A new religion

Politics are the new religion. By fervently, violently and rashly defending a point of view, regardless if that point of view is not defendable with fact and reason, a new 'truth' has been found. The "Libertarian" voiced this ignorance with these words;

"We will all be equal. If health care is crap for some it must be crap for all. If someone manages to still have money when they die and if they are stupid enough to not give it to charity but to instead try to pass it on to their kids, then the Feds should seize it all. What right does anyone have to inherit? None! Those days are over. We should all be born the same and die the same. It is the government's job to contain the masses. To not let people take advantage of others, to make people stand in line with everyone else."

I didn't laugh. I didn't comment. This is the state of mind of more than half the people I know. I felt mildly appalled but I have become numb to the madness.

I watch and know this; As people refuse to take personal responsibility for anything they become unable to be responsible for anything. They become a member of an increasingly growing elitist mob nicknamed 'Democracy'. Their motto is “I deserve everything, someone else should pay for it and charity should be for everyone but I shouldn’t have to donate.” This is a contradiction I cannot understand and also that this extraordinary selfishness is a trait now admired in society.

My heroine would have laughed at the mess we are making. She already foretold the end in ‘Atlas Shrugged’

Know Yourself

Love is a remarkable thing. I have loved people and places before but never with all of myself. I have witnessed deep love but never partaken of the bitter sweet waters.

I avoided the plunge because I am a self-interested personality. Let me calirfy; although I am driven to aid others, I am limited by my vast and consuming sense of self-preservation.

I took the unthinking leap about four years and six months ago. I fell in love knowing the other wasn’t in love with me. I, vain and careful, who made certain a man adored me before agreeing to dinner, I fell madly in love and never looked back. He was beautiful and he became my whole world in one moment.

I was more terrified that a car would smash him then I was that he might not love me in return. I was ready to tear heads off over wounds inflicted YEARS before I had ever met him.

I found that although you may be angry with the one you love, you will still love. I learned that I worry and fuss even when I do not like him. When I am happy, the heat inside burns and I feel the mark deeper every day.

And as friends lose their own loved ones, the fearful knowledge that I too will lose someday, haunts me long into the night.

I am here to report to you that my verdict is this; Love will make you vulnerable and strong. I have been moved to a pain I would not trade and fallen to my knees in gratitude for it.

You will be able to accept the choices of the one you love even when jealously and anger cry out “Injustice!” You pay for that acceptance because you will hurt with the one you love, you will sympathize even when reason says you ought not to. You will find out that you are a smaller and bigger person then you thought you could be.

If I could offer any advice from my short experience it would be this: Know yourself, as much as possible, before you meet this One. Then get to know yourself even better. I tell you this because you will offer and sacrifice yourself on the altar of your Love. There, as the fires burn away the pretty parts, the ugly parts will cry out, exposed and aching, in the charred ashes. If you are unsure of your weaknesses and strengths, you may be the undoing of what you desire most. But if you know yourself to the best of your ability, you may heal yourself and elevate what you have into a painfully tender friendship. You and your love may create between you that which is written in legends and songs throughout history.

Fireworks

Our Future

Self

As time and life and experience go on, you, yourself may find that you didn’t. It is as if these things do touch you, they do move you, but as you stand still inside yourself, as the tide, wind and air flow past you, swirling into a dizzying array of colors, sounds, and emotions- you find that you have held on to a part of yourself that no longer is.

This is a disarmingly confused moment. You look at the ghost of a girl you were, this shadow, you see her smile, you see her thoughts, you REMEMBER and you KNOW her words… yet you are not this girl. Not anymore. You were her, parts of you are influenced by her, but she is not you anymore. This is a ghost.

I have seen this moment in others. Sometimes this moment may take hours, sometime days, in rare cases, this moment can take years. Understandably, frantic resuscitation attempts may take place. This person you were, who you may have defined yourself by for so long, is gone and facing your new familiar self in the mirror is a devastating moment.

I see her, the girl I was. I was the gypsy, the writer, the artist, the young girl and the world was frightening and new. At 115 pounds, I had long dirty blond hair, I loved to walk, I lived on coffee, cigarettes, and breakfast food and I spent a lot of time alone. I spent hours and hours and hours painting, thinking and in the Blue Mountains.

Who am I now? I am losing hope of ever being 115 pounds again, my hair is ash blond from living in the high western mountains and my emotions are somehow rawer than they were then. I am rarely alone. I clean house, make dinner and do laundry in a washer, not in a tub. I still love to walk. Sometimes I paint but I almost never see the emotions in my paint that I used to. The golden ball inside me hums quietly. Once I held it carefully, guardedly and now I forget that it is there on some days.

I am happier, healthier but I think I am less kind and less aware and less forgiving. I think I was less selfish. I have to let go of my ghost, turn around and let go. Only then can I remember, re-try, re-do, and change the person I am within.

What's slim and Forty Two Inches?

I came home at lunch to study the latest addition to the house. The house doesn't seem to mind either way about the this purchase so I decided to find out if I did.

There was a loud welcome from both dogs -I am presently sitting my Mom's dog -And then parked myself on the chair.

There it sits; Glossy and audaciously modern in this little cozy living room.

It's impossibly big. I feel like there should be popcorn and candy present. I feel that the seating should be on red velvet chairs with armrests fitted for drinks. There should be a flickering light behind me from the projector and an epic grand film about to play on the big screen.

I wonder if the previews will be any good?

I think I might like it.

Dogs

I woke up at 3:11am.

I was in a borderline panic attack when I saw the time. This could be a red night; 3am is the witching hour. I tried not to toss for about twenty minutes before finally getting up, taking a couple of pillows and retrieving a blanket from the hall closet. I made my way to the living room couch and attempted to settle in. My muscles were tense and my head too foggy to find a good position.

The blanket kept twisting wrong and I was cold. I gave up as my Charlie the cat came down to inhabit my lap. He settled in and offered his exceptionally loud purring as his consolation as he began kneading his paws gently into my tummy. I threw an arm over my eyes and tried to breathe deeply.

He found me unwilling to cuddle him properly so after about ten minutes, he abandoned me and curled up on the neighboring chair.

I sighed and tried to not grit my teeth in aggravation. The house was silent. The couch was sagging, the pillows were lumps of potatoes and just as my urgent desire to sleep was about to peak into a tearful tantrum, I heard the bedroom door squeak open.

Padded feet softly made their way into the living room. I heard the whisper of fur, watched a shadow pass across the room and then my Sal laid her head on my stomach over my anxiously folded hands.

I love dogs. I love the relationship you can build with them. I love the way I know when she is hurt or anxious and how she knows this about me too. I took a deep breath and ran my nervous fingers through the silky hair around her ears and then took another deep breath. She took deep breaths with me and calm slipped through my hands and spread up my arms.

After a couple of minutes, Sal sighed quietly and lay down next to the couch with her head on her paws so that I could still lightly touch the top of her head.

The tension in my mouth and my thoughts calmed from chaotic colors and disjointed dreams to a blur of purple and yellow. The past relaxed and stopped twisting my fingers into knots. Sal sighed again and I sighed too and finally I fell asleep.

Hansel and Gretel

I have never felt that I understood or was informed about certain events of World War II that happened in Poland and in Hungary. Of course this topic was touched on in various high school classes and I of course know that the one of the events was the Holocaust. I knew that terrible suffering occurred and that there are nations today that dispute the events, such as Iran, by saying that these things never happened. The number estimated was that six million Jews were murdered.

I hadn’t realized that Seventeen Million people died. I did not know that those who perished included teachers, gypsies, catholics, Jehovah witnesses, persons with mental illness and varied leaders of so many villages and towns.

I believe it was my teenage combination of inattention and self-absorption that blinded me to this time in history. I think it was also that I could not relate to or comprehend the black and white photos and elderly who told their story.

I came to realize that my understanding of history is not only incomplete, but that I was missing an entire library retelling human history and choices. History and choices that included an astonishingly defiant desire to live and a shockingly brutal desire to destroy.

I heard the comment in the news that “Our diversity… is our strength”. I cannot agree with that statement. Diversity is dividing. It is conflicting. Name me one country who has diversity in gender, race, culture or religion and has it without conflict. Only by overcoming, learning to live with, and/ or by looking beyond that diversity, are people and nations able to find what does not divide us. When we find what we have in common despite our difference, that is where we find strength. The most common thing we share on this planet? We all love something. We all love our family, our community, our memories, our pet dogs, good food, safety, gardens, success (however you measure that) and most of all- We all love respect and acceptance.

The more I learn that I possess a perspective unique to myself and that so does everyone around me, the more I understand that it is not mine to judge, to measure, or to understand their perspective. It is for me to learn about what is different from myself, to protect what I love, and to strive to do the best that I can.

My mother gave me a book to read, as she regularly gives me books, this one called “Hansel and Gretel” by Louise Murphy.

The book has taken over my thoughts since I started and completed it. I think about it when I eat a meal or put on clothes for the day. Lately when I hold my husband’s hand or smile at my dear friends, Char and Sal, I think about the luxury I have in these simple acts. I think about how much I don’t know and would like to learn and how I have the ability and time to learn as much as I want.

I have caught myself looking at all the items I own and seeing them as treasures. Perhaps I do not have the best whatever it is or the most stylish shoes, but I have things. I have a new purse, I have nice older ones -I have MORE than one. I have so much and it rattles me as I think about this family, whose fear and worries I cannot understand. This family who lived through horror and with crimes that I cannot comprehend.

I don’t know that I have their strength, their tenaciously impossible will to live, but I will remember their story, in hopes that I can in some way give my respect to their courage.

Sunday Morning

Q-tip

I gave Charles a q-tip this morning.

Hehehehehehehehehehe… I love this cat.

This was possibly the best toy ever. Better then the hair tie I gave him yesterday. Although that could fly from my fingers at a fascinating speed it wasn’t multi-textured. I gave him a bobby-pin the day before that and that was pretty cool, it’s shiny, slides across tile well and it’s easy for him to toss in the air but it is not very chew-able.

His take on the q-tip? Soft cotton on both ends and a soft yet straight stick in the middle; this was the superior toy.

He threw it in the air and threw himself under the curtain. He dashed into the hallway, catching it as he went by and rolled around growling at it in the funniest way.

Bravely he torpedoed his generously proportioned little self from the table legs, but he miscalculated and crashed his head into the garbage can instead. After a shocked moment of staring at this mysteriously placed item he turned and raced in the right direction and caught it as it slid away. Busily he chewed at the cotton head until it stuck in his teeth and then he hurried to me to extract it before leaping back into the battle.

Satisfied, and a little winded, he surveyed the twisted stick and then …he copied Sally. Charlie parked his little tubby behind down and grumbled, growled, groaned as he scratched his ear with his back foot.

I laughed out loud.

I grinned and scooped him up for a morning cuddle. He cuddled back, drooling a little as he does when he is very happy and then he remembered he was a dangerous and heroic hunter and indignantly pulled away. For forgiveness I let him down and then tossed the q-tip back under the table and he hurried to snatch it up before it could get away.

Drool

I know my cat loves me because he drools on me when I cuddle him...

Moscow

I had a dream Sunday morning that I was in Moscow not by plan but by a series of spontaneous incidents that resulted in my arrival.

I have a half remembered memory that there was a fuss about this by other parties and that the unintended visit created headache and worry for a few but selfishly I was only excited in the dream.

Because the visit was impromptu, my entrance was by subway and train through a neighboring country.

I entered the city by a bridge in the late evening and saw the most strange and gorgeous city along a river. There were bright lights in store fronts, people walking everywhere and statues of unfamiliar characters posed about in squares and streets.

Cold air bit my cheeks as I grinned at the incomprehensible dialogues circling around me and the serious looks I received back. There were shadows, far off shadows that I could see were towering building complexes that ominously reminded me of the New Orleans housing projects.

Perhaps this is all a figment of my imagination but I really would like to see Moscow now. To see if this idea is true and that if it is a center of human nastiness and human aspiration.

Pay or Go to Jail

http://biggovernment.com/2009/11/06/committee-confirms-comply-with-pelosi-care-or-go-to-jail/

“H.R. 3962 provides that an individual (or a husband and wife in the case of a joint return) who does not, at any time during the taxable year, maintain acceptable health insurance coverage for himself or herself and each of his or her qualifying children is subject to an additional tax.” [page 1]

- – - – - – - – - -

“If the government determines that the taxpayer’s unpaid tax liability results from willful behavior, the following penalties could apply…” [page 2]

- – - – - – - – - -

“Criminal penalties

Prosecution is authorized under the Code for a variety of offenses. Depending on the level of the noncompliance, the following penalties could apply to an individual:

• Section 7203 – misdemeanor willful failure to pay is punishable by a fine of up to $25,000 and/or imprisonment of up to one year.

• Section 7201 – felony willful evasion is punishable by a fine of up to $250,000 and/or imprisonment of up to five years.” [page 3]

Colors

4am

I woke up at 4am to think about a dream that involved a thick jungle and a mansion that was alive as well as occupied with shadows.

The shadows were malicious and the house was mischievous and between the two it was a very dangerous place. The tricky part was that the jungle would prove deadly to stay in for any duration of time.

I woke up and thought about the elegant wood mantles, door frames and soft waving white curtains. The deep fire places, the ominous corners, the threatening stairs and the misleadingly soothing colors on the walls.

The dream meant something but I am torn. Was this a place that existed as I saw it or was this a representation of a physical space or was this a reflection of something inside me?

The house was breathing with life. The individualism of each detail was startling and, even after several hours of absolute boredom, I still find them easy to readily recall correctly.

The shadows were separate from the life of the house but they were trapped in the same space. They were lethal in their desires and goals. In the dream, I tried to figure a way out of the house that would not include a trek through the murderous surrounding jungle.

And there was something about a painting. A portrait painting, that was the key.

Friday

Every day I walk into an office full of people that fall into two categories.

Lot number one are generally stressed beyond what I would consider normal and healthy -every single day. They hurry and rush to meetings, take three or four ice runs and never ever mention anything remotely personal. If you make the mistake of asking what they are doing for the weekend you will get a cross eyed look and a cool silent response.

Lot number two laugh and sing the day away. I think that they do work sometimes but because of their light hearted approach at everything, they are completely ostracized by lot number one.

Compounding these issues, are yearly reviews of employees that have been ongoing this week. Now add to that the newest policy that you must be in business dress unless you would like to make a ‘voluntary’ contribution to a foundation of the company’s choice.

Side note: I don’t mind wearing dresser clothes. I Do mind when it is a pesky maneuver attempting to get to my cash.

But today is Friday and Friday is a magical day.

On Friday Lots one AND two are smiling. I walk around and I see members from both lots speaking to each other… granted lot one is determinedly picking topics that are work related and lot two ignores the work part and chats about the other’s cute shoes but the point is that they are talking… amiably.

I love Friday. Someone has brought in cake and someone else brought in homemade cookies. Two pots of wretched cheap coffee are freshly made and happily guzzled. I wore jeans too, but brought dress pants in the car as back up.

But today is Friday.

And today even one of the bosses cheated and wore jeans.

Fall

Fall is here.

I couldn't sleep. My eyes burned and I went to bed early but couldn't sleep. The air from the window fan was hot, my pillow was a sack of potatoes, the air was too cool and I could not -could not -sleep.

I tried counting, then the breathing thing, then the counting again. I switched positions over and over. I chased after sleep like a kid after a runaway kite’s fluttering tail. I was so close so many times!

I moved my pillows back around again.

By this point I had the bed all to myself.

Exhausted and breathless I listened to the window fan. The air hummed soft, then louder, then soft. A storm finishing it’s day long build to at last break. I couldn’t stand it. It echoed my need to rest. I shut the windows and turned on the air conditioning.

I listened and listened and then I had a terrible dream.
I had taken all the other roads since The Road Trip. I had taken them and things were a mess. I had listened to my head and not to my dreams. I had kept that job, I had finished college, I had given that friend more time, I dated that person longer…

-A Mess! -A terrible upside down Mess. Everything was all wrong and unhappy. I raced around in the dream telling everyone that this was all a mistake and they looked at me like I was crazy (Which I guess, isn’t that unusual anyway). I hurried to Utah to get to the rocks and dust and dry air. But things were a mess here too!
Lightening snapped through the blinds, thunder growled and I sat up in bed. 2:58am…. Whew. If it had been three I would have been toast.

I listened to the next biting snarl outside. The night was cool now and we opened the windows. The rain began. I wasn’t alone.

The pillows were still full of potatoes but the bedroom was cool and the blankets warm. I slept lightly but at least it was sleep.

This morning I wore closed shoes and carried my hot pink and yellow umbrella to work.

Fall is here.

Dolphin

My sweetheart and I are headed for Hawaii this Saturday for our honeymoon. There we intend to embark on dives and tourist traps and enjoy the beauty of the island we are staying at.

Three days ago he suggested a dive that I had actually first pointed out. Apparently it is a dive that is not only spectacular but also a bit more remote then many. The attraction in this is that this will be a non-crowded and likely less touched area then many others.

The positive and negative sides of this dive is that it will be deeper then I have ever been and it will include ‘large aquatic life”. I have two deep fears Reader, when it comes to my mortality, drowning and/ or being eaten.

I know the being eaten fear should end with my life but I don’t like the idea of being eaten even after I have vacated my physical personal space. Screw the circle of life thing. I would really rather be cremated.

For the past few nights I have fitfully slept; imagining my lifeless body softly and finally sinking into a depthless dark blue pit.

I watch myself in utter dismay. My dream self rants to the echoing silence of muffled water, “But there is so much I have to see and do!”

Once at the bottom the shrimps come and eat me.

Very aggravating.

Then my day dream started while asleep last night. Once more I am drifting and in the deep and again I find myself lost and alone. Shadows ominously circle in the distance. Again I considered panicking; sucking up my air and sealing my fate of running out of breath – I felt a nudge on my fin.

My heart rate kicks up and in a futile attempt to leave me behind, jumps to the surface, which is many impossible feet above; as the rest of me turned around. I found myself face to face with the reassuring perpetual grin that so many sailors have found reassuring before me.

“Oh” I glarbal which of course makes me choke on water. I spit it out, my heart returns to my chest and I am allowed, for only an instant, to reach out and touch the grace of a creature we know so little about.

Now this may be a dream but for the record –Dolphins are HUGE when next to you. I mean really Huge. In aquariums and on TV they seem a little smaller than their human side kick but in my dream this friend was at least a foot taller than me.

My friend smiled, as only Dolphins can only smile, and drifted by me. He waited as I floated up thirty feet. He then drifted with me to the safe fifteen foot stop and waited as we counted down the mandatory safety stop. He followed me to the surface, slapping a wave in my face, the equivalent of a high five.

My friend waited several feet away as the boat approached.

As the boat neared and slowed to pick me up, I turned to smile my thanks but found my Dolphin was gone.

There, instead, was my sweetheart. He smiled back.

Book

Sometimes I have these grandiose day dreams of how I have struck it unbelievably rich. They make me smile and I idly kick around the best imaginary scheme possible and then blow it up into super power size. This pass time passes time with amazing speed.

My favorite one this week is that someone somewhere somehow finds my book and publishes it. Of course they are a good decent person and they set it up so that when the true author is found, me, all proceeds will be passed to me 100%. Of course the first thing that I do is give this do good-er a well deserved and generous cut. The book will have a modest following but enough of one that we could fix up the back yard and add a studio/ art type of room for me and expand the current disastrous mess of an office into something decent with shelves galore for my guy.

The only major problem with this shiny story is that I never did finish my book. The least of my problems is the ‘someone somewhere somehow’ part. I could fix that one. I have tried out different sets of people and I have decided on a successful publisher who happens to be a woman with graying blond hair. She will be on the opposite sides of politics that I am on and will prefer cats to dogs and we will get along famously. The where part is a little more difficult but not impossible because I can lump that one in with the ‘how’. I have thrown manuscripts into the thrift store bin a couple of times. Maybe she is also a flea market fan.

I heard your question Reader; “Why would you throw a manuscript into a thrift store bin?”

The obvious answer, and I am surprised you asked, is that if I had thrown them away in the trash then I would have had to have a funeral. The second option, to pack them, is that I couldn’t because they were hopeless cases. Idle excellent characters that are bored out of their brains are restless bed partners and they were keeping me up at night. They had to move out.

I was completely stumped. Even the story line was bored! I thought that if someone out there could finish the story then the story would find that someone. If not, the irritated employee could throw them out and spare me the despair of knowing I can’t write and shouldn’t bother trying anymore.

I have been trying to start a new one the last couple of years. I am distracted, more the usual, and this one is based off of memories and journals.

So far it is also bored.

No changes

The day was gorgeous, my family was wonderful, my Dad made a few cry, my sweetheart and I nailed the dance, and the general feeling of the entire event was happy, fun, pretty and I have roses all over the house to prove that it happened.

Such happiness!

Would we change from us though? I was really worried about this. I was more worried about this then I was about anything else; more then running nearly an hour behind schedule, more then the fact that it rained up until fifteen minutes before the outdoor ceremony started, that the Minster ran late or if I liked my hair. That one is still a pending decision.

Would we change?

Reader I am happy to report that we did not, at least not that I can tell. For all of his impossible procrastination, lack of house keeping skills and the shoes he leaves all over the house- I love us just the way we are. Want to know why?

He will bark at me when I wind myself up into an anxious house cleaning machine and I will ignore him. I will attempt to nag him to death and he just blissfully tunes me out. He will hold my hands when I am freaking out and watch me and stay with me until I calm down. I will listen to his stories and he will listen to mine –even though now we are on repeat sometimes.

But mostly because I can make him laugh like no one else can and he can make me laugh when nothing else will.

Ah.... newlyweds are nauseating aren't they?

Foxtrot

I have to comment on the political circus arena. The show is just too spectacular to ignore and I have to compliment the illusion of jumping hyenas through water hoops.

Clap Clap Clap!

Closing of the ‘G’ bay –I daren’t say the whole word, people have seizures.

Second ‘Bailout’. Firing of CEO’s of private corporations. Bank and Auto takeovers. Mortgage and Financial Brokerage takeovers.

(By the by… Take over is defined with the metaphor in mind of using said bailout money to duct tape certain mouths shut and then refusing to allow corporations to give the duct tape back)

‘Special Advisors’ appointed to positions that they have no experience in but did happen to make large donations to the last political campaign. Reporters profiled prior to interviews, questions staged at ‘open debates and town halls’ and paid for questionnaires. Black panther gang members guarding polling posts. Powers appointed to lobbyists galore…

Then Health Care. Now the CIA probe.

The media and political puppets coo and coax “You are just fine! The economy is coming back!!” as the stock market stumbles, reels, and staggers across the same stage and unemployment continues to sky rocket…

This is a hell of a foxtrot on the political stage.

What on earth are they frantically holding our attention so closely for? What is the distraction distracting us, the public, from?

Lets start with Health Care. All Americans have access to Health Care. All Americans DO Not have affordable access to insurance. And I am one of them -At least independently and without an employer's group program. I have a pre-existing condition which nullifies my eligibility.

Now granted, I have not been sick for a while so I can say this without flinching but I don’t think a government health plan will help. If this overly involved in-law type of government really must have their fingers in this massively bloated and messy issue… why not cap frivolous law suits? Why not reduce the limitations that restrict insurance companies from covering additional individuals across state lines?

Or the "Closing of the ‘G’ bay"… why is it that called that? It is not closing… the thing is simply moving, all inmates included.

Bailout? This was an exploding increase in a spoiled child’s allowance -only this child is a red faced screaming nightmare which has been melded with a patronizing trust fund brat who steps all over your clean carpet and smiles at you in that insulting way –you all know what I mean.

WHAT business is it of the government if a CEO runs his company into the ground with poor management? I say Let it crumple, just as they have before. The Great Depression was twice or three times longer then it needed to be because of government involvement. Why are we on repeat?

Taxes are ridiculous. Do you know how much sales revenues would increase if income taxes decreased? I have no idea honestly but it seems it would take simple math to figure it out. We are seeing increased taxes instead. Maybe not yet on income but certainly on property, cars, products, etc.

What is going on? Seriously.

The hamsters in my head.

I could taste emotion as one could taste a freshly cut onion or smell cut grass in the summer evening.

It could be arid, bitter, fresh but some how emotions always taste raw.

I could feel emotions in and around me too. This ever flowing stream of water or air, it was a light brush against my arms or a tickle on the back of my knees.

The world was as bright as crayons are to a child. The walls begged for color so I painted them. Bold and vivid and true.

Too bright? Too much blue? Too much orange, red, purple and green? Impossible!

Don’t you shiver too Reader? Like I do? I think you must. I think we all must. But if you have forgotten how to try this: Close your eyes sometime, as a storm is brewing and when the tree branches are clapping and shuddering and cheering in the tremulous toss up in the sky. Close your eyes and listen. Goose bumps will rise on your arms and there is a funny little shaking that can happen in your heart.

Or! Or; Close your thoughts and turn off the radio while you drive in your car to work. Those over sized and far too tall pedestals rubbing their wrought iron sides together- that sound? Turn that sound inside out. Now that sound is the beating of feet on rocks and you are running through a painting rendered of a South American forest. The air is humid not dry, the world is humming with insects and sweat.

And I shiver. Every time I do that I shiver. It is best when someone else is driving the car and I can look out the window and disappear into air and find myself on a far off mountain side. Sometimes I see deer running and I imagine that I am one of them. If I close my eyes and listen and listen and listen and then I can imagine slender legs, four of them. Smooth rough fur and soft large ears and dark serious eyes.

The imagination is a fantastic thing. It is magic and wonder.

My sweetheart says he wonders what goes on in my head but Reader, without what goes on in my head I don’t think I could handle the nastiness of this job and of people and feeling tired in the morning.

In my head I am still about six years old.

Dis-jointed

Edgy today. This is a day of where I have nothing but disjointed thoughts and I move together with myself as a disjointed body would; a stumbling awkward kind of walk through a vague kind of day.

A change is coming so Huge that I can not grasp it. I am excited for it. Happy for it. And completely terrified.

I know everything is about to change and to be the same.

I have a few questions about this too. How will I define myself after this? How will he? How will my dreams, my thoughts change?

Luckily Sally won’t see a difference. I can count of her to not notice or bugger me about it. Charlie is likely included in that boat.

Will I know his passwords and will he know mine? Not just the passwords on technical things but the passwords to a bike lock or a high school locker’s combination.

Will he see me as he did and as he does? Wait, I retract that line of questions and would rather start with: How does he see me?

AND I AM OLD Reader. Not with loads of wrinkles or gray hairs but old as in I should know I am older. I sat in the shower last night and scowled at my feet. They are older too; more slender and definitely fat somehow. I couldn’t tell you what they were three years ago but I know what they are now.

On an up note; my hands are still young. The wrists are just beginning to show signs of time but my hands have not betrayed me noticeably just yet.

However…my elbows have gone to the pig pen. Soft and potato like. I will keep them though.

Last my hair… I know I dyed it dark brown a couple of years ago and MURDERED it. But… well I thought that by now it would not be so unhappy still. Don’t get me wrong. My hair is a valiant soul and looks quite pretty but it is still a little dried out…

Last, do dragonflies know that they are going to grow old too? Do dogs and cats and trees?

And so go the thoughts in my head today.

Early August

It smells like autumn outside. The anxious excited feeling was in my hands when I woke up buried in the covers this morning. It is only early August but the wind brought cold clean air over night and the sunshine feels a little distant today. I am not ready for the summer to hint of leaving. Last winter was a long one.

Regardless, and although it is only early August, I could taste the bite of the harvest season in the air. How I love the fall. She is a dear friend and one I enjoy every year with overwhelmed senses and flooded emotions.

I was up early and played with my dog outside. The wind woman hummed unassumingly but I closed my eyes and listened with appraising ears. She laughed softly as she played with dust in cool sunlight and did not notice my attentive human focus.

Fall may come early this year. She will be wild with color from all the rain this last spring. The ache is here already; in my feet, in my hands, in my soul. But I am not restless this time, this feels more intense then simple anxiety. More of a deep calm resting at the surface of water as building life swirls underneath.

I feel aloof and gentle and still. Rocks may break my surface but they hardly touch the breathing deep below.

And then there is my sweetheart. Perhaps I am feeling a little detached from everything but not from my little family.

Unita's

Last weekend, my Sally went with us to go on a second camping trip, this time in the Unita’s. I was so excited for her. As far as I know Sal has never experienced sleeping outside or sitting by a camp fire.

I brought her to REI two days before.

My city slicker presently owns a pair of dog shoes and a rain jacket. (*Yes, a rain jacket. Try walking a long haired dog in drenching rain and then bringing back your four legged sopping wet mop into a apartment that is completely carpeted….)

I will spare you the play by play that parents or pet owners love to give but will summarize with this.

I have the best dog ever.

She carried her pack happily and she chased chipmunks, rabbits and birds. She came immediately when called, she did not like the fire but warily watched it from a distance she designated as safe and although she was very uncertain about the whole sleeping outside thing, she was good and stayed close.

The best part? There she was excited and alert but on the way home? She did not open her eyes for the entire two hour drive back but crashed completely in the back.

Moab

I meant to touch on the camping trip and realized, a month later… that I didn’t.

Moab is…. How to draw Moab?

We arrived in the evening and we started our visit then and there by scrambling around the top of Dead Horse Point. My best sweetheart told me the story of how the place acquired its name and it left me with a tightened throat. Sunset fell completely and the night wind swept up the sheer cliffs, blowing my clothes against me and my hair into snarls. My hands hurt which was interesting. My hands always ache when I am high up. Heights do something to my heart rate too. So although I couldn’t see perfectly, my body knew where I was.

For a woman raised on the east coast for most of her formative years…. Beauty, to me, is the wet grass, the fireflies, the smell of the sea, rain in the afternoon, green everywhere. This was a different world completely.

Moab is a swirling dance of red, orange, and dusty purple during the day. It is fire and brilliant shards of light at dusk. It is a calm grey blue at night.

Silence beats against your ears. Regardless of whether is it a trail with very few companion hikers or if it is where tourism and crowds abound, the silence streams around the shrill echoes of laughter and brushes against your legs, eyes and heart. Silence is alive there.

Towering rocks are temples, they are forbidding and watchful as you pass under them. The ground exhales under your feet and for all the stones, dust, and solid ancient landscape, somehow Moab is vibrantly Alive and Self-Aware. It is an Eerie, and almost Holy place.

There the wind woman is even more wild and dangerous and beautiful. Although I have always loved and distrusted her, I have never felt fear. There, I was so sensitive to my fragile body and her fierce freedom that I was actually afraid.

It was exhilarating.

Mr. Coffee Maker

News item!

I must announce, with great regret that there has been a tragedy. A good friend of mine has perished in a loud squealing death. Trusted for over ten years to be my morning motivator and inspiration –Mr. Coffee Maker… left us for a world (AKA trash can).

It started out as usual Thursday morning. I staggered blindly out of bed, scoped up a cup of dog food and on the way to Sal’s bowl, turned on Mr. Coffee Maker.

Heartened by the knowledge that a mug of warm smooth Gevalia, freshly brewed would be waiting for me in five to ten minutes, I fell back into bed for my five minute alarm clock snooze.

It felt like I woke up years later but actually it was about four mins and thirty seconds, in horror.

Where was the breath taking comforting aroma of my morning stimulation? I waited. The alarm went off.

A terrible sound reached my ears…

“GRRRRRBBBBLLLLUUPPP…sssssssssssssssssssssssSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS….”

Cautiously I got up… Charlie stared with complete fascination at the counter where sat Mr. Coffee Maker and a queasy amount of steam blowing out of its top.

I stared too.


“GRRRRRBBBBLLLLUUPPP...ssssssssssssssssssssssSSSSSSSSSSSRRRRRBBBBLLLLUURRRRRBBBBLLLLUUSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS….”

The rest of the thirty minutes, before I dash out to work, are a blur. Shock and denial required me to leave Mr. Coffee Maker on, struggling, choking and gasping -until my best friend ordered the horrible noise to stop.

I bought terrible burnt stale gas station coffee on the way to work and sipped it morsely.

MT Olympus

My fiancé, our good friend, and I decided to climb Mt. Olympus here in Salt Lake City, Utah. We all met at Pete’s Point and began at 7am last Sunday.

The majority of the hike going up was in the cool shade of the mountain. We started laughing, talking, joking and shooting pictures. But as the morning drew on and muscles began to rebel, our teasing grew silent and the pauses to breath were without the camera.

This hike is about three and half miles up. And I mean Up. Stair climbers and stair masters have Nothing on this mountain. Even our amiable, good natured and mature friend looked a bit exhausted.

Although we were sheltered from the early morning sun, I sweated, gasped and coughed and at two thirds of the way up from the saddle, collapsed on a log blocking the trail struggling to breath the thin, sharp, fragrant air.

It wasn’t so much that I complained as I simply would fall further and further back from the two of them. My fiancé was my motivator. He took to hanging behind me to encourage and remind me to drink; coaxing me along, one step at a time. Our friend was patient with my weakness and heartened by their support, I pushed myself on despite my screaming heartbeat and frantic choking lungs.

We reached the ‘saddle’ and sat in the shade of a tree to munch on trail mixes and other snacks. It was Eleven Fifteen in the morning. There was the summit, looming a 1000 feet above us. We felt revitalized, invigorated and began to talk about completing the last half mile.

As I had started to follow them, I realized I would have to make the very steep hike down three miles but this time in the heat of a mid July day. The temperatures were already approaching the nineties, and as we descended and lost the altitude, the heat would be scorching at a hundred and six.

I had packed four liters of water in my camel-back, I had already gone through two. I decided to wait

The other two pushed on. I watched them from my little sheltering over hang as they scrambled up the sheer face and listened to the echoes of their voices. When they withdrew from sight I watched the dragonflies, a humming bird, bumble bees and flies. I watched the scattered hikers going by. There were a couple of dogs and as much as I had wanted to bring my dog I was glad I hadn’t. There was little water and shade for most of this. Even shaved, her black coat would have made this a cruel excursion.

They came back, looking triumphant and tired. It was Twelve Thirty.

The way back was brutal. The knees of both of my companions caused their faces to tighten under the glaring sunlight. Ankles threatened to roll as we picked our way down, each becoming increasingly separated as distance between us lengthened. Sweat rolled off as the body attempted to cool down, flies swarmed and I wondered if this was a bad dream. I felt lost in the swelling hot air, the ceaseless path, the tired throbbing in my hands and feet. I concentrated on my feet and the sound of my best friend’s breathing. He was struggling now. While I could do little but stay with him and touch his arm gently, I would be his motivator and ignore his protests that I should keep going and he would catch up.

We made it to the tiny stream in the little patch of shade we had passed earlier in the morning. Water trickles out of the mountain here, breaching the path to offer about an inch and a half of brutally cold water. Our friend made it there first. Shoes off, feet in, he half smiled at us and graciously offered us his seat.

Isn’t he kind? The one thought that crossed my mind before this was the relief that if we were all going to narrowly get ourselves into trouble, there are no other two people I would want to be in trouble with.

I don’t know how long we sat there. Maybe five minutes, maybe thirty. My best friend took my top tank (I had on two), soaked it in water and draped it around my neck and head. He rubbed water on my arms and face and legs. I shivered violently and offered the shirt to him and his face and neck. About then two young college girls came across us then. One chatted happily about birds and their calls, names, species. A pretty girl, with serious eyes and excited smile. She was from Montana and here for school.

At last we rose to face the last of the mountain. The refreshed looking girl advised that we were 1.4 miles from the bottom. We were just over half way back.

Protesting feet were re-stuffed, hats and visors re-soaked, sunscreen applied and off we went to continue down. I realized as we rose that I had drunk the last of my water on that 1.6 mile down. The dismay I should have felt was tempered by exhaustion. I knew the others were low.

I had thought that the first half of coming down was bad. This was hell. The world was an oven. My skin felt hot and tight and crisp. As if it would split open but if so it would only expose saw dust underneath. My mouth was hot and I kept swallowing without respite. I stopped thinking with the exception of two thoughts on repeat.

First… how did we go so far? I don’t remember it being this far. The trail went forever and I tried to stop looking ahead.

Second… thank God for these two men. They discovered I was out of water as I began to stumble and they shared the last precious drops they had. Their faces were grim and closed. I couldn’t feel the pain in my feet, legs or shoulders anymore.

My fiancé was once again my motivator. He reminded me to watch my step, held my hand when the world was fuzzy…

We made it to the car. We made it home to the cool dark house. At five o’clock in the afternoon, nearly ten hours from the time we began this venture, we climbed into showers and wearily fell into bed to restlessly sleep for an hour. We struggled to think about what we would want to eat and blankly stared at each other until going back to bed for the night.

Today and yesterday, our body’s have cried out their protest and in response we are trying to decide where to try out next weekend’s adventure!

The Libertarian is feeling clever and sent the following...

"I may be slow, but I am irresponsible."

"I am living vicariously through myself."

GPS and the Handy Bag of Unknowns

Once upon a time…

Camping/ hiking meant the car is driven up a gorgeous asphalt path, into the woods. Leaves and debris dance across a paved sunlit road and sometimes, you spot a deer from the window.

My groomed four legged companion lounges against the back of the seat, blissfully leaning out the open window with a happy, open mouthed, long tongued grin. Eyes would be half closed in happiness.

I would be dressed in smart yoga/ sweat pants, with shoes to match my tank, and my hair twisted just so that the sun would hit and highlight the right strands.

To be prepared I had two bottles of water, one to share and a collapsible bowl to put it in. A granola bar for me and two doggie treats for the friend. Plus my handy book bag full of easy to use unknowns was always packed and ready in the trunk in case there was a slightly extended stay.

If one was staying over night a cooler was packed with beer and steak in a bag marinating to be cooked over an open fire. A couple of blankets and tent were in the trunk and there was one of those disposable tooth brushes packed in the handy bag of unknowns front pockets and there were five bottles of water.

Then I moved. I met my best friend. He tells me happy stories of camping and although I am a little apprehensive of the camping stories that involve negative degree temperatures and the four lettered word “S-N-O-W”, all in all it sounds fun!

The tricky thing about the Wild West is that even in this modern world… hiking may include four legged creatures that aren’t your friend. There are not happy fireflies that dance at night either. And the day might end at 90 degrees and the night could start at 40.

Never the less… I love hiking and I loved camping. Surely this will all be just fine….

The fiancé pulled out a GPS last night and showed me how to use it. I didn’t want to know how to use it. Knowing may mean that fate decides to throw me a pop quiz where my score could be a very unforgiving grade that I would be unable make up later.

“So this is just incase we get separated?” I attentively asked.

He nods, still looking at the screen, “Or incase one of us has be left behind.”

I nod as coolly as possible, “Ok.”

He looks up at last, and says seriously, “Well if one of us breaks a leg and the other has to make it back to the car.”

I swallowed.

Today I have decided that the best way to handle this situation is not to think about it.

I did decide that it might be prudent to get and OPEN my handy book bag full of easy to use unknowns and discover was in it. I had added an extra pair of socks and female necessities but apparently, this bag contains all kinds of goodies. Like a battery or solar powered radio, a first aid kit, water purifier packet thingy, and other stuff. Very good to know.

Quote of the Day

"Shoes are the perfect clothing item as one’s size in shoes does not fluctuate with one’s weight."

Haunted

While in Mexico, a few months ago, I found a tiny fragile sea dollar... a breath could crush the translucent designs found bleached into its side. It hung softly to the top of the salty water, surrounded by broken and ragged beached brain corals and sharp rocks.

I could not hardly breathe when I found it. I am not one to pick up shells very often. But this one was part of my hands when I raised it with shaking wondrous fingers to my eyes. I could feel the well wishes from the giver of this jewel.

I left it in the door of the car on the way to get it something to rest in…

And there it broke. Perhaps it was the heat in the car or maybe it was when I opened and shut the car door, but how ever the ending happened, it happened.

It is that dreadful feeling that I felt afterwards. I felt clumsy, careless and awkward. It was a crime, just as if you were given a gift with love and thought and in exchange you spat on it, stomped on it, threw it into the street as the giver watched in dismay.

There are a few things that I am ashamed of… and this is one of them. It haunts me and sits on a shelf in my mind, with a handful of other things. They don’t taunt and say anything. But they are there and I am uneasy with how to put it to rest.

The Libertarian Part Two (See Capitalist -May 2009)

At work and walking past The Boss, who again, I really do like working for, the "Libertarian" crooked his finger at me in a ‘polite’ come here.

I stifled a sigh.

“I don’t believe in God,” he announced, “But I do believe in the Devil.”

I nodded as understandingly as possible.

He sighed heavily, and put his feet up on his desk. The "Libertarian"is a bit tall and honestly looked cramped in the small gray cube with his long legs awkwardly up

“I used to work for a lock down for teenagers who had drug problems, had been abused. I told them there was nothing wrong with drugs, that they can be used medically –Now, now, not meth! Meth is not included on this one. Meth is very bad and its just poison and should always be illegal- but the rest simply enhance your personality! Drug use is just a symptom! Picture a red glowing ball on an picture, see it floating forward, out, up down”,

Excited he used his hands to illustrate his words and bounce his ‘ball’ around the cube,
“And where were they? They were in lock down! They didn't know better. The only way a kid can make money at fourteen is to sell drugs! There aren't any other options!”

I attempted an interjection at this point, “Actually kids can babysit, deliver newspapers, mow lawns-.”

“That’s a lie! Only a rare few kids know about those things! You can’t hold kids to knowing there are other ways. All they know is that by sleeping with this person for drugs, they can make their pain to go away! I mean, hats off! They have technically found a way to successfully numb their pain -And it was a good thing they were screwing up their lives at their age. I mean, things could be worse! They could be 42 or even 43 with a nice wife, two point five kids, a house and job! What would it be like to lose the job, have your kids hate your guts, your wife divorces you and you're on the street without a penny? WHAT THEN??"

The "Libertarian" is turning an interesting shade of red as I ask, "So…can I help you with something?”

“This internal software is a bastard, a down right baseless and frustrating bastard.”

“Is it down?”

“No.” He stated defiantly.

“What is the problem?”

“I need to re-set my password but I don’t know my old password. I tell you! The Devil does exist!”

I looked at him and waited.

“Well?” he demanded.

“Yes…?”

“What is my old password??”

Now Reader, I confess I don’t go around asking everyone for their passwords and writing them down for this type of situation.

“Call the help desk and they will help you re-set it.” I made my escape.

Battle of the Earwigs

We all know that ear wigs are nasty bugs. NASTY bugs. Nasty should be Capitalized, italicized and underlined. I wonder if they really do go into one’s ears?

I live in the high mountains in a desert and although there are lots of creepy crawlers here, such as lots of ants, this is, at least compared to the east, a relatively bug-less place…

That is until the rain came about three weeks ago...

After a week of drenching rain began The Invasion of Earwigs. They swarmed the apple tree, the plum trees, the gutters and the front yard lawn. They could even be found on the bathroom floor occasionally. Charlie valiantly assisted in the war by eating them and then promptly throwing up.

Ruthless measures were taken. Just over a week ago, my fiancée brought them a mini Noah’s flood. They made a frantic bid for escape but they were cut off by sprayed raid bug killer.

But we had celebrated too soon. They still poured out of rain gutters, climbed into shoes and could be found in Charlie's upchuck.

Yesterday, we doubled our efforts. "To HOME DEPOT!", we cried. There we found bug killer and sprinkled it on what remains of the lawn. Grubs and such have eaten the roots and the dead patches are overwhelmed with ear wigs. We dug up the dirt and also mixed in grass seed with the bug killer. We sprayed the fruit trees and the edges of the outside of the house.

Shortly after, within about 30 seconds of completion, it rained some more. They began their evacuation in earnest.

I sat on the front porch, with the water hose vengefully locked and loaded in my hands, spraying them back onto the destroyed grass and wondered if the war was drawing to a close. Or did we simply up the stakes?

Dream on my Shoulder

I woke up with another dream. Literally. This Dream sat on my shoulder, yawned with me and staggered up and also came to have a cup of coffee.

I put on my mascara while it clung to my shoulder like a koala to a eucalyptus tree. Dream perched to the back of my head rest as I hurried to work and it squeaked in protest when I took a corner a little too fast.

This has been “One of those days.” We all have had one of these and although we all apply these days in different ways, all feel the same way about them regardless.

After this day filled with people who also seem to be carrying dreams around like sulky cats or yapping little dogs on too long of a leash, I have decided to talk about mine with the hope that by doing such, it will get down off my leg and politely sit in place.

The first dream this week was about a little boy. He was not mine. His sticky tousled butter hair clung damply to his serious face and large dark grey eyes. I woke up worrying about him and I haven’t been able to turn around without hoping to see him, but to see him with a smile.

The second dream was last night. This was a jumble of candy cane colored street stripes, snow in a high desert, Santa Claus forced up on stilts to be hung on a cross, wind shield wipers blown off by howling winds and losing my favorite shoes as I was forced to slug through a giant pond of a puddle. As I was standing on the other side, glumly glaring at the spot where mud sucked them off, I looked up and around and thought “I have been in this terrible version of Alice in Wonderland for a while. I should be waking up soon.”

With this thought I decided to ditch the car and walk for a bit. My feet bleed and ached but as I was aware that these were my dream feet I wasn’t too worried about it. I seem to be in perfect shape and none the worse for wear whenever I enter a new dream. Plus the wind only howled if I got in the car.

I wandered from the open field into what I thought was another one until I reached the slightly receding road’s bottom and saw wan abandoned, and once very nice, suburban neighborhood. Tumble weed tumbled, as it does; cracked and aching dry sidewalks and driveways split open for weeds and the front yards were filled with burnt yellow grass that tried to wave their tiny tinted blades in the (now)soft wind, but instead broke continuously into dust that sighed around me in the silence.

Where did the snow go? I looked back up. Yes Santa was still up there and yes he was too far away to help and yes there was about eighteen feet of snow….

But here at the bottom it was death valley meets the sub-prime crash of 2007.

I wished for and then looked at the helpful watch that appeared on my wrist. About thirty minutes until the alarm went off. I could wake myself up but I tested my physical self and I was still quite comfortable and deeply resting. Plus I didn't sense danger. It was as if this bizarre broken world did not yet know I was there still.

But then It did. I couldn't see it, I could not smell it but I could breath It. This danger felt like ants had crawled into my lungs and left me gasping for air. The sun was suddenly burning, burning, it was burning my skin! I could not breathe the air that had no life and choked as I tried. My pulse hopped up and as my heart tried to flee, the rest of me tried to stay calm. Where was it? What was thinking this malice and had noticed me? A dry cracked wail broke out from the deadly stillness; throwing hot drenching icy fear to trap and hold me in this world of deep despair.

I thought of waking up but forgot how to shake myself out!

I then thought of green and I thought of home. I thought of blurred hills and glowing moss, I tasted the smell of my best friend, I reached for the thought of my dog’s eyes. But I shivered and I lost them.

-Then I heard her coming.

My Wind Woman’s arms stretched out with her flowing cloaks of starlight, rain and mist. She slipped over the road where I had come from; she covered the snow, swept away the dust, the haunted hills and the road disappeared in her loose waves of grace; (she has a way of taking over everything); As she descends, (her face always haunts me) and I can see her dark, mischievous and dangerous eyes. She came down behind me, caught me up in her midnight blue hair and whispered “Wake up!”

I felt the clean chilling touch of her breath through my bones and sat up in bed.

Dropped

I dropped the golden ball I held last week. It is somewhere under the desk. I have been looking for it, or when spotted out of reach, glaring at it, for the last three hours.

Reflection

I am day dreaming today. I want to go to the art store and pick up some canvas. I want to feel the itchy tingle of paint drying against my skin. I like that feeling. It is not comfortable but it is comforting. When paint crams under my nails to the point that they ache I feel like I can understand the texture of the wind and the weight of breathing.

I walked Sally last night and watched the cloud’s reflection in street puddles. The storm raged and twisted and wrapped into its self, far above, it was a giant silken throw of silver grey.

Then I tripped on the sidewalk. It helps to watch where you walk.

Notice

I am happy today. I was happy yesterday. I am holding a little glowing gold ball in my hands and grinning like a kid with a pillow sack of candy on Halloween.

I am happy today. I woke up light and interested. The world is possible.

I gave two weeks notice to The Boss yesterday. Jr Boss is out and I am sorry for her loss but yet I am grinning once again today.

Maybe I will be an artist and make people happy too. Maybe I will figure out how to rescue a German shepherd named Max. I have been watching him for three days wondering about his fate. He has eyes that want to be happy.

I wonder how to make a better pork loin roast in the crock pot. One that will melt in my best friend's mouth and put him into a food coma on the couch.

The purple flowers are delightfully happy too and the bulbs I planted late earnestly stretch their arms out further –INCHES- further, every day.

Unhappiness and the statue

Every Friday morning, I mentally chew on the events of the previous week. It's an old habit of mine, an exercise I developed long ago with a boring history but the point is Friday is Digestion Day.

Digestion may help explain this week's turn of events and last week's incredible stress as last Friday I was denied time to process events. My sister got into a terrible car accident and my train went off the tracks with her.

With that said I am starting with last week's Monday, rather then this last Monday. I am remembering the statue from a dream when I was little. The question I ask myself today is, “How to remember the statue?"

I was interrupted by a hug around the shoulders from behind my chair.

I am at work and Jr. Boss is lovely today. Yesterday morning she was in offensive mode, but by afternoon she had switched to "All I ever wanted was to be your best friend!”. What she really wanted all along was her very own employee.

Tragically, for me, she has one at long last...

I came back from lunch to find that there were post notes on everything. Exaggeration not required. They were on the invoices, the check requests, a printed spreadsheet and on the computer screens. Yes, both monitors; no one was left out. Each scrawled out a different gleeful message "You are so awesome! Thank you for everything!!", "This spreadsheet looks AMAZING!!", "You got all of your coding right on the invoices! You are the best!", etc.

It was nice outside for lunch. I drove with the windows down. I never turn on the radio or plug in my ipod anymore. I like the quiet. It’s ‘real’ quiet. Not ‘grey maze of cubes and soft typing’ quiet but the ‘wind in my ears and the sound of my car rattling’ quiet.

Back at the office surrounded by hot pink and florescent yellow post it’s I felt the prickle of the sunburn on the back of my hands but I smiled. I couldn't help it. There is such grief in this world and 99.9% of it is self created. Yet we chew on it, trying to ignore the dry stale taste because we are hungry. Or at least, we think we are.

She is so unhappy. The turbulent waves of emotions, the happy friendly girl, the fiercely hypocritical child, the moody uncertain vicious woman –all reflections of her despair.

I thought about a different woman who visited this weekend. I thought about her despair. Her grief. I thought about her large heart, giving nature and self sacrificing love… and underneath her great unhappiness.

Unhappiness is the same as happiness because you must reach for it. It cannot come to you because you must choose your choice.

I remembered the words that are my bible, my gospel, my personal holy prayer;

‘Remember I am loved -If only by myself. Remember I am accepted -If only by myself’.
‘Remember to be brave and upright, that I may love me.’
‘Break my pride that I may be proud.’

How to remember the statue? I close my eyes, to see it, hear it, to remember. Remembering now I hear the shouting, how the sound echoes up and down. I see fists shaking out of the open windows, faces pressed against the windows with screens. Other faces hidden by stain glass windows and still more faces obscured by narrow windows hugged with shutters.

I do not like conflict and meanness. It frightens me. I see the harm inflicted.  In my memory, in one of many visits, my dream guide’s hand touched my shoulder, reminded me to relax. His voice was a shadow in my thoughts, “Remember, no one can ever really see someone else’s point of view. Every heart knows this and it is the source of all loneliness.”

How to remember the statue? Blinding light reflecting off its curves long puzzled my guesses of height, width. What is the statue? Why do we fight over it?

I went back last night, in my dreams, and stood alone at my window.

Reader would you like to know my window? My window is a large bay window with a window seat. The lower sections of the windows slid up and this lets in a friendly breeze, along with the anxious voices. I cannot lean out of my window like others can theirs though and I have often wondered how the view would change if I could.

I curled up on it last night and listened. I closed my eyes and listened to the voices arguing, crying, some singing; no one could agree and no one would agree.  They could not change the point of view of the other.

I tried to be still; to hear nothing but the sound of wind in my ears and rattle of my car in the morning.

I opened my eyes and looked at the statue. I saw marble trees engraved, branches reaching and wrapping. I saw fingers of light and writing that is mine. I saw the marks of tear stains and an imprint of my hand when I was five. I saw the green light of the east, filtering down through breathing trees to grace the ground with gold. The ripples in the stream were there with the glaring white salt flats behind them. I saw my best friend’s smile when I was seventeen the night before I left.

I saw my life. My precious small life.

Life is great…I thought, Life is good. How else can our hearts over come our fears of being alone, other then to know that we are alone? To know that even when we love and are loved; we are still alone inside. We have only ourselves for company.

Capitalist

I am sitting at my hidden corner cube and over hear the conversation on the other side of the wall. As a side note, people forget I am here and as this happens often, I have heard all kinds of office gossip from this side of the wall.

Today's argument is about Social Security. Onion Rings, argues that the monetary depletion is everyone's problem and the second, the self-proclaimed "Libertarian", (I wonder if he knows that it means to be a Libertarian...) argues that the younger generation should 'suck it up and pay it' for the sake of the older generation....

Sadly, I couldn't stop myself from blurting was "This is absolutely everyone's problem!"

Still out of sight, I hit myself in the head for the out burst. I was toast now.

The "Libertarian" descended on me, "It's the filthy capitalists! Its their fault! Are you one too? We are the ones who will work until we are old because you capitalistic kids went out and stole all your lives and then sold it for more then it was worth. That is what CAPITALISM means! To steal-"

The rant continued but I zoned out at this point. I let him go until his face was a little too flushed and I wondered about the octave his voice had reached.

I soothingly smiled my best smile and waited as he took a breath at last, "I see you feel involved with what is going on in the world."

He nodded jerkily and wiped his hands through his hair, pasting it back down with sweat, "Yes! It's very important these days."

At this opportune moment, The Boss walked by, slowing to eye us critically and I took this chance to coolly say, "Thank you Citizen '"Libertarian"." I then turned away, back to my desk. After an awkward pause, he walked off.

I know better then to react here. Everyone must be on medication.

Sunburn

I itch in my own skin. It is a feeling similar to having a sunburn and then laying on it without offering any apology to it, not lotion or a glass of water. A dry irritated anxious feeling.

To calm myself I go to my brother’s website and I look at the landscapes he has painted and posted online. I think about how the air tasted that morning. Moist, cool and quiet and the world is breathing with the paint… or in another one, it is choked by blinding baking sun light and the stillness is sitting on top of the heavy air.

But the feeling of rest is more just a memory of an echo lately.

We planted ivy and trees this weekend. When I opened my car door and stepped out yesterday afternoon, I reverently touched the one closest to me. Green... I stoked the vine and admired the waxy color of life.

Green… and somewhere there is not a world gone mad. There are not grey walls and bitter silent revolutions eating inside me. People are kind on the road again, Strangers are friends waiting to meet. The world is as I saw it only a couple years ago… That summer we spent chasing storms.

Somewhere I am myself again. Where I write and draw. I don’t fight off people eight to five. I don’t fall out of bed and forget to say good morning to the dawn. And there is somewhere that my skin will feel like my own again.

I opened the garage door in my mind and looked at my door. Open road on an open door. Something is calling me. I am on trains in my dreams lately, speeding heart stopping fast trains. And something is on the other side of the train that I need. I keep trying to get to the other side but the train car shakes and rattles over the tracks, throwing me back.

I had a wonderful weekend. I felt rested and safe. I felt like laughing and teasing. But the feeling came back anyway, Sunday, at 11pm. I ignored it yesterday. Today it is in my face -and now everyone else’s too.

What is nagging at the edges of my thoughts?

Ice Run

At least two to three times a day there is a run on ice.

Fellow co-workers herd each other up until there is a group of four or more. Then everyone heads to the other side of the building to fill their individual cup, jar, or bottle for water with ice at the company cafeteria.

Presently there is no charge for this service.

Personally I have a theory or two on these ice runs. First, the company doesn't allow smoking while on the company's property. People still need their break though and this is a good substitute.

Second, this is a lot like the popular table in the cafeteria of middle school and high school. You can tell when the project managers are happy with lessor employees because they invite certain ones and not others. Its funny sometimes, honestly, because they call out to Jack and Jill but then poor Bob is left out.

There is one smoker at work; or at least one non-closet smoker. He braves the cold shoulders of others and smokes out across the street. It looked a bit miserable a few days in February but now its cool and bright and spring. He stands out in the warming sunshine among the trees and timid green buds while the others head to the darkened cafeteria (its only open for food from 11am to 2pm) at the end of a dimly lit florescent hall and I wonder….

I know that cigarettes are bad and stinky and blah blah blah… but Is smoking that bad for you? I mean you, not your lungs, not the physical parts.

Meanwhile I have been invited to two ice runs in my four months. Have yet to decide if it lives up to the excitement.

A Car Named Katie

I bought my first car when I was twenty years old. Before that I relied on patient parents, crummy bus systems and boyfriends with twenty year old mustangs that sometimes worked.

My first car was a basic sedan, almost new (it had 500 miles on it), blue, power steering and manual everything else. The best part? It had a CD player.

It was the ultimate first car. I named her Katie.

Fast forward eight and a half years. My first car is still my only car.

Katie has been up and down the east coast from Pennsylvania to Georgia three times. I don’t remember how many times from Pennsylvania to Virginia. Katie and I have been to nearly every major city several times over on the east coast. We went cross country alone once. I drove all over south California for two years. Then the move to Utah came. Then I drove from Utah to Wyoming twice. Then Utah back to California several times….

Of course there were all the every day drives in whatever location I was at the moment and in whatever situation I had myself in as well. Maybe I hang on to the car because I am a Cancer, ‘home and hearth’ thing and all that. This car is my ship and anchor... but without the whole water deal and with wheels and axle. Passport not required (although I had one stashed and ready just in case), driver’s license highly recommended.

Anyway… Katie now rattles. She sometimes has a cough in the morning. The windows stick, permanently implanted dog hair is in the back seat and a nasty long scratch marks the outside –acquired when avoiding a semi on a little road four years ago. Randomly, lights will turn on in the dash board and I really don’t know why anymore.

She smells like really old Gatorade, shoes, burnt coffee, cigarettes (yes, yes, they are evil, bad for you and stinky, I got it), wet dog and books. I don’t know why books but that could be because I moved a few times and everything I owned had to fit in the trunk or be left behind. Books were usually the things I refused to not force fit. The back seat was out as the dog had dibbs.

There are too many cup holders, I never could figure out what a front seat did with one in each door, and three in the middle. The third one in the middle is filled with sea shells. Some are from the harbor in Baltimore, some from the Outer Banks, some from the Gulf of Mexico, Virginia Beach, Carlsbad, Mexico, and Santa Barbara. I think there are even a couple of shells I found while hiking in Utah.

From the rear view mirror hangs a dream catcher from Oklahoma, a necklace from an old friend I haven’t seen in seven years and a faded yellow ribbon for my dad and then for my brother.

I did get Katie a new pair of shiny ‘tready’ shoes at the beginning of this winter. And new brake pads… Her morning cough thing is new. That started about a month ago. Could be she is sick of the winter and smog and inversion too though.

I know I might have to replace this little blue car in the near future but I have to admit, I really am sad to see the car go. Even if it stinks. Even if it rattles… sometimes a lot.

Charlie

I have a cat named Charlie, or also known as 'little dude'. I raised him as I would a dog with the usual 'no', 'down', 'here'.... he listened the first six months or so but now he is deaf. His hearing is currently limited to only a few select sounds; the can opener, the back door opening and my alarm clock.

Sadly, the fact that I have not given him canned cat food in several months has not dulled his glee and hope. I, cruelly, have given him what I am really opening…. Like spinach. He is tenacious though. Someday, the can opener may be opening canned cat food once more.

The back door opening is really an unfortunate choice on his part. I don’t open it often so how he associated it with the concept of the ‘Great Escape’, I don’t know. You would think the regularly opened front door would get that honor. The uncomfortable part is that I only seem to open the back door when I am inappropriately clothed for neighbor viewing. The other awkward part is that Charlie… who is not equipped with any sort of common sense or any sense of self preservation, does not know what to do once he is outside. Which means, at 3am or 3pm and in rain or snow, he will make it about six feet out and then FREEZE. ‘The big world is awfully big’ and now what does a little portly black and white cat do? While he contemplates his choices, I get to stand there calling my suddenly frozen wailing cat (who is deaf to commands) until I give in and go pick him up… I did that once half naked.

The last one is the alarm clock. Also known as the morning and dinner bell. Every morning at 6:45am sharp, the yowling outside the bedroom begins. It does not matter to Charlie if I am sleeping in on Sunday, sicker then death, or just really really comfortable. He will eat immediately or I will pay for it.

Charles is not allowed in the bedroom for many reasons. One of the many reasons are things such as daylight saving time changes. Charlie does not accept daylight savings time changes. What does this have to do with his stomach?