bubble IN A box

2010-01-11T23:57:00.000-08:00

i love the rain. it makes me feel safe. ...like boundaries make 4 year old children feel safe. because they don't have all the power. they are being taken care of. like people who believe in god feel.

rain on my umbrella at school. sounds like record dust.

2009-12-28T16:54:00.000-08:00

wow. sometimes the country (I'm sorry, "it's spelled with a 'k'": Kountry) station is just exactly right to have on at home.

la botana mexican restaurant...couth buzzard books...my great new neighborhood! greenwood!

Christmas Zombie

2009-12-22T22:42:00.000-08:00

Vince Guaraldi (Charlie Brown's Christmas music) has the power to lull one into a state of unrelenting Christmas present/planning/scheming zombie-ism. This music is so easy-going, so cozy, so cool, so don't-worry-you-can-stay-up-all-night-searching-on-line-for-recipes-you-won't-have-time-to-cook-because-you're-going-to-be-so-sleep-deprived-you'll-blow-a-fuze-and-have-to-take-a-nap-or-eat-cheese-until-you-regain-some-kind-of-energy-for-a-whole-afternoon-until-you-make-it-just-in-time-for-the-present-opening-at-your-parents'-house kind of music. That's right, Vince, I know you! You think I was fooled, the way I was humming your tunes earlier tonight while making dinner! Well, think again, buster! I ain't falling into your cool Christmas swing, Mr.

(Ok, maybe just a little. But I'm turning off the repeat button this time!)

2009-12-20T10:50:00.000-08:00

Why hello there, Blog. It's been awhile. What you missed: moving to a new apartment, cousin visiting, niece being born, and getting a new job. Good stuff. And most of the while, without internet. Thus, filling in, reflecting:

So, after getting the power in my apartment turned back on (blew a fuse using the hair dryer last night), I sit, hat and coat on, stomach growling for breakfast, at my little antique desk in my little cold, but soon to be heated up again, home.

Amazing, what makes a home. All it seems to take is a few pieces of furniture, some warm lighting, food, and at least a few pieces of art.

I feel incredibly blessed in this moment. I have a roof over my head, a landlord that did come fix my problem (even if late), a warm parents' house to sleep in last night, a loving family, loving friends, and the luckiest thing of them all in this state of the economy, a job, which means, some stability. Which means, some sanity. We need this. We need to be able to know that we don't have to worry every morning about if we're going to make it. And given that I have a very supportive family, in the end, no matter what happens, I can always remember that I will be OK no matter what goes down. But if I didn't have that, I would be left with me and the world. And let's just say what I'm getting at: I'm really grateful to the world for sending me this job. Plus everything else. Thanks, World. And as I promised to you the other day on my bus ride home after accepting a job offer, I promise to use this blessing for all it's worth to go forward and help other people find stability, and thus, life, as it is meant to be. The kind of life where there is of course always struggle, but where there is stability enough to enjoy, to love, and to be patient. And to sing songs and play games. This is a life worth struggling for.

There have been so many things I've been wanting to write about in the past few weeks, like the miracle of my brother's child being born, like the new-again-ness of living alone, the confronting of the reality of homelessness (I applied for a job that helps homeless, but did not get it), and many other things. But right now, my body is reminding me what's most important at the moment. Breakfast.

Happy Solstace tomorrow! Thank you to the Darkness for bringing us all closer and for revealing the hidden light.

love, a

2009-12-02T16:56:00.001-08:00

The Invitation

It doesn't interest me what you do for a living.
I want to know what you ache for, and if you dare to dream of meeting your heart's longing.

It doesn't interest me how old you are.
I want to know if you risk looking like a fool for love, for your dreams, for the adventure of being alive.

It doesn't interest me what planets are squaring your moon.
I want to know if you have touched the center of your own sorrow, if you have been opened by life's betrayals or have closed with fear.

I want to know if you can sit with pain, mine or your own, without moving to hide it or fade it or fix it.

I want to know if you can be with joy, mine or your own, if you can dance with wildness and let the ecstasy fill you to the tips of your fingers and toes without being careful or realistic.

It doesn't interest me if the story you're telling me is true.
I want to know if you can disappoint another to be true to yourself, if you can bear the accusation of betrayal and not betray your own soul.

I want to know if you can live with failure, yours and mine, and still stand on the edge of a lake and shout to the silver of the moon, "Yes!"

It doesn't interest me to know where you live or how much money you have.
I want to know if you can get up after the night of grief and despair, bruised and weary, and do what needs to be done for the children.

I want to know if you can be alone, and if you truly like the company you keep in those moments.

It doesn't interest me where or what or with whom you have studied.
I want to know what sustains you from the inside when all else fails.

It doesn't matter who you are, how you came to be here.
I want to know if you still stand in the center of the fire with me and not shrink back.

Oriah Mountain Dreamer, a native American elder

Light

2009-11-29T22:02:00.000-08:00

Tonight I felt a little flash of what it might feel like to really exist in desolate times. At first it was bleak, and depressing. I had never experienced this hopelessness before. But after a moment of simmering, my insides shifted. Just tasting this gloom made me realize: there are those who survive dark times and those who only shrivel in it. The difference is, those who survive stay positive. They have a light inside them that outshines even the darkest darkness. And even though the desolation I saw tonight is only temporary, I am thankful for the reminder it gave me. To look to my light. In small crises, and in large.

(ps: if you want to know what this convoluted writing is really talking about, ask me, i'll tell you to the story. However, I think in this case, the realization is much more interesting than the story itself.)

Word of the Day

2009-11-24T14:48:00.000-08:00

awry, adv/adj: away from the planned course

This is the word of the day because, while I already knew the word, I found myself wanting to write it and had no idea how to spell it. I tried arye, aray, arigh...and none were reading from my smart little computer dictionary. Finally Mom suggested looking up a synonym and then finding it in the thesaurus section. So I looked up "amiss" and alas, there it was. Good thinking, Mom!

...the spelling of it makes me want to pronounce it "orry" as in "sorry" without the s. Who is this person that comes up with "correct spellings?" I have a bone or two to pick with her/him...

Word of the Day

2009-11-20T12:25:00.000-08:00

Just noticed my friend's use of this word in an old poff me mo blog post:

peregrination, noun: wandering around from place to place

Yes! Exactly, that's exactly what I was doing, and what's best, it felt completely purposeful. A time for peregrinating. A time for staying in the same place too.

Theme Song

2009-11-20T11:43:00.000-08:00

To conclude the reference I made awhile ago about the power of Feist's song "I feel it all," I went looking for a youtube post of it. Turns out the "offical" video is (I hate to say it) way lame. But then I found THIS video of her and her band singing it ON A BUS!! Once again, I can look to her as my hero. (excited sigh!) ...Or maybe more specifically, I can look to MUSIC as my hero. Infinite power in that stuff I'd say.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=C8LpNvEobOo

(once again, I have tried with the damn hyper link thing and it won't work! please, someone with computer skills tell me what to do?)

Barbara

2009-11-18T22:55:00.000-08:00

http://www.goodreads.com/interviews/show/376.Barbara_Kingsolver?utm_medium=email&utm_source=Nov_newsletter

Oh my GOD!!! I love Barbara Kingsolver! I melt reading this Q&A with her.

Human

2009-11-18T15:03:00.000-08:00

Just saw this posted as someone's facebook status. What a wonderful quote!

A human being should be able to change a diaper, plan an invasion, butcher a hog, conn a ship, design a building, write a sonnet, balance accounts, build a wall, set a bone, comfort the dying, take orders, give orders, cooperate, act alone, solve equations, analyze a new problem, pitch manure, program a computer, cook a tasty meal, fight efficiently, die gallantly. Specialization is for insects.-Robert A. Heinlein

I don't even LIKE potato chips!

2009-11-17T18:59:00.000-08:00

...and I've been eating them like crazy for the past few days, just because they're in the house. This is nuts! Will follow up with an ingredient list and analysis. I'm expecting to find crack in these...

WordS of the day

2009-11-12T17:15:00.000-08:00

clemency, noun: mercy

obdurate, adj: stubborn, refusing to change one's opinion
(so, obduracy would be the act of this?)

palliate, verb: to make something less severe without removing the cause (like curing someone's symptoms)...hmm, and a few other meanings too (I am in a rush, can you tell? If anyone wants to give me a sentence with palliate in it, i'll give them a gold star.)

egregious, adj: oustandingly bad; shocking (this is definitely my favorite of the day, especially because of the sound of the word)

eponymous, adj: this indicates that something is named after someone

lacunae, noun: the plural of "lacuna," an unfilled space or interval; a gap (in information, a book, or in space)
(this almost get best word of the day because it also happens to be the name of Barbara Kingsolver's new book!! but i still like egregious better.)

SPARKLING!

2009-11-06T13:38:00.001-08:00

Wow! And I remember (yet again) why it is we get sick: Because once you're better, you feel so DAMN good! And you appreciate music, food, life, and yourself way more than you were doing before.

This time, my incredible system served up a bunch all at once and killed a few birds with one flu--And Now, I'm over not only the fever, but also pms, and an exboyfriend ghost all at once! I feel more powerful than any king I've ever known or loved. Yesss! Take me to the MOON!

(and it plays on "I feel it all, I feel it all...")

Word of the day

2009-11-04T13:56:00.001-08:00

Intrepid: Fearless, adventurous (often used for rhetorical or humorous effect)

Yes, I can be intrepid. Even if it IS humorous. I don't care, it's fun!

Simple Adventure

2009-11-03T21:24:00.000-08:00

I just re-watched Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade while chain blowing my nose into toilet paper. I almost forgot I was sick, it was that good. If I haven't said it already, I'm now aware that I am abnormally fanatic about Indiana Jones, much like those ridiculous people who dress up as Hobbits for Halloween, or the die-hard Horror Picture Show fans who go back again and again to the midnight showing. I get that I'm a freak. But I don't care...I LOVE it!

Throughout the series, there are the consistent themes of ancient history (archaeology), recent history (Nazis, etc.), and Figuring It All Out (the best part!). I have recently come to terms with the fact that my interest in studying anthropology is tied to my interest in Indiana Jones. Which came first, it is hard to tell.

In the Last Crusade (the one about finding the Holy Grail, with Sean Connery as the father--yes!!) I particularly appreciated the emotional element of father and son, and the gradual unfolding of Indie's distant relationship with his father. And the psychology behind his insistent urge to put himself in the face of danger. This I love--the weak spot in Indie (besides the usual one he harbors for the particular barbie doll in each movie--always unrealistic!) is really his father. He just wanted his father to notice him. And tell him good job. Well done, son, you not only saved yourself from danger, but you saved me.

After watching The Temple of Doom and now this one, I'm realizing it's really great to be watching such Hollywood flicks right now. Taking my literary fiction course, I realize, I am SO not a plot person. I am never the person who guesses what will happen next (or is even thinking about it)--I just watch dumbly and get carried away with the story, no matter how corny it is (well, almost). But I wonder if that's what I've got to go on--my sense of getting swept up. It almost feels like my sense of dancing...rather than thinking what the next movement will be, you feel it, in the bottom of your stomach, and feeling that it's coming (an eerie call from beyond) makes the execution of it that much more satisfying, and beautiful. Maybe I'm like Winnie the Pooh, always seeming the fool, but in the end, following the calls of his honey pots back home to safety. (I say this knowing that in two days, my plot chart for my writing class is due. ...Right.)

One last thing from the movie. On this viewing, I caught something Indiana says to his beginning archaeology class. "Archaeology is the search for fact. Not Truth. If you want Truth, there's a philosophy course down the hall." Of course, the rest of the movie goes on to show our hero confronting the search for truth whether he likes it or not. I especially liked this statement because it makes me think about my interest in anthropology (the sister science of archaeology). I imagine that it too is the search for fact and not truth. And this makes me wonder, what do I want to find? The answer that first comes to mind makes me feel that perhaps anthropology is for someone quite less a dreamer than myself. But then again, was Indie being one hundred percent honest? I'd say George Lucas doesn't want him to be.

Writing Assignment, a room

2009-10-30T22:24:00.000-07:00

Her apartment hadn’t been this clean since she moved in two years ago. Molly cast her eyes around the living room again, hunting for one last thing to put away. But finding nothing, she wiped the sweat from her temple and then flopped into the graying white sofa and surveyed the work she had done.

The magazines were lined up on the bookshelf, organized alphabetically by title and then by issue number. The books on the upper shelves, by author’s last name of course. Her set of earth tone dishes lay dripping in a pile in the dish rack, the sink left with a puddle of water around it. And four fresh tea towels hung from the oven door, like nautical flags ready for a Caribbean sail.

She took in the openness of the room. The clean surfaces, the absence of things, now put away in boxes or in drawers. It might even appear to a visitor that she was the kind of person who didn’t own much, that she had no need for things. She thought of the back closet, the giveaway pile, but shut the image out and focused on the image in front of her.

The kitchen table held a bowl of nuts, the cracker placed in the bowl ready for use. Two table settings, white napkins, white placemats, and two tall, billowy wine glasses waiting empty.

She liked the candles she had chosen to put on the counter. White, instead of the brown ones she first tried. They went well with the new rug.

That was how this had all started. She had found a beautiful cream-colored rug on sale at the department store. Only forty bucks! She’d been looking for a new rug ever since Lacey had spilled wine on her old one. That rug was more of a latte hue, but certainly light enough to make Lacey’s drunken mishap look like the remains of a murder scene. Molly loved the new rug. It gave her a sense of calm. Like everything would be okay now. A clean slate lying there on her floor, rippling safety out into the rest of the apartment. And onto her.

Perfect Ramen

2009-10-28T23:41:00.001-07:00

I just re-watched Tampopo, the film by Juzo Itami. Maybe it's a little slow, but that's my style I guess. How beautiful! Food, in life, in death, in struggle, in happiness. I don't know if this is really what life is all about, but at least for the duration of this movie, I get to feel like it is. The message from Itami: We're born eating and we die eating. If we're lucky.

[What I want to know is: Is that true about the yam-filled boar intestines?? If it is, I wanna find me a gun and learn how to hunt in the Japanese winter...]

Second Writing Assignment

2009-10-23T17:18:00.000-07:00

Martha had been sick for two months now. She had considered several times during this period that she might be dying. However, in the past few days she had noticed, to her surprise, she was starting to get better. She had to admit to herself that, most likely, she wouldn’t die. This time, anyway.
She had been hacking endlessly every night, and waking in the morning with a balloon around her head. Over the course of the day, the contents of the balloon would make their daily dribble down and outward. The Kleenex seemed to be copulating at night, new colonies appearing every day in different corners of the house.
At first it bothered her that she could not smell or taste. But quickly she realized that smell was rarely a sense for pleasure, and gladly relinquished responsibility of smelling things like the cat litter or the garbage. Taste was harder to let go. She missed the round taste of butter, now only tasting the salt. And most everything else fell into the cardboard category. But she really had no choice in the matter with this persistent mucus. So she focused on the positives, saving money on extraneous foods, and weight loss.
What Martha hadn’t noticed right away was the lack of touch in her sickened life. To her, it was standard to protect her loved ones and acquaintances from sickness. Any time she fell ill, she made sure not to shake hands or hug and kiss as she usually did quite openly with friends. And her husband got used to the distance she put up to shield him from harm’s way. He didn’t mind the opportunity to stay up late watching late night TV on the couch.
But on Martha’s eighth visit to the doctor’s office, she realized it had been two whole months since anyone had touched her, beside the doctor, of course. Sitting in the office together, Dr. Williams put his hand on her back, then placed the stethoscope there, asking her to breathe in deeply. His hand was warm and tears surprised her as they rose to the corners of her eyes. She bit her tongue to shake her mind from the feeling. I hope he washed his hands before coming in to see me, she thought, returning to her sensible self.
But driving through the rain on the way home, she felt defeated. When would she ever get better? Hadn’t she done her time? It just wasn’t fair for one person to have to endure this misery for so long, and so alone. Her mind drifted to thoughts of her husband, curling up warm in his wide chest as his arms wrapped strongly around her. She smiled at the thought of it. She longed to feel that love. That tangible, ineffable love that only Bernie’s body could speak. Silly, she thought. How silly of you, Martha. Think of him! You don’t want Bernie to get sick with this thing, do you?! How can you be so selfish? You must be patient. You must. She pulled into the driveway with a decided sigh of determination and opened the car door.
“Yoohoo!” came a woman’s voice from the steps.
“Oh, hi there,” Martha started, then coughed. “Uh, hiya, Annie. How are you?”
“Oh, fine, Martha. Just fine. We just wanted to stop by to say hello!” said Annie with a smiley wink, as Martha walked up the steps. Annie, her young neighbor, had just had her first baby, a boy, and had called Martha earlier in the week with the news.
“Oh goodness! Here he is!” Martha’s cough starting in again, she turned to muffle her face in her arm.
“Yes, isn’t he just perfect? I mean I know he’s our own child, but Robert and I have decided there’s no point in trying to be objective. He’s just plain perfect, don’t you think?”
“Oh, Annie,” Martha sighed quietly, finally taking a closer look. “He is just beautiful.” She gazed into the baby’s tiny dark blue eyes and marveled at his impossibly small fingers that poked out over the baby blue fleece blanket tucked around him in the carrier.
“Can we come in for a few minutes then?” Annie posed. “So you can hold him?”
“Oh, no! I couldn’t! You shouldn’t,” Martha started, “You wouldn’t want…”
“Look!” Annie interrupted, “He’s just waking up! Just for you!”
The rain picked up again suddenly and in a flurry of crying and blankets and taking off of jackets, the three were inside Martha’s house, sitting altogether on the pink love seat. Annie didn’t seem to notice the Kleenexes collected at their feet.
Wiping some raindrops from her baby’s cheeks, Annie wrapped his blanket back around him and thrust him toward Martha’s bosom. “Here, you take him, Martha. I know you’ve just been dying to see him.”
Martha struck a small quick smile that fell from her face as she looked down at the bundle of warmth in front of her. The baby gurgled, then opened his eyes into wide marbles of wonder, peering out to her with the innocent love that only newborn babies can have. Martha felt her heart tremble a bit as she gazed back at this little being. She wanted to smile and coo at him, reach out and take him next to her chest, rock him and sing him a little song. She could almost feel the warmth of his little body next to her now, so close.
“I’m sorry, Annie,” she said weakly. “I can’t. I’m sick.”
“Oh, Martha, don’t be silly!” Annie replied with a grin. “You’re not contagious anymore! You’ve been sick for so long! And I know you’re getting better. Bernie said so when I saw him this morning. Besides, my baby’s got plenty of antibodies to build!” She placed the baby straight into Martha’s arms.
Martha awkwardly took him. She held him for a moment, resisting the idea, shaking her head. The warmth of him melted into her body like the butter she had been craving. He began to cry a little and she instinctively held him up to her chest to comfort him, patting his back. She could feel his quickened heartbeat against her skin. She squeezed him closer, nestling her cheek up to his. And then the tears came again. This time they flowed, and the baby turned sharply to look at her, his inquisitive blue eyes catching her gaze. A smile cracked from Martha’s pursed lips which and widened and widened into a laugh. “You know,” Martha said with a tearful sniff and a chuckle, “I do feel better.”

Luis the Cook

2009-10-23T12:27:00.000-07:00

Two nights ago, I got to cook with kids. This, to me, is inexplicably perfect.

One of the garden educators from Seattle Tilth has been teaching a group of afterschool kids at the Rainier Beach Community Center. And now that it's getting into the rainy season, she's planning to do more cooking projects with them. When we met at my Tilth COG class, I tried to keep my enthusiasm under control, as this is exactly what I've been dreaming of for so long. Wednesday night I got to go and help out. I was a little nervous, mostly because I wanted it to go well, I'd been waiting so long for something like this.

It was awesome! For now, I'll recount just one thing. Once we got underway in the kitchen with groups of kids working on various tasks (grating cheese, tearing kale, slicing tomatoes), I realized that Luis had been given the job of sauteing the ingredients. I was surprised to see a kid at the hot stove, but I figured the teacher must have known he had cooking experience, and he was significantly taller (if not also older) than the other kids. I asked him how it was going. He was friendly and looked confident as he nudged the spatula over the greens. I watched him for awhile and realized he was definitely experienced, wouldn't burn himself. Noticing the bottoms of the greens were getting a bit browned though, I asked if I could take a turn. He said sure, and handed the spatula to me. I shoved the tool under the greens and gave them a good flip, continuing around the entire pan. Luis looked at me, lips poking out in observation. "You're a cook, too?" he asked, clearly implying his identity as a Cook, with a capital C. Yes, I told him, I'm a Cook too. We kept cooking, together. It was wonderful.

American Food Culture, 1: Mom's Teriyaki Chicken

2009-10-19T17:56:00.000-07:00

Mom just showed me how to make her "quick and easy" teriyaki chicken. I realize only now that this was SO quick and easy that it was a common staple for dinners when I grew up as a kid. Which is why I was sick of eating chicken by the time I got to college and had to cook for myself. Which is why I never used the recipe she had written out for me to take to college.

Turn oven on bake, 325.
Chicken pieces in a baking dish.
- healthy dashes of olive oil
Sprinkle generously:
- powdered onion, powdered ginger, powdered garlic, sesame seeds if you have them
- (today, "tumeric, why not?")
Mix around. Throw in oven.
Turn over after 20/30 minutes. Bake again the same time.

Serve to hungry family.

More soon on the story behind this recipe...

Culturing, Fermenting, Incubating...Pick your favorite, they all sound gross

2009-10-13T08:54:00.001-07:00

It appears that my experiment in home yogurt making has succeeded! It's not as thick as Greek God's, but it's thick enough to be called yogurt, and it tastes pretty darn good.

The true test: if I am still feeling well later today.

To be continued...

...

Ok. So the yogurt. Back home now after teaching (having eaten said home-made yogurt with muesli this morning)...and I am ALIVE! Considering this truth, I figure it may now be worth recounting my experiment, in case anyone wants to try kitchen biology/chemistry/whatever, too.

I had been wanting to try yogurt making since my Indian experience with yogurt. Everyone there home-makes it. That's just what it is. You don't buy it. It is served out of a metal pot that's reserved for yogurt and is kept in the fridge. Once its almost all been eaten, heat up some milk, add it in with the last bits of yogurt, and let it ripen. More yogurt, done. And after having a couple families show me how relatively simple the process was, I figured I should be able to do it, and save a ton of money on all the organic greek yogurt I am addicted to buying, and eating. When I was in Ireland, on the WWOOF farm, I noticed that my host made home-made yogurt too, and once again, I was reminded of its simplicity. A question was becoming clearer in my mind: Why the heck do Americans not make their own yogurt if its so simple? Two reasons I can see: a) we don't have time for anything, b) we have been taught to fear anything that might grow something (like bacteria for example).

As my American self, I kept managing to forget about the idea, and had gone straight back to buying Greek God's (I know, I know, I keep talking about it, but it really IS so good, especially the whole fat kind! Yum!)...and since being home again, I've started consuming so much of the stuff (to go with my new daily muesli regimen) that I was going through large containers quickly. When my friend Ruth mentioned off hand that her friend's girlfriend was into making yogurt, I remembered. Oh, right! I could make it myself!

There's something special about making yogurt at home. It's not just like making cookies, or cake, or any regular recipe. You have to be prepared. This is about bacteria. I mean, it's serious. So there was a feeling of needing to wait until I was really ready, until I had enough stability in my life and enough time to focus on doing this science experiment right. So as not to sicken myself, and those I love. I think at some point this weekend, I realized there was never really going to be a time that was perfectly clear and calm, and biologically sound, and I went ahead and just bought the ingredients. Milk. And one last container of Greek God's, for the starter.

A little biology lesson, as it were, about yogurt. Wikipedia informs me that yogurt happens when the lactose in milk is processed by living bacteria, which ferment the lactose and turn it into lactic acid. The bacteria, one of several kinds of Lactobacillus, are good bacteria, which help manage our systems in many ways. There are lots of theories and truths presented on the internet about how fantastic yogurt is for us. Personally, I like the plain fact that Greeks, some of the healthiest and longest-living people in the world, eat tons of the stuff. I also find it interesting that for those inflicted with lactose intolerance, the whole idea of yogurt is meant for you. The bacteria process the lactose into lactic acid, the process which, when you drink milk, your body has to do (to its distress) on its own.

...

Right. So I forgot to finish this. Well, basically, I worried over which container and in which way to culture the thing (you need a consistent heat source keeping it at about 100 degrees for seven hours)...over the course of the seven hours on Monday, moved it around from the top of the stove, then inside a warm pot, then inside the oven, turning it on and off a few times. I thought for sure it would have gone all wrong with that much movement and that much change in temp. But at the end of the day (that's right, it ended up being about 10 hours, since I had to teach that night and couldn't check it til i got home) it smelled like yogurt and had thickened, and i put it in the fridge. tried it in the morning and survived. have been enjoying for the past few days. very satisfied.
...In my writing class we are talking about the importance of summary. I have quickly learned that this is a hard thing for me. Even when I think I'm summarizing, I'm not. Must keep working on it.

http://www.wikihow.com/Make-Yogurt

This is the site I used. Very helpful.
Try it! You'll like it! ...And learn that bacteria are not as scary as you thought! In fact, I think they're quite miraculous for managing to turn my milk into yogurt without very much help from me.

I am considering getting a yogurt maker though. I'd like to try it without one a few more times and see if I can get a system down that doesn't require my attention for the whole day. Apparently, if you have a gas oven, you're golden, since you can just use the heat from the pilot light to keep your little yog' happy.

Enjoy.

Going back to the desert

2009-10-12T14:38:00.001-07:00

This is a little prose I wrote a couple years ago in response to my friend Rachel's email request for desert experiences. At the time, she was writing a paper for some kind of ecology class or something. Now, as I begin to think about writing about the desert again, I wanted to re-read this. I like it. So now, making a story. Did a bunch of brain storming this morning, which was fun, but also overwhelming. We shall see... For now, wanted to share this:

When I went to Lake Powell for the first time, I didn't have any idea what I was in for. I thought we were going to a lake. You know, with forests and mountains around it, like regular lakes. So once we got there, my experience was, well, like none other.
Nearing it (I think we had to go into Arizona to some small town first) it felt like we were Going West. Like a bandwagon, we had a station wagon full of stuff, plus a boat attached. And then there were all these other people with RVs and trucks and all these Provisions! I guess I was thinking about the Mormons and their coming upon the Great Salt Lake...different lake, but similar. You go through all this desert, to finally get to...Water! And it's so exciting, and you've seen so much sand and rock that you don't stop to question the quality of the water, or the disenchanting feeling it possesses once you get the chance to reflect awhile longer.
And in the desert, that's what you get to doing. Reflection. It's the absence of trees, mountains, wildlife, people, sounds, ideas...that create the empty canvas on which to finally whisper feelings you didn't know about because they could not be put into words, or the boxes of concrete ideas.
The first night, we slept in our sleeping bags right up next to the water. Strange for a girl used to the ocean. No waves that I remember. In fact in my drunkenness that night I nearly forgot the water was there, just felt the sand under my feet, and only sensed the water as a coolness that blended into the icy abyss of dark sky above.
The second day. This was it. Really a big-deal desert experience. (What I've been trying to get to here in this recounting.) My friends wanted to get to a more remote location, get away from all the RVs. So we (they really, were directing it, so as far as I could tell:) They were trying to get to the back side of the lake. Go around and through a bunch of real lonesome desert and then sneak up on some lake to jump into, or launch a boat from. So we drove out. Out and out and out. Into a whole lot of nothing. And that's the thing, in the desert, there can be a whole Lot of something sometimes. There can be rock formations and river beds, and all sorts of interesting variation. But where we were going, it was like the moon. That's exactly what I remember thinking. Oh my god, I don't really think this could possibly be planet earth anymore. Where are they taking me? There's nothing here to hold on to. There's no objects I can name. There's no variation even to distinguish. There's nothing for my brain to be involved in. It's blank. (And as I only realize now later, it's like a big, wide meditative state, just waiting for you to step into and get lost.)
Confronted with this for the first time (not just the desert, but even the concept of this nothingness), my system freaked out. I wasn't going to say this aloud to my desert-knowing friends, but I was thinking that we really needed to stop and turn around. This couldn't possibly be where we wanted to be, or where we were going, because it wasn't anything. It was the absence of anything. And from a practical standpoint, there certainly was nothing, NO THING that would help us if we broke down out there.
I remember reaching the breaking point, where I thought: "No really, we actually HAVE to go back or we might die." And somehow, they kept driving. And somehow, we didn't die. And I took a few deep breaths and decided, "Ok, well, nothin I can do about it!" Hands up. Here we go. I guess. And that was the first moment that weekend when something changed in me--something real, physical wheels stopping, or changing course, or changing shape...or disappearing. I think I breathed in a different way than I ever had before. Something, who knows what, that's not the point. If I tried to explain it, it just wouldn't work. That's exactly it. It's something outside of words, or ideas, or boxes. It's nothing. It's something outside of things.

(written April 08)

Gourmet

2009-10-08T08:19:00.000-07:00

I can't believe that Gourmet Magazine is shutting down. What??!

Ok, so I have yet to actually look up the details, find out if they are maintaining a website publication, etc. I just had to say something about this immediately. My mom told me yesterday and as I was waiting to fall asleep in my bed last night, the thought flickered through my mind again, and it startled me. In my inbetween sleep-dream state, I first questioned if this wasn't just the absurd beginning of an Alice in Wonderland bad dream. Just another one of my fears rearing its big ugly head at night. Then I remembered that it's true, and I got so sad.

What are we to do without a top voice in quality food in this country? How is anyone supposed to take food seriously? How is any young teenager supposed to get inspired about cooking and about food snobbery if she doesn't have Gourmet's gorgeous glossy pages to paw through? Where does this leave us? With Women's magazines? Yuck!

I do wonder if it might open a door for more sustainably minded/organic food publications. I've already been noticing some really great ones out there. Like Edible Seattle. And I recently realized that this one is actually one of many location-specific Edible Communities magazines. (...really, we should EAT the communities? i think that's going a little too far...)

Right. ...And what about Ruth Reichl (editor in chief)?? I've just now finally fallen in love with her (through her books, now reading Tender at the Bone) and now this? Can't she save this? I mean, really, she is one of the best food writers EVER! Can't she WRITE her way out of this one?? ...Man!! (big sigh)

The funny thing is that up until this point, the whole crumbling-of-paper-publications-industries thing hadn't really effected me that much. I mean, yes, I do think there should be well-supported local news services. But I guess in my extremist hippy mind I sort of thought that those newspapers should be going online, finding more ways to make people pay for their news, and meanwhile, do away with all that paper production.

But Gourmet??! I mean, that is just not something you can put online! Those full page images, close ups of freshly baked bread, freshly cracked fresh vanilla bean creme brulee, new orleans road food with fatty meat spilling out of it in every direction... I suppose, to be honest, Gourmet for me has been like a certain kind of pornography. And I'd say the case must be the same for millions of other food lovers out there.

But perhaps that is the fate of food. The same as sex, to go away and hide, online. In a puritanical nation, maybe we just can't be open about our sexuality, and now our gluttony. In addition to receiving spam for penis pleasuring enhancement, we'll get emails titled "All the panacotta you ever dreamed you could have in one night, free trial." And we'll be forced to subscribe online to cheap, dirty versions of what we once found in Gourmet--all photos, no recipes, no travel food writing, no "last touch" (my favorite!)...it'll just be bad quality shots of lettuce masquerading as kale and chickens dressed up as pheasants. No love, all fake. And then imagine, dear god, our taste buds will get used to salivating over crap. Over burgers. Over peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. Over kudos bars. And what then? We really will need that "Tongue enhancement" that comes in the email inbox.
"Only pennies each month, Make it big, make it wet, make it yummy..."
All dignity will be lost.

Baking

2009-10-01T15:54:00.000-07:00

Yes. It always is that way. I forget that there is something that makes me happy, simply.

A small adventure. That smells and tastes good.

...

And the best, is making something for someone else. Which baking usually is. Even if it doesn't start out that way, you can count on it getting to someone else eventually, even if you have to force it on people... :)

Sharing

2009-09-26T19:46:00.000-07:00

Bites from real life:

Sequestered in my basement hole tonight, I hear both my parents coughing. No. Hacking. They have both been sick with some dreadful thing for way too long now. And I love them, but the hacking just drives me nuts. As I hear my mom, then my dad, hacking away, I snuggle a little deeper into the privacy that my little pseudo-apartment affords me. Later, I hear them arguing about who knows what. Some small thing. Funny how you can just tell that it's an argument, or a disagreement, by the tones you can hear, the specific words muffled completely by the house. Just now, as they watch the Husky game, I smile to hear them both go, "Wooooo!" surprised and excited, both reacting at the same time.

Yes, maybe this is the kind of love old married couples experience. Experiencing synchronization of any sort. It's less important what it is, but more important that there's synchronization. Let's just call it sharing. And even in this tiny moment of exclamation, I am happy that they are together.

Finger Drivel

2009-09-26T18:30:00.000-07:00

I wish that one could write a painting.

What I mean is:
I don't like painting, or any kind of visual art really (as far as making the stuff, I mean). But sometimes it feels like it might be the best medium to use for certain instances. Like now. When I'm feeling a little ovulatory and really quite like a curmudgeon about things in general. And it feels like if I start writing in order to get my emotions out, the result will end up a big blob of negative pointless drivel. But if that big blob happened to be in paint form, it might be kind of interesting to look at. Even beautiful. Maybe?

And I'd probably feel a lot better after making it. I do usually feel a lot better after writing, too, but there's this whole thing. It feels better when I write knowing someone else is going to read it. Otherwise it feels like self-pitying diary drivel, which makes for an even soppier squishier messier big blob. And so t.p.i. ("the point is"): I don't want to write a big soppy blob for others to read. This is just sad. If people are going to read things I write, I'd like them to feel, if not better, at least somewhat stimulated afterward. Blobs of drivel do not do this.

Thus, the painting idea. I think sometimes there is just a necessity for something like this. ...Cleaning often serves a similar purpose. Or baking. Or cooking.

What about poetry? Some people would say that is exactly the concept--"to write a painting." But shit, I don't like writing poetry.

Time to get out the finger paints I guess.

Oh, David

2009-09-25T11:35:00.001-07:00

I want to be like David Sedaris. Write about completely mundane stories from my life but somehow magically make them hilarious and interesting to readers just looking for a good few hours of passing the time.

You people who actually read this blog (echo, echo, echo), will you just let me know when I get to that point? I am prepared never to hear from you.

with love
a

Late Summer Harvests

2009-09-24T08:41:00.000-07:00

Apples that we picked in eastern Washington. And tomatoes at the Seattle Tilth Harvest Fair. Mmmm.

Ms. Computer

2009-09-17T13:52:00.000-07:00

What if a computer was like a woman, instead of a man?

I was just sitting here, plugging all sorts of things into the computer, then loading a disc in, etc. And for the first time ever, my sexually-oriented brain connected to the idea of a computer. Of course! Why had I not seen this before? A computer is like the female, taking in all sorts of information (and poky things) and processing it and making connections, and synthesizing.

But computers aren't like women at all! If they were, they'd be round, and colorful (oh, right! that must be why Mac was so successful!)... And they'd be soft. And instead of typing, you'd be able to just talk to it. And it (she) would listen. And she would have lots of ways of understanding the different types of information you were telling her about, and she'd be able to organize all of them for you. Hm.

Another thing that flickered across my mind is that the Poky Things for a computer carry, instead of fluids, information. Huh. What if, instead of babies, women created vast communication networks and problem-solving mechanisms?

Whoa.

Right! Yes, exactly!

2009-09-16T22:24:00.000-07:00

http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Igayd3u-1p0/RmTPd7n_ygI/AAAAAAAACpg/P2-X0tZJ5FQ/s400/May+28,+2007+108.jpg
(i'm sorry, you're gonna have to manually paste it into your browser, cause i just tried a million different ways of trying to make it a link, and i failed. it's the computer's fault. not mine.) ...adds more suspense anyway! ;)

courtesy of miss meier

Late summer night wind

2009-09-13T22:00:00.001-07:00

dear man of my dreams,

you are no longer a person in my mind. you are bigger than that. you are an idea. of what you made me want to be. i don't know how the heck you inspired what you did, but something about your essence mixed with the timing in my life mixed with the desert mixed with a whole lot of me and my essence, it made a huge idea in me. and i'm really glad that the late summer night wind was able to remind me tonight that you are an idea. my idea. and the you that exists in my mind has really become quite separate from the actual you. thank god. you are free to go now. the idea that you gave me is mine to keep. and you are free to go.

...

but what IS this idea anyway? it is one of the strongest forces i have ever encountered. it says to me "you can do so much, you are strong, Alysa, you are a bad ass woman that doesn't care what anybody thinks and has the ability to save everyone, all at the same time." "You are smart, you are strange, but you are powerful. Don't be ordinary. Don't be mundane. Don't be cute or feminine. Be Indiana Jones, like me! ...don't forget the adventure. and don't forget to be a hero in the middle of all the chaos."

But what??! What am I supposed to do? How am I supposed to do and be all these things? Be happy and at peace, save the world, have wild fun, live a life that is sustainable, and have the sanity left over to fall in love with someone and love them enough...and don't forget, saving the fucking world!

Why am I such a nutcase right now? I was so zen on my trip. I guess it makes sense that colliding back into reality is a bigger jolt than expected. I just can't stop thinking, thinking, thinking, about what I should do! It's like that feeling you get about finding the "right person." Sometimes you really feel like there's one person out there, who's just the best for you, forever. Right now it feels the same way with a career. I'm such a fucking romantic! I don't want just any job, any temporary career. I want a career and a dream. Even if I've dropped the idea of dance as a field, I'm still reacting in the same way as I always have--I want a job that makes my heart swell with satisfaction, every day, for the rest of my life. I want it to be easy. Because, goddamit, sometimes it really feels (deep in the Gut) that there's something out there I'm really supposed to be DOING.

Little Voice

2009-09-13T13:52:00.000-07:00

Yes. It's amazing, now that I'm really beginning to be aware of what kind of person I am (how I work, how I tick--really, it's looking at the things that usually annoy me about myself in a new light, as potential gifts, to be utilized...) Right, now that I'm more aware of that, I realize when I'm in a situation where I need to think of an answer to a problem (eg, as I work on how best to plan my dance lessons), I start thinking, and then I get a little pang in my stomach of nervousness--"too many options!" it says. "How am I ever going to decide?" And being the perfectionist I am, I talk back to that voice and say "I don't know buster, but we're sure as hell gonna find the BEST POSSIBLE answer, aren't we?" I think that's the point where the little voice that felt the pang shuts up and stares at the wall, silently crying for having too many ideas.

Can I be a consultant? So I only have to think of ideas, and not decide? And help other people think of ideas, which always seems easier (less perfectionistic, and clearer, more intuitive) than advising myself.

It's okay little voice. You're awesome. We just didn't know it until now.

September smell

2009-09-12T12:33:00.000-07:00

Need to write about the smell in the air. Late summer.

...

Right. So, now it's night time, so I don't have the scent fresh in my nose hairs. But I know this smell pretty well. It brings an immediate memory and related emotional response. Whatever the smell actually is (heat on drying grass, tomatoes becoming over-ripe, the pungent northwest greenscape finally feeling the kiss of too-dry, or maybe just the pheromones for change released by school children and the off-gasing of their back-to-school shoes and lunchboxes)--wherever it comes from, it brings me straight back to being a kid, tumbling through the laziness of summer with such abandon that the curse of back-to-school is rushing toward me like a grave stone in my inevitable future. It's a truth you avoid admitting to yourself all summer. But once September hits, and then that smell wafts in, and Mom buys you a new folder, you can't deny the pang in your stomach that would have said "FUCK! Retreat!" if you had an adult vocabulary at the time. This smell is sneakily sweet, like the last good moments of a long-term relationship before it expires. But it only takes one repetition for (who's?) dog to learn the pattern. The September smell means homework. It means a potentially mean new teacher. It means the opposite of fun. (Even for a kid like me who really enjoyed learning and liked a good part of school, it was just the whole idea of School that loomed, a monster in the closet that looked bigger in the dark. And even though we all always wanted to get older so badly, and be in a higher grade!, I wonder if this gut feeling at the end of summer wasn't a wiser part of our consciousnesses talking, reminding us that change and growth also brought struggle and pain. Stay here, spoke Bachus, here in the dream of childhood--the summer that never ends.)

Its power to transport me back in time never ceases to surprise me even though the aroma arises every year around the same time without fail. ...

Asian

2009-09-04T19:01:00.000-07:00

That's right. See that? That's an "epicanthal fold" on my eyes. It has been determined by sheer observation that I must be Asian. This was discovered by a real Asian person, so I feel pretty confident in the certainty of these findings. See for yourself.

Caucasion eye image taken from: http://www.google.com/imgres?imgurl=http://topouest.com/wp-content/uploads/2009/01/b1eye01.jpg&imgrefurl=http://topouest.com/tag/human-eye/&h=1200&w=1600&sz=145&tbnid=GsTAvs6X6I79YM:&tbnh=113&tbnw=150&prev=/images%3Fq%3Dhuman%2Beye&usg=__M5k2DwWoMl5WsrvPpaGSLaEuZYc=&ei=FcihSsiqBI_6sgPGiZSNDw&sa=X&oi=image_result&resnum=4&ct=image

Alysa's "Famous" Muesli

2009-09-03T11:30:00.000-07:00

I am SO excited about muesli. And how much cheaper it is to just make it myself. When I have a bowl of it with whole fat Greek God's yogurt in the morning, I last til lunch really well (with cereal, etc, I always feel like snacking at 10). (note: it is only "famous" to me so far, but once the word gets out, i'm positive the recipe will spread like boursin on a cracker.)

(small environmental note: Make everything organic--you'll feel better, your conscience will feel better, and so will the planet. And get stuff from bulk bins--less packaging.)

- Rolled oats
- Barley flakes
- Rye flakes (I haven't found these yet, but let me tell you, if I had, they'd definitely be in my muesli.)
...you decide the proportions. they all look pretty similar to me.

- Raisins
- Dried unsweetened apple rings, chopped
- Apricot kernels (they have them at Trader Joe's...ok, so they're not organic. poo. But they have such a lovely sweet apricoty mixed with almond taste) --chop em up in a food processor, or if no f.p, just put them in whole.
- Raw almonds, food processed too (just so they're in smaller pieces)
...all this stuff is enough for me, but obviously, add anything that sounds good to you, like dried apricot, or dried blueberries, something to sweeten it up naturally.

- A shit ton of cinnamon. This is what makes it taste sweet-like, without no sugar! It's amazing! And yummy. And it's so good for you. (Quotes from Wikipedia: "Cinnamon is high in antioxidant activity." "Cinnamon has been reported to have remarkable pharmacological effects in the treatment of Type 2 diabetes mellitus and insulin resistance.")

- Now mix.
- I like to put mine into a tall cylindrical container (usually used for storing long pastas), so it's easy to pour into bowl. Or, get one of those re-usable plastic cereal containers, with the flip lid.

- Don't forget to mix it with some really good yogurt. And add fresh fruit if you want--but I've been amazed at how the cinnamon is enough sweetness for me.

Enjoy! And say, "Guten Appetit!" ;)

STUFF

2009-09-02T20:28:00.000-07:00

Doing some "cleaning" today in the ol' Haas basement. Sign reads: "Alysa's Stuff (pile) Do not put things here that are not A's. Please." The funny part is that I didn't realize how ridiculous my sign would look (i think, like a pirate ship flag) until I stuck it in the pile of junk and took a step back. I couldn't help but laugh long and hard and punchily (it's been that kind of day) at my little reality the sign is trying to protect.

Yep, it's all about the Stuff, right?

holy shit (yes, holy shit again...i'll get more creative later)

2009-08-30T23:25:00.000-07:00

holy shit, things change.

listening to a cd of ballet music that gary just recorded. it's on the last track, the saddest and most beautiful of all the tracks. and it's real long. and it's perfect for this moment of change. (and i'm not talking about no obama change. i mean the sad, sad kind, that you can't have life without. it just keeps happening. and i guess i better learn to at least smile at it. ...maybe that's why i used to so admire the ability to cry. if you can't smile, might as well get as sad as possible, and get that shit out. ...but this is contrary to the fact that i recently decided that i've held crying too high on a pedestal for quite some time now. i'm ready to laugh. even when things are sad. right.)

wade's leaving town for good tomorrow. gary and i said goodbye again. and god, life is intense. especially when there's beautiful music playing.

i'm tempted to listen to that track again, but i think i'm finally maturing enough to know when to let it go.

here's to all the tomorrow we could ever imagine. and here's to now, even with tears in my eyes, it sure is alive anyway.

A Sad Day

2009-08-30T01:05:00.001-07:00

Before & After

sun meditation

2009-08-28T15:42:00.000-07:00

i was imagining just sitting in the sun, and feeling the warmth of the sun on me. trying to just focus on that. then after a little while, it felt like the sun was not only bringing me warmth, but also energy--but instead of the frenetic energy i had been feeling earlier in the day, the sun was giving me a nice, smooth, even, solid energy. then it felt like, with this energy, i was like a plant that could grow from this energy. and then the energy became so great that i could grow into a tree which began to bear fruit, from which others could pick and enjoy. this feeling of giving the light back in a transformed way filled me with such a nice feeling of peace and happiness. and sound-ness.

INFJ

2009-08-26T00:00:00.000-07:00

Holy shit! Everybody I know needs to take this test!! Myers-Briggs.

http://www.humanmetrics.com/cgi-win/JTypes2.asp

Someone suggested it to me, and I thought, sure I'll try it. ...And it turns out it is CRAZILY right on! It's so relieving to read about me (about my archetype) and realize that it's ok I'm such a weirdo, because Gandhi was too! Ha!!

The best part is that it is part of my personality type (Idealist Counselor) to want everyone I know to take this test.

Do it! And then let me know what you are! And then I can analyze...analyze, analyze, analyze...

fuck

2009-08-25T22:14:00.000-07:00

...ok. maybe i want to be a dancer again.

how bout just for tonight? just one last night, i'll "be" a dancer in my head. i'll let the little dancer in my head improvise to the music playing on my computer, as i stare at the wall, lying on my bed.

tomorrow i'll do something useful for the world.

...

it's the music's fault. the music, the good music, the bad ass music, it's the one that starts it. it's not my fault. it's the one that gets me thinking, and gets me wanting to move endlessly. past all my physical limitations. dance until i turn to flame, and leave this beautiful but unsettled world.

it whispers in my ear, "what else is there? to life? isn't this it? this is all there is. what do you need to live for? come in here, just believe me. come dance in your head. it will last. it won't stop. it will go on forever. it won't stop when you need money, or food, or a home, or sanity. it's perfect. trust me."

actually

2009-08-23T22:01:00.000-07:00

...it wasn't the chocolate. it was that i was completely overwhelmed and stressed out over the fact that i have no idea what i want to do with my self and my life and there are too many question marks right now.

i figured this out because at dinner with my parents i ended up opening my mouth, and this (along with tears and nose-blowing) spilled out. i have amazing parents. they listened. and even had good advice. and i feel better.

one step at a time. (gary told me that one, too. even wrote a song about it.)

told my mom how when i was traveling i had a very far-back view of my life, so it was easier to see it more clearly. see what was important, and what wasn't. and now being back IN my life (up close), i'm swimming in it, and i can't see any of it. little pieces of it are floating past me, and they look bigger than they actually are, and other parts of it are drowning me.

i feel like Alice, when she's changing sizes.

i think i ate too much chocolate...

2009-08-23T18:03:00.000-07:00

...and that is why i am so hyped up.

obviously this is becoming a theme on my blog. my additional addiction to chocolate.

Hhhhnn!

2009-08-23T17:45:00.000-07:00

(whiny voice)

Why do I feel like crying, but wouldn't even be able to if i tried, but maybe feel more like yelling? And then doing lots of productive things?

Actually. I don't want to ask that question. I just want to continue forward. As this is the only option anyway.

I am addicted to smelling my earl grey tea "pick-me-up spray" while sitting here being equally addicted to my computer. But I'm ok with both those addictions, especially now that my computer includes my blog. I like how incredibly well the earl grey spray works. It instantly calms me down, or satisfies me a little bit. To be honest, I think to me, it smells like sex (or how sex would smell if the actual smell of it smelled good)...so I think it calms down some of my nerves that could be otherwise calmed by sex, eating chocolate, or yelling.

I don't know why I can't just stop stressing.

Probably because I still need to find more work.
Right.

So... (whistling)

I decide to love myself. Instead of criticize myself. Right now.

However, there is obviously something on my mind that needs to get done. What is it?
Let's go find out.

new meditation idea

2009-08-21T22:53:00.000-07:00

today i was driving across town and it occurred to me that i was in get-to-the-destination mode. i knew the route so well, i was pulling out all my tricks to cut corners and get there just a few minutes earlier than if i just drove like i do when i'm not in a hurry. (driving is something i really wasn't looking forward to when coming home. it stresses me out. it gives me shoulder tension. i think angry things while driving.) but i actually have really been glad to be back in my car (named steven--he may be going through a sex change soon, i've decided). i love the car. it's the driving part that sucks.

but today, as i felt myself getting revved up, i thought, "well, what if i were on vacation right now? would i be stressed out then?" And so I tried it. I pretended (for at least a whole thirty seconds) that I had never seen Sand Point Way before. Nor the Univesity of Washington. Wow! Look how beautiful and green it is here, and wow, this bridge! it's a draw bridge! Wow, never been over one of those before! (I suddenly felt a mid-western accent creeping into my internal monologue.) Gee golly!

No, really, even if it didn't last very long, it really helped to make that mental shift, even if just for a few minutes. I'm here now, and after I'm dead, I'll never see these beautiful trees and these beautiful people again. Here I am. Serving my purpose--to see, and to think "how beautiful."

[Note: I realize it helps while reading my writing to just ignore the parentheticals, just read right over them, and then if you REALLY care, go back later and read them...or not. I include them because it's a way of getting a distracting tangent out of my head so I can move forward, but they're not really part of "the point." This is why it's so hard to listen to me talk, because I have no where to put the parentheticals.]

these chocolate chips don't even taste good!

2009-08-20T19:49:00.001-07:00

...sheeeeit.

thanks to anne lamott

2009-08-20T18:19:00.000-07:00

Thank god! I just spent the last hour finally finishing (savoring) the last few chapters of Anne Lamott's book Bird by Bird. So glad I forfeited on the idea of going to yoga class. I was sleepy and with lots on my mind, so I'm glad I ended up collapsing on my bed and enjoyed being completely rapt by anne lamott's humorous, beautiful writing. Instead of running off against my will again (which seems to feel unfairly necessary back here in this place called real life), I let the late afternoon sun pour through the window and mingle with my audible laughs...marinating me in a sauce that tastes like life is sweet after all.

In the past couple years I have come to terms with the fact that I am not a bad reader. I'm just picky. I often read half (ok, a third) of a book and then get impatient with it and let it go. Finding a book that really draws me in is rare. And if I'm in a gotta-get-shit-done mood, my patience deteriorates into basically nothing. So I haven't been surprised that since I've been home I have not spent one half hour really reading a book. I only count "really reading" to mean when you're truly engrossed, and your own thoughts aren't shouting over the narrator's voice telling you there are more important things to be done. (The only book I have read since being home is the first bits of B. Kingsolver's Animal Dreams. But this was only for 15 minutes. And it's B. K.! I could get wrapped up in reading one of her books while aboard a sinking ship.) So when I found myself unable to put Bird by Bird down this afternoon, it was a relief. Like being swept up by a lover you didn't see coming, and you didn't know you needed, succumbing to what you thought was a frivolous pleasure but you realize now was more like a good long laugh after a good long cry.

Some quotes from Bird by Bird:

"Even if only the people in your writing group read your memoirs or stories or novel...And who knows? Maybe what you've written will help others, will be a small part of the solution. You don't even have to know how or in what way, but if you are writing the clearest, truest words you can find and doing the best you can to understand and communicate, this will shine on paper like its own little lighthouse. Lighthouses don't go running all over an island looking for boats to save; they just stand there shining."
That last line just makes me giggle. And at the same time, it's so true. What else can you do as an artist? All you can do is put it out there. The best you can. And don't stop shining just because the boats don't stick around after they've arrived.

"When the ancient Egyptians finished building the pyramids, they had built the pyramids. Perhaps they are good role models: they thought they were working for God, so they worked with a sense of concentration and religious awe."

On why to tell the real truth when you write:
"If we can believe in the Gnostic gospel of Thomas, old Uncle Jesus said, 'If you bring forth what is inside you, what you bring forth will save you. If you don't bring forth what is inside you, what you bring forth can destroy you.'"

Anne telling a priest she just wants to find some serenity amid the madness, and his response:
"'The world can't give that serenity,' he said. 'The world can't give us peace. We can only find it in our hearts.'
'I hate that,' I said.
'I know. But the good news is that by the same token, the world can't take it away.'"

There is also a really great story she tells about the value of giving, and about blood. But I am going to let you read it yourself. I hope you laugh out loud like I did.

Sometimes I think, Yeah, Music. That's it! Music is really it!

2009-08-19T23:49:00.000-07:00

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=w__9uUuWHuA

courtesy of my friend Tomás (and Youtube)

i love the way she moves. and the whole thing. yeah, just...

unreal

sigh

2009-08-19T23:22:00.000-07:00

well, got that email sent. we'll see. i'd say it's either gonna be a bomb or...a wall, i guess.

meanwhile, glad to have faith in myself, and the universe. and this damn band, bilio, i think it's called? beautiful.

great couple of nights, in which visits to both brothers have been checked off the to-do list, with gladness, of course.

at least i HAVE two big brothers in the same city...can beat up anybody who might need a little attention. (momentary snorting)

...all sentient beings. happiness.

Ah, summer in Seattle. This beauty courtesy of my brother the gardener

2009-08-19T21:30:00.000-07:00

Tubs gone wild

2009-08-19T21:24:00.000-07:00

of all the developments i've noticed in seattle since being back, this was the most impressive. a massive clusterfk of amazing, un-inhibited grafitti covering the (still-standing, my god!) Tubs building in the u district. i couldn't get a photo that does it justice, but i do like this one of the gothic altar that's been created out of the arch.

light-f'in-rail!

2009-08-19T15:17:00.000-07:00

http://www.soundtransit.org/Riding-Sound-Transit/Schedules-and-Facilities/Central-Link-Light-Rail.xml

wow! check out the map at the bottom of this page. This makes me so excited about our light rail (despite all the kinks i know are still in the system)...but i don't care! we have a long-distance light rail! finally!

it makes me want to live close to downtown just so i can take it all the time.

...wow! and only $2.50 to ride the whole line! (this seems cheap compared to european transit prices)

2009-08-19T08:21:00.000-07:00

Oh, bag tax. You weren't perfect enough!

Why? Why is it so hard to get Seattle to vote for anything that's not "perfect." Sorry, but perfection does not exist, and meanwhile we continue to kill the planet.
I'm sorry to sound negative, but it's kind of absurd! Edmonds has a bag tax already! The old people are out-greening us!!

No time for positivity to balance. I have to go to the doctor!

It's going to be a sunny day. (Wow, I really have a hard time with positivity in the morning.) Will try harder next time.

2009-08-17T13:08:00.000-07:00

(Yes! A groovin' 90s tune is playing at Top Pot as I sip my Reed's ginger brew...aah, seattle, you hip thing. note for later: the song is something about a boyfriend...shit, can't hear other lyrics...if only one could hum a tune into itunes search.)

Just went to an info session for the UW Masters in Teaching program. ... I don't want to be a teacher! (whiny voice) I want to learn! I want to research! About food. I want to know lots and lots of stuff about food (cooking, nutrition, agriculture, cultural history, agro-arts relationships...all of it! I want to know everything there is to know about food)...and then! And then I want to use that knowledge to start public programs that re-grow Americans' relationship with their food. In schools, in farmers markets, in community centers, in land-grant programs??...getting the government involved? Or, I could work with any number of existing organizations that are already doing things like this.

Or. Or, or, or.
Or is this just something that should be a hobbby? Start out by volunteering with P-Patch, get a "real job" (slash, continue teaching dance)...and then if my interest continues, go from there to start/organize programs. Use my experience, not schooling.

But what if I don't actually want to work in food studies the rest of my life? (And don't tell me I can change later, because I'm already 25 and I'm sick of having to worry about what my profession is. I just want to have a job in something I'm interested in. Ok, well, or I want to get paid to do research. Which I realize, if I'm not a hard scientist, this is basically not going to happen. Why didn't I study science in school? Fuck!!)

I definitely AM interested in people, educating them, and how people relate to nature. Ok. Good Alysa. You know something.

2009-08-17T10:07:00.000-07:00

On Sunday I was feeling the weightiest (mental weight) pms I've felt in awhile. Downright blue. Probably something about the combination of hormones and living in my parents' basement again. But it was a beautiful sunny day out, and on my morning walk, the wise (but oh so small) voice inside me said that it thought it would be a good idea to get into the Nature sometime that day. And of course, the voice was right.

It took me awhile to get out though. I spent the morning doing semi-productive things on the computer and then lying on my bed feeling completely bummed and knowing that there was no logical reason for it. (Note: A friend of mine is right--kexp's sunday morning show "Preachin' the Blues" is only good for mornings when you're not depressed. I'd say, it's only good for Sundays that you wake up with someone else in your bed.) Then when noon rolled around I thought I better head to the new Meadowbrook Farmer's Market before I lost my chance. But Dad had one car, and Mom had the other, and my car is technically not allowed on the road til I renew my tabs. I went out to the garage to check up on the old bike. Excitement. A bike ride would be perfect. But as I wheeled it out of the garage, I remembered that the tires are still flat and the breaks need adjusting. I put up the kick stand and the two of us, bike and girl, stared at each other for a good couple minutes in the encouraging afternoon sun putting on a show for the neighbors that we might actually be going somewhere that day.

I finally decided I would walk. I had wanted to go on some kind of hike that day, so maybe this was my only chance. An urban hike. I got myself ready and then as I stepped out the door, Mom rolled in. I was glad because we had talked about going to the market together, so really it was perfect. But this didn't change my grumpy mood, which inevitably made it hard for me to be around. The ride to the market and back was semi-pleasant, but mostly blemished with dots of impatience on my part. Mom wanted to stop and look at open houses, and I had to be honest with her (and myself): I just need to get to the Nature.

Once we got home, I lay on my bed again, feeling hopeless. But looked up hike ideas online and thankfully found the suggestion of in-city hiking in Carkeek Park. Put the shoes on, filled up the waterbottle, and still feeling crummy, felt relieved at least to be heading in the right direction.

i love having a camera

2009-08-16T20:02:00.000-07:00

...can you tell??

I of course have my own fancy camera which I rarely use, but now that I have a sneaky small camera that I can whip out of my purse at any moment, I'm unstoppable. Well, the truth is, it is Nassim's camera, and we have not yet spoken about the terms of lease on it, but for now, it is staying attached to my hip where it is cozy and warm. I think we make a good pair.

I love the small camera because it makes taking pictures feel less serious. When I do remember to take my lug of a camera somewhere, once I go to the trouble to take it out of the case I am very much in "artist mode," whatever that means. With the small camera (let's name it why don't we...Jibber)...with Jibber, I feel like a sleuth collecting clues, or like Amelie as a child, capturing random images which appear magical to only her. And it all feels thoughtless. In the good way.

Installation art in carkeek park (yes, they ARE clothes pins)

2009-08-16T20:01:00.000-07:00

This is where I live...Yes!

2009-08-16T20:00:00.001-07:00

My new favorite tree

2009-08-16T19:57:00.000-07:00

Youngins in the north end unknowingly doing their part for oil

2009-08-16T19:55:00.000-07:00

Saturday Afternoon

2009-08-15T12:51:00.000-07:00

It was a beautiful morning. After spending the last two hours nitpicking over my limited color and font choices (with no satisfying conclusion!), I have forced myself to recognize that it is in fact no longer a beautiful morning. It is neither the morning nor is it beautiful out. It is very much the afternoon. And the cloudless sunny sky has returned to its usual setting of overcast. And therefore, clearly, it is time to write.

I'm excited about the idea of having a new blog. Having gotten used to opening up my "soul" to the entirety of "the world" via "the internet" in my travel blog, I feel less inhibited to publish what's spilling out of my mind at a given moment. [But clearly, as I'm realizing now, this process is a lot smoother when you don't have extra time on your hands to edit yourself into a jumble of nonsense! Sheesh Alysa! ...... :) Traveling sure kept me light in a lot of ways.] Right. Thus. Cares into bin. Write (you have 10 minutes):

Last night I went out to an epic show at Tost in Fremont. My ex-boyfriend Gary was playing in all three bands on the bill. And our friend Wade was playing for the last ("for reals, the last!") time before he leaves for L.A. I drove over with Steph, and Julie, Alexis, and Candice met us there for the last ten minutes of happy hour pizzas and brews. I thought we made a pretty healthy feminine fan club, sitting right next to the stage (and the gigantic amps). (That's all I got in 10 minutes! Shit!)

Bites from real life:

Mom: Scott, are you strong? (in whiny but playful coquette-ish voice, obviously leading to her next question, "Can you fix this for me?")
Dad: No.

So wise. so wise.
I don't know why this makes me laugh so much. Maybe something about how well my parents know each other, and how they manage to coexist lovingly.