Dissecting Irises

Real pleasure can be found in smelling an iris. I had forgotten, until walking today and seeing a bunch of multi-colored irises, that these flower's smells are differentiated by their colors. I would ask the kids in the garden to smell each color and then report how it smelled. Rootbear was big for the white, chocolate for the purple. I always said vanilla for white, and grape for purple. Funny how different noses smell different things. The bearded iris is really a magnificent entity especially in terms of the internal reproductive flower structure. A pollinator lands on a teeple (the downward pointing "petal" like parts that have the hairy caterpillar seeming "beard" on them--I have been taught that these are called sepals if they are green and upward facing) and walks its way into the flower. Any pollen on the legs of this flower's friend is caught by the beard, possibly helping with reproduction via additional pollen collection. Imagine, if you will, the furry back of a pollinator like a bee. This insect has been feasting on other flower's pollen and so it has this magical ingredient for a seed recipe on its body. When it approaches one of the three stamen with pollen at its top hidden under one of the tiny inner petals it starts to munch. Just above the stamen there is a sticky little lip (the sticky stigma). That lip catches pollen off the body of the pollinator as it eats. From there, the pollen travels down the body of the pistol-like (I say "like" because most plants have one central pistol--the iris has these three lip like parts) spine of the inner-petal. At the base of these "spines" is the ovary of the plant. If you break open the rounded green base at the bottom of the flower you will find the eggs of the iris. From here the pollen combines with an egg and we get the baby plant and the seed coat from this combination. It is important to note that a plant will not be pollinated from its own pollen--the process (in general) requires that the pollen travel to a plant from a different flower. We need pollinators to have seeds! We need seeds to live. Save our pollinators! Seriously, plant reproduction is so interesting and fun to explore and the bearded iris presents lots of easy exploration given its size, and flashy features. Go play with irises...but don't get to carried away...we want those flowers to produce seeds. Oh, and stop and smell flowers too. It is worth it--It's a great breathing exercise, it will lift you mood, and it will hone your nature-sight.

Ungardening

Do you ever blog in your head? I do. A lot. I find myself thinking through and actually composing blog posts in my casual times of the day--walking to lunch, doing the dishes, waiting for my boys to drift off to sleep.They never come out as I plan them. Its like I only see the tip and when I start the rest, things I didn't know were there get revealed. Yesterday, I found my head empty of blog posts. It sent me into a bit of a panic. How could I not have anything to blog about? Then, I sat back and enjoyed watching Canyon motor himself around the carport in his toy car. The blog entry came quickly. I am guilty of ungardening. The beds of my potential garden are full of life, but I have not cultivated them yet this year. My gardening has not been the same since I moved to Jersey nearly 6 years ago. The last real garden was the one on Jefferson that we created in the community garden space of our neighborhood. I came up with the design, inspired by a recent trip to Mexico that had left me fascinated by Mayan culture. Five squares, one as the center piece, the others angular shaped radiating from the middle. C built them. Our best collaborations were always oriented towards soil. We both worked them. Of course, the chard was my baby, lots of chard all the time. And we had way too much zuchinni, as usual, something I can rarely get enough of. Tomatoes delicious, carrots that were sweet baby Tane's first food when D & J visited. Midnight watering. I love night watering, the plants sound different, maybe because they whisper. I don't think that plot is a community garden anymore. I don't know what it is. So I am looking closer now. I have an instinct, we all do, towards knowing plants. I see it, there are flowers here. My wild primrose is in full bloom. And the fruit of the rose is delightful. Fall in the Botanical Garden, teaching kids about rosehips led to an addictive phase of consumption. Sucking out the vitamin c relishing in the minerals. I have these fruits right here. And Iris, not the wild kind, but some planted years ago. Lots of Iris. The herb garden is a staple. The chives are green and beautiful, new fresh culinary sage, and a basil plant, I think my mother put in a few weeks ago. Strawberries around front in my perrenial bed. At least I had the foresight this fall to spread yarrow and lavender seeds, and River and I transplanted a pattern of lavender and yarrow at the bottom of the drive. I have a vision of these protective plants growing tall, holding the foundations of my home together for years. They are tiny still. They will grow. Standing now, I realize I need only begin and it will be better than it is now. I start to rake away the pine needles covering my terraced raised beds. Uncovering brown earth, the possibility of planting soon pulls the rake for me. The compost pile continues to decompose next to me. I have all the parts, I just need the fortitude to manifest. Our best collaborations were soil oriented, our best collaborations were soil oriented. Our best collaborations were soil oriented. I am gardening alone now. The kids call to me to come play. River has discovered an inborn knack for tennis. Its the first time he's realized it is easy for him and he wants me to throw the ball and pine cones so he can swing full through, perfect form. Amazing. I have stopped gardening now. It is time for dinner and bed. I am too tired to go back outside. My eyelids are shutting, my body is still aching. The soil feels barren. I am scared of the dark. D & J have built a lovely garden this year. J is not on the river and all his energy has gone to cultivation. D is happy. She has learned about how the plants talk, especially in transplanting, you can see it is enlivening her. She breathlessly talks about watering, about the sunflower stalks raising high to the sky that will be coming. I am guilty of ungardening,I am here, in the dark. Watering the soil with tears, pouring, I am empty. Perhaps I am a wild woman who can only have a wild garden. Maybe, not watering will lead to only native plants and not weeds. Maybe, the rosehips are enough to sustain me. This ground has been too heavily raked. I can' get it to move. The soil feels poisoned. A bulldozer has knocked out the future, a leeching has robbed it of life. Here, let me plant some sweet clover. Can I please put in these tomatoes? Let a little water drizzle from the hose? Let the guilt wash away. Fingering these delicate roots, digging a tiny hole. Tucking this plant in for the season. "Inch by inch, row by row, gonna let this garden grow, all it takes is a rake and a hoe and piece of fertile ground. Someone bless these seeds I sow, someone warm them from below, till the rain comes tumblin' down."

I'M JUST AN ANIMAL AFTER ALL

That is what it comes down to. I eat and sleep, piss and shit, I've lactated, ovulated, menstruated, procreated and birthed. I am driven by desire for food, sex, space, work. Just an animal. I could move to all fours right now if I wanted. At times, even, I have found myself curled up under sagebrush, coiled together like a suffering coyote. Just an animal. Sometimes I feel like howling, sometimes like tumbling playfully, grooming, nuzzling,feeding, creating. So it is no wonder what happens when we are transcribed into institutions. Health care, school, neighborhoods. Professional contribution, marriage, excel spreadsheets. Seriously. Those things make me not feel like an animal. They make me feel like a mis-matched union. A misunion of instinct and cultural requirement. A mis-conglomeration of gendered interests in the interest of an instinctual drive rooted deeply in my animalness. But I also have such human dreams. Filled with a deepness of emotion and puzzles to be inquisited after. My base level feelings are accentuated by complex emotions. The culture anchors me through these. I am lost in the technique of it all, the technology of it all. i'm just an animal after all

(Un) Finalized Quotations.

"My dynamite will sooner lead to peace than a thousand world conventions. As soon as men will find that in one instant, whole armies can be utterly destroyed, they surely will abide by golden peace" -Alfred Noble That quote, spoken at the end of the 19th century (by the founder of the Noble Prize which will be officially awarded and dispensed with in its myriad categories tomorrow I believe) seems to accurately exemplify the unemperical character and ought to often practiced theory of containment now doesn't it? I have finished. McCall has a way of doing that to someone with a lingering book. It allows the space for steadfast reading. Among other things of course. Forest adventures and lakeside sittings. I did not dig deep in the sand this time. Instead, the wait of my body sunk into its softness. The children ensured it was dug and sometimes placed heavily on my resting form. Peppering my like a roast. A mama too ripe with grown-up experience to completely hold the promise of its malleability. I have been busily bending pages. Moving through a tale of loves, and loss, and death, and time-travel,or the failure of it. So, I feel like sharing these quotes again. Some of them so striking, some moments uncapturable--like when suddenly it became clear that the character "sam" was Sam Clemens --or Mark Twain. I was compelled to comb back through--How could I not have caught that earlier, or is Samantha Hunt using a literary trick, dumping the unexpected at the end with the intent of delighting , and risking near disappointment. But she bundled it right, she twists it again and again until the un-reality of it all leaves you wondering not if it was legitimate, but where a notion of the legitimate as a literary standard came from anyways. So I will not cite these in a linear way. I may even start at the end. The final pieces that I am savoring still now. To the middle parts that perhaps I have forgotten already, and need this little reminder as a way of finalizing their etchings. Never mind, there is not time. Too many things to do besides satisfy my own desire to order these written impressions, to pocket them in my own little immaterial purse of ponderings. You will have to read the book yourself to cite the middle. "The birds dove together, each loop inseperable from the other, known, unknown, welcome. They rose and fell. They turned and disappeared like a flash of something that's hard to hold on to: hope, the past, lightning against the New York City sky" "And he wondered: Why is she asking me to say this? Can't she tell, and doesn't she know? It is in the air, in my eyes, in the words I say that have nothing to do with what must remain unsaid. She does know this, or else why would she keep coming back?" "My birth and their wedding sat on the kitchen table. In a few days, I imagined, a new certificate would arrive, and I would file it there with the rest of his life. I wondered what they would write as the cause of death. Curiosity. Courage. Love. Love, I heard Mr. Tesla say, is impossible. Yes, I agreed. This morning it seems you are right about that." "I'll just tell you what I remember because memory is as close as I've ever gotten to building my own time machine." "Mr. Tesla miscalculated. Death rays don't stop death. Killing only kills more. Perhaps he'd been thinking about another version of our future. The one he'd intended for us. The path we didn't take. The future where war and death were absurd propositions. The future where human beings have wings and electricity is miraculous and free"

Embodied Memorials

What I find fascinating about John McCain is both his full corporeal experience and also the excavation of his body--the segmented cutting and removal of his flesh. He had both shoulders broken when he was a prisoner of war, he is thus unable to lift his arms above his shoulders. He used to smoke so much that he has had many tumors removed from his colon and prostate. The press is citing his heart rate and blood pressure, giving taxonomical evaluations of his embodied inflictions and status. I want to ask: What does it mean about us as a culture if we elect this state of health as president? What does it mean if we elect the apparent vigor of Barack Obama?--The female oriented body of Hilary Clinton, with all its reproductive history and reminder of that difference? McCain is a former prisoner of war. In lingo with a friend over work to be done I unreflectively and coldly referred to the upcoming, Memorial Day holiday as that "damn" holiday. It was only upon reflection after a co-worker sent around a memorial acknowledging that which is memorialized on this day that I realized it was a damn holiday only in terms of what it meant for the sacrifices that are embedded in all nations--in the name of this idea of nation--in the name of this idea of nation there are those that hold a national identity. They are bodies of flesh and blood and spirited remembrances of those who came before--of the ancestors. We hold that past in our genes, even as the selves that are born today encompass a different enfleshed matrix. Bodies for a new millennium. And on Memorial Day we acknowledge the suffering of those bodies (past and present) affected in war through death and suffering and permanent scars like those embedded in and on John McCain. Post-traumatic stress disorder, drug abuse, traumatic brain injury, amputation. A listing of how war segments sovereignty of the self and the nation. The body is a stress processing machine. A body like that of John McCain reveals the stress of our culture without subtlety. His stiff movements and slightly distorted profile are a reminder in the visual realm of his history, and that gnarlednesss is, in a strange way, appealing. Look what this body has survived, look how it has sustained. But to me, it is also a reminder of the dis-ease of this nation. Of a body with a belief system centered on defense and "prosperity" of a vision of invested interests as a commanding force, with little said about the realities of Katrina, the Iraq war, the state of the economy. Honestly, it seems to me that John McCain is a genuine man, but the genuine place he holds scares me. There is something toxified in this being, there is something that repels me. I got to be really close to Barack Obama. I stood in the front row when he rallied in Boise, the appearance of one of his security guards that stood by me will be forever etched in my brain--his clear-sightedness, his singular mission. Obama was slightly powdered. Really--maybe because of the lighting they powdered him. But other than that he was slim and strong. He was straight and rooted and so comfortable in his skin. He came down to the crowd and shook the hand of the boy in front of me. His hand, long fingers, defined musculature dangled in front of me for a fraction of a second--I seized the opportunity and shook that hand--electrifying. And the children. Today I saw a news piece with a video of a baby being asked who the next president would be. John McCain? No. Hilary Clinton? --"Go Barack Obama!" Squeels the baby. That's how Canyon sounds too. Both boys whisper and sometimes shout his name. I find them mesmerized when he flashes across the screen. I am not sure. I am persuaded by the body of hybridity. I am compelled by the transcontinentalness of this potentially presidential body. That is as far as I can go analyzing that corporeality for now. McCain is more blatant. He is more endemic of something. Something I am compelled to watch as the election progresses as his embodiedness experiences the rigors of electability. On the news right now they are talking about the medical care always accompanying the president. To assure us there is a specialized maintenance team to stabilize this body. Because when it is threatened, we lose our-selves?

Obsessive Compulsive That's Me

Uh, the Damien Marley on Austin City Limits link is working now. Did I mention that both the interview and video are worth watching? I just get this way, when I really like something.

Ode to the Cabin and A Random Musical Recommend

I have made it. Finally, after too many months I am in McCall. The tall Ponderosa Pines greeted me on 55 when I stopped by the river on the drive up. The lake now melted, I am reminded that my last adventures here involved skis and mittens. In college I would come here as a respite. We would travel from Walla Walla for Thanksgiving and sleep all day, then come out of our dark cavern and eat, maybe go on a walk and then sleep again. When I was writing my senior thesis I spent the time in between Christmas and New Year's here alone. Just me and Jah anyways. I would ski with Jah round the little lake, make food and write and read, endless notes developing a web of a fantastical outline around a theory of political resistance built on the foundations of a global movement of sustainable agriculture, lots of Terri Gross--it was her tribute to jazz greats that week and I loved every minute. When in Jersey coming to the cabin Summer or Winter was such a savior. Yes, a world like this does still exist. I knew it was time to leave Rutgers when I told my advisor and a fellow student I just needed to go to a little cabin in the woods with no one around for a bit to get some perspective, and they said "no where like that exists anymore." Well, yes it does, but don't tell them. I came here alone to finalize my studies for my re-take of my qualifying exams. Dreams of feminists past and present filling the hollow space in the middle of the cabin surrounding me as I slept in the loft. And then a period of intense family bonding between sisters and their children, a mother anchoring and angering us, our children splashing in the water and sand, sledding down icy slopes just outside the front door. I am here now. The spring and fall are my favorite seasons here. Contrary to the bustle of winter and summer there is no direct pull out the door. I can sit in and look out the window and then spend the afternoon exploring the wood, ending up at the sand, digging deep down, piling up and then lazily move to the cabin again. In summer, the lake nearly shouts for all kinds of play and the mountains beg for hiking on the trails, plus the bike riding. In winter we are torn between sledding, alpine skiing, backcountry telemarking, and my ultimate favorite of skate skiing. Oh, what tribulations of choice! I am so lucky to have this place, this place that absorbs the rest of the world in the form of a buffer that allows for so much fun and joy and connectedness. I am thankful to the vision of my parents over thirty years ago to build this space that would allow for the combination of their two (and with me three) families in to one, even though that attempt has had varied success. My grandfather layered these logs based on my parents design--and with typical Irish stubborness then refused to spend another night here again. But I still feel him in these layered walls. They implicitly remind me of him. This is random, but before I left for the cabin on Friday night I flipped to PBS at about 10:00. (The first link is now functioning and the second link is intense and not as delightful, but still important.) "Austin City Limits" was on, and I was hopeful the music for the night would appeal to me, since it usually does. It was Damien Marley. Oh my. I don't know how I hadn't heard him before. I am a long time and kind of cheezy Bob Marley fan. You know, started at least 5 college papers with a quote from one of his songs, named my dog Jah. I never have been a serious student of Rastafarianism or anything but watching Damien and hearing him speak peaked my interest again. This music is amazing. I recommend listening to both the single and the interview from the first link. I liked his individual songs better than the collaborative one that is available here, but it is still real good.

An exercise that may be useful to me...sorry about you.

So, on the subject of Tesla. I have been meaning for a while to enter quotes from the fiction book I am (still) reading about Tesla. The Invention of Everything Else. When this book and I first met it was love at first sight (on my part, although it did feel like the book jumped off the shelf at me with open hard-covers). Well, lets see...that was...gosh...seems like...it must have been...two months ago now?! It usually does not take me that long to read a book. If I roll with it, I roll hard and get lost and float to the other world and it is a thrilling ride. Not so with this book. I have found the substance of the story delightful and terribly hard to chew. I can only take a tiny nibble at a time and then I digest. I am nevertheless loyal to the pursuit of this work of fiction. While I often will read fiction and non-fiction at the same time, I rarely will read two fiction books simultaneously, and I have remained committed to this little affair without straying. It may be that I don't want it to end so much that I have implemented the procrastinating that usually happens for me with the last 30 pages of a good book in a more rationed fashion. But, I don't think so. While the method of the book reminds me a great deal of the Incantation of Frida K. I am not nearly as drawn in. I can help myself from reading this book, with other great works I am helplessly compelled. So I must conclude that this is not a great book. But it is compelling in a different sort of way. As a tribute to this book, and a possible impetus for me to finish it, I am going to "quote" the pages that I have thus far doggy eared while reading. Well, not the pages, but the small quotes that persuaded me to doggy ear a specific page in the first place. Only problem is that this is a technique (bad, bad habit) left over from grad school, where I would actually mark the quotes I liked with a pen. In this instance, I am having to search the page for the quote that originally led to my blasphemous fold...So this could take awhile. It will be interesting to see (for me anyways and if not for you then thank goodness this is just a blog and you can move on) what the conglomeration of quotes will be in the end. A trend in what appeals to me? A compelling argument? A hypothesis? By the Way, I understand that context, origin, etc is key in quotations. I am not going to say which character the quotes came from, unless it is one of the historical quotes that Samantha Hunt starts her chapters with. I am also omitting page numbers. I know, blogging is making me lazy. Oh well. "Time and space are not linear. They are curved. When we look at the universe we see atoms, cells, lakes, jellyfish, planets, galaxies. We see circles and curves everywhere. It is the original form, meaning that all life springs from the circle. Think of the pregnant belly. It is my belief that we, as inventors, and scientists, can use this idea, use the curvature of time to cut across it, slicing straight from there to there without following the curve." "The happy swell of your company has left me stranded beside a nest of an angry mother tern who pokes and prods with a sharp beak thirsting for a drop of your glad tidings. I stop. That is idiotic. Words are idiotic." "The struggle of the human female toward sex equality will end in a new sex order, with the female as the superior" -Nikola Tesla "Its Robert who in the end brings that opening to a close, separating out the emotions like a handful of coins. Here is a nickel. Here is Katherine. A quarter. Jealousy. A dime. Her love. A penny. My work. And then here, separate from all that, our love for each other, a very different thing all together." "Yes I am certain of it. I freeze. There it is. A distinct pain centered in my torso, in my shoulders. It would seem to be my heart. Perhaps I caught something. I shouldn't have touched the girl...Oh, dear, yes. There it is again, a fluttering behind my rib cage and a terrific pain. A fluttering? Is she there beating her wings behind my sternum?" "Love is not as necessary as humans seem to imagine. It is a distraction to thought, and I've always found thought to be far more rewarding than love. Love destroys. Thought creates." "When I tried once to explain to her what it meant to worry, she said, 'I don't think birds do this,' after listening to my description. And of course they don't. Birds are unspoiled by worry, that grave imperfection that keeps humans, heavy, keeps us from flight." "Love does destroy, over and over again. So it is always the greatest surprise to find how stubborn hope can be." "...Louisa's first thoughts are for how, if he were to hold her in his arms, she'd have a very sound place to bury her head...a part of her, a tiny room inside, wonders whether there might be a way to recognize someone you will love before you love him. Maybe time does unfurl in curves rather than straight lines. Maybe it doesn't move from here to there but instead expands in circles." "Stopping here for one moment: Arthur and Louisa are flying, suspended in the ether, nothing but air surrounding them. And perhaps time does move in circles rather than lines. For a fraction of a second they are progress soaring above the world, brief and beautiful, a fraction of a second before progress crashes back down to earth." That is it so far. I think this is a book about love. Or the impossibility of it. So maybe it is a book about loneliness and the ways we humans try to overcome its inevitability. A plight I am certainly familiar with. Books have a way of doing that to us, or us to them. Of becoming a place where we accumulate ideas that are most pertinent in a moment of passing. That resonate based on our own experiences. Maybe I cannot finish because I am still not sure what my experience lends me to look for in this end.

STARTING A NEW LIGHT

Last week my horoscope in the Boise Weekly was particularly thought provoking. I am an addict of BW horoscopes. Basically, on Wednesday I hit the first dispenser I can, flip to the back page and read the Sagitarius segment immediately. Truly, I find very little else readable in the Weekly, besides of course, Nathaniel Hoffman's free-lance stuff. My distaste for the Weekly has continually been accentuated by Ted Rall, whose veiled racist comments about Barack Obama send me over the edge at least once a month. Last week the title of his piece was "Obama: The Other White Meat" and while the title itself was profoundly offensive, I found his lack of origin for the title within the piece describing how he thought Obama should've thrown himself in front of the train running over Reverend Wright to lack substance and insight. His repeated attacks on Obama are so suspect that I am close to writing yet another LTE to the Weekly begging them, again, to remove Rall's writing. But they never publish my letters, and they haven't removed Rall yet, so back to my horoscope. The reason I love Rob Brezsny's horoscopes so much is cause they are usually grounded in some metaphor or analogy and there was a period of about three months last year when he used words that directly linked to my experience...like when I was going Raw and the first sentence of my horoscope was: "Keep it Raw" That was cool. So now I use them as a weekly check in with unreality (I do in fact believe in astrology, although I see astrological predications as deeply intertwined with will and choice). Anyways, last week he used a metaphor of a gold miner singing a song about all the dreams of gold he had had for so many years and now he'd realized it was time to move on. That those dreams were not a reality. Rob said that there was a similar quest in my life, a place I had been mining for something precious for awhile, but that it was not gonna pan out. The good news: within a month of relinquishing my fruitless search I would easily come upon my treasure. Very enticing. Of course, because I am who I am, there are quite a few things that I have been involved in for varied periods of time in search of success, money, love etc. Which one is fruitless? I had my suspicions, but wasn't quite sure. And a week later, when my new horoscope has encouraged me to add humor in the midst of crisis (also very timely) I think I have a way of interpreting what the mining may be. I think its all of it. I think its a way of looking at the world, and an expectation added to it. I think it is the process of looking outside of myself for the things I crave most earnestly. I think it is time to flip upside down and appreciate the new vision that brings. Not change the mine, but rather the mind. Today, since my co-workers were out of office, I cleaned my little space. I moved old documents to storage, dusted, vacuumed, and most importantly hooked up an air purifier and added lamp lighting with daylight and compact fluorescent rather than the buzzing lights that have been above me for a month. I feel different, the space feels different and I sense the beginning of a new light. My favorite part of going to Bed, Beth and Beyond today for the purifier was when the guy helping me pick out bulbs said "You know, Tesla came up with compact fluorescents a century ago". YES! I know! Another fan of Tesla just out in the ether, another example of the threads that weave us together, of the potentiality within all of us for moving beyond the mine. Changing our minds and our lives.

"Stress"

The body is a stress processing machine. If it does not have a way to expend this stress it will manifest as disease. I have found this to be true of my own embodied experience. At various times in my life my body has essentially broken down when I needed it to be working most effectively. The culminated example of this being my qualifying exams. I had studied for months, struggled to prepare adequately, but desperately tried to memorize a significant thread of feminist syllabi. More like the whole quilt, the multi-layers. I remember sitting on the train the night before my exam. Talking to another grad. Clutching to my bike as I exited the station in Philly, it was dark and cold, and then I started shaking and aching and coughing, then hacking and a fever. But I still had to take my exam, and I can't believe I was able to write even as much as I did. But they failed me. That first time, they and my bod and thus my mind failed me. I had reached my capacity for processing stress. My body collapsed. It is happening again, I believe. But it is nothing to be alarmed about. I understand the origin of the stress. I fear that it is permanent, that I will never get over this feeling. That the stress is insurmountable. But that isn't true. I have been moving through in shock, and the dancing, and chatting, and advocating, all of that was in super-fly mode. Now my body is registering the impact,showing the blow. But if I can manage to write, to read, to take a bath, and drink some almond milk, and maybe exercise, and even drinking a cup of tea or playing with a puzzle, those are ways for the body to process stress--by relaxing, enjoying. , even exerting. "Stress" is such a loaded term, but it is the most descriptive I have found for communicating the nexus of emotions, pressure, survival, and labor. It is life and its effects. It causes pain and pushes us to exultation. But often it is destructive, it eats away because we hold it in, we appease it through multiple forms of self-medication,, we indulge it with food beyond nutrition or pleasure. It is hungry and tired. And slowly eats away at the self. BREATHE a rather good idea. The best way to move the stress through. Sometimes in the morning I remind myself to take several deep breaths. It feels good and I need to do it more often. There are lots of explanations for where my body is at right now. Maybe my stomach is in knots because of the dressing on my salad at lunch today. Maybe my cheek is splotchy from the face paint I wore in the performance. Maybe my backaches only from sitting at a desk. But I know the origin and it is actually a mixture of these with another layer and another. It is the whole experience not a sectioned compartment of my life. It is circumstance, and choice and anatomy and physiological functioning and social construction, and spiritual interaction. We call it "stress" but it is really just life, and finding ways to establish balance is crucial and often difficult. When systems are disrupted significantly recreating simultaneity and sustainability is seemingly impossible. But when processed through active participation in the recognition of challenges real growth can occur and stress becomes peace.

From My Sister Holly

This is too good not to post here. John Stewart makes me laugh about things that really aren't that funny, but I still need to be able to process. Plus, I share his taste for whiskey...and use it nearly as liberally. You can thread this post to my KISS JOHN EDWARDS post if you are someone who likes context.

Experience

I am not sure why, how, or if I am still awake. Tonight there were no lights (again). Except the moon (again) and the fire (again). But dancing in the dark is full of disorientation. We still moved. And there was the moment of light, of dancing my bit. And it hit hard. To the core of this loss. Of this path. Push, push, push. Out. Hiding from what has been expelled. I am in a head space and my body has taken over. Rejoice and be o.k. Move in out and above. Fill it all with love. I understand very clearly what I would have to do to move out of this cycle. I see the karmic swirl of my place here. I want so badly to jump to the other side. I know the elements for a manifestation of my spirit. I see the the compliments, almost in reach. I sense them fading away, I sense a colossal door closing and the windows becoming foggy. A sinking. I fear a lasting regret. There is an intersection here. I can sit comfortably in a place where I at least know the source of the stench. I am comfortable with the dirt. I need not push myself to self-reliance. I need not risk a loss or a loneliness. Even though lonely is one of my favorite ways to be. Love the lonely. I already am lonely--I like the independence implicit in my predicament. Writing in excessive abstractions is a dangerous lens into a segment of my cranial lobes. Not sure which. But there is delight and deftness, and desire and decision and diplomacy, and despair, and disgrace and distance and depression and dddd. Dare I say a lot under the surface for all of us I believe. A complexity of composition. Tonight it felt like loosely controlled chaos, with moments of sheer brilliance. And right now,I am carrying a chaos. Trying to figure the order. And thus be more composed. Some have it deciphered to a further degree. I am here. And my wheels are spinning. For some reason time seems like silly puddy, but only I am trapped in it. The rest of the world is moving too fast (away) please wait till I catch-up. Light from within is what makes us spin. I am following a dim path that will brighten at the end.

Dreams are Good Relief For Temporary Desires

Very recently I had the opportunity to experience the complete reversal of reality. I wanted to say that I was washed clean by this experience. But that doesn't capture it. It was more like a flash of photosynthetic wash-out. A pause button, a camera flash. And the reverberation was a falling away of protections. A period of seeing the world for what it is. Perhaps absent interpretation? A clarity, an ease of connection and communication. But slowly the effect has worn off. I feel the (pre) (sent)conceptions creeping back in. I don't feel blank, or light, or even numb. I simply ache. It is also what I imagine riding a tide would be like, rolling through the middle of a cresting wave the rise of sheer being, and then the falling from a height, encircled now and sliding down below, no longer having air to breathe. Coming up again for another ride, a different aspect of a constant motion. The tides never stop. A pulsing, a tumbling, throbbing and empty. I wondered, really. Like with Beth. It took me 13 years before I could write of her death. And Japhy too. I mean I wrote about Japhy, but never like I did here. So I thought, maybe, this flash too would ruminate. But it really doesn't compare to that, it is just much more directly embodied. A root place. A raining place. Reversing.

Two things to Do this Weekend

The Idaho Green Expo is THIS WEEKEND, May 17th-18th at the Boise Centre on the Grove. On Saturday the Expo runs from 9am-8pm. On Sunday booths will be open from 10am-6pm. PLEASE COME...I WILL BE SITTING AT THE SRA BOOTH FOR HOURS! SRA is thrilled to have an opportunity to participate in this effort. There will be over 150 booths and 80 different seminars on sustainability. We expect over 50,000 people to attend. Our booth will have a strong focus on renewable energy resources and lifestyle change as effective ways to address our energy needs. We will also seize this opportunity to increase awareness about the costs and dangers of nuclear power, and showcase current and proposed renewable energy developments taking place around the state. Also, I highly-encourage you to attend the Keynote Address by GUY DAUNCEY at the Expo on Sunday, May 18th at 5pm. Mr. Dauncey is an author, environmental consultant, and the President of the British Columbia Sustainable Energy Association. His talk is titled: Global Warming and Peak Oil: The Challenge of Our Generation. This is an opportunity to hear an experienced expert talk about the real possibility for a truly sustainable energy future. And also, Eagle Island Experience is real fun. I will be dancing with my fellow drum, dance, amazing musicians, stilters, and FIRE DANCERS starting at 8:45 pm on Saturday. Everyone else has worked much harder than me, but we have all put together a great show. Last year we worked for 2 months and there was no lighting so you couldn't see us...but this year we worked for 1 month and have been guaranteed lighting! The singing and fire will really be a highlight and a great way to spend Saturday Eve. I am pasting more info on the event below from a drum central e-mail. ************************************ EXPERIENCE THIS!!! Go to the EAGLE ISLAND EXPERIENCE, this weekend, May 16th, 17th, and 18th! It's at the beautiful Eagle Island State Park! There's magnificent musicians, artists, crafters, food & bev vendors, fire dancers, and belly dancers,.. and ALL of the valley's most environmentally conscious, FREE SPIRITED, FUN LOVIN, and absoFUNkinloutly BEAUTIFUL PEOPLE will be there!!! There's FUN for children of ALL AGES! Bring FAMILY! Bring FRIENDS!

I COULD JUST KISS JOHN EDWARDS

And it is not because he has good (and expensive) hair. When my co-worker said, "Edwards endorsed...guess who?" it took a second to register. Then, it hit, "Did you just say Edwards endorsed?! Who?!" "I said, guess!" "Obama!?" Then ensued whooping and hollering while giggling that would be impossible to convey in written form accurately here. Which is a bit unfortunate, cause I have thus far held my overexuberance in check rather well...and well, that pushed me over the edge. FINALLY!I remember watching Edwards step out of the race months ago in my old office. Sunny winter day. And I wanted him to endorse, and I wished he would. And then I gave up. I really had forgotten how adamant the feeling was for me that if he endorsed Obama would be securely positioned. So today, I remembered all at once while finding out and then whooped. The real issue?--Besides my definately distracting behavior?--The office generally leans towards Clinton, I think anyways, because of her energy policy. This is legitimate given the organization but I believe Obama will democratize energy. When he does, people will not choose nuclear. I haven't even seen the video of Obama and Edwards, but will find it on you tube next. Also, in the office, then West Virginia results came up in conversation and I called them "racists" and was deservedly scolded for my simplicity by a co-worker. The only one to tell me I was wrong about West Virginians. And I respect this man a lot. He has promised to share more details later. But then I talked to my sister who watched John Stewart interview W. Virginians (Real ones) and guess what...they didn't want any more Hussein, and we shouldn't have a muslim president. No one said racism is simple. It is complex and hidden, that is why it is so insidious in the form it most currently manifests. A toxic mix of ignorance, misinformation, and need to protect what is known, leads to results like that one. Maybe that is the imperfection of democracy--the biases that are the imperfections of humanity. In any case...I could really kiss that guy... This is my soundtrack at the moment in the chance you have not yet heard her, even one, this link is worth it.

Random Enactment and the answer to a previous possible question.

I know where the bruise came from. I realized it tonight after badly bruising the other knee while dancing. But tonight was different and more severe. Both times at the end of the same song. Only tonight we finish in a plank style/push-up drop flat to the ground. Ben and Rachel's floor is hard-wood, we will perform on grass. But the point is that I got a little excited in practicing the move and basically belly-flopped to the floor. I don't know if I jumped or if I slipped, but something caused a large impact. Ouch, my right knee hurts. And then it came back to me. On Friday, I also hit the deck down to one knee at the end of the same song. Thus the moon shaped bruise. All stuff you were dying to know. But since there is no you or me but just the blog it doesn't really matter anyways. I'll just write it right out cause it is what I think, and I can't find the energy to nuance it although, that may be irresponsible: So, West Virginia is full of racists. Wow, a fact I had never had the opportunity to find such substantiation for before. When I say that people act like it should have been obvious. Like, oh of course everyone knows West Virginia is full of racists whites. Or, people act like it is something different. Again, a disguise for less socially tolerated biases, more insidious base level exclusions. W. Viginians care about the economy that voted for Clinton. Economy is code for racial allegiance. Same thing with the sand. Waste is code for race and dirty , other, and foreign. Anyways, I find her celebration of a clearly racially biased decision to be a bit repugnant, although I have been known to use that word liberally. There is another thing I learned. There is this Mommy Blogger who is like a superstar blogger and makes big bucks bloggin'. Her husband quit his job to assist her. It gets better, she lives in SLC...bastian of proper parenting and she is a rebel. I love that. Only read a bit, but saw a bunch on Nightline. I can't believe there are careers in mommy blogging. I should quit my day job! What have ? been doing all these years? I could have been mommy blogging and building my profile instead of talking to myself and NPR while stay at homing. Har Har... and when Canyon fell asleep on me tonight I loved listening to his tiny little baby suckling nursing dreams. Dreams can be such a relief for temporarily fulfilling what we desire.

On W. Virginia Primary Day

This is an e-mail that C received from a friend he works with in The Next Generation Project. This is a group of young environmentalists (25-35) asked by none other than Terry Tempest Williams to work for one year collaboratively to chart a path for a new generation of environmentalism. These twelve get together in beautiful locations, and share anecdotes from their work, write profusely, and support each other in manifesting solutions to the problems they confront in their work. Needless to say I have remained totally jealous that its not me who gets to go on these retreats, but the benefit has been I am networked in to some great young thinkers. Point being: There is a primary today, there is no way to link you to this and the author prefers anonymity. But it is an interesting read. ************************************ Remembering Robert Kennedy "The cover story for the June 2008 edition of Vanity Fair is called "The Last Good Campaign," an excerpt from Thurston Clarke's new book The Last Campaign: Robert F Kennedy and 82 Days That Inspired America. What struck me about this excerpt was that in reading it I found myself drawn to what Bobby had to say. I found that he excited a deep feeling in my heart, a connection, the way so many people are able to touch me, but so few politicians these days. On this journey to the core, to tell the core story, I have been peeling away layers of polling, attempting to breathe between buzzes on the Blackberry, trying to find pause in a world where the internet has replaced the fax machine, cell phones have usurped land lines, and ego deems anything short of an immediate response too little, too late; to believe again in change. How did Bobby Kennedy break through -- then, and now? Bobby decided to run for President of the United States of America because he wanted to end the war in Vietnam. He knew that ending the war in Vietnam was the right thing to do and he knew that he would have to be President to do it. He bucked his party, his own brother's successor, and party insiders, but he knew it was the right thing to do. “I’m sleeping well for the first time in months. I don’t know what’s going to happen, but at least I’m at peace with myself.” Bobby's first campaign speech happened to be in the conservative State of Kansas. He was very worried because if the speech went badly, his campaign would likely not get off the ground. If it went well, he could ride the momentum to some primary wins and have a serious shot at securing the nomination. “Do you think they’ll boo him?” Ethel asked. “Will they hate him?” She never posed the next question, the one that was probably running through the minds of others accompanying Robert Kennedy to Kansas that afternoon: “Will they kill him?” Yet on that stage, not knowing how the audience would react, with his campaign on the line, Bobby stood in front of the audience and he told his story. He spoke from his heart. He said, “I am also glad to come to the home state of another great Kansan, who wrote, ‘If our colleges and universities do not breed men who riot, who rebel, who attack life with all their youthful vision and vigor then there is something wrong with our colleges. The more riots that come on college campuses, the better the world for tomorrow.’ ” Kennedy continued, saying, “[White] is an honored man today; but when he lived and when he wrote, he was often reviled as an extremist—or worse—on your campus and across this nation. For he spoke as he believed. He did not conceal his concern in comforting words; he did not delude his readers or himself with false hope or with illusion. It is in this spirit that I wish to talk to you today.” This is what people love about Senator Obama; it's what I love about Senator Obama (most of the time). Listen to his speeches. One can hear when he is listening to polling, political insiders, advisers and high donors, and when he is saying what he believes is right. I can imagine these moments of authenticity are scary for all those people spending all that time and money working to get him elected. But it is this authenticity alone that resonates with people, that respects what people want in a politician, that has inspired so many people to switch party registration, that has launched a movement, that transcends. One need only see the video put together by Will I Am to feel it, the power of those words, "Yes, we can." Perhaps in the words of the heart we find connection. In the moments of connection we find faith; a faith that so many people feel void of these days. My only advice to Barack Obama? (I thought you'd never ask.) Throw your Blackberry out the window and go with it. You already know what to do."

Begin to Bounce

I don't mean to only shout from the other side of the glass. I find it troubling,myself, that currently I am pointing to the difficulty of the road rather than the best way ahead. In policy making, even as a subsidiary, the actions felt worthy of immediate impact. Since moving to a marginalized environmental group I feel suddenly isolated. A friend from the legislature came to check out the office. He specializes in greening spaces and gave me some suggestions for our space (including replacing the lights to a frequency that renders true color, increasing circulation, an air purifier). When he left he asked if we wanted to be on his committee of the Governor's environmental task force. I said please. He said, you're on. But when he told the Governor's liason, she said no--to us specifically. That is what I mean by a sense of powerlessness. While I want to propose solutions I genuinely feel faced with a propaganda machine far ahead on the path of marketing nuclear power than we first anticipated. It is like shouting into the looking glass, down the rabbit hole, around the bend. That's why its hard to see the pathways, and discern the route of footworthiness. Tonight Riv and I read of Tigger. He really cannot help but pounce when he sees something of excitement. I have to find my intrigue, begin to bounce.

More Areva Misconstruings

The world is spinning too fast for me to completely get my barrings. I will share that my organization has been faced with the tedious and impossible task of explaining to folks that if they are upset about the low level radioactive sand coming from Kuwait, they should take a hard look at the plans for waste disposal provided by Areva when their uranium enrichment plant takes off. Our beloved local paper found the difference in these two projects compelling enough to publish an editorial on Sunday arguing, again, against the sand and for Areva. This editorial appears without contrast to a Letter to the Editor submitted by one of our members pointing to the severely flawed poll the Statesman ran on this issue last week. The Statesman is yet to run this LTE, and I doubt they will. Instead, they have chosen to re-enforce their bias by continuing their uninvestigative look into the consequences of nuclear development. I do not mean to wear this point to the ground, but this is my only locale for glass-banging. Tap, tap, tap...hello! How do we break this divide?

Mama gets a cocoon

My family gave me a cocoon for mother's day. The perfect gift for me. I immediately went deep inside. Just the tip of my head protruding from the top as I stared down into my new home. It was hard to extract me. But the gleeful calls to play and be close and enjoy each other coaxed me out. We all have cocoons now. We like to lay in them together on the floor. Our individual discreet zones of comfort. We share the relationality of the experience. We all go inside for different reasons. I am transforming. We all are I guess. But I can feel the blockages as I get closer. I can feel the resistance. I have this sense that I may never emerge from my cocoon complete. Come out into this world with my skin not quite in tact. Seep all over everything. Lack the ability to contain for effectiveness. Lack the foresight to understand the changes that I invoke. Lack the will to concentrate on the essence of my power. The faith in what I have brought myself to be. When a caterpillar enters a cocoon it becomes itself. That is, the cocoon is formed from its body. It sheds layers of its previous internality as the newly forming entity grows too large to remain contained. I'm not sure that I can meet the expectations of this cocoon. The layers shed are antithetical to my intent. The layers are inevitable. The only way to see is to completely immerse I suppose. Inside I go.

Directly under the point of my right hip bone there is the image of a star and moon. It sits above my ovary on that side, placed there in a shift of self my first year of college. Opposite this image, when moving down and diagonally across is a moon shaped bruise on my left knee. I have no memory of how it got there. I just noticed the congruency of the shapes. The ordering of the constellations of my body. Please excuse the recent shift in my writing away from the readable and into the enactment of a character consciousness. An expression of self that I normally hold in the back. It shouldn't last too long. And there is likely to be the occasional political observation as well. Why is it so hard for us to see the use of nuclear technology as an example of the ultimate overly efficient machine? And in overefficiency in one aspect, the scale must tip the opposite way in an other. That is to say: While incredibly "efficient" at producing energy interms of actual power generated within a specific frame of time and some of the resources expended, there remains, nevertheless, a tremendous amount of waste that is not simply banana peels. Not just some worm rich stinky piles of compost. We are talking cancer causing, life destroying, never deteriorating radioactive waste. O.K. the waste issue is number one to answer. I have also picked up one of C's books: Blessed unrest is Paul Hawken's book about the environmental, social justice, peace centered "movement" taking place. He calls it "How the largest movement in the world came into being, and why no one saw it coming." It makes me feel very, very, well...interconnected to be working for an environmental organization that is committed to peace and justice and works in a human rights framework. It is cool. More on that book as i tunnel through. Can is awake. Gotta go.

Welcome my brothers, welcome my sisters

The truth is I am afraid of her. I hold her on the other side of the glass. I believe she is resting. Metamorphosizing. I cut my claws down to the skin. They are so tender at the moment all dexterity is lost. Just how I moved through the day. Automatic, sore, dazed. Tonight. I wrapped the Lappa round carelessly at first. No, that isn't right. It's uneven at the end. I had chosen purple by instinct. It felt closest to a darkness I wanted, a warm spring darkness. Like the wind always biting while inviting in the sunshine. Suddenly, I unwrap it again. This time I stretch the material wide, and carefully apply one half a portion to the front of my body. The other half hugs tightly in. I combine th edges in a clean knot at the tip of my hip-bone. Now, that is how to put on a Lappa. Headband follows. A purple frame. Tired eyes stair through the frame. Breathe, I get to dance. Face on. Color through. Now, we are here. And I find myself backstage with the ballerinas in pink tutus. But first I cut behind the curtain. I remember growing up doing this. Changing sides in groups of hushed dancers. Preparing for antoher entrance. Tonight though we warm up lightly. Laughing and chatting we stretch and twist, breathe and prepare to spring high. We run through, and I know the control for a solo I want to display. The kick is what I need. And we begin. "Welcome my brothers" Ashay Ashay "Welcome my sisters" Ashay Ashay... This is what I move and where I move through. This is the feeling. Here. There are not two parts of me, there are many, myriad, moving. And in any moment when I feel a slight disorientation, there is the drum holding beats, Here you are, that way, that way, and round. It pulls and pushes me, I direct it with my body. And these ladies of colors spinning. Soft control effortlesss shimmy, serious concentration, playfull celebration. Yet there is something more stirring here. My wings are harnessed. And this motion wants to drill down, into a different plane. Away from these lights, then darkness, the faces I don't know, the claps that I can't recognize. My kicks come too fast. Unable to contain my energy. I now move out of the peace. It is strange to be challenged in that way. To lose control in the moment for full self-expression. Are the stories just still ordered like convulsions. When will they articulate in a meaningful telling? So I leave her there for now. She is not coming out yet. Not needed too soon. Will see her without a doubt. The Lappa was complimented by cowri shells. My favorite. Around my belly's base. And this circle holds her in. When we are done dancing I have had enough protection. I am ready to purge.

Becoming Kali

This is the image. I see wings. Sprouting out from the back. And there is a dichotomy. The wings could be white, and the dress drapes over, reveals light skin, hair falls down, a blue transluscent illumination. Then there is the other. The wings are large and black, the dress ripped and shining. Hair is in a frenzy, blood drips from the mouth, a sparkle in the eyes, a beaming smile reveals sharp teeth. Is this Kali? Maybe. She seems to represent what I mean. You see I have been hiding her. She is the one I try to negate, the one I run from, try to transcend. We know this goddess in white right? It is the one we are supposed to be. The woman, mother, giver of life and protector from death. I am to be pure and good, and never conflicted and angry. Certainly not destructive. Coy, and deceitful are things I try to suppress. Desire, manifestation, eroticism. They do not meet the expectation of my constructed self. I should smile, love, open my arms and be protected via my virtue. I am done with this now. This "dark side" is ready to come. I have had enough with purity and pleasing. I am embracing Kali. I hold the dagger in my hand. The wings now are developing. We are nearly ready to take flight.

Please Vote

I don't really have a sense that anyone reads this but a few dear souls...but if i'm wrong it is worth posting a link to a poll on the Idaho Statesman regarding whether people favor Areva (See post on Sisyphus) because of job creation, or are against the plant cause it's bad for the environment. Scroll down to the bottom of the homepage and find the poll on the right side. Please vote "bad for the environment" the waste production makes this a no brainer. Please pass on to anyone who might be interested. We are losing this vote right now (So ironic because the sand was a landslide opposed). No time to play more. Bye

Sisyphus Falling

Areva, the French company that convinced the legislature to pass tax incentives to build a uranium enrichment plant near the INL in Idaho Falls, announced today that they are indeed coming to our state. They were evaluating four sites including Idaho and decided that our history of nuclear development and the tax incentives created a perfect match. How did I find out? As I walked in the office a reporter called to talk to the ED, "And what is this regarding?" I ask..."Areva's announcement that they will build their plant here in Idaho Falls." I feel like Sisyphus falling, or failing as the case may be. In an article on the plant Areva talks about how we need more uranium enrichment to provide fuel for nuclear reactors so that we can have more "clean energy" and continue our "economic growth." Hello! People! Why is economic growth on the level of increased consumptive practices the priority right now? For a culture bent on linear understandings of times progression can we please acknowledge the varying global context that makes the kind of "development" practices of the 50's 60's and 70's not applicable in this millenium? Remember, the military industrial complex, the prison industrial complex, the Green Revolution? These efforts have led to imbalances in our global socio-economic political demographics that make increasing resource depletion via progressive consumptive practices by facilitating dirty and dangerous energy production certainly low on the list of viable priorities to create a sustainable future. But the rock keeps rolling and we keep chasing it and there has got to be another way over this mountain. And how is it that so many folks are up in arms over low level radioactive sand from Kuwait coming into this state for disposal but no one gives a darn about the production of a facility that will create perpetual highly radioactive waste? I haven't been able to write about this because I am so appauled by my suspicion that the opposition to the sand is based less on waste and more on a xenophobic racist attitude towards the sand being from Kuwait. There must be a way to connect these dots on a level that supersedes this possibility. But maybe this obstacle is exactly the point. Maybe people don't care about anything other than otherizing and safeguarding their consumption. If I leave this bolder here and just walk to the top of the mountain will I get a better view?

Thank You Gas Tax!

Finally, the presidential race hinges on an ISSUE! What a novelty. Really, I mean I was so used to evaluating the candidates friends and neighbors as well an analyzing and spinning their descriptions of society, that I had basically given up hope that we would have a real look at policy. I have not been paying attention lately. I am swamped in lots of things, and I could devote way too much energy that I don't have to spare to this and so I haven't. It was such a sweet sound to hear the NPR report tonight about Hillary and John, getting reamed by economists for proposing a summer cut of the gas tax. Hillary dismissed their thoughtful, detailed and collaborative condemnation of her proposal as "elitist". Never mind that part of their analysis pointed out that it is the gas companies that would benefit from the cut. Could somebody please help me, or rather her with the definition of "elitist." The misuse of descriptive terms really bothers me here. But the rest of it makes me so happy, because we needed a blatant unveiling of the poor politics being deployed by some of the candidates. I can almost see the policy meeting: "Well, lets offer em' something they'll like. What are people freakin' about? Oh, yeah fuel! Hey lets offer a cut in the fuel tax so people can feel like their consumption doesn't have to go down. Lets use their fear of dwindling resources to create a political advantage!" Obama doesn't roll that way. Sure he has unsavory policy positions (for instance he is pro-nuclear) but his approach to coming to these positions is not based on fear, it is based on --well--HOPE and in instances like this that distinction is palpable. Tonight I also listened to "On Point" on NPR. The topic was the "Global Food Crisis". Did you know that their is a food shortage in Haiti and Peru? In the former their have been food riots. The "On Point" commentator called the audio of the riots the "sound of hunger." It is shocking and not at all surprising. The way our global food system is ordered does not favor the democratic distribution of food. Large conglomerations in places like Ecuador mean that food does not stay close to its source. Resources are used for the production of mass quantities of food for export. Large quantities of grain feed cattle in the "first-world" (or rather, the hegemonically positioned exertion of economic and territorial sovereignty that has led to a hierarchy of nation-states with unequal distribution of purchasing power which we call the "first world"). Fuel prices are a contributing factor of course, in terms of food transportation. There are global food riots! Stretching to Malaysia. How did we (maybe you did, so how did I) not know this. When will it be undeniable based on a localized experience of shortages? Could it really be that far away? Again, this is why I support Obama. We are entering into a period of severe challenges to the lives we have known. Our government has lost credibility (did you hear about how Bush insulted India?) and normalized systems of distribution are beginning to show symptomatic signs of immanent failure. Who do I want to lead us through this? A person with vision and the ability to create collaboration. A person willing to open to the people and listen to their voices and ask them to matter and make a difference. Because that is what we will need to do.

Havin' A Margarita

An acquaintance just said "Happy Cinco de Mayo" to me as we hung up the phone. "Gracias" I said, "De nada" said he. Then I paused. I often say that at some point in my life I left my heart (corazon) in Mexico. Although not a fluent speaker I have learned a lot of the language, tasted the food, lived for periods of time as a volunteer and student, and traveled to a great deal of the country. So, why am I not having a margarita? Cinco de Mayo is an American Holiday promoted by the alcohol industry. This date commemorates the victory against French forces in the city of Puebla 1862. In Mexico this day is not memorialized as a huge event. Mexican Independence is really September 16th--I've heard that is a real party, although I have never been in country on that date. I know that in the U.S. this day is often celebrated by Mexican communities, and I also know that many see this an an American holiday. I just think it is interesting to note that the way we honor Mexico is not the way the Pais honors itself. The hierarchy established through historical subjugation remains in spite of the attempt to give recognition. This is what capitalism does to stuff. Markets it, for monetary gain, and robs it of its soul. Now I am sure there are lots of Americans who love Mexico and love Cinco de Mayo, and are listening to great music, pulling out the salsa moves and slamming a tequila shot--which I suppose is a pretty o.k. version of multiculturalism. But I just wanted to put out this little reminder, that this too is not as it appears.

STUMBLING ON THESE PATHS. A BIRTHDAY GROUNDS ME

I thought, maybe, that my current pathway options would be so overwhelming that I could not write. I felt, at first, I might never write here again. Instead, I have to find a way to express here, because it has become a safe spot, a place where I, in spite of the fact that this is often an illusion, feel interconnected, but not too exposed. I need that right now. I can't write about the pathways I face at the moment--and I do not mean for that to be alluring, I really can't. Maybe I will someday and maybe I will never even speak of it again. These are pathways I am walking with sheer dismay. Whether the light shines here or not, I have my eyes closed. I am jumping at any sound. I shake at what lies ahead, and my heart races to wake me from sleep. But the point is this. I love the look of ecstasy that River had on his face the few times we sang Happy Birthday this weekend. The first time was in the dirt, on his real birthday. He had a tummy ache for a few days this week, and it continued Saturday. I let him choose gluten free brownie at the Farmer's Market and he ate the whole thing quick. Then I brought some to soccer for the team and he ate another (I know, can you believe it after my food post?--I am a real sucker for the anything you want on your birthday stuff--But he did have 4 bowls of salad the night before). By the time we were opening presents as a family, his tummy hurt again. We (mostly him, I just helped move dirt) built a dirt resevoir by piling dirt and digging a hole in the center. It was his idea, when I asked if he wanted brownies, cake, or cookies for his candles, to put the candles in the dirt. So I did (a candle # 2 and the three more required candles, one that we had to cut in half to make 5 total--sometimes we are rather delinquent parents on the details but we made it work). Then, I took the animals that had been playing in the "habitat" and circled them around the "cake". At first I thought River said he didn't want us to sing, just blow out the candles, but when I said we don't have to sing, he looked devastated. Oh, he wants us to sing. O.k. and a 1 and a 2 and a 3..."Happy Birthday to you..." His eyes glaze over, a natural half grin crosses his face, like I said, ecstasy. And I had one of those instantaneous flashes to Canyon at Birthday #1, the same look on his face, like, this is all for me? Yeah! "All the animals circled round for my birthday mama" he says when we finish. I love that. We sang it two more times right before bed...same look. And then yesterday at the party, same look. Fascinating. I figure all that waiting all year at other kids parties that when the time finally comes, it is just a total embodied delight. The ultimate recognition of self. So my words are making it out my fingers, that is good. I have this thing about the authenticity of my blog. About writing from an open heart space. I assure you, this is all artifice. I exist in one aspect of my heart here, there is so much more and so many conflicted parts, and so much struggle that there is no way what I portray represents an authentic part of it all. But, again, I am grateful I can write. It is an anchor for me right now, one that I felt like had been pulled up for a period this weekend. I looked around the room. There is nothing to reach out for here. There is nothing to help me here. It is me alone. But here I am again, it holds me down, keeps me from being a total loss on these paths. The one way I know to go. For now.

5th Birthday Party--CHECK!

When River told me he wanted his birthday in the Botanical Garden, I was surprised and relieved. I miss the Garden, it is the best office I have ever had. While working in environmental education is fun and I like being in nature with kids, I have this strong professional streak that drove me away from the idea of doing another round of Bug Camp this summer. I have ended up, of course, in a basement office with no air flow or light and lately the Garden has been calling. River planned the whole party--I just implemented his ideas. And I was sure proud of what he came up with. He wanted to use the picnic table for painting rocks and eating cake, and the Tea House for presents (plus mom, the Teahouse would be a great place to go if it's raining). Then, key component, nature hike to Sacajawea and a snake hunt in the forest. The kids had a blast. The Garden is like a friend to me. I have spent enough time there that I know it intimately. Certain spots talk in low whispers and I actually feel them listen when I talk back. The plants love the children(as long as they don't pick at them) and since I shared their secrets with so many, they are open to my energy. Yesterday, when Riv and I went to check things out, I hugged a tree spontaneously for a good minute. Ahhhh...I'm back. Mornings into the Garden: HELLO GARDEN! I would declare while riding through to set up for a tour. What a special time that was. What a special place it is, and what a great birthday River had. THANK YOU GARDEN!

Perpetual Pathways

That is what I sometimes think this blog should be called. An endless journey through samsara with me, and me with you. So I thought I might not write for a bit. But then, I realized I wanted to write about River's birth (You have been forwarned, if birth stuff makes you queezy, read no further). Oh so excruciating and at times sincerely deep and meditative. The desire to clean, a last-mlnute effort. Then laying with Jah, and then. Well, several parts of this will be excluded for graphic content regarding body fluids. The water, finally, and floating, drifting, tumbling, air and under, serious concentration to make it through those contractions and the hot and cold. Dark with stars, and then a soft light. I am still here, he is still coming. She comes, she tells me it is time to get out of the water. I need to be more grounded. Of course, I was having my earth child Taurus. The bed I lay in right now, is the bed I labored in then. Finally he turns, open, and I can't I didn't think I could. Her eyes are like magic cat eyes "You're almost there" "How soon is almost? Hours?" "No, minutes" "I can't" "Yes you can" "you have to" And this is one of those moments I will always look back on as an example of gettin' it done. I was only doing part of the work, along with River, gravity, and something beyond and within all of that, it was hard, and we did it. Ahhhhh. Up, between my legs, lay down. Laughing. Everyone else is crying and I am so happy its over I can only laugh and sigh. Amazing. Making and having babies is really extraordinary. Jah thought I had died I think. He smelled blood, heard me scream and was afraid to get near me for days. His life hasn't been the same since, poor guy. Birth is like dying, but ending up living and giving life.

Some Thing To Eat

I feel like it is maybe a good time to provide a brief statement regarding my food philosophy. With the prefaced request that you not view this statement as a judgement. It is just a pretty big part of who I am and how I view the world. My last post was a rant. What you see is what you get at this blog--sometimes a little uncensored, and, well, rant-like. But now let me articulate a view of food. When I was in grad school my work focused on this particular point: We are made and re-made by political systems and our bodies do manifest resistance in the form of dis-ease. I used Frida Kahlo as a prime example of this type of manifestation. Her body, caught in the choque of the Mexican Revolution and the street car/bus accident (itself a result of "modernization") which led to continued illness and confinement--as the revolution failed to become institutionalized --yet, also she created brilliant, moving , and often beautiful meaningful art--as the revolution allowed for a civil society in which art was supported. Her art could not yet capture the dimensions of her resistance,turmoil and passion, it seeped from her body, it was in excess of her body's ,both the literal and that of the canvas, capacity to hold the "stress" of these systems. My committee did not like this assertion. They allowed me to explore it prior to my exams, they gave me consistently high marks. Then, they said it was not clear enough. I needed to have a way of talking about what was at play in this analysis I was proposing. The missing link? There are many. It could be, indeed, a health based analysis of stress related to social turmoil. It could be claims around a pathology of illness, or it could be food. Yes, I suppose it could also be food. We are what we eat right? We know this at a base level. Come on, it makes perfect sense. The quality of the food we consume becomes us. Some foods are packed full of extras nowadays. For me, since I was RAW for a long time, I really notice that when I eat whole foods I feel better. If I get too processed, I feel bad. And there is still this whisper reminding me how real it felt to eat everything being able to identify its original form rather quickly. It was wonderful feeling. But there are other considerations, like, the other significant reason to eat besides to live--PLEASURE. So sometimes you have to indulge and enjoy, and just savor the experience of good food. I feel like I know I make it hard, that it shouldn't be such an issue. But I really do think our society is out of balance on its consumptn of white flour, high-fructose corn syrup, butter, and meat. Its really way too much. We should be eating whole grains, lots of fresh vegtables and fruits and some dairly and cheese--I said Cheese not Cheetos. Why not just try to eat healthy generally? For me, it is a slippery slope. It is appealing to just give in, but it only gets more removed and amore removed and then So I like the thoughtfullness around source, method and mixture in consideration of the food we eat. I want to instill a sense of caretaking in my children for the health of their bodies. I also want to make sure they get what they need and are healthy. I think this is a challenge for all parents, no matter their dietary standards. Back to wrap up with Kahlo. Food could be one link into how our bodies are connected to political systems. We eat pesticides, we eat fruit harvested on different continents. We eat meat where we have no idea how the animal was treated or killed. A lot. Food is energy, and it is also ENERGY. Our food becomes us. We are made by it and the experiences of its making. It doesn't help me with the Kahlo stuff, and maybe that was my committee's point. Although writing a grant to go study the mexican food of the revolution --MOLE-- would be really quite amazing. But it does help talk about interconnectedness of relationships and it broadens the implications for how we treat our resources. Food is sacred. it is beautiful, it is to be cherished and honored and certainly enjoyed. Sometimes I fear we have lost this in our culture. That is why, on this issue, I continue to walk against the tide.

Alternative Medicine Rant

Wow! I feel like my blog just got caught in a nuclear dump. It's like my brain has been sucked plain clean of most all other things. But that is not the case. I am still here, just the same old me, and I want to move to the other side of the track again by talking about the difficulties of working as a professional and working as a mother when it comes to adequately caring for my children. Yesterday I took the boys to Ryan (as you may remember from a recent post Canyon was feeling bad enough that this was his main point in every discussion we had for two days straight). A long time ago I stopped using Western medicine as an approach to healing my boys when they get ill. Of course, I went through the w. medicine stuff originally, and it took me about 1 1/2 years after returning to Boise to find an alternative care provider I trusted. Out East River had a doc that made house-calls and was only one block from our first (my second and the one before my third and their second)home in Jersey. Dr. Joe was real good, but he did talk us into a slow immunization process that the first shot of resulted in health problems for River that we are still dealing with today. When we moved to Philly I spent the whole year trying to heal River and not finding anyone I liked besides a chiropractor in Jersey. Everyone acted like I was crazy (and most still do) when I talk about the link I see between River's immunization and the consequent gland issues that persisted until the awful infection that he got in February of '05. No one would connect the dots with me, and it was so obvious the things were related that I went insane for a bit. The good news is that I am now pretty conversant on the variety of alternative healing modalities available from homeopathic remedies, to herbs, to acupuncture and energy work. Also, I found Ryan, who after about 6 months of working with River prescribed herbs that have actually reduced scar tissue and increased circulation to the infected gland. Wow, that was such a relief. Anyways, my point (well one of them) is that before Ryan, I would go through all the regular stuff when my kids got sick. Call the doc, go in immediately, get harassed about their weight and the fact they aren't immunized then go home with nothing more than a bottle of Tylenol (which, you guessed it, I refuse to give for fever because I believe fevers serve a purpose in fighting infection but I will give for pain). I have continued to refuse anti-biotics (except for when it was the only option in the gland infection situation) although I do keep a bottle in the fridge that is unopened and available for a prescribed emergency. There was the awful ambulance ride due to severe croup the first night of our vacation at the OR coast this summer, the shot of steroids in Canyon's leg, the respirator and the EMT telling me to pray (which I promptly did).Canyon fighting the mask and i.v, his eyes rolling back in his head, the doctor berating me for not immunizing (croup is not prevented by vaccination) while I am comforting my now super traumatized kid, and the welcome ibuprofen to prevent more swelling of his respiratory tube, but that is as far as we have gone in and as far as I plan on getting unless needed. I should mention here that my dad is a retired physician and I like doctors in general, but feel that w. medicine is way too narrow for the kind of health I am trying to achieve for my kids. So, we haven't been to Ryan for awhile because of my work schedule. Right after my miscarriage I took the boys in for bodywork and to get some herbs to help me release the leftovers of the pregnancy (they helped a lot and it was so nice the way Ryan talked me through the emotional stuff and offered real help for the physical trauma my body was (and still is) going through in the shift to and from pregnancy). But in any case, the boys had not gone in for awhile, and since I have been working (especially the legislative stuff) I have not been the primary food provider, so they have been getting more processed food. Let me say here how grateful I am to my mom and Trish for the loving care they provide for my kids. They do a great job, we are so lucky to have them, and they stay within the parameters of low-sugar and no gluten for the most part. But there has been a rapid increase in gluten free cookies in the boys diet and a decrease in fresh almond milk and greens. To me, I have been watching this change develop for a few months and can link Canyon's rash to foods consumed and River's stuff too. Ryan agreed. "Its a fungal infection caused by a change in their diet." "Why are my kids so sensitive?" "Because you have done such a good job of keeping them away from stuff most kids get used to early on" So there is the conundrum, should I allow my kids to become toxic so they ultimately have a higher tolerance or should I move us back to cleaner food? Well, the choice is really not that hard for me: I have prohibited daily cookies (my mom told me she wishes I had taken more science classes--they get sick from bugs, not sugar---hmmm...nutritional science points to real links between sugar and decreased immune function...but my mother and I will likely never resolve this perception that I don't know what I'm doing when it comes to my kids nutrition), and made almond milk this morning. That's our new start. River is on herbs for his recent digestive woes, and Canyon has a wash for his rash that feels really good to him. I am picking up more herbs for Canyon on Friday when I get my treatment for my back and continuing issues with my cycle. All that stuff you didn't really mean to find out huh...well, sorry for the long ride. I think women face unique struggles in caring for all their children's needs and working for critically required pay. If I drop the ball on health, play dates, birthdays, school stuff, clean-up it stays dropped. While daddy and my mom and Trish pick up a lot of the stray ends, it seems like the level of engagement I maintained as a stay at homer is really an effect of being the MOM and thus my standards are very high still. I know that sounds kind of weird, like I am being critical of my children's other caregivers, but that isn't what I mean, I just know from experience that I am usually the only one laying awake at night worrying about party favors, or stomach pain, or River's first day in the primaries. This is hard-wired in me in a way that Charlie is freed of. So I have two full-time jobs, and I feel like I may be getting back to a place where I do them both well. But I worry about this and if I am capable of it. What has to go, what do I have to give up to not miss critical components of my children's happiness? (hmmmmm maybe spending less time on long-drawn out blog posts would free up some time?)