Blues

The weather has been warmer here the past 2 days. Warm enough to make the little dog really dirty from his walks that we have been taking up around Wonderland Lake. I finished the second Kohanov book yesterday, and was "amped" to get cranking on typing out my notes, so I could write a little essay and tack it on to my paper which still stands at just under 40 pages as one chapter. I ran into a great quote today, that only adds to my thesis: "Love is composed of a single soul inhabiting two beings." Aristotle.

The December issue of the BCHA newsletter came out today. It was the issue that I volunteered to put together (roughly) for them, so I feel like a big part of it. Yet, still a very much behind the scenes part of it, although I was recognized in the President's letter, which was nice. (The week I was writing for, editing, and putting together the "issue," Rob's horoscope was a warning against letting anyone take credit for what I was ultimately behind.) Anyway, there is more to add to the "resume" section of the Auspicious Projects page now, which is a relief to see it get a little bigger with 3 more little articles/clips. (But I got the cover story, that has to balance out the other two pieces on composting with manure and Horse council stats.)

I also went through some old essays from classes and added them to the "essays" page. There should be plenty of rowdy, edgy reading. I thought it might be nice to have some more samples of my work accessible off the website, since the resume section is a little paltry and the blog isn't linked off the main page for a while yet. I thought about putting some pdf's of papers as a link off that page, but I thought against it after thinking about how many times I have run across pdf's on a web search for something. I didn't want to freely give away term papers to slacking websurfers. So, I thought that more essays would suffice. Some of these I want to polish up and submit somewhere, but I never know if academically good spells "common parlance" good.

We also have more pictures to add to the Finn and Ginger site that just came back today. These ones are more up to date, having been taken last weekend. I capture Finn's mop-top on film before I take him to the groomer (very soon, I hope). He is too much like velcro with all that hair, and he probably only needs about half of it to still look super cute. (I still have people stop on the side of the road when I take him for walks and say "that is the cutest dog I have ever seen!) He knows he's cute, and he's lucky he's cute.

As I write tonight, I find myself in a very strange mood, restless almost. I saw Kevin only breifly today, for almost 20 minutes, as he breezed in after dinner time, and before he breezed back out again. While I fully realize that he had pantloads of stuff to do at work, with a close pending deadline, it is difficult to not feel slighted as he manages to survive through his uber-productive days and weeks before deadline. I feel like one of those children who rarely sees their parents, nor has an authentic moment with them for days on end. And that is a tiresome feeling on the emotional radar. But, I did get an email from Pete Yorn today, with an image from the Charlie Brown Christmas, that said to be patient, much music was on its way for 2006.

(When I look back at those emotionally turbulent weeks of Mercury in Retrograde of '05, I vividly remember Pete saving me from the "worst" one. I wish I would have put that in the Christmas letter. PY can make the planets move back on track.)

12.19.05 | landscapes and bodies

While walking the little dog towards the foothills everyday, I usually get a pretty nice vista of the folding landscape on the westward horizon. It always makes me think of that one Edward Weston photograph of the pepper that looks so much like a volumptuous body. Our landscapes are very influential. I am still getting used to my current landscape, but it still gives me the comfort of knowing I am close to home when I see Boulder's distinctive Flatirons. And when I close my eyes, I can see the entire geologic vista that surrounds Bozeman, MT. And I can even see the landscape from my old stomping grounds: the rolling lush hills of Wisconsin, and the meandering Chippeawa river flowage.

From The Interpretation of Ordinary Landscapes: “Landscape is, first of all, the unity we see, the impressions of our senses rather than the logic of the sciences.”

From Experiences of Place: “The philosopher Gaston Bachelard maintained that the relationship between person and place is so intimate that someone seeking to understand himself of herself…might be helped by an exploration of self-identity through an analysis of the places in which one has dwelt…. The sensory events of our daily lives trigger memories of the places in which we have dwelt and thus help us to remember whence we have come and how we have been shaped.”

In my mind, these phrases touch on the contention between thinking-too-much about place and feeling a place. Bachelard’s description of the intimacy of relationship between person and place stresses our inter-subjectivity (?) with our surroundings, and perhaps our sense of that inter-subjectivity is heightened when we slow the analytical processes and sense the objects staring back at us from our surroundings, feeling those surroundings, having them wash over us like the morphing force of the grand flowages that formed the grand canyon, or like the smaller thaws of spring the fan out the soil. It is not just the trees and waters that have “shaped” us, but also the other bits of the culture in which we grew—animals, food, sounds, weather, people—that is a part of ourselves in the way that it has given us orientation in our “world”.

12.18.05 | ice, ice, baby.

Its beginning to look a lot like Christmas here, and the Solstice is right upon us this Wednesday. Last night, we went out with another couple and went ice skating. It reminded me of hanging out with Jen Mead at the ice rink in Eau Claire. She would skate circles around me while she monitored the open skate. (I still can't skate backwards...)

EarlierSaturday, Kevin and I addressed envelopes for our holiday mailing. Almost a hundred envelopes, oh my!, Stamped with Jim Henson's Muppets. We put together a website for holiday viewing, as the letter implies, in which we posted pictures from the year for all to see. It's the Finn and Ginger: Christmas 2005 page. *<--click to go there*

12.17.05 | Do dogs dream in color?

On Friday another package came in the mail. It was from aunt Dee and was 'not to be opened until Christmas.' Finn, however, got his toy. And 48 hours later, it's legs had been amputated, it had been gutted and de-pantsed, and had its hands chewed off. All that remains to be had are the squeaky-toy feet. That morning, as I was reading and the excitement of a new toy had receded into nap-time, I watched as Finn was dreaming on the couch opposite me. His paws were twitching, his little stubby tail was wiggling, and he was letting out an occaisional muted 'ruff.'

I have been engaged in reading two books by Linda Kohanov, The Tao of Equus and Riding Between Worlds, both of which account for her thinking and revelations and work with horses as equine therapists for human psychotherapy. I am suprised how much of the book I am actually taken by. I put off reading both titles because they seemed too mainstream for the critical academic, but like all things, I now feel like I wouldn't have been ready to read them at any other time. The time was ripe for me to get into these texts, and much of it made sense in many ways. Linda Kohanov has articulated very sensitive spaces that not only counters much of what we know, and how we know it, but also begs entrance through any window that will let her in and here her voice on these matters. I have found both books to be affecting both personally and for illumination for my thesis, which is why I ventured to read them in the first place. I tried to explain what I was thinking about these books to Kevin yesterday, and it went over his head. Oh well. Sometimes when I feel like I need a conversation partner, no one ever seems to get what I'm talking about. It's frustrating to have conversations with myself about issues that I want to hash out with a sounding board.

Kohanov writes about how horses act as mirrors for human emotions. She talks a lot about emotional incongruity--people who act like nothing is wrong. 'everything is fine,' and yet are writhing or seething or aching internally. Kohanov gives emotions strong validity and feels that by simply ackknowledging what we feel when we feel it, we can learn from those situations and feelings and act in a new way that avoids emotional avoidance and suppression. I had to think about the times I voiced how I was feeling, only to be chided and scolded for feeling that way, when all I needed at the time was for a safe neutral place to feel what I was feeling and figure out how to learn from it in a way that allowed for a new behavior. The book made me feel better overall about knowing that emotional-behavior pathways and rituals can be kicked and jumpstarted anew.

I had to think about "putting on a happy face" in light of the trying to put together our Christmas letter. Kevin, as senior editor, made sure that the outlined focused on the good things that happened this year, and certainly there were plenty. However, if left to my own devices, I could have ruminated a letter about emotional upheaval and growth, about a year in which I felt perpetually de-centered. But of course, no one wants to read that. Kinda like how no one really wants to know how you really feel, unless its your therapist. Why is that emotional space so threatening? It needs to be a space for healing. Kohanov writes that highly sensitive people (hsp), like horses, can see through the masks worn by others. It is that emotional incongruity that becomes overwhelming and bothersome to HSPs, who often shy away from large groups of people because that emotional incongruity becomes too much for them to handle. Codependants especially experience this phenomenon because they experienced other's emotional incongruity while growing up (especially in homes or families with alcoholism); it is witnessing people who say one thing and do something else entirely. (Which seems on many fronts to be a trust issue, and perhaps a fear issue?) I don't know how far any of this can be taken out of the therapeutic arena, or out of new-age psychobabble, (but it all seems legit), and it seems to be a springboard for life lessons. But correct me if I'm wrong...

 

12.14.05 | knockin on heaven's door

Last week, all the doors to the cosmos seemed to be closed. I'm sure it took sometime for Mercury to get back on track, so this lack of response is understandable. Rob's horoscope this week for Virgo:

"A while back you heard a commotion coming from behind the door of opportunity. It momentarily buoyed you. But the silence since then has been disheartening. Now you may even be on the verge of giving up. But here's my advice to you: Start knocking on that door and don't stop until it opens. Keep knocking patiently and politely for an hour, for a day, for three weeks or six months--for as long as it takes. I don't know if the answer you'll receive when the door opens will be exactly the one you want, but it will provide you with the precise information you need to decide what to do next. And you'll never get that insight if you walk away now."

Today, after a series of days in which I simply went to bed early to stop the cosmic silent treatment, I had a series of boons, and a much fresher outlook overall, which was very nice considering how iffy my state has been for such a long while. Today, it seemed like the things I had been waiting for that had been in motion for over 2 weeks seemed to show me a response. (And, brilliantly, I manifested myself some cookies. can't beat that. Thanks, grams.)

So today was day 3 in this week of week 3 of joblessness. And I must say, the idea of just "writing my thesis" seemed rather appealing, especially when just Monday I thought I was going to go nuts without at least a part-time job for daily structure and income. It's one thing to be broke and have a job, and it's another to be broke without a job. But that being said, I felt I was into my studying routine today: wake up, feed critters, organize house, dishes, laundry, etc., take Mr. Schaffer to work, return with the 4runner, correspond via email, walk dog for a brisk 5-6 miler, shower, lunch, and read all afternooner, make dinner, correspond via E, read more. I call that productive. The walks lately have been keeping the creative juices flowing and keeping the little dog's edge worn out.

The walks give me time to process what I have been reading, etc., and other thesis related ideas, so I tend to count it as hours of work and research. I have been reading a book that I first tought was bordering on balderdash, but really is quite good and provoking in light of what I have been reading for my thesis. Yesterday, the graphic designer came through with some great logo choices for MOxie Solutions, and things are bound to get rolling for that after tomorrow night's dinner meeting (where we might also discuss what it's like to make-out with an olympian or two). The Boulder County Horse Assn has answered the email of acceptance to be editor of the newsletter, which I might still have qualms about, but I know I need this to grow in the ways of being particular and editor-ish with the written word, including my own no doubt. I was also offered the chance to discuss a very temporary position corralling phone calls at a familiar architecture firm, but when I heard word that the lines of communication were open to me discussing ways of structuring all my new-found free time and a chance for some holiday cash, I was silent for a moment and thought about my great and productive day. The door opened, and I just hesitated. It was one of those moments where I felt strange for knocking in the first place, and felt bad for changing my mind. Almost like rinigng a doorbell and running away. Here, someone had given me what I had asked for, and I had to rethink my question: did I really want to give up my walking-thinking-mornings? I felt childish and selfish and like a fall-out of the mid-west work ethic at the thought.

Also, today, in the process of offering my little western saddle for sale to an Arabian Barn, I "met" a woman who perhaps fits the mold of what I affectionately call "a crazy old horsewoman." She said to me as if she knew my skill by the brand of my saddle: "I don't think you should sell your saddle; I think you should ride in it. People need good riders who can show horses." (which was too reminiscent of when I tried to sell my last horse Carpet. When I sent the video out, everyone raved about him, but said that we looked like we were made for each other and I shouldn't sell him. Is this soft rejection? or are people trying to tell me something?) And the conversation went on for about an hour and a half. Sometimes I wonder why I meet the people I do when I meet them, and if it has any greater meaning than just a chance meeting? I like to think there's fate and kismet involved, but I have thought that before with this whinnying lot... And for someone like me who is still that horse crazy girl trying to maneuver between the fight against what she doesn't like about the horse world and its inhabitants, and the can't be squashed and denied attraction to horses and the desire to have one again, it is hard to walk the fine line of saying "no" to the fact that perhaps I have seen this scenario before of the overwhelmed horsewoman in near distress from being overhorsed and under helped.

When Kevin arrived home this evening, we decided to check out the new ice cream store about a mile from out little house. I have heard rave reviews about it. (and honestly, it takes the cherry from all other ice cream stores that previously held holy delicious significance for me. ...and they cater. I have a feeling ice cream would go so well with wedding bells....). Before we left the house to taste these rumored delicacies of frozen yum-yums, I had to check the front door for a long awaited package from the Fed-Ex Fairy. And when I opened the box, the cookies materialized. Thanks be to Allah and the cookie monster himself (grams, too). It was the Christmas tradition of our family this year to draw a name for someone to gift. The catch was that this year, you had to make a present for the person you drew, and it had to be under $25. When I heard of these rules, I hope to the goddess that Grams had my name, because I was in serious need for some cookie-luvin. And she delived with a new wonderful knit hat and scarf as well, oh, and Caramel corn and Ginger bread people for the Special-K, too. Good thing we had movie night.

There is little more exciting than getting cookies in the mail. (although I was pretty excited when I got a vacuum in the mail...). The last time grams sent me cookies, I was in Bozeman. It was a very exciting day for two reasons: I had just gotten home from the barn, almost late for work, and lo and behold my most favorite and beautiful neighbor knocks on the door. (This is the stuff dreams are made of, mind you, or at least at the time, my dreams were made of this. It's what kept me going...) He had just stopped by because he was in the area and had his motorcycle and wanted to know if I wanted to go for a ride. If heck yes was in my vocabulary back then, it would have taken all my resolve and energy to not squeal it in disbelief. Who in their right mind would not pass up the chance to "hold on tight" to the eros of their waking dreams? After hitting my maximum speed of 30 mph around the block, while hugging the driver like I was about to die, we ended up back at the front porch. Where, lo and behold, there was a box. It was from Grams, and it was full of cookies. I think the excitement of that little wild ride was slightly overrode by the manifested cookies. I shared some with my at-the-time-eros and got ready for work. It was a very giddy day with quite the story to tell to the girls at the Teahouse.

The moral of the story is that things happen when the cosmos is in alignment. 'Tis part of the magic of manifesting successfully. The other moral belongs to timing: things come when you most need them, and just about as you are about to give up on them and take another path, or knock on another door. I'm just glad that the Fed-ex man knocked on my door. As for the boy-back-then: as with most things, at the time I don't know if the answer I got from knocking at the door was what I wanted, but it gave me the information that I needed to do next. And I would have never had the opportunity had I not knocked.

12.11.05 | the honey of all beings

Rob Brezsny had this quote from the Brihadaranyaka Upanishad in his newsletter-horoscope this week:

"This earth is honey for all beings, and all beings are honey for this earth. The intelligent, immortal being, the soul of the earth, and the intelligent, immortal being, the soul in the individual being—each is honey to the other."

I wanted to write about it for 2 reasons. First of all, it is part of a favorite passage of mine from the Upanishads which I was introduced to in Asian Religions at Montana State. Secondly, this passage deals with honey as being nature of the universe, a very mellifluous concept, from which the title of this blog-ditty comes. Mellifluous means "smooth and sweet," or "flowing with sweetness or honey." Desultory means "random." Together, I feel like both words describe life in some ways: it seems so random, but it all flows together sweetly. In the Upanishads, the passage refers to life as well. Namely, that honey is undifferentiated. This sweet and sticky substance becomes a metaphor for life in the sense that beyond apparent differentiation, differences dissappear when everything is the honey of all beings.

I don't know if that made any sense or if it was merely still esoteric. But getting back to Desultory and Mellifluous as appropriate discriptors for what one is to make of life's odyssey.... Laurens Van Der Post writes in his book, About Blady: A Pattern out of Time: "Although the story becomes specific only in Blady, it does not begin there. That is the trouble when writing about the truth as we have experienced it." He goes on to talk about the differences between a storyteller and the reporter of truth. The storyteller can pick and choose his way through a story by deciding what to add to the story, how fast time can go (50 years in one paragraph, or a minute in a page), and when to enter the story. "He can marry outer eventfulness with the inner eventfulness of a story that imagination bound to the here and now cannot do, because the truth of life will only yield to the truth attained in a pattern that has been lived," Laurens writes. Our truths are not bound to the world of the clock and calendar, but is rather a relfective before and after moment that meanings seem to come to fruition for us. And those moments always change, like us looking at the stars in the night sky night after night, knowing that how we see the universe is not how the universe sees us. "Truth yeilds to nothing except growth," he writes. As we grow through our own life, our truth constellations are always in flux as we are. We can find meaning in the sometimes seemingly desultory pattern of moments, something sweetly meaningful, flowing through our experience.

Speaking of Desultory and Mellifluous, today I read an old advert for a snowboard movie called the Tangerine Dream. I had heard of the Tangerine Dream as a band from my friend Jen and her dad back in High school. Later, while I was in Montana, and learned to board with a rad group of dorm-mates, my friend Anna Banana sold me her old orange and silver Burton snowboard which I named the Tangerine Dream, in lieu of its color, the band, the little memory of Jen, and my dream for snowboarding greatness as an X-games hopeful. (I ditched the sport after too much two-week-later-full-body pain and a lack of powder experiences.)

12.10.05 | Lucky's day

On Thursday, as I was walking the dog, I found a wallet. It had no bennies, just identification cards and gym passes and a full punch card to noodles and company. It belonged to a high school student named Lucky. It felt so strange carrying someone else's wallet all the way home. I felt like I was going to get caught with it in my hands and be blamed for stealing it. It was almost like that feeling I get when I drive past a cop car and get all nervous, as though I had just stolen my own car. I called his school and notified the office, who then called Lucky, who then came to pick up his wallet. I told him that there was nothing in it when I found it, and he said, "Yeah, I know. I'm broke." It was all relatively uneventful, and I just went back to translating German.

Since being "laid off" for the past 2 weeks, I have had this sense of midwest work ethic guilt. Basically, I feel guilty for not working. My lack of "work" even more striking when placed next to my over-stretching architect fiance who pulls in 70 + hour weeks. Amazingly, I had almost enough to get through December bills, but January will be tight until the student loans come in. It's not that I haven't been doing anything. I've been working on a paper/thesis chapter and translating Deutsch. But I don't get paid for doing that. I know that even a part-time job would help to off-set the bareness in my bank account, but working for minimum seems like a waste of time. I would be better off cleaning houses: more per hour, less time, my own schedule. Then I remember Moxie Solutions (coming soon to a URL near you: www.moxiesol.com): I do have a job, I remind myself, and it's what I would rather be doing. I just know that start-ups can take so long until credits outweigh debits...

In my horoscope this week (and we know Rob is always right since he told me I should just sit on the couch last week), Rob said: "To convey the dirt simple oracle you need to hear, I'm going to steal a line from the poet William Kulik: "You can't get it because you've already got it." In other words, Virgo, your only hope for enjoying the lovely experience you're wistfully fantasizing about is to register the fact that the lovely experience is available to you right now. It's already yours for the taking." Rob seems to be telling me that the time is ripe and the force may be with me. But as another great prophet said: "The waiting is the hardest part."

12.05.05 | Crazy horse

My day started early. I woke up in the wee-early hours to roaring winds outside my bedroom window. It's 10:23 pm, and the wind has been howling and gusting upwards of 50 mph all day. I tried to take the little dog for a walk, but once we started heading west, we were stopped in our tracks. Finn looked like he was in a wind tunnel: his fluffy, shaggy fur was smushed to his little frame. But he was having an easier time standing than me. I feel like tomorrow I will wake up and find that I am not in Boulder anymore ('why am I wearing ruby slippers?') . I remember trying to feed horses on days like today. Sand would blown out of the arena and pelt me as if I were at a beach before a storm; Hay would blow out of my hands and out of the horses feeders, so I always had to feed them more to account for what the wind ate; the wind would blow through the cracks of the barn and blow shavings in my eyes as I was cleaning stalls, and would make sweeping a silly task. One windy day at the barn, I had to hang on to the fence in order to remain grounded. It's like a twister with no storm chasers. Today, I was glad I didn't have to brave the blustery wind at the barn.

Kevin always tells me (and I have always known) that horse-people are a little off. "Crazy" is often the word that is used, in all meanings of the phrase. I can vouch for some very sound horse persons in my life, but am one of the first to admit that there is a fair share of people out there that seek stability in a stable. I have plenty of experiences that can attest to this phenomenon. One friend told me that mentally unsound people are drawn to horses, often at the expense of the horse (and the image of the industry?) One woman I talked to last week was pretty convinced that horse people are loners, and in that sense, socially enept in a way. In my paper, I just quoted from Melissa Holbrook Piersons book in which she says that horses give the lonely person someone to talk to, a way to be seen "when all we wanted was to be seen," companionship in a world of human interactions that are often more complicated than they need to be. Laurence Van Der Post, in his book About Blady, reminds us that in Swift's Gulliver's Travels, Gulliver could only convince himself to go back to the world of men after living in the world of the horses.

I don't know what it is about horses that draws the un-stable, but I'm sure it has something to do with certain aspects of the horse that the stable are drawn to: love, trust, understanding, touch--basic emotional needs, really. But there is also an ego side that the horse can be used as a lever for: for empowerment of the Self, which can be a dangerous and detrimental thing in certain circumstances and for certain horses.

Today, as we were coming home, this issue arose again between Kevin and I. He told me what a co-worker said to him after he relayed the events of last week: "...crazy horse people. I've never met one that wasn't socially enept in some way..." Just before we reached the threshold of the house, Kevin said "don't you think you are a crazy horse person?" No, I said. But it made me think for minute. In all of Kevin's moments with me with his social herd, I have certainly seemed at least some degree to be socially enept. But am I a crazy horse person? I don't think so. Horse-crazy, yes. Tempted by the urge to have a horse again? yes. but I'm not a raging nut case, and I think I get along just fine in my little world--with or without horses.

12.02.05 | Mercury is in retrograde, again.

Mercury is in retrograde again. Once I heard this today, everything started making sense: mechanical failure, communication breakdown, overall disjunct. Mercury is the ruling planet of Virgo. The last time Mercury was in retrograde, I was convinced I was having the worst week of my remembered life. It was an emotional and physical funk that may have culminated when the dog puked on my foot, spontaneously, after a really bad day. I remember feeling like I needed to bust out of my own skin, like I wanted to crawl in a hole and wait it out. I can't even remember the exact events of the week that put me over the edge, way over, but I do know that it was being able to go to Pete Yorn at the Fox that made everything AOK again. The man works in mysterious ways, what can I say?

This week, I feel like everything is working against me or telling me that I have been wrong all along, as though I'd been living in an illusion: the car, the system, my own creative outlets. I feel as though I am slowly being crushed by weight from outside, like I am under a social microscpe telling me where I broke the unwritten rules. Just when I thought it was OK to proceed without caution, it seemed to flair up again in the most unforseen manner in terms of familial rifts and "no valid plates." I may have learned something about expressing how I really feel, and that honesty may not always be the best policy for discourse. Or, perhaps I learned about clarity, mainly that the riddle of vagarities are best not left to interpretations out of context. Or, perhaps I learned that it is the little things in life that really do matter, and a person needs to be sensitve to everything, all at once, both inside and outside their experiential body and in relation to all the other bodies. Or, perhaps there is a heirarchy of emotional validity that I am not aware of. Or, perhaps, that is it easy to "ruin" perfection.

I come from a family in which some people keep too much to themselves, don't confess much about how they are feeling, and others don't think before they speak, confessing raw and unreflected upon "how-I-really-feel-right-now-dammit" feelings, which always seem to pass as though they never happened in the first place. How to learn the conscious balance between the two poles, the balance of "right speech" (part of Buddha's 8-part system)? I had been told once by a dear loved one that I don't need to edit everything I say, that I just need to say it and get it out and not harbor feelings. I remember thinking to myself: "oh, but not everyone wants to hear what I really have to say at any given first-response emotional moment. That's why I reflect on it." Today, I met with a wonderful woman who said that she prefers to be frank because life it too short. (although, I am sure that "frank" has an emotionally PC buffer zone.)

As humans, we have blind spots in all the most metaphorical and literal senses of the phrase. We don't have eyes in the back of our head, and 360 degree vision is left for omnipotent eyes only. We can't see everything around us. We can never see the whole truth/Truth. And we can't see the anything but the flux of knowledge. Even what we see never stays put; it is always changing. Some planets appear to move backward, emotions shift along a drastic and variant scale. And we can never fully understand what goes on in another's skin, their flesh and blood experience of their sensitive spaces.

12.01.05 | a melody softy soaring though my atmosphere

I think my aunt Dee is going to be my wedding planner. She seemed to have the perfect idea of what I want: "I picture you in a valley with wild flowers and mountains in the background, riding off on horseback after the ceremony (with the horse lead in by Mr. Dynamite)." Ahh, a Napoleon Dynamite themed wedding. Instead of the bland and overdone "I Do," we could say "heck yes" and "you know I do." We can't really settle on a date yet (not that we've given much discussion to it. We've been so busy with our respective jobs since before turkey day). But, if we are shooting for wildflowers and wild honeymoon stallions, June seems to be the best bet. (Good hiking, flyfishing and biking then, too.)

But in all honesty, I forsee a very long engagement. I met with my barn-mate Nicole on Tuesday night. Nicole had gotten engaged over the summer at Lava Lake in Big Sky. Between this and other recent events, we had a lot to talk about amongst ourselves. Kevin asked me why we were meeting at Barnes and Noble. I told him it was so we could look at wedding dresses and stuff. He got a very worried look on his face, and said "What!?!" And although we saved the dress critique to the very end, we had many great side conversations in the book store coffee spot: "are you going to change your name?" "can you even say "fiance", yet?" "and I know what you mean about feeling nauseous." We had a good time laughing about these matters: two freshly engaged horse-crazy girls with the same taste in wedding dresses who show up to a book store in matching "after-barn" attire.

I know I am too iconoclastic for a traditional wedding, or a traditional anything for that matter. And looking at price tags is enough to put anyone--engaged or not--over the edge of "I don't even want to have a wedding." I was talking about this with none other than my very wonderful (and single) cosmetologist, Rob (who gave me another stellar haircut). We agreed that "the day" in all of its ceremonial hoop-la was potentially a big waste of moo-la. So, the lingering question is, how to keep everything casual and organic and a classic good time.

11.30.05 | Moving right along

Yesterday, my first day "off," was a busy one. I have many irons in the fire, lately, and now, plenty of time to get to them (or so it seems). Currently, I am working on a website for my mom's painting work. She is moving to Albuquerque this January, and has never lived out of Wisconsin in all of her 29 years. ;) To top it off, in all her years painting as a side-job for friends and relatives, her brilliant work and word of mouth garnered her many more projects than she could handle at times. She never had to advertise. But now in a new place, she is starting fresh, so I am hoping that a website will help her get moving. It is still in the works, but check it out: here.

In other news, my little dog just rolled off the couch. *thud* he is still laying there wondering what happened, and if he really wants to end nap time that quickly. It's been cold here, but I took him on a 5-miler this AM, so I'm sure he's resting up for his playdate this afternoon.

I've been having dreams about Pete Yorn lately. Dreams in which I come close to meeting him and asking him if he will play at my wedding party.

11.28.05 | Karmic intersection, or, A brand new day

Today was a doosey. Our brakes (which had just been fixed 10 days ago) went out on the way to work. And shortly thereafter, after leaving messages at my work destination, I learned that I was no longer needed at my side-show horse-job. So, with that news in tow, I made a busy morning of myself planning for what's next, and letting it all soak in.

It was relief, really. Even after 4 days off for Turkey Day break, my little back was still sore, and not looking forward to hauling hay (a task that I used to love) on this chilly Monday. Perhaps the craziest thing is that I have been knowing that this was going to happen, and before I took off last week for the holiday, I wanted to leave the gate opener with them, just so they had it, and I wanted to leave my card with the farrier so we could stay in touch. I could smell it coming. The practical part of me needed to stay there at least through December, and I could have even worked over Christmas. Nevertheless, this is a boon.

70% of life is just showing up, says Woody Allen. And by not showing up at work today due to the unforseen circumstances, I had to return to the moment of kismet that happened when I did show up at a Boulder writer's function this past September. There, I met Karinanne, a writer who had left her corporate day job to freelance. After many coffee meetings later, we were buzzing with possibilities for creating our very own faux writing agency. As of now, we are still in the late stages of planning, and are fully intending to launch at the first of the year: Moxie Solutions, the communications elixir.

Just thinking about how bad our brake situation could have been in the past 10 days, I had to remember that life is a verb, not a noun. My little job may have ended today, but it has opened up the door to more time for better possibilities. And I am lucky to have good friends who are on my side whenever the horse-work always lands on its head. My barn-mate Nicole has thoughtfully hooked me up with some horses that need care and attention and a reminder that 'horses and girls are meant to be together.' And tomorrow I get my hair cut. What a perfect symbol for new strides and new trails.

11.27.05 | no answers, yet

So we arrived home safely from a long days drive from the heart of the southwest. It was a fun trip, and Finn left plenty of snush marks on Dee's Patio door to remind her of how much fun he had. Of course, once there, we were asked the multitide of "engagement/wedding" questions: when? where? How many? How much? Who? Dee told me that I had to make the "day" be what I want to remember it by. All I could think was: I wonder if Pete Yorn would come play at the Reception?

11.23.05 | The Big Bird Day

We are off to Albuquerque for Thanksgiving. 'Tis the season for seasonal veggies and long naps after stuffing your self way beyond carrying capacity. "Can someone pass me an extra stomach?" My favorite is yams with oven crisp marshmallows and cranberry sauce. But I secretly love seeing how many gingerbread cookies I can decapitate. ("Who's been eating the heads off the gingerbread people?" grandma asks.)

As a vegetarian on Turkey-day, it is hard to trade Turkey for Tofu, since neither bear any semblance of the other no matter what tofu manufacturers try to do to soycurd. So, I just stick to the unsuspecting Gingerbread villages. Since I will be gone from the base-camp computer and Dreamweaver, I can only post when I return on Sunday. Until then, I thought I would try to expand my blog page to another page (and test my linking skills). So, I have posted an essay (digested from a powerpoint I did a few semesters back) on a new page called "essays." (This seems easy enough...). It is an essay (or pseudo-essay) on the lived religion of pet ownership, complete with rituals and mythos and significant othership. I thought this might be worth putting out there on the Big Bird day, for some reflection on our animal others while we sacrifice turkeys (almost the national bird, remember, if one of our founding fathers would have had his way...) for this festive and crapulent feast.

Click here to read "Hallowed be thy Pet."

11.22.05 | Acclimated

After growing up around the 45th parallel in the upper midwest, I have grown hardy from wintering such climates formuch of the first quarter of my life. I remember one winter in particular in which it was below zero for two flippin months. The water buckets in the barn were frozen with an inch (plus) of ice and needed almost hourly chopping so that the horses had liquid water. It was a period of a heat draught that lasted too long. The horses were longing to play outside for more than a couple of hours without growing giant icicles off their winter wiskers.

Not to talk about the weather, but it has been unbelivably warm here in Boulder--in the 60s. It's November. I've been habituated for 23 years of Wisconsin seasons, and at this point in the seasonal calendar, I should be getting ready to hibernate. Who can hibernate when it's 60 degrees outside? Yet, after 2 fall-winter seasons in Boulder I am still amazed at how my body-clock percieves less daylight as a time to sleep like a bear.

And after 3 days with a ring on my finger, the novelty has not yet worn off, but perhaps I am acclimating. There are still so many people to tell, and people to get excited, and people to immediately ask if we set a date. My Chiropractor asked me something wedding related, and I said, "well, I dunno, I don't know how any of this wedding-stuff works..." As his own daughter just got married this past September, He warned me with a smile that there a plenty of people out there that are ready to tell me how it all works.

In all honesty, I didn't even know what hand should wear an engagement ring--the left or right ring finger? "You can wear it on whatever hand you want," Kevin said. But whatever hand, I like to look at it--especially in the sun--it's a beautiful pave set in white gold that looks like glistening frost on the snow.

11.20.05 | yes she said and again yes and his hands and yes she said again she said yes

Well, actually, I said "sure."

"Sure" came from the nervous, I-want-to-vomit-feeling that came from waiting for the *surprise*. (This is why I don't trust my reactions to surprises. However, I realized that as much as I don't trust my facial expressions, I don't trust my verbal reactions in moments of surprise either. I mean, do I say what is in the script for situations like these? or do I just stand there dumbfounded, like I'm about to cry, because I don't know what to say through the mess of emotions flowing through my viscera?)

Just before Kevin got down on one snowshoe, and in the middle of his "I really think you are beautiful, and smart and a smart-ass" speech, I said to him, "Do I need to sit down for this?" If I had really, really thought outside my little self-box, I could have come up with a legendary response like *Heck Yes,* or, one rooted in our common memory box: "Hells of Yesses!". In all honesty, after 'shoeing in for roughly an hour, I had cold feet (on top of a head cold), and all I could muster on a perfect snowshoe day on the Brainard Lake snowshoe trail in front of a view of the blustery Mt. Audubon, was "sure." (As Napoleon would say, "Idiot! *gosh*")

On the 'shoe back, Kevin disclosed to me that when he had called mom to 'ask for her blessing,' she warned him: "But you know she will have a horse again, don't you?" I told him she was right, that it is inevitable, really, and that those animals make me happier than I care to admit. It is a strange phenomenon: boy falls in love with (recovering) horse-crazy girl, only to find out that there is no recovery, it's a sick addiction. This creates a strange love triangle, and plently of room for vying for attentions. When my barn-mate Nicole got engaged this summer, I asked her at one point if she had then disclosed to her beau that he not only had her, but her horses, too. An old friend of mine had had her horse well before she had met her future husband, but had sold the horse once they were married. When, after she had raised two boys, she told him that she wanted to get another horse again, he looked at her as if she were crazed and said "Why?" Ultimately, the horse was the last straw to their relationship. Luckily, Kevin knows what he is getting into. And I have the perfect horse picked out for him.

But the horses will come later. For now, all I can say is: ShineOnYouCrazy48LittleDiamonds.

11.19.05 | Dreams are cheap

Early this morning I had a dream that my mother was going to buy me riding lessons, I had awoke enough to hear myself talking in my sleep as I rolled over, "But they cost too much," I said to her. I think Kevin, sleeping next to me, may have even responded to my night mumbles by asking a lazy "what?", and I am sure the kitty snuggled at my side raised her head at the random voice in the night. In that dream mom was with me and we were going to look (just look) at a little bay horse named Phamous. Due to the desultory flow of dreams, we never made it to the barn, and by that time I had rolled over into anothermumbling realm of dreamland.

This morning, I sit here in my old barn sweatshirt even though I didn't have to go feed the horses this morning. It is a sweatshirt that was handed down from Kevin, since it was too small, and I have worn it in the barn so much that the front pocket is speckled with hay flakes in the seams. It is a sweatshirt that I wear out of the barn, too, when it is clean. When I was younger, and had a barn of my own, I had a red hooded sweatshirt (shama-lama-ding-dong), so very much like the one that prompted Adam Sandler to sing: http://www.asandler.com/lyrics/redhood.shtml

I am wearing this sweatshirt today because it is a comfort thing, and it is also a brainless choice--the old standby--and, it is clean again. Kevin has a *surprise* weekend planned. If he only knew how much I *hate* surprises. I don't trust my reactions to surprises ("just don't cringe," my friend Jenn says). To top it off, I was looking forward to this weekend for the paper: I have one half of a book left to dig through and then I need to start writing. Weekends are when I get stuff done, so I have been reluctant to be really psyched about this whole surprise. I don't know what I am expecting when all I know is "you need to bring snowshoes, warm clothes, a dress, a swimsuit, warm clothes and your fun underwear." As of now, I am stressing simply because the dresses I own go from casual cute to damn-near prom, with nothing inbetween. So, I feel ill prepared, in all respects, and would like to get a new swimsuit and a suitable ensemble before I can feel comfortable about this. If only 5-star restaurants accepted red-hooded-sweatshirts.

I talked to Jenn last night for 2 hours. We talked about going to weddings and the benefits of leaving our significant others at home for the sake of their own weekend enjoyment--and our own. And we talked about differences and growing apart, about choices and preferences and what we can and cannot live with and with out. we talked about having someone else "get us" (to which she said, "ali, you are hard to get", which made me feel infinitely better). We talked about asking yourself those hard questions that make you cry because you know the answer but you don't want to live through the outcome, about letting go, about listening to your gut and sorting through the levels of desires to find what it is that is really what you want, about how to find your way back, and about being true, being true, being true, to yourself.

In another dream last night, I saw my paper. It had been printed in the BCHA newsletter, and the dream-editor had changed it, but it looked good. It looked like an epic lyric poem. Here's hoping.

11.18.05 | Manifest cookies

Yesterday this quote showed up on my word.a.day email: "If writers were good businessmen, they'd have too much sense to be writers." Irwin S. Cobb, author and journalist, (1876-1944)
It made me wonder how much has changed in the world of writing since this old bloke had his heyday. I think, to be a good writer, a savvy writer, is a skill that is well suited to business. Otherwise, how, mind you, would all this brilliant marketing material get produced? By creative and intelligent and savvy writers aware of many demographics simultaneously. I think of one ad that I hear on the radio lately in Boulder for Good Times, a fast food burger joint. It talks about how the rich use tax loopholes like writing off an Arabian horse as a home office, when all the rest of us are trying to pay $3 a gallon for gas. The mysteriously bland voice then offers that there are always good deals at Good Times. This ad has never made me consider eating at this joint (as a veggie, burgers don't grab me) but the ad itself has always seemed well done. Of course, there is a horse in it, and I am sure you were all wondering how long it would take me to relate this to something with a mane and tail.

Aside from making a living as a writer and a curator of equines, I have always wanted to open up a cookie store called Manifest Cookies, a place for good-for-you cookies. It would be operating on a theme of the sacredness of the symbol of the circle (and the divine feminine and other circle lore), and the logo would be the Zen circle with a trio of chocolate chips in the middle. Scrumptious. And I think it could fly in a little shop on Pearl Street. I'm seeking proprietors...

Speaking of flying, the fourth Harry Potter opens today in theaters. As a devout HP fan, I am amped to see this film, although I hear it stretches the boundaries of PG-13 and is downright scary. There is such a subtle brilliance in J.K. Rowlings books that is downright magical. Magical in the greatest sense of wonderful. I can remember sitting across from my roomate Hailey, who was studying upper level English Lit, crying after reading the last page of book 4, not only because it was touching, but because it was the last book in the series (at the time). I knew it would be a long wait for another. A few months prior to that, I had taken a ro-ad trip with a dear Jenn, and while sleeping in a hotel in Bend, Oregon, I had the most vivid dream of flying on a Nimbus 2000. I woke up and said "wow." Most days I wish I had magical "skills" so that I could read and write while my knitting needles could knit hats for me, and I could just tell the bales of hay to move themselves, and I could *zap* a puppy toy to motivate and move about the yard by itself so as to taunt the puppy and play with it while I read and write and watch my knitting needles knit. Oh, and I could apparate--who needs Southwest to come to Denver when you can apparate?

As close as I get to magical skills is low-level manifesting. It is like clairvoyance that's still a little fuzzy, or thinking of someone and having them call seconds or minutes later. It makes me feel as though I have tapped the energies of the universe in some way. I am well aware of the texts and tomes written and believed on the subject matter of "ask and it is given," but I think for it all to work, one must be in right alignment to the cosmos and riding the wave of good karma and consciousness. Perhaps that is part of "Manifesting: 101." Currently, I am manifesting a horse. (surprised?)

11.17.05 | Dragontime

Today is a Napoleon Dynamite day. I asked for my chapstick, and no one could see why I needed it. I am finding that I have these days every 5 weeks or so where I find myself closing my eyes and letting out a deep sigh, like the decompression of a dragon hiss, whenever things are harder than they should be, or aren't the way I want them to be. Like asking for a sick day, and having someone tell you 'no' when you thought you were doing them a favor by giving them a heads up that you were going to call in sick. Or, like trying to read and having one of my two furry friends chew on everything in sight as a passive aggressive way to beg for my attention which would rather not be divided at moments of intense (trying) concentration (my cat insists on chewing on all of my post-it book marks, and the ADHD dog refuses to take a nap at my feet). Or, like trying not to listen to my conscience and listen to my aching back instead on the debate of whether or not to put hay out again today when I just put 40 bales out yesterday and it is all but gone (a debate in which my conscience (and big heart for these hungry beasts) took over my aching back when it had to load--yet again--more hay from the bottom row into the pick up, and out to the pastures). Yes, it is one of those "it is in your best intererst to stay out of my way" days. One of those days I would just crawl back in bed if I didn't have things to do.

On a less tortured note, I did, however, call the old tack shop back home (and was surprised to find that they had a website--this place, back when I went there as a young horse-crazy girl in 1990, had stuff circa 1950) in search of a beloved little book called "Happy Horsemanship" by Dorothy Henderson Finch. It is a beloved book namely because it was the first horse book of instruction that I read (given to me by my 4-H horse partner, Erin) and retained for its very valuable metaphors and images. A simple little book, no doubt, but a powerful one. I have wanted to find it for a few reasons, namely to have it in my memory stash and save it for my little kiddies when they start riding in 16 years, and also to give it to Kevin to read and to glean valuable information about why horses are fun to ride and fun to hug. Mostly, though, I want it for my thesis. I know that I am writing my thesis to fill the gap in my life that is horse-less, as well as to integrate a triad of passions--Religious Studies, Writing, and Horses. I want that little book as a token of the long odyssey I have taken through horse-dom.

Just yesterday afternoon, as I was fighting the same distractions, I was engaged in Melissa Holbrook Pierson's book (a favorite) called "Dark Horses and Black Beauties." I love this book because she puts into words the experience of being a horse crazy girl who has never owned her own horse. It is wrought with longing for these large love-hippos, and currently, it is a longing that I can associate with. (right now, by all means and lack of means, I do not want to lose my horse skills. I have my horse skills and they are good. I want a horse again, dammit.) It is the perfect piece for my thesis chapter on Horses and Tears, the connections between Medieval women mystics' feelings for Christ, and the phemenon of every little girls desires for a horse. Interesting, yes indeed. And as I was in the depths of the text, the Fed Ex Fairy gave me another distraction: another wonderful shipment from mom's basement of all my horses. Yes, all of my Breyer horses, and an old chewed up bridle (my first one for my first horse Tulip), and a hunt cap and old horse-show paraphanalia that winds up living in a hat box: an old, still-dirty pair of black lycra gloves, a hunt pin, my old montana silversmiths beltbuckles, a hat brush, an old hairnet.

The hunt cap is a beautiful one--simply just a cap, no harness or straps to secure it to my noggin--but by no means one that fulfills FEI helmit standards today. So, I wondered why I could do with it. I was thinking it would make a great piece to walk around town in with a great button up white blouse, and sweater, with tailored tan breeches and tall black riding boots. What a smashing ensemble, like something out of an add in Vogue. Horses are trendy, you know, and Angelina Jolie and Paris Hilton had articles and photo spreads riding attire (Hilton's was of course more scant than was Jolie's, but if you ever thought that riders wore such intimate lacey apparal under their breeches, you were wrong). Gawd forbid I'd be trendy, but it's a great hat even if it fails to suffice as a proper riding helmet. I was just thinking, that I shoud wear it as I write as a 'thinking cap.'

My horoscope this week advised me against being an extreme multi-tasker, and told me instead to dive deep into one thing and relish in it. This thing, I assumed, was the paper that is due soon, and will become part of this effervescent thesis. Tally-ho!

 

11.15.05 | Fan mail

I know I haven't been a consistent blogger lately. Mostly because I am steeped in books for the first installment of my thesis, in the form of a paper for this--my last--class of my masters program. At first, I set out to be consistent, to have a great musing for the day, to get back in touch with a spark of something that would clear my 3-year lackluster. I was doing well for the past few weeks, making sure I had something to say, even if it was silly or worthy of defenestration, and perhaps that was the honeymoon period of the blog. A short lived state of novelty and excitement? Maybe. But I also have a paper brewing, and that is a very internal vortex of creation in which things keep getting added, and it's hard to pull things out until they are ready for birth (yes, the process is as visceral as it sounds), which is adding to the blog congestion. Really, though, I think I have been lax lately because I still am not sure why I am blogging. I set out to do it for myself, to keep myself writing, and to use my website as a stage for that in order to get over the fright. My friend Jenn, who inspired my desire to blog, said that blogging is a good way to keep in touch. For example, instead of sending everyone in my address book an email about what I did today and what I ate for breakfast, I could just write about it and people who really were curious would seek out my page and read about it--like stealing into my bedroom when I'm gone and reading my dear diary. Blogging to keep in touch is a great idea, but I guess I never thought that anyone would really read my little ditties. However, apparently I have regulars. Today I recieved my first piece of fan mail:

"Ali,  My sweet Ali-gator!  First off, how are you this fine glistening morning? I am in Big Sky with my Pops. Snowed all day yesterday... big-ass flakes that took their sweet ole time,  lolly-gagging in the sky, finally uniting with the rest of their fluffy little friends on the earth.... bliss. I have been meaning to write to you for about 3 weeks, but it's always slipped my mind.  Until now.  I absolutely love reading your "Auspicious Days" on a daily basis, and feel "wilted" when I am not blessed with a daily dose.  Damn, girl.  Someday, and someday soon, your writing career will soar at ridiculous altitudes along with your already-soaring soul.  You use words that I need to look up on thesaurus.com!  I usually pilfer them and insert them into my writing as well.  SO, with that being said, can I consider you as my mentor, tutor, instructor?????  **smile/hug**  Your writing ignites my soul and makes me smirk or smile, depending on the entry.   At any rate, I should be on my way. Take good care of that precious soul of yours, and I don't have to tell you to smiles and radiate, because I know you do, always have and always will. Namaste, Your whimsical cousin, Missy."

I realize this letter is from my dear cousin, who by the sake of being related by cousin status has to love me because I am her cousin, but it made me feel so much better, as if maybe I still have that little spark and it hasn't been smoldered yet. I all actuality, Mel is in my most favorite place in the entire universe experiencing it at its most magical moment. Ahh, niveous Montana... nothing compares. And needless to say, I wish I could apparate (like in Harry Potter) and be there to play in the Big Sky snow with her. But until I get some 'wizard skills', I want to send a big grizzy hug and a note of thanks to Mel for making my day. :)

11.11.05 | auspicious days

Thirteen years ago today, my beloved Norman came home to his (my) new barn. So for me the auspiciousness of 11/11 had little to do with veterans; it had everything to do with the horse that became so much like a first love.

It is said that the Tibetan calendar makers will multiply the number of auspicious days--they will simply repeat an auspicious day on the calendar. To that I say: I'll take two November 11ths, please.

11.10.05 | Moxie hair

Today, I made an appointment to get my haircut. I have worried about scissors and my hair ever since my aunt Karen sat me down and gave me my first 'do. My mother has a picture of me afterwards holding my head with this awfully distraught, and violated look on my face, as though just inches away from tears.

Ever since then, I get a look of nausea on my face when my stylist starts cutting. There is nothing worse than a bad haircut for someone who needs to wash and go, or just wake up and go. I have had many stylists look at me and say "are you alright? you look like you are going to throw up." I tell them it is normal, that my expressions of internal thought always show more vividly on my face than I ever intend them to, but not to worry.

I usually get my hair cut every 3 months, roughly. By then it usually needs a refresher. Sometimes after a big shift or change, I feel like I need a haircut. Getting a haircut is quite symbolic of letting go, shedding, and new growth and fresh starts. As such a symbol, I find it quite revitalizing.

11.9.05 | *gosh*

Sometimes I feel like my life is ruled by my anxiety over money. namely, that I don't have enough to do what I would like to do, like fly home for christmas or take myself on a vacation that didn't involve a long road-trip and was longer than 4 days because I couldn't afford to not work. Lately, I have been thinking that I am frustrated by obligations that cost money (that I don't necessarily have, and haven't had bennies in abundance for a while). Like deciding not to fly home for Christmas so as to save $, but having to attend 2 handfuls of weddings in a year-- obligations, like large, unexpected car expenses, which frustrate me about getting ahead, finally or if at all. I feel like Schiller, torn between my mind and Belly, between my desires and "what I need to do."

Really, I guess it all comes down to me feeling like I scrimp for my own "stay sane" needs to stay out of the hole, financially, but when duty calls to be at the arm of my other, I need to buck up. Sometimes this scenario feels like me eschewing my desires and needs for another, and puts me in a tight spot of self-reflection about selfishness and my saving account. But another part of me feels that I need to explore this more, and win the lottery.

In the weekly Brezsny horoscope today, he quoted a bit from Henry Miller which relates to my reflection on these matters that frustrate me and touch my sore, empty bank account, so often eliciting a response of "oh no, not now":

Everything we shut our eyes to, everything we run away from, everything we deny, denigrate, or despise, serves to defeat us in the end. What seems nasty, painful, evil, can become a source of beauty, joy, and strength, if faced with an open mind. Every moment is a golden one for him who has the vision to recognize it."

This made me think about finding the beauty in those places that I want to deny. And learning how to say 'yes', knowing that in that everything eventually balances out, even if at first glance it makes me wonder how to stay afloat.

 

11.07.05 | Needed: a feminine divine costume

I was very grumpy this morning. There is much 'boy energy' in the house with the current set of visitors that is, at times, offensively too much--as in too much flatulence, rumbling belches, and odd smells. I don't know how a mother could raise 3 boys and a husband, with out being a little nutty.

I was grumpy and subsequently sore, and by the time I got to the barn, I couldn't lose the agitated vibe I had with the boy-energies. Agitated. Sore. *gosh*.

But by the time I had worked through some of that, the barn had been cleaned, and Jen had arrived to take care of her beloved horse, Taylor. She helped me move hay this morning, which made my day by sparing my back and my general mindframe. She told me about her Asian travels, and about Buddhism and mystical things, and tibetan carpets. Talking about these matters while hauling hay reconnected me with my phase back in Undergrad days in which I was very much in-tune with the loving-kindness of good, Karmic thought.

She asked me if I meditated. I said, 'not formally on a pillow or anything.' I recalled what Thich Nhat Hahn said about happiness: "If you cannot be happy while doing dishes, when can you be happy?" I concluded that my meditations, although full of thoughts and leading to some clarity, happens to be while working, for the most part. I used to believe that it was every breath and every step that was a meditation, if done with mindfulness. The Dalai Lama says that Sleep is the best meditation, which, attests to the power of naps and the shavasana of a good nights sleep.

"come out from behind the clouds,
shine!"

I still cannot thwart all the clouds from my sky after 3 years of intense growing. Sometimes there's just a haze.

 

11.6.05 | Agni

I can't think of much to say of originality, tonight. But I have been thinking of this song a lot from the new Coldplay album, X&Y, entitled "Fix it." This song encompasses the way I feel when I have streams running down my face, and also, how Mr. Kevin always wants to fix the leaks. I dedicate this song to a dear friend in Hanover, her own "voice crying out in the wilderness."

"When you try your best, but you don't succeed
When you get what you want, but not what you need
When you feel so tired, but you can't sleep
Stuck in reverse
When the tears come streaming down your face
When you lose something you can't replace
When you love someone, but it goes to waste
Could it be worse?

"Lights will guide you home
And ignite your bones
And I will try to fix you

"High up above or down below
When you too in love to let it go
If you never try you'll never know
Just what you're worth

Lights will guide you home
And ignite your bones
And I will try to fix you."

11.5.05 | Chills

Today was a very chilly fall day in Boulder. Kevin's Brother and Dad are in town, they got a convertible for a rental car, and Steve brought us sweatshirts from his High School in New Jersey. At the barn this evening, I met Jen whose horse Taylor has taken up residence in the front pasture. We talked about horses of course. She asked what my thesis was, and when I told her, she got chills.

I had an e-conversation with a friend about kissing, namely, reminiscing about the novelty of the first one, and the chills that come along with it. He had hoped that they were all still like that. I replied back saying something about the unexpectedness and unspoken desire surrounding the first one especially. I went on to say something about the ebb and flow of love and the familiarity of long-term relationships that makes that first-time magic so much more difficult to reproduce. It's hard to keep the magic alive, to keep the chills and the tingles-to-the-core.

But in a dream, later this past week, it came to me--this feeling of the tingles and chills. the motions were very slow and intended and suave. This was not a shocking blow to the nervous system, this was a meditated, intimate tantalizing of the nervous system. In dreamtime, the soft and the subtle illuminated this sensation for me, and brought back the tingle.

11.4.05 | Uma Luven

Today, as I driving out into the mare pasture to feed the mares and yearlings I had an overwhelming sense of love and gratitude for my job. The big red truck affectionately named Arnold was stacked with about 30 bales of hay, and meandering through the pasture at about 10 mph. Once the horses caught on that dinner was arriving, they all ran up to the truck. I not only had the great view of the mountains through the windshield, but also the view of the horses in tow through the rearview mirrors. The horses always seem so grateful when I deliver their bi-weekly hay stack.

Yesterday afternoon, I went to Golden's Table Mountain Ranch to spend the afternoon with horse choreographer, Barbara Gardner. Barbara was wonderful: a petite woman with moxie, owner of 3 talented horses, and former owner of a modernist experimental dance company in NY. At 65 years old, she was still spending her afternoons with her little herd of horses and riding two of them daily.

Meeting with her not only deepened my thesis discussion, but (of course) ignited my horse passion again. Sometimes it is hard to be grounded when my emotions for wanting my horses back are so strong. But it made me realize that in the world of Horses, I was raised well with the knowlege of horse sense and common sense and intuition when dealing with these animals. I had to thank my lucky stars, again. Barbara introduced me to a cute little bay arab named Phamous, and I knew I had to have an Arabian again, should I ever be so lucky to have the luxury of a horse again.

When I got home last night, there was a message from a friend who had bought my Norman. She wrote, "I miss you Ali. PS. Norm does too." This morning as I was cleaning stalls, I thought about what it would be like to see Norman now. I don't know if I could hold back the tears, since just thinking about seeing him again makes me all misty.

There is truth to the idea of being horse-crazy. Kevin says that to put that much money into something that needs to be fed, is qualifiably crazy. The thing that is so hard to explain to some persons, is that what is gained in return is priceless.

11.3.05 | the wild and lonely sky

This morning while I was cleaning stalls, I thought about my relationship to the West. I fell in love with the stark desert Southwest while visiting my aunt in Albuquerque while growing up. My next Western moment was Spring Break 2000 in Escalante National Monument with Hobnailers--a very pivotal journey in every dimension of my existence. Soon after the beloved Utah experience, I larked to Bozeman, Montana, to fill my self with mountains. It still remains "my place" and there is nothing more welcoming on a bummer of a day than visualizing the skyline of the Gallatin Range, just one segment of the geologic hug Bozeman offers.

I realized the my love of the west belongs in three perspectives, but all the same west: the recreational, resourceful, and historical west. What ignites a love of the west in young people today is experiences in these three areas of the place itself. That love entails appreciation, awareness, reverence and a sense of preservation akin to devotionalism. I am talking about ski bums, environmentalists and cowboys and indians, all at once. At some point, perhaps distantly, they allmerge through a place. Eventually, everyone will be wearing patagonia with their cowboy boots, sipping fair trade coffee in their hybrid vehicles, talking about the sacredness of the land.

11.2.05 | "Give me amiguity, or give me something else."

Terry Tempest Williams, author of Refuge, was at CU today, and I was lucky enough to have been graciously invited to a "class" and lunch with her. She is a woman who is comfortable with ambiguity and paradox. She believes in an god beyond god and believes in the nitrogen cycle. For her, Heaven and Earth reside in the same plane, and there is no greater moment than the here and now.

As a writer, she said that she knows her work from the inside out, not from the outside in. Writing is a very personal and spiritual process, as experiential as it is researched. I found it inspiring to listen to her writing process, as it was similar to mine. First you start with that burning question, then you spend time and experience with that burning question, followed by research and writing. She noted that she writes in her sleep, that the words course through her before they arrive on paper. She argued that we needed a language that was richer and more felt, such that if you were to slice a page with a knife, it would bleed.

So much of what she talked about resonated with me in a familiar way: her take on life and its joy and pain, her writing rituals, the level of sacrality that writing held for her, the way she wrote to find herself and figure out where she was, how much inspiration came from the wilderness and from relations, how she moved beyond boundaries, how she wrote silence, and how she used the dream-time to write. Sometimes I have great moments of clarity and revelation in my dreams concerning papers and topics that pull so many pieces together to a bigger whole. After visiting with TTW, I wanted to run home and write before it all evaporated.

I learned too today that light pollution is a major problem around the globe, and that the most visible night sky is that which lies over the American West, and that, too, is fading. There are currently few places on earth that can boast a night sky view as it was a hundred plus years ago.

11.1.05 | Mist, mist!

I remember having may crushes in my pre-Kevin days, not really any boyfriends, just placed on god-like-pedestal crushes. They wracked me emotionally at times, but I realize it was primarily self-inflicted since these boy-gods didn't really know I existed. I was actually friends with some of these boy-gods, which made matters worse.

It was difficult to see clearly when my mind thought that these guys were the most perfect beings in the explored universe. It often took a while to expose them under the oil lamp for the humans that they were. The best test of reality was toilet seat etiquette--the seat-up position would generally be the clincher for flushing the boy-god pedstal down the toilet.

My handsome beau won me over with his seat etiquette: not only seat down, but top down AND cleaning up rim-shots. Generally, this behavior is an indicator of low a**hole tendencies. I don't think they taught him this in the fraternity. I was so amazed that I was convinced that it was a sign of greater traits on greater levels like personality and thoughtfulness.

I still attest to this test of etiquette for the sake of chivalry in the 21st century. While there are other factors to consider in a mate, and other basic tests to administer, the toilet seat is one such exercise that can separate the wheat from the chaff.

10.31.05 | Rocks

Today in class, I managed to compile a list of things that always rock my little world. Everyone seems to have these lists nowadays, and if everybody's doing it, why can't I?

Cookies from the Bozeman Co-op www.bozocoop.com
Rob Brezsny www.freewillastrology.com
Pete Yorn www.peteyorn.com
Yarn
Jim Henson's Muppets
Karl Blossfeldt, photographer
Katie Upton, artist www.katieupton.com
J.D. Salinger books
Anne Carson books
Sex and the City
Dharma and Greg
Bozeman, MT www.visitmt.com
Baraka, Winged Migration, Napoleon Dynamite
Harry Potter books
a full-moon snowshoe rendezvous
Chico Hot Springs
Blueberries and Peaches in the summer
the idea of a blackberry *brilliant*
good, long walks and a tall glass of hippee water

10.30.05 | Fall back "so what if you catch me, where would we land?"--Remy Zero

There is little better than having an extra hour in the day. Maybe this will help me get in the habit of getting up earlier as a norm.

We had two set of visitors this past weekend. One of which was Kevin's friend from New York City. After walking around Boulder Friday afternoon, he said to us, "Everything is so granola here. It's like stepping into a bowl of muesli." To which I responded, "Yes, but you know most people would find that to be a compliment."

When I went to New York for the first time last Fall, I used the experience to explore the idea of "wilderness" within the nature/culture debate. Do people belong in nature or is nature were people are only visitors (according to the wilderness act of 1973)? NYC was definitely wild, and I had only scratched the surface with such a short visit, but in no sense was it, with it's bustling population, sans nature. There was plenty of evidence of the natural world poking up between the concrete mountains and summits of skyscrapers. There's still stars, seasons, water, trees, and weather. Which made me think that perhaps the imagined difference between nature and culture resides in the question of density. Does the density of people in the urban environment displace the numbers of other naturally occuring phenomena, and in a sense, camoflauge the other organisms, thus creating an illusion of anything-but-wilderness?

 

10.29.05 | Soft animal bodies

On Wednesday, November 2, I have the opportunity to have lunch with Terry Tempest Williams. I have been sitting with her book, Refuge, this past week, and finally opened it this AM at breakfast before I went to feed the horses. I read the poem written on one of the first few pages, and recalled that a friend had sent this to me in an email this past week. When I read this again, I understood why she had sent it.

“You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
For a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body love what it loves.”
--excerpt from Mary Oliver’s poem, Wild Geese.

Yesterday on a short hike, I thought about my friend and her current state of disenchantment, and her desire for something more with her education. And I reflected on my own disenchantment with past decisions which at the time I thought were worthwhile, only later to yearn later for the path not taken. The words of Frost’s poem echoes with pause:

“…and I—
I took the one less traveled by.
And that has made all the difference.”

Decisions and regret about decisions; wanting to push boundaries, to push ourselves, and to grow by not wanting to take the obvious path. We want to blaze new trails in our relation to the world, and in relation to our self and our own desires. But do we push ourselves for ourselves, or do we push ourselves for the sake of pushing ourselves in new directions to please someone else? Who’s driving?

While hiking yesterday I wondered whether or not taking the obvious path was just too easy—or if it was easy for a reason. “Easy” in the sense that our intuitions my naturally propel us to follow our innermost desires by definitions of what our soft animal bodies love. I feel like Claire and I have pushed ourselves to uncomfortable places for the sake of growth and newness, and found that we don’t necessarily like it there. But we are not uneasy about being uncomfortable, but knowing that we can never be comfortable in this new space and it makes us question our decision to go there in the first place.

And when this comes to big life decisions, we feel the weight of making the right move the first time so as to bypass regret. Sometimes by not listening to the voices of our soft animal bodies, we deny ourselves our greatest desires and it feels like we are repenting through the desert because we betrayed ourselves in way that is resisting forgiveness.

And as perfectionists, too, we get wrapped in self-inflicted anxiety and doubt which is hard to let go of. So often we forget, I think, that life is long, and the sun and the rain pebbles will keep moving across the landscapes, and there is plenty of time to do what needs to be done; to go out, only to come back again.

 

10.28.05 | Verklempt

On wednesday, I met Claire whose horse, Theo, I had met earlier this semester. She had lent me some books to use for my thesis and I wanted to return them to her personal lending library. We met at the Teahouse for a quick tea and catch up.

We talked about horses, namely the horses in our lives or lack thereof, and what it meant to have a horse again, and why no matter what we do to talk ourselves out of the horse pastures, we keep coming back for more because we just can't leave it fully behind. It's as though horses have encoded themselves in our DNA.

Horses can be so all consuming in one's life that it is hard to imagine a balanced life with horses in it. In my case, growing up with horses through the middle and High school years, my barn full of horses was my world. It was all I could see. Life without horses seemed to me a life not worth living. "Obsessed" in my case might be an understatement. Yet, I don't feel like any of my horse involvement was time wasted. It was my space to grow and learn and mature in other ways, outside of the normal stage set formy peers.

Claire, who was re-evaluating the horse in her life and her life with horses, was wondering where the current relationship should turn, and if it should be sent back out to pasture. Then, she asked about my thesis, and when I quoted my thesis statement, her eyes got big and she smiled as she pulled up her sleeves and said "Goosebumps!" while her eyes started getting moist.

"Look at me," she said, "Here I am talking about getting out of horses again, and then I get goosebumps just listening to you. It makes me wonder why I keep trying to talk myself out of it."

Perhaps our relationship to our horses is much like our personal intimate relationships in the generalized sense that when we are 'in it' so intensely and all consumed, that after a while when we look out side of this realm of the relationship, we see other things that we could be doing for a normal balanced life. So we think about leaving it behind to try something new. Yet, once outside of that intimate relationship, there are certain moments that can ignite the desire for 'it' once again.

When I start to talk about certain horse topics to people, I feel like so much of what I say is so close to pure devotionalism that I speak straight from my heart--it is a visceral feeling that often leads to tears just by the very subject matter. Perhaps our tears are a witness to our guts speaking for what our minds try to intermittently override at certain times in the life that contemplates 'moving on.'

Perhaps, like a relationship, there is much to be said about ones identity within partnership, as if we are identities, or selves, in relation, defined just as much by that relation as we are defined by individual difference. The notion that horse and rider come together to form' a third, much greater thing' works in reverse to give light to this very visceral feeling of desire for the horse in our lives: the coming together of horse and rider envelopes both entities in a greater space than just 1 horse + 1 rider that equals a working unit of two. That something more, that 'third, much greater thing,' is what is missing when the horses are missing, or when a rider leaves the synergetic equation. As beings in relation, we are bodily involved in that union and metamorphosis of horse and rider elements. Yet, we know it at a gut level, and once that reaction occurs, it remains a bond that is hard to break or let go of, easily. It's as though we remain changed by the synergetic event, and have a greater affinity to be part of that relation.

Almost like a mythic love story.

"The minute I heard my first love story | I started looking for you | not knowing how blind that was. | Lovers don't finally meet somewhere, | they're in each other all along."--Rumi

 

10.27.05 | remnants: more than just leftovers?

Recently, I have been plagued with the thought of selling my saddle, my last remnant of my other, horsey life. Part of me thinks I should just keep it--It's a beautiful saddle, and it's not like I have grown much since the days of 13 & Under classes. The other part of me asks "why let it sit in the garage while I wait for a horse again, not knowing when that will be?" I have felt rather spazzy about this decision mainly because it is my last token of my horse-ownership-past.

Mine is a late 1988 Billy Royal equitation seat, arabian tree western saddle with Mahogany oil and frosted with silver. I bought it in 1994 with the prize money Norman and I had won with our two top fives at the Minnesota Arabian Horse Fall Festival. I used the rest of the money to update the silver, add more silver and revive it to its current condition.

"Parting with a saddle is like letting go of you binky. *sigh*" wrote my fellow barn-mate, Nicole.

A good saddle becomes part of many memories. When I sit again in my saddle, my body remembers the feeling of "a good ride" as my mind fills in the blank with the embedded rhythm of a soft and supple horse. A good saddle also wears as the saddle-rider interface relates on a daily basis, creating a sense over time that "this saddle was made for my bum." The fit feels like your favorite T-shirt, and those familiar feelings add a comforable sense of security not only for the rider's seat. The technology of the saddle allows for a closeness kin to bonding, as well as assistance and reassurance through rough transitions--yes, very much like a binky.

Some people never leave their binkys behind through life's phases; some people keep them around beyond the "time to burn the woobie." My dad always facetiously threatened to burn my woobie--ala the scene from Mr. Mom--and just that threat of forced separation from my beloved blanket would drive me to tears. My "woobie" ended up in my memory box that was sent out to me this past summer by my mother. I found it again, zipped up in that plastic sack, and could see through the layers of faded, threadbare fabric that had kept me so warm since my very first days in the world.

I remember looking at it, knowing that at the time I zipped it up for safe keeping I couldn't have watched it go in the trash. But that hot summer day, I parted with it. Now, sitting here and thinking further back, I can remember what it looked like before it became a well loved sidekick. I remember the sketches and the lace edging and the pink and the little yarn knots that turned to knobbies after so many washes. I remember my mom made it for me before I was born. Most of all, I can remember what it felt like: what it felt like to have with me at night, what it felt like on my skin, and how it felt to be wrapped up in its warmth.

It is funny how some feelings don't fade, whether it's the security of a old binky, the wowsa-tingle-to-the-core of a suave first kiss, or that feeling of a great ride in which every stride falls so easily into place that you feel like nothing separates you from the horse. These moments etch into our body, in our sensory memory that fleshes out our ways of being in the world.

I don't know what to do with my saddle. My dad always needed "things" from the past surrounding him with memories, and of course, these never fit in with mom's decor. So I guess my question is: Do I need a material reminder of great rides past, or do I already know it in an unforgettable place, and is that enough?

 

10.26.05 | fish and visitors

After e-talking with a friend of mine who has recently been tired of censoring herself for the sake of not sounding brutally honest and sharply letting others know what she really thinks, I think I need to write an article called "Harness your Inner PMS bitch every day: how to be brazenly undiplomatic."

Recollecting my feelings of when I am pre-menstrual, I feel very much in touch with my inner bitch so much so that the inner bitch begins to seep to the outside. It is a feeling of "FYI: don't get in my way today." My friend Elizabeth told me she had read somewhere about the power of those PMS days, that they are days (or weeks) in which we feel slightly less uninhibited to be bitchy and not take any crap. It is also a time in the monthly cycle that perhaps gives us [an excuse] to be recklessly bold about what we want, and what we don't want to put up with. It is a time to do things that we wouldn't normally do, like make certain changes in jobs, habits, partners, whatever.

I, too, censor my thoughts through a rather thick filter before I let them fly out of my mouth, fearing the result of recklessly abandoned speach and the familiar taste of my foot in my mouth. But sometimes what gets filtered sits in my stomach like an ulcer and I wish I could harness on a set of balls and not worry about the reaction and outcome.

I had a soy mocha at mid-afternoon and forgot to specify "decaf." Now I have the same feeling of inhibited digestion as getting "butterflies." I feel like I did the day after my first kiss. (Thank you, Patrick Lamb.) Strange that this feeling can be replicated with a dose of caffeine and a night of interrupted sleep.

 

10.25.05 | What's in blog?

What to blog, or what not to blog: that is the question.

As I was thinking of worthy thoughts to write today, I suddenly got this feeling like I was handing out my diary. There were some things that I wanted to reflect upon that shouldn't be put in a public place for all eyes to see.

I got this feeling that was similar to the feeling that I get in dreams in which I suddenly realize that I am standing naked in public. In such dreams, no one seems to notice or care that I am bare, but for me-the-full-mooner there are feelings of exposed vulnerability and disorientation as to where my clothes might be and how could I have forgotten them. This is different, of course, than walking around the backyard in your underwear and assuming that no one is looking.

Aside from a bout of blog anxiety, today I felt like one of the women featured in the Title 9 catalog. You know, the women that go all day in their cute little outfits. If only I could afford the cute little outfits in the Title 9 catalog, this would have been a perfect catalog day. However, I did keep going: cleaned the barn, home for lunch, cleaned the little house, cleaned the big ranch house, made dinner, took the little dog for a brisk, crunchy fall walk, blog, homework, laundry, brush my retainer.

As a firm believer in music therapy, Pete Yorn got me through yet another day with his ambiguous, fragmentary and polysemic lyrics. My sister emailed and said that she was going to see Pete in November in L.A. She also mentioned that she was going to jump on stage and give him a big "smoochy smooch." Needless to say, I'm green with envy.

 

10.24.05 | Day One | Blogging the midnight oil

I was going to name this little ditty "a lump on a blog" but I didn't want it to sound too much like an ambiguous medical malady, like something you would find suddenly on the bottom of your feet oneday. "A lump on a blog" sounded too much like "that worm."

So, I remembered back to the days of being counseled in Career Services at UWEC by the radiant Jeannie Harms about "what I wanted to do when I grew up." After I had expressed my thoughts on these matters, and most likely had expoused upon my love of the outdoors and all things religious in our lived experiences, Jeannie gracefully said, "Ali, you can't just be a philosopher on a log. You have to do something." Ah, a philospher on a log; if only we could all be sponsored like Thoreau.

If I can't be a philosopher on a log and make an honest living, I can at least be a philosopher on a blog just for the sheer heck of it. *Heck yes* as Napoleon Dynamite would say. Thus begins a test of my blogging skills.

Here I sit, late on a monkey-luv-Monday, in the early stages of thesis research and writing, in the midst of completing the last assignments of the semester, in the partially recollected lessons of sprechen sie Deutsch, and in the excited muddle of what I want to be when I grow up. I can see the view from where I sit, the autonomous glory of being a freelance writer, yet it all seems so far, far away.

To aid in my clarity and sanity in these next few months of "doing my Karmic duty" as a Religious Studies graduate student, and to revive my burnt-out mind in need of fresh ideas and a maiden voyage out of the lower 48, I embark on this little mission of blogging to help myself get back to my creative self. Because I know it's in there, somewhere: in the tired body that wants to be an Ironwoman, behind three years of growing and tear shedding, behind the embittered academic and the girl who wants her horses back, amidst the reality of romantic love, back to the core of this mighty girl who has a deep love for the whole of this crazy/beautiful life.

This will take some digging. Digging through pages past, and letters lost, to re-unite with some of the sparks of my inspiration.

Until then, I always have Pete Yorn, in all of his Beauty, to divert my darkest hours and rock and roll me out of my mental funk. (www.peteyorn.com)

Sweet, luscious dreams.