Harpy of the High Plains

Garden Of Disappointments

2011-09-03T18:02:00.000-07:00

~It was a tough year for a garden. I'm not the only one saying that. I've heard it from several people.The cold hung on way into spring. You couldn't put any cucurbits in the ground, no cucumbers or melons or squash or pumpkins, or corn and you couldn't put tomato plants or pepper plants out, until very late. Then it turned scorching and scorched all summer, a vicious, unrelenting baking heat. Of course, I made my own share of mistakes which didn't help, either.I tried polyculture this year. It sounded perfect, to shove everything all in together and let it sort itself out, herbs and flowers and vegetables. The problems include inadequate sunlight, competition for nutrients and PESTS.It was a golden year for grasshoppers and bindweed, as well.The most successful crops I had were all grown in containers and beds. The garden yielded so much last year that I figure one, or two, of two things happened: I either destroyed the soil by tilling it this spring, or I underwatered. I only watered in the morning this year to avoid powdery leaf mold, but my corn is so tiny and already dried out, that it probably wasn't enough.So, I have some spaghetti squash, some tomatoes and peppers, some herbs and some amaranth. I will have more carrots and beets. I want to plant cole crops, too, and lots of greens. I've got tons of pink kale and arugula and radicchio and spinach. LOTS of chard. I expect to grow right through the winter inside, and to a good amount outside too with double-covered containers and frames and beds. If I do get a mild fall and winter I want to grow food.It's nice to be at the end of a disappointing season with 2 jobs, not dangling at the end of unemployment in despair. The garden gave me despair, too. There's little harvest. I expect I'll make Cowboy Jam out of all the tomatoes and give it for Solstice. Sweet and spicy with homegrown tomatoes. It's good to be leaving this sad growing season behind and embarking upon the fall. There'll be lots of intense work for Denver Green Streets, lots of appearances and events to attend. And fun with a new show at Dial Global. It's a relief to be working again.I love fall. It's a great season for a fresh start.

Sometimes It Takes Big Guns

2011-08-24T05:21:00.001-07:00

After two weeks of using every combination of holistic remedies and an extremely restricted diet, I give. Uncle. This sinus infection and the resulting migraines, toothache pain in every facial bone, vertigo and nausea, pounding earaches and general demoralization are no longer worth the fight.

As my acupuncturist and friend said, "Sometimes you got to go in there and kill Hussein before the UN can even start the negotiation process,"

I have thee best friends.

Money is scary right now, and I've been caught in the cycle of lay-low-until-you-HAVE-to-have-it-and-then-hope-things-will-improve strategy. I'm changing that to the: Make Room For Success and Health and Prosperity that is mine by Divine Right strategy. It engenders optimism, proactiveness and better health because it's less stressful.

Hey, nobody finds God on prom night. You lean on what you gotta lean on. Plus, that stuff actually tends to WORK.

So, off to the doctor for antibiotics.

While In Rome

2011-08-14T13:03:00.000-07:00

~

We ARE living in it.

The official glory of the "Republic" is constantly being trumpeted from the steps of the temples on Wall St and Pennsylvania Ave, but behind the walls powerful people are in continual struggle for even MORE power, and on back streets the slaves (i.e. "workers") are living in quiet despair and just trying to make the best of it.

This is the atmosphere that fed the growth of Christianity. In a way, Christianity was CREATED by Rome. Otherwise the Jews wouldn't have needed it. Jesus was a true man of the people, if I read right. I don't hear most bible-thumpers making noise about helping the poor, though. They mostly just want to tell non-believers how to live their private lives.

I just read a review of a book called, "The Power Years", about the second half of your life really being the time to create a world that you believe in (DUH). There's a book out, too, about how women will change the landscape of the world more than ever because they have more INFLUENCE than ever. Which we already know has been happening for a while now. But there is HOPE, is all I'm saying. We are living in Rome. With worse clothes and better meds. But it's ROME. And Rome fucking FELL. And a lot of people living in Rome who paid attention to current events did just fine. Rome did get sacked many times, attacked many times, and crumbled from the inside by corrupt tyrants who chomped away at it like giant termites. And still, we know that many people still kept going, living, doing. It's what humans do.

I keep a watch out for tyrants at every level. You do meet them everywhere. Most people I've worked with will quickly and effortlessly go from friendly and cordial to teeth-baring, backstabbing desperation in half a breath. The first instinct most people have to being tyrannized is to turn on each other rather than turning on the tyrant. It's sickening but that's what people do. I guess the real question is why it sickens me.

I'll tell you this, it's a lonely feeling.

It Gets Funnier

2011-08-13T15:35:00.000-07:00

~
Getting older is more than an exercise in philosophical thinking. I think it's good comedic training.

For example, one day you find you've fallen into the "old" category. It doesn't happen gradually. One day you're among the movers and shakers, wearing cool clothes, saying cool things. The next day someone asks how many grandchildren you have. It's like walking off the road runner's cartoon cliff with a blindfold on.

Then things start breaking down. Some are gradual, some hit quickly. One day you can read anything. The next day you can't see what's on the computer screen at work. It's like somebody slapped on a program in a blurry alien language. A damn good prank...that never goes away.

Teeth expire, too. The enamel starts to wear off, they crack, fillings fall out. Eating peanut brittle can be like opening an over-packed closet. And who doesn't love to watch somebody open a closet door and get buried in debris? It's funny.

Other things are more subtle, like younger women talking about "Your generation" and breezily tossing their hair back as they tell you they are "Totally way too hyper to like, KNIT,"

But the funniest is this: how transparent people become, especially those precious and irreplaceable younger people. It's as if they are wearing neon signs telling you exactly what not to say to them so as not to offend them, and the older you get, the brighter these neon signs become. Getting older gives you x-ray specs for the psyche. These come on gradually. They don't go away, but get stronger and stronger, taking on sharpness and clarity of detail and even, occasionally, startling 3-D effects. With your x-ray specs for the psyche, most people become reruns. By the way they walk and the first thing they say you know everything they think and do. This may be your own wisdom or it may be the effect of a burgeoning population who ALL watched "Friends". Doesn't matter, because even though "Friends" wasn't funny that often, your "older person" x-ray psyche specs can make you laugh every day.

Here's the mantra for aging: This is funny.

I Miss This Girl

2011-08-12T18:21:00.000-07:00

~

I haven't posted in almost a year.

Reason 1:

The desire to do my own indy media thang with my website, Denver Green Channel. I thought i would do more with it. Funny thing about all that time you have while unemployed-it's time without the usual money. It's enough money to pay bare bills and buy practical food and discount clothing when you absolutely need it...but you still might end up "Upside down", which I am at his point. I have no regrets. We have a solid foundation for a homestead here now. That's what it took.

Reason 2:

Denver Green Streets, which is funded by my friend Kurt, CEO of Planet Media, and very generously, too. He couldn't pay me and I didn't ask him to. But I write the feature articles for that beautiful web site, round up the video guests and coach them before taping, and spend lots of time with Kurt planning events and articles.

Reason 3: Mentioned in #1. Homestead! Learning how to keep chickens healthy. Classes upon classes in permaculture and vermiculture and garden planning. Buying lots of chicken wire and bird netting and ground cover and seeds, seeds, seeds.

Reason 4: Starting a podcast with Vince. Takes time, research, more time.

Reason 5: Job hunting.

Reason 6: Time to recover from corporate Hell.

Reason 7: Exploring what FREE TIME feels like. It feels really good, but the lack of income restricts it. AND it's unbalanced. I actually like to have a foil in the plot of my life, some force to push against. It's BEEN weather, bugs, money. So I'm ready to pin my frustration on a boss again-although I will NEVER tolerate one like the last one.

I was reading entries from last year and really enjoying them. I like this format. I'll be making entries again now.

I missed this me.

Why 50 Rocks

2010-12-12T05:50:00.000-08:00

At the Local Yarn Store the other day I mentioned to my knitting teacher that I would be turning 50. She gasped and blanched a bit.

"I'm going to be FORTY next week," she said, as though we were comparing injuries and she felt the need to one-up, "I HATE it,"

"I LOVE it!" I said.

She stared at me, gaping. "Why?" she demanded.

I stuttered in the moment, but now I've had a chance to really think about it. I have the unfair advantage of perspective. I love 50 for a few reasons:

1. I was a really, really sick little kid. Reaching 20 years old was a triumph. I still rely on meds to stay alive and I've been lucky enough to live in a time and a country where these have always been available to me.

2. I was a total loser as a kid. A failure in school, a failure socially-the classic loser dork. I had a chance to "show them" with irrefutable success. It's in the Arbitron records. Denver Colorado, market 22 nationally, air personality ratings in the rock and roll demographic, men 25-54: Number 1 ratings. I didn't just do it once. I did it many times in the 90's and 2000's. It's in the records. How many people get to have that kind of dork-vengeance? Radio now is becoming more and more obsolete, but in the 90's it still mattered. I got to make my little mark on the world.

3. I survived radio intact. Some people never get to walk away satisfied with what they accomplished. I did. And now I'm over it. I get to move on.

4. I have officially released myself from the pressure to "Be hot". This pressure is a little sneaky demon that steals a lot of pleasure and peace of mind from women at every age, and all the time in little ways. I'm off the hook. Doesn't mean I'll stop caring about appearance and propriety. It just means that I decide what I think is hot, and I don't HAVE to be. I'm 50. This is me. I've earned the right to like myself no matter what anybody else thinks-in particular, people who's ability to appreciate the inherent beauty of humans is at the mercy of the fashion mafia.

5. Life is a luxury. From the perspective of 50 this seems very clear to me. 50 is TWO lifetimes in the ancient world!

6. At 50 you see most people coming-like walking open books. You get to live shorthand. You know who and what you like and you don't waste time. Sometimes this can come off as abruptness. You stop people in mid-stream bullshit and cut to the chase. The subtext here is as follows: "Look, SONNY, I have more time behind me on this planet than I have in front of me. And you're wasting it. Please get me what I want and skip all the bullshit. No offense,"

7. Unfair perspective advantage here: I have never been more loved, and I have never loved more. This is the unfair advantage of being a second-class citizen to so many people in my previous years, and been privy to so much pain because of that. My life is different now. I'm a lucky girl. My man is amazing.

So, there's my big 7 reasons to love 50. Everybody is unique so everybody feels differently about still being alive at various life junctures. For me, still being above ground after half-a-century...that's a Good Day.

EMANCIPATION

2010-09-23T20:31:00.000-07:00

The best news ever...

I have been released...and in the best way possible.

I know there will be some rough waters up ahead (there would have been anyway) but I'm just going to enjoy myself.

Truth To Power

2010-09-21T08:11:00.000-07:00

This will be a great writing assignment. I am assigning myself the job of writing a truthful, eloquent, clear and calm assessment of what I went through yesterday, of what I watched others go through, of the absolute asinine ridiculousness of it all. It must be respectful, tactful and instructive. And it will fall on deaf ears.

But it must be done.

The beauty of this is that I am not afraid to lose. Well, I do have some butterflies, but the truth is that I am in a position unlike most people. I do not have the burden of children. I live well within my means and can even do much better. We're setting up a homestead here, and there has been a lot of investment and does need to be more. But we are well on our way. Homesteading, once you've thrown down some structures and a few straw bales and learned some skills, is not expensive-at least, not at our level. It just takes time and work. We won't have a heard-just three or four birds and a few rabbits, the compost pile, and gardens, greenhouse (to build next year) and the cold frame...I may even build another cold frame yet. But we'll be more self-sufficient, and I want to see how independent we can be.

I want to work just part-time at a few things for a while...no fucking "career path", no burning drive, no wartime philosphies beating the crap out of me and my coworkers. I am TIRED. I am FRIED. I need OUT.

And I need to move on and grow in my own true direction, to use my true voice. I MUST.

143 days.

Since I have the ability to present truth to power, I am responsible to do it. I must pick up the torch where it smolders on the ground and deliver it to a reluctant emperor, who wishes only to keep everyone admiring his non-existent new clothes. I have to be the one to do it. I am the most Free.

Excellent News-of TWO kinds

2010-09-17T18:15:00.000-07:00

After the CT scan I was told to wait for the Doc's call for results. Her first words were, "Excellent news. No masses, no infection, no inflammation. The sack of fluid is much too tiny to justify further treatment. You have some scarring, which we expect in life-long asthmatics who've had pneumonia. You're not short of breath because of the fluid-you're short of breath because your asthma is not under control and we need to be much more aggressive with that."

Cool. The sack of fluid, however tiny, FEELS as if it's the size of a feed bag. But this is the 3rd scan I've had and nobody's been able to find anything else, so I'm very happy.

The second kind of good news? The way I felt leaving work tonight. Or, before I was going to leave.

I realized I was out of steam and that I just couldn't work anymore. Pushing myself wouldn't have worked. I've relied on that for most of my career, like I did when in the back country with my asshole ex...pushing myself past my limits. I grew up doing this, too, because I wasn't good enough at anything so I tried WAY TOO HARD ALL THE TIME.

It's almost like that button for "push past the limits", that setting of ELEVEN, has worn off and will not respond anymore. I'm no longer capable of it. Now I am observing my limits. It just sort of happened. I find that I have LOTS of boundaries and I'm sensitive about them being walked on, and that's OK. I had to ignore the violation of my boundaries, as we all have to do for periods in life, and like everyone else, I have a comeuppance. The pendulum swings. I get bratty. I say NO.

But here's the Good Part: I wanted to come home. I wanted to see my boyfriend, I wanted to see my dogs and my garden, I wanted to be where I BELONG. I wanted the workday to end and I wanted to be HOME. My heart was not in my work. My heart was here at home and with my Mom and my dear friends.

I realized at that moment that I had truly crossed the bridge into recovery from this fucked up "achievement" culture.

It's most excellent news.

Lung Thing 2

2010-09-16T18:05:00.000-07:00

Called the Dr's office to find out if I needed to chase down my referral for the CT scan. The nurse was very proud to announce that she'd "Put a rush on it," and that I'll have a CT scan tomorrow morning at 8AM. The office is nice and close, and quick. When I thanked her she replied "Well, you are welcome," with the royal graciousness of Queen Elizabeth II. The CT technician was impatient with my lack of knowledge. "Will this be with or without?" she asked. "Um..." I said uncertainly, "You mean with contrast fluid?" "Yes!" she snapped. I wondered how she imagined that I owed her a quick answer to a question that I didn't understand at first, but that's medical people for ya. I.T. people have better manners anymore.

I had told my boss of my situation yesterday. After realizing how easily I get short of breath now, I had to cancel my weekend appearance in Ft Collins-I simply would get too worn out. I got an e-mail in response to this from the promotions director, asking why I was canceling so close to the date. I asked her to come talk to me in person and e-mailed my boss, asking him to "back me", since I was going to have a CT scan tomorrow and had no idea where it would go from there.

The promotions director came in the studio. I asked her if she's talked to the boss. "No, " she said, "He wants to know why you're canceling now,"

"It's medical, he knows about it, and it's private,"

She seemed surprised by this. The boss e-mailed me back to tell me he "thought it was on Tuesday," when I'd said no such thing to him or given him any indication that I had any appointments yet.

I also gently mentioned to the promotions director, "You know, I haven't canceled an appearance at the last minute in 6 YEARS,"

She threw her hands up, literally, "Hey, whatever. He just wanted to know why. I don't need any details,"

I'm short of breath and it hurts. I'm cranky, I'm a little scared and I'm really tired.

I hope soon I can take a deep breath again...that would feel SO GOOD...

Lung Thing

2010-09-15T19:35:00.000-07:00

So, this deep rattling and discomfort I've had for a couple years now, in the area where I've had pneumonia for 2 years in a row, finally got looked at. It had been bugging me more and more. I couldn't lay on my side for a few weeks, so I replaced my mattress. That only helped a little. I still can't sleep on my right very well. It's painful.

After the body scan came back with "No Significant Anomalys" in my whole body cavity, I was more optimistic. But when I couldn't walk Ani around the block, I knew I had to take action.

The nurse, on the phone, said that the Doc said that the X-ray said that I have "A small sack of fluid" but she couldn't tell me if it was IN my lung, ON my lung, or what. The Doc wants a CT with the contrast fluid soon...and the nurse said that the "girl who does the referrals" would probably get to mine by the end of the day Thursday.

I am uncomfortable. I get tired easily and get short of breath easily. I have a little pleurisy. It's really, REALLY hard to sneeze-I can't get enough air IN to do it. Hurts.

Had a dream last night about 2 candles on my desk-one little more than a spreading puddle of black wax, veining out, the flame spluttering. The other about 2/3 of the way down and burning unevenly but white and still burning strong.

I had the temptation to shove the white candle against the black one and dump it off the back of the desk-then it occurred to me that it might start a fire and would definitely make a mess, and that it was just a bad idea.

In the tale of Godfather Death candles represent souls, and when the candle goes out the person dies. I'd also read a dream a woman had in a hospice where she dreamed of a candle on the windowsill which snuffed out...and then another candle lit on the other side of the window. She died shortly after.

It gives me some chills, but I am cautiously optimistic. I have had this intuitive feeling for a while that I will either die at 52 or go through a significant transformation at 52...and astrologers have told me that that is when I finish a book and get published. I'd rather do that, obviously.

I think the two-candle metaphor represents my life at work. Well, the black, almost-out candle is my life at work...I've made work my life since I went out on my own. But prematurely dumping this gig would result in a mess and possibly be too destructive, especially if having insurance is so important right now. The other white candle, only about 2/3 of the way down, may represent life I still have left. That would be lovely! I will really dig being an old lady, I think.

But "We don't deal the deck down here," as Jack Nicholson said in the Witches of Eastwick, "We just play the percentages,"

What I was Missing

2010-09-12T20:21:00.000-07:00

A friend of mine recently talked to me about her life, and what she'd "Been missing,". She has a great marriage and has taken care of her sick husband for many years; she's ended up in a technical job that, like so many jobs, just SUCKS, and she's got seriously itchy feet. She feels that she's been missing out on a lot of things, and I don't blame her.

I'm not one of those who put anything aside for later, like so many people I've heard about. I've never let an opportunity escape. I didn't want security, I wanted Absolute Irrefutable Proof Of Success, and I got it. I heaped it all on my plate and ran with it all, ran to beat the wind. I wanted It All in terms of Creative Career, and I got it. I've accomplished a lot. I achieved what most people never get to do. And I've been exploited, back-stabbed, abused, hoodwinked, fucked over in general. Overall, the experience has been 50-50...half surprising windfalls, and half surprising abuse. When it comes to earning a living creatively, I did it. And I am DONE.

I am interested in expressing my creativity, every singly MINUTE. But I am no longer interested in making money with it. I am no longer interested in the culturally accepted idea of "success". I had it. I rode the gain of it. I watched the way others perceived it. I learned a lot about the median understanding and respect that's out there, and I am DONE.

For my entire life I missed out on one thing: being home. Really being home, belonging, being accepted and valued and cared for, exactly as I AM. And then I got LUCKY. I fell in love with The Right Man.

That was the only thing I was missing out on: belonging and being valued as my natural self. 90% of people in my life have been, at the very least, judgmental and unkind. But this man is kind. He loves me. And he's Home, because I love him.

This has made my life complete.

I realize this because I've got this rattle in my right lung. It makes me short of breath. It comes and goes, but it's staying closer lately. I'm more and more uncomfortable. Even though my body scan showed "no significant" anomaly's, including masses, I'm still nervous.

But I'm also grateful...so grateful I can't even get my brain around it.

After all those years dodging flat-out narcissism (in myself-impossible to avoid in others) with a Killer Work Ethic, with lengthy philosophical diatribes on media and art and meaning, I somehow got lucky enough to fall right on top of the Man Who Loves Me.

So, I can officially say that I have not missed Anything.

I don't need to jump out of a plane or water ski in Thailand. My bucket list looks VERY different from most people's, I would imagine.

Here it is: make a home, have a home to come to, love and be loved.

And I HAVE that.

And I do NOT take it for granted, not for one second...

Little Deuce Coop

2010-08-30T08:46:00.000-07:00

I need to make a sign for the chicken coop that simply says, "Little Deuce" with a couple of hearts in the middle...or a couple of eggs with hearts. The coop is up on cement blocks, gravel underneath, and next we'll be dissembling the dog kennel and using the chain link panels to construct a nice run for them. We'll even prop up dead plum tree stumps as roosts for them. I want HAPPY, healthy chickens.

Last week I worked on my craft room and dusted. This resulted in 3 migraines and a sinus infection. I don't handle dust well.

This morning I re-dug the bed that dried up (Bed 2) with compost and organic fertilizer, yanked out all the weeds after raking the straw mulch off and then watered it liberally. I'm not going to plant winter crops (carrots, hardy greens, etc) until the 8th of September, in about a week when the moon is new and starts waxing. Planting by the moon is a fun experiment, and carrots and hardy greens grow all winter. I may throw in radishes, too.

The other bed I'll cover and try to keep the Casper pumpkin plant growing. I'd love to have some little white pumpkins with orange flesh; maybe there's still time.

I transplanted the catnip out of the container and into Bed 1, with the Casper pumpkins, lettuce, radishes and spinach.

I transplanted the almost-dead mint into the Wanna-Be Mint Bed at the front; it's a strip of gross clay soil that hugs the house on the West side and gets less sun, more shade and stays wetter than any other ground on the property,

I didn't water the garden patch-it got a good soaking last night and today we might get rain.

The popular theory is that JD and Ken and maybe our friend Chad will drop by tonight for bison BBQ and corn out of the garden. You never know until it happens, so you can't get too excited or too restful.

Of course I have more work stress, but this time it really is NOT my fault and I can prove it. Also, I'm thinking about this another way. Now I think of myself as In Recovery.

Feedback from friends seems to indicate that I may actually be addicted to Anxiety itself.

So, when the anxiety surfaces I listen without denying, I respect it as real and give it time and attention-what is this about? I ask. Then I give the cause compassion and respect-Sure, that could make me anxious. Then I take action on it-What do I want to believe that would relieve this anxiety? (I got that from Abraham Hicks) I decide what would make me feel better to believe, and I let that roll around for a while. I would like to believe that I see through him entirely and I'm at ease with my situation no matter what happens, and when I think about this my anxiety melts away.

It's recovery, so it's a process. It may take longer than I'd like. But at least I have a process for dealing with it. Most people are not good advisers on this subject. They mean well, but they often say the worst things and give the worst advice-even people who love you. That's just how it goes...

Next also, cold frame! Right off the deck where the containers are. I'll move the herbs indoors (all that I need to move) and move the containers, stack the straw bales in first a platform, then a frame for the platform, then fill with Good Dirt and get some PVC (read: Hail Proof) panels and prop them on top with some kind of system that makes them easy to prop up and to create venting. The I'll plant...well, I guess it can be ANYTHING...

The Transition

2010-08-27T07:43:00.001-07:00

I've joked with friends that I want to slow down....RIGHTNOW!

It's an interesting rolling log to dance on...work is competitive, hostile and toxic. Home needs more love. Dogs, the yard, the set-up of the chicken run, the cold frames and the inside of the house all need more love. I need repair time. I need to put myself back together, and I can only spare a little time here and there, but I'm also spending money on it. Acupuncture and shrink sessions are exactly and precisely what I need, but they cost money-kind of a LOT. But they are necessary. I still buy lunches out in a hurry-it's a lot of money that I should be saving. But I just can't keep up with everything. When to can? When to clean? When to weed? I need to hit Green Festivals and do appearances and now and then I even really need to see a FRIEND.

The transition is just beginning, so I'm trying to stay calm. Calm while work becomes more and more, literally, like the Marines (complete with Personality Boot Camp). Calm while the harvest starts to harden on the stalk in the garden. Calm while the dogs aren't getting enough attention or walks. Calm while I'm praying for closure and having to act like a robot to get through the day.

It's a mantra. It's a chant. It's the breathing pattern you have when canoeing across a big lake in a storm...a pattern that keeps you focused on survival. It's the little song Ripley sang to herself in the first Alien movie as she strapped herself down in the shuttle seat before ejecting the alien..."You ....are....my lucky.....star....lucky, lucky, lucky, lucky, lucky...."

No Hail

2010-08-16T07:56:00.000-07:00

No hail will pelt and pilfer. No hail will vaporize. No hail will steal or maim or kill.

I've got butternut squash-maybe a half-dozen...they need a few more weeks. So do the acorn squash, although they are ahead of the butternut. If things go well for the next 3-4 weeks, I won't have to buy squash this winter at ALL.

The pumpkins are epic. I've got at least a dozen beauties, 3 of 'em bigger than basketballs. All are turning orange.

I've even got one birdhouse gourd, though mostly I've just got the warty ones.

I've tented boxes and plastic over my best and most mature fruit, just in case, but I tell you I don't WANT hail this year. No killer hail, no trips across this great land that suck all the life from me, no wives to ruin crops.

And no hail.. Leave us be this year, and I will be gifting most all of our friends with their Halloween Jacks, and we'll be STOCKED. I'll roast gallons of seeds and blend up jars and jars of pumpkin butter.

No hail. PLEASE.

The Stats

2010-08-10T11:26:00.000-07:00

After observing the way many people give stats on their Homesteads, I figure it's time for me to take a look.

Old Misfit Ranch

1/4 acre, garden about 1/10 of an acre:

Sweet corn, in tassel
Hopi Blue Corn, in tassel
lotsa cucumbers
a few peppers
eggplant, non-producing
at least 1 dozen pumpkins, already turning orange...big ones, too!
acorn squash & butternut squash (fruiting late, it seems to me)
gourds (I grew the wrong kind for crafting, but will dry what I've got and make an attempt to make something from them)
beans, in blossom but not fruiting
tomatoes, LOTS, but still all green
lots of sunflowers, not the nice big head seed-bearing kind. Will grow those next year...but the ones we have out front do make a nice substitution for privacy cover of the front deck after hail took our plum trees last year
Ecchinasea, just 3 plants doing well...I want a whole HEDGE.
Lotsa mint and herbs...will transplant my catnip out of the container...the lemon balm and rosemary will come indoors for the winter, as will the lemon verbena. Everything else will just get harvested.

This or next month: cold frames, with cast-off patio doors we already have and straw bales.

Before winter sets in: chicken coop to be ready for March...also a rabbit hutch to start my Angora wool operation (tiny, at first)

Indoor planting this winter.

3 dogs, non-working. They are elderly and often don't make it outside to "go potty". This issue alone is very expensive. The floors are already ruined; the carpet has been taken out but we have not put in hardwood floors. That's next year, we hope. Meantime, the Potty Patch helps to corral the mess, but it requires pads to stay hygienic and bearable, and those are 29.00 a package. We go through 2 a month, plus multiple washings of the other parts and cleanup AROUND the general area when they "miss". We will give these dogs the best quality of life that we can while they are here, but as the pack loses members we will NOT be replacing them. 1 dog will be the limit for OMR in the future.

1 cat, non-working. She watched mice run across the floor this winter with the detached bemusement of Cleopatra watching the palace gardeners. We use pine product kitty litter, but it IS impactful. We used to have 3 cats. One is plenty, but in the future I want a MOUSER. Hopefully a Maine Coon Cat. I'm from Maine, I love the breed, and they tend to be good mousers even in the home. Also, they like dogs and lots of activity.

2 trucks and we need both-our hours are upside down to each other. But trucks can actually help GENERATE revenue as well, and these are both paid for AND kept up.

JUNK FROM HELL. The ranch is extremely disorganized, messy and chaotic. It needs massive amounts of care and attention to really become a Home. This is VERY difficult to do when working demanding jobs and trying to build a Homestead at the same time, but it's crucial.

This fall and winter:

Move herbs inside.

Amend the goat patch after the frost with compost and manure and rototill.

Plant carrots and hardy greens in the raised beds.

Build cold frames and start winter crops.

Do lots of work INSIDE the house.

In spring: chickens, and if we're down 1 dog, maybe 2 rabbits. No rabbits until then. But chickens are definitely the thing for spring.

Start seedlings much earlier too.

Rosebushes. Not for the flowers so much as for the rose HIPS, which are a great source of vitamin C. I want a giant hedge in back of the house.

BIG HEAD sunflowers in the front yard, mint to take over the area of shade next to the house, prickly pears for fruit and protection around the front and under windows. Working toward a massive hedge of cone flowers out front, too-a pharmacy in the front yard.

That'll be plenty.

The Magic: Chicken Coop

2010-08-03T08:56:00.000-07:00

I needed something concrete, apparently. Yesterday I was anxious and depressed all day and felt inadequate for letting them make me feel inadequate.

I can't lose, right? So why this mood crap? Why can't I sail through these choppy seas as effortlessly as a catamaran?

Every boat can capsize...I don;t need to mention the Titanic and the Edmund Fitzgerald, but it makes me feel better to do that. A much better analogy is this: you can't cross a stream on foot without getting wet. The stream must be crossed. That's just how it is-it's ICKY and you've got to get through it.

BUT...this morning I found a rope to help me across. That rope is hope of a chicken coop.

It goes like this: if (when) I get fired, then I don't have to deal with the mind games, thinly-veiled insults, assaults to my confidence, the gas-lighting. I can start another phase of handmade life; smaller, quieter, more frugal and careful in some ways, much richer and more lush in other ways.

If I DON'T get fired when I expect, then we can get a chicken coop. A nice, pre-made deluxe model with 3 nest boxes and easy access to the nest boxes, easy to clean, etc. It will weather the winter while we plan for chicks in March. We can get lots of straw bales to build the cold frames. We can also look into a hutch, and get fencing to build the chicken and bunny runs. We can get the dogs to Pet Smart for nice baths. If I get fired, they go to the dog wash.

If I just keep thinking: Chicken Coop...then I can bear the idea that they'll drag this out.

Shield...

2010-08-02T06:28:00.000-07:00

I needs it.

Winds are changing on the job front, which in my field is predictable, like the seasons. You can absolutely count on losing your gig in my business, and you can often count on the demoralizing process that tends to go with it...the "suspension" and other demeaning mind games that accompany it.

I sent out a call to friends with a Dead Job Pool in order to take back some of the power in the situation and ALL of the humor. It's a beautiful strategy, created by the amazing Man in my life who's also a veteran of the biz.

Anyway, I need Focus. First of all, the atmosphere is very crappy to go into, so I need a good shield. This shield must be one that sustains me AND enables me to do my best work. The game being played now is "You Are Inadequate For This Job", which is meant to...I'm not sure what it's meant to do. Maybe to shake my confidence in order to make me bottom out completely so they'll have an easier time firing me, or maybe it's meant to spur me into superhuman action (that gear has been ground so many times that it no longer works...I've gotten so many e-mails in CAPS, SCREAMING, that I can no longer summon the appropriate level of "motivation" or panic. I'm TIRED of being yelled at and tired of being disrespected, to the point where I'm actually numb). So I need a shield against the mind game of My Inadequacy. Here's what THAT is: I know how to do this job. I'll do my very best. Not for the screaming THEM, but for Me. But I'll do it with delight, with joy.

Also, I have other gigs and other things I will jump right to. No problem. Other projects that will start up. And then there's the Homestead, the Man, the Dogs. I've got poi to sew. I've got a home studio to resurrect and a voice career to re-start in a new way...with a stack of Denver Woman magazines in which my picture takes up a full page. I've got someone to write for. And my own little Channel to love and nurture. I'll actually be busy.

The outside of the shield is "I love this job anyway and you can't make me do it badly," The inside of the shield is, "I love many things and they are waiting for me,"

Therefore, I can't lose.

This income is nice. I'll get another, it won't be as nice at first, but I won't have to deal with that atmosphere, either. Eventually I'll adjust to the new income and improve it, so no big. I'll have my own true voice, which will be a new adventure. If I have to deal with the atmosphere, then I get the income.

I can't lose.

That's my shield: I can't lose.

Blur

2010-07-23T21:04:00.000-07:00

I've been cutting back. Life became to blurry. There's a thing that happens when you've been between gigs before, the feeling that you need to Do As Much As Possible Now so that later you'll have something to go to. It's actually like a social/artistic/personal savings account of sorts.

When the Fox fired me I had sunk everything into that gig, and I found even my heart empty. My whole life seemed hollow. I had lost income, audience, a chance to practice my craft and a sense of connection to my community. I had thrown it all into the one basket marked, "Succeed in radio or ELSE be the big loser everybody always said you were".

I was a terrible, very terrible time. I suffered it too much. But I learned much, too. And I grew.

So, now I've been reaching out a lot. Too much. I overreached, overdid it, and I'm very, very tired. I need a break. I need rest in a serious way, and I need to cut back on commitments.

It's not so hard. I won't MC haflas anymore. I will only take classes once a month, and private ones at that. I've made my health a priority once again and also home life.

Plus, I'm an aspiring homesteader now. I need to put the time into weeding and putting food up this fall. I need to consider what it's going to be like with livestock and how to manage the house better. So, slowing down is just part of the process of homemaking and homesteading. It's a lifestyle shift, but not a dramatic one. As we head into the dark months where things need to slow down, I WILL slow down.

No more Blur. Now, Detail...nice and slow.

I Wish I Liked My Parents

2010-06-20T10:42:00.000-07:00

I really do.

It's painful, but not as painful when I lived with them and could never measure up EVERY DAY. Now it's just during phone calls and visits that I'm reduced to a second-class person.

They would both deny that, and say that I was being unfair. I learned from them not to stand up for myself-it would backfire horribly. Whatever I was feeling, it was wrong. I needed to get over it. And how could I not recognize all they had done for me-didn't that mean they loved me?

I keep hoping for forgiveness for my failings, for reconciliation of some kind...but there can't be a reconciliation where no hurt occurred. My hurt, or my damage is my own fault, so how could that apply to them? And why hadn't I stayed in school and applied myself? And why was I so "emotional" all the time? What was wrong with me, anyway? My failings are something to bring up consistently-failure to send cards is a big one. But before that it was the grades, the job, my weight even.

Oh, they concede, radio. Well, it's nor a very secure job. No job is secure anymore, I tell them. They sigh, supposing that's true...and then tell me how great they're insurance is. My father just gave me a diatribe on how great chiropractors are, and why didn't I go do that? My insurance won't pay, I explained. Oh, he said, because...and went on about how wonderful it was.

He then jumped back to the subject of the baby (his new step-grandchild) that he can talk about at great length. And how he even got a Father's Day card from HER...and his wife. How nice was that? (I don't send them- I call instead) He interjected that the call from me was the Most Precious, though...because I am his only child. You're my only child, you know, he says. Yes, I say. I know.

What is it about them that feels so distant, that has me feeling perennially disenfranchised? Probably it IS me. I'm probably making it up, to get attention. Like the doctors said might be true with the asthma. "Doing it to get attention". That was frowned upon as pathetic. "You just want attention".

Yes. The kind where I'm SEEN, HEARD, and EXIST. These people put no value on my accomplishments. They don't understand why I'm not more like them, and still hold me accountable for being Not Like Them for every moment of my childhood that I didn't measure up...which was most moments of my childhood.

I wish I could be closer to them, but I can't Be Like Them. I'm just not. And what I am will never be good enough for them. It's pretty literally the Ugly Duckling story.

After I talk to them on the phone or visit I always have the familiar haunting feeling of Failure. I outgrew that as a theme. But they're still attached to it. It makes a distance between us that I can't bridge, and it's not for lack of trying and breaking my own heart to do it. I'm done with that now. I no longer break my own heart for them. You'd think I'd be able to see better now, to really discern what's going on, to fix it, to find a way to be good enough for them and then be close to them. But it really is never going to happen. They do what THEY can, and I do what I can, and we can only get so close, and that's it.

Still, I wish I liked my parents. I always will.

UPDATE:

I posted on Dr. E's Face Book page. She wrote about Respect, and how it's about being SEEN. I wrote a comment that people bloom when you really focus on SEEING them, and that I now understood that was because people can be open when they're being respected. Dr. E posted to me, saying that was a very "profound insight".

I am never going to get a better validation than THAT. It validated me, and it came from my IDOL. On FATHER'S Day. If that's not the Universe letting me off the hook, then I'm going to PRETEND that it is.

I mean, CLOSE-E-FRICKIN'-NUFF.

Raised By Wolves

2010-06-18T08:08:00.000-07:00

My parents were staunchly anti-religious when I grew up. Neither of them mentioned the Bible except when I brought it up, and then only to explain to me that it was "The history of the Hebrew people". My father would sometimes comment, "People were on this planet for thousands of years before that book and they managed to survive. You don't need a book to tell you how to act," They rejected all of the ideas of afterlife, reward and punishment from a deity. Be Kind, they said, Work Hard, Tell The Truth, you know how, and no one needs to tell you Why.

This was in a tiny rural Maine town with four churches and one bank.

I went through many phases with religion, confusion about spirituality, explorations of different faiths. I was a Jesus freak at 11 and then dropped out, which helped to cement my status as Town Pariah. I dated a guy in Boston because he was Baha'i and I could go to Jamaica Plain, Mass. to a meeting of the Black Muslims, to a Seder, to Catholic Mass, to a Baptist revival. I've since also gone to Wiccan blessings and to Buddhist mandala ceremonies. I've explored a lot of ideas about how to deal with the uncertainty of the universe, the roller coaster of life and the certainty of death, and at this point I've returned-somewhat-to my roots.

Lots of people do that as they get older-returning to roots. Even Clapton went back to Robert Johnson several decades after recording "Crossroads".

My first encounter with death was a dead bird. It had flown into a window and died. I was four or five. I wept, mourning the little bird. Why? I asked my mother, Why won't it wake up? Is it hurt? Why won't it fly? Will it ever fly again?

No, my mother said, very gently, Everything Dies.

The necessary conversation followed; that meant Us, too. We were all going to die, but it was a Long, LONG time away.

I remember my sadness and some depression over it, too. And the fear. I wanted consolation, I wanted a Promise that death was OK. There was no OK. Death isn't what we want, but it's what we get. Deal with it. Grow up and work hard. For now, Let's eat. Classic New England post-Transcendentalist programming.

I was raised with the religion of Work, but I have rejected a lot of that. Systematic exploitation over decades of work did that. My parents were military and state employees, and they still get the best health care, plus retirement money. The system has changed and I didn't follow that kind of a path; I've been exploited. I'm fried on the idea that work will make me free. It hasn't.

I also reject the idea that death is bad but it's what we get. I like the idea that I don't need a mythology to make me feel OK about death. My Mom was right: Everything Dies. But my parents were wrong about death being bad. I wonder if that's not just the knee-jerk reaction to religious poisoning: religion is bad, there is no heaven or hell, there are no answers so death is bad, etc. I don't need a heaven or hell. I don't need to believe that my spirit will go on. Even if it does in some way, the rest of me, in fact all of me that I know and recognize, will be gone anyway.

But that isn't BAD. It's right and proper. And if my body fears death, that does not make me a coward. The body's JOB is to stay alive and it wants to continue doing that as best it can for as long as it can. You can't blame it for that. But my mind can know that death is not bad. It's completion. And it's not up to me.

I don't believe in fate, and I don't believe in absolute self-determination. I believe in both. You can make the best decisions and set your best intentions, and you should. But ultimately, you can't control a meteorite. Or a plague. Or a tornado.

Only Nature can. But the comfort for me, the girl raised on National Geographics, is that I am a PART of Nature. Nature does what it must and what it should. And it takes me with it. I am in many ways along for the ride-maybe in every way! That makes me laugh...that an ant could imagine herself a powerful entity moving all those leaves, when we would say she was "acting on instinct" as programmed by her species. Wouldn't it be funny if we were actually doing the same thing? Yes, it's a comfort...

I get that from my religion.

Hail Is A 4-letter Word

2010-06-11T20:35:00.000-07:00

I mean, DAMMIT!

I was in the shower, enjoying the rain on the roof as the water poured over my head. Yummm. Then the pattering turned to "thunk" "thock" "THUNK!"...... "THUNKTHUNKTHOCKTHOCK!!!!!"

I leaped out of the shower and pulled on dirty clothes out of the laundry basket. Threw on my floppy garden hat. Raced into the yard shoeless, yelling at the sky like Sigourney Weaver yelling at the computer named "Mother" in the first Alien movie, "Dammit, Muther! Guddamit!!"

The worst part is, I don't have enough protective fabric and I'm not set up to drape it over the garden, either. I pulled the herbs in off the deck and covered the pumpkins and the other herbs in the big containers. That's all the covering I had.

I need to face facts here. Wheat Ridge is not Denver, but even in Denver hail is a fact of life. Here in Wheat Ridge you can build a calendar around it. I need to get a grip.

At least I can make good use of all those dead plum trees. Lots of sticks to hold up some kind of fabric to protect everything.

In the morning I must go and survey the carnage. And I must do so with a little dignity.

Wish me luck with THAT one...

Radio Blog Entry: Exciting Exotic Death Gods

2010-06-09T14:23:00.001-07:00

http://blogs.995themountain.com/rknight/2010/06/09/exciting-exotic-death-gods/

The Mega-Spaz

2010-06-08T07:24:00.000-07:00

People have been asking me what it was like to see Dr. Clarissa Pinkola Estes in person and to meet her.

They are two different things. I'll break it down like this.

As magical, beautiful, warm, lyrical, exactingly ferocious, heart-stopping and heart-grabbing, heart opening and heart warming, as nourishing and astonishing and incredible as you can imagine her-you cannot imagine. She's beyond it all. She takes your breath away. She's like a boddisatva, or like my understanding of a boddisatva: a being exalted above the usual human condition who does not leave the spiritual neighborhood to move to fancier spiritual digs, but stays in the old 'hood doing spiritual community service. She's physically gorgeous and richly expressive and lyrically poetic and accessible and incredibly generous and brilliant. She's a Goddess, O.K.?

So here's me meeting the Goddess: the ultimate mega-spaz.

First of all, I feel a profound compassion for celebrities. We love them for their work and we Imagine them to be the way we would like them to be-we project our own complexes onto them, which is unfair and abusive. I've seen celebrities trying to be magnanimous and kind to some real Trolls, to people who thoughtlessly suck up their energy, and celebrities are just human beings with just human amounts of energy. So right from the get-go I feel like a turd for even Getting In Line to get a poster signed by a Goddess.

And yet-I selfishly do. Because I have an opportunity to tell this woman how her book changed my life, in more than one way and on countless occasions GAVE ME LIFE, restored me, healed me, strengthened me. How do you thank someone for all that? It's actually impossible. I fell down on the task. It was too big for me.

I didn't manage to hang on to ONE SHRED of poise or dignity. My heart was pounding, I shook, I wept, and when she actually gave precious energy in relating to me, to asking kind questions and such, I was just barely able to answer like a human being. Oh, I was pathetic. I failed pathetically in making it a bearable experience for both of us. I felt just aweful about that. I still do. She deserved so much better. She deserved never having to deal with my lameness. Of course, of COURSE, she was so kind and warm and magnanimous. She's a Goddess. So there ya go.

On the way home I sobbed big ragged wet messy sobs, and here's why: I had a distinct feeling, not of shame but of relief, and a very specific kind of relief. Dr. E. rescued me so many times, in so many ways, it's beyond evaluation. The feeling I was unable to express to her overtook me. It was the relief of a 4-year-old girl snatched from a burning house. I wept like that child in the arms of the fireman who saved her. It was the almost-hysterical relief the 4-year-old feels at realizing she was nearly obliterated, and the overwhelming gratitude toward the fireman who carries her away.

I'm sorry I made a mess of meeting this woman, but I now know why I did. I was awash with gratitude beyond the telling, beyond the expressing, beyond even the knowing of the thing. I was too locked up by this enormous gratitude to tell of it in human terms.

I'd love to apologize to her but an apology is an appeal for absolution, and I do not want to ask her for one more stinking thing. She's given me so much that I'm still helpless before the magnitude of it.

See? Told ya. SPAZ.

Thank You, Jenna

2010-06-07T15:43:00.000-07:00

First of all for your writing (http://coldantlerfarm.blogspot.com/), which is warm and bold. You are fearless and kindly. What a combo.

Secondly, thank you for Music Back. You reminded me.

I got really messed-up about it. I allowed it to be taken from me in several ways, and I also sat sadly at the table while Music banged out the front door. I thought, for good.

I'm "amending" that now. Got the flute out of its case, played the beginning notes of "Bouree" and remembered your kindly, courageous words, words about how I just need to keep at it. That music is mine (ours). That music is just, in effect, a matter of persistence.

Persistent? Oh, that's one of my nick-names! I'm GOOD at that part!

And I used to play Bach in D minor...and medieval music with a madrigal group and duets with my friends who played recorder and oboe and I used to play melodies with streams. I'm gently makin' a comeback, and I'm not scared that I'll fail this time. There isn't a Fail to be had now.

Just pick it up, Jenna seemed to urge me, Just pick it up and make your own music!

So, yeah, that really was just my own voice urging me...but Jenna gave me the spark.

Thank you for that and more, Young'Un!

Ranchette Dreams

2010-06-07T14:50:00.000-07:00

We've got corn up, and gourds and pumpkins. We'll have tomatoes by the end of next week, peppers in a few weeks, and by golly that Little Eggplant That Could is full steam ahead. My herbs are sprawling happily in their containers. I pruned the crabapples of all dead branches and paid the neighbor young'un to chop down the rest of the Hail-Killed plum trees that were too much for me and the laid-up Man.

I laid out raised bedframes, but it doesn't look good for them this year. I ran out of money and time. The front yard needs to be mulched, because if I'm watering anything in high altitude desert, I'm eatin' it. Lawns are just stupid here.

This fall I want to amend the soil in the garden patch and beds and build a cold-frame. We should be able to get lots from a cold frame with this much sun even when it's fall. I want lots of dark leafy greens for fall menues.

Next year I want roses around the back fence, mainly for the rose hips, a staple of Vitamin C during WW II when citrus wasn't in every bin. I have NO ecchinasea yet, and it's bumming me out. I want it EVERYWHERE. It saves my life in the winter months, that combo of Ecchinasea and vitamin C. Must grow tons. Also next year many more crops in beds and....cluckers. I want chickens. 3 hens in a really nice little warm and protective coop. I'm thinking we may want to reinforce the roof. The Hail from Hell that destroyed all our plants and killed the plum trees is long gone...but this Colorado. I want it to be really safe for them. I'm overprotective of birds I don't yet possess.

That's a lot, roses and chickens next year. Also this summer I want to get to a little ranchette I red about on http://www.localharvest.org/where they've got goats and yarn bunnies. Can I spin angora my own self? Make hats and mittens of rediculous softness and warmth? With the Recycled Lamb just up the street (renamed by friend JD and I "The Slaughtered Lamb" because of horror movie love) I have a pretty dependable supply of wool and wool blend roving. There are lots of garage fiber providers around. CAN I spin bunny fluff? This inquiring hand spindle is itching to know.

I guess that's enough, but it's like "enough" popcorn.

Ooo! Can I grow that?

Back after 2 years...

2010-06-06T19:31:00.000-07:00

...to start posting on this Blog again.

It's a better forum than FaceBook for a long-winded, verbose, loquacious, please-won't-somebody-shut-her-up gal like me.

I love FB, but I need this again for my long-windiness. Windy, windee and everyone knows it's wyndee...

Scents of my Heriones

2008-10-03T16:54:00.000-07:00

~

After spending the day lost on BPAL, I've concocted ideas for the perfumes of my favorite grrrls. this was fun:

Grace: boot leather, sweet beer and prairie roses on the wind, with just a touch of blood.

Nikita: lambskin leather, cool white rose hardened with a taste of iron, a splatter of blood and a light wash of virtuous herbs.

Buffy: Pure pink rose smeared with blood and a touch of cherries, finished with sad lime notes and the wisdom of sandalwood and desert herbs.

~

Moot

2008-09-25T16:48:00.000-07:00

~

Silly me.

In radio if you have someone who can replace you, you get replaced.

If you look OK and sound OK, you work. Actually, if you jsut sound OK, you work.

Nature of the beast.

My chest feels like it's full of wet concrete. My back , chesst, ribs and more are sore. I feel weak, short of breath and very, very tired. But, I SOUND good.

~

How sick is sick?

2008-09-24T19:25:00.000-07:00

~

You can't measure it.

I've been so sick that I couldn't speak more than one word in a breath, one-word dyspnic. I've been so sick that my lips were blue and I couldn't walk more than a step at a time.

I've been so sick that the pressure in my head made me weep with pain, reel with loss of balance, and throw up from the nausea.

I've been so sick that I couldn't keep water down for four days, kept just throwing it up.

I've been in real danger, the kind with a full-blown one or two word dyspnic athsma attack and second-stage hypothermia, where your shivvering is beginning to cease because you have been too cold too long, and you are starting to feel the fight isn't worth it anymore.

So, if I'm only so sick that I keep breaking a sweat, my chest feels like it's full of broken glass when I cough and the world swims unsteadily when I exert myself in a minimal way, but I don't have a pray-for-your-own-death headache or the need for O2, does that mean I need to brave it out?

I used to think so.

~

Ah, haaaaaa....

2008-09-17T07:30:00.000-07:00

~
Last Sunday when I had he big, bad migraine I had taken a double-dose of Yeast Cleanse, which is tea tree oil, grapefuit seed oil and garlic. Day before yesterday I took 3 capsules at Noon, and the headache began at 1:30.

Yesterday I didn't take it, and I didn't have a headache.

I can't find side effecs listed on line when it comes to Yeast Cleanse and crippling headaches, but I've determined that it does lead to them for me.

Yeast Cleanse to be taken only as needed in small doses, on rare occasion.
~

Fear at the Ranch, Part 1

2008-09-15T08:42:00.000-07:00

~

Dust, dog and cat hair, years of accumulated ULIOs (not so much UnFinished as Unidentified and Long Ignored Objects, which I have no idea how to organize) make for a kind of low-grade daily horror for this girl. I am not judging, by the way.

At this juncture I should share the fact that I have two opposing problems: I really like neat and clean. AND, I really HATE and sometimes am actually physically unable to Neaten and Clean.

Wet, I can do. Kitchens and bathrooms I can manage, with very mild cleaners or vinegar and baking soda. But I do run into real road blocks with organizing. It's like retardation-or, selective retardation. I take responsibility for this in the same way that I took responsibility for flunking algebra 3 times-yes, I did. But also, I really was mostly UNABLE to do the freaking work. I used to sit in my room and sweat bullets, trembling and weeping over the pages of a language I knew I would fail to understand forever. Certain doom, creeping very slowly over me from the pages of a book. But, I was good at other books, which is why Algebra Monster didn't entirely fuck my life forever.

How does cleaning begin to resemble A.Monster? Not sure at this point. It's too emotional. But the same aura of fear and loathing creeps in when I start to plan it. Even though I agree that "dull people keep amaculate houses" and "none ever said on their death bed, 'Gee, I wish I'd mopped more often,' "I do love a clean house.

So, my Friend and professional industrial cleaner is coming over Saturday to help me get the bedroom and the TV room clean. It's a start, and I won't be able to do it all at once.

How do you defeat a creeping Monster? One room at a time-or, one clot of ancient pet hair and dust at at time...

~

Ha, hahahahaha!

2008-09-14T08:20:00.000-07:00

~
Hike For Youth.

Supposed to be for a GOOD CAUSE. It was for insecure control freak macho assholes, but that's the Great Outdoors, often. I call it Outdoor Dickhead Syndrome.

BUT-who cares? I did the medium hike, 4.7 miles with a respectable elevation gain. Not the last in my group-FIRST. And I could have done it twice. And I'm not sore today. And I never got dyspnic, really. And my joints hurt a little, but it was relatively easy. And I was the oldest person on the hike. And then I went to a halfa last night!

I'm feeling better about my overall fitness level today. A lot better. And more motivated about yoga and dance, too. I may be heavy but I'm strong, too. I'm in decent shape, especially for someone my age with my challenges.

I did great.

Nice feeling to be able to say that!

And exciting to know I'm sorta following in my parent's badass footsteps...
~

Yaay, kind of.

2008-09-12T16:50:00.000-07:00

~
After the demoralizing headache of Sunday, I knew I needed help. I saw the doctor this morning.

She asked me if I wanted to go to a neurologist. Well, uh, NO. What would THAT end up costing me?

She nodded at this, then said, "Well, you've got classic migraine symptoms,"

"Really?"

"Oh, yes, dear. Let's try some migraine meds,"

She gave me a sample and recommended Excedrine Migraine right away.

Yay, kind of. At least I know they most likely ARE migraines, and what to do about them.

Kind of.
~

Cold Front Headache season begins

2008-09-08T08:20:00.000-07:00

Last Thursday I was able to work and feel reasonably human, although my head pounded violently when I woke up, as if a baby fist were thrashing through my brain. Friday was our hafla and I felt great. Saturday, I was fine. then Sunday hit.

MISERABLE. My skll feels like it's made of glass, fragile and ringingly sensitive and everything hurts. I tried to do the Chili Festival anyway and had to leave within minutes of arriving. I was so nauseous from the pressure and the pain that I could barely walk straight. I managed to drive home, then spent 14 hours on the couch. Jim's back hurts in a paralyzing way, too. We just both spent the day horizontal, not eating or moving more than we had to.

This has been going on my whole life. I live in cycles of sickness and wellness. When I'm well I try to do it all-living a life in double-time, cramming so much in, because when sickness grabs me I'm paralized, I can't rujn errands or work up to par-even sitting and talking into a mic every 5 minutes is an eternity when you have a headache that makes you nearly pray for your own death, and constant nausea.

This is my life. I try to accept it. winter's coming and this is the way of it. I'll try to keep track of barometric pressure-maybe there's a way to predic t them, anyway...

The financial short skirt in a dark alley...

2008-08-30T08:43:00.001-07:00

...is a great analogy. They used to defend rapists in court with this argument, and win.

Now we've got this situation:

http://news.yahoo.com/s/bw/20080829/bs_bw/0836b4098040915634&printer=1;_ylt=AtLQ2E83VdzcUIqNzdfIVCS4v0gC

And it's every bit as outrageous and unjust. It's a situation that needs to be rectified. And it's not my fault.

A litte more relief than outrage here, at the moment...
~

WTF?????

2008-08-26T08:08:00.000-07:00

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Awesome B/F and I got home on Sunday, walked in the door and heard the tornado warning.

In Castlerock, where my friend SpikeKnits and her hubby live. These people are more like family to me than just friends. I've known them a long time and I treasure them. They are amazing people in pretty much every possible way and I LOVE them. So, I'm even less happy about this tornado than I usually am.

I find tornadoes fascinating and magnificent, but I don't want them near people. Especially not extended family.

On the TV, a giant monstrous maw of swirling dust (what happened to "magnificent"?) is about to swallow a small home. It's not where SpikeKnits and hubby live, but what if they're not at home? I have one of my eerie feelings that they are NOT home.

Just as the monster is about to swallow a HOUSE, the alert sounds and the TV goes black.

AAAAAAK.

A monotone voice drones in slow motion that there. may. be. a. . . . tornado. in. the.

By this time I'm screaming at the TV,"No sh$t, Sherlock! Goddamn %$#@ *&^% national weather service *&^% $#@ )!@& hooligans!!!"

I called. They were NOT home at the time. They were NEAR the &%$#ing thing, though, much nearer than if they'd been home.

BUT, everybody's fine.

Last night SpikeKnits and I met at a park and knitted and crocheted till dark.

First crocheted hats, Pt 2

2008-08-14T19:56:00.001-07:00

The same pattern (which incidentally is straight from the Happy Hooker, "the pda") in beautiful dyed Alpaca-also quite thin:

I added the silk yarn woven through a few times to try to achieve dimension and depth, but I wasn't satisfied.

This was when I realized I would have to learn how to knit.

First crocheted hats, Pt 1

2008-08-14T19:51:00.000-07:00

In the Koro silk, very thin-but pretty:

Harpy

2008-08-02T22:58:00.000-07:00

~

When I dance, I want my stage name to be Harpy.

This is drastically cart-before-horse, because I have a long ways to go, but I know why I love it.

First, the book The Last Unicorn is gorgeously written, and my favorite character is the Harpy. She's terrifying. Why would I wanna be scary?

Love horror. I own the Buffy box set, OK?

Most women twist themselves into to pretzels to avoid being scary. They spend their whole lives in search of the Neverending Pretty. There are damned good reasons for this, but I think they are mostly historical. This is the best time in history, and the best place, in my opinion, to be a woman. there are countries with more privilages for women, but they lack diversity. We live in the Giant Crayon Box of life right now. You can be anything you want, very nearly.

I want to be free of the Pretty Yoke, and I pretty much am. 45 is your expiration date on Hotness in a lot of the popular brochures, so I'm off the hook. It's my second life, without the Pretty Yoke! Wheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!

If I wanna be scary, unpretty, or not even caring about pretty at all, I WIN!

Harpies actually were beautiful in the ancient myths, some have said. It was later when they became ugly and horrible. But there's a lot of power there. Not to hurt, but to be free. My favorite harpy is Kaleano-she's the Dark Storm Harpy. Storms are inherently creative. When you write on a blank page, you destroy the blankness of it. There's always destruction of a kind in creativity. It's a force of Nature. So is a Harpy.

Harpy sounds funny. I like funny.

Harpy is very different from a lot of belly dancer stage names, which are either mysterious and pretty or just plain 'ol given names. I never use my given name on anything. In radio it's just not smart.

Harpies have the faces of old women. I want to, eventually, I think.

Beats the alternative-maybe. I'll decide when I get there...

Meantime, I like Harpy.

~

Why Hello Kitty Has No Mouth...

2008-08-02T22:39:00.000-07:00

..and the mystery of camouflage-solved in my imagination...

Hello Kitty is Japanese. The Japanese prize silk (don't we all) The bombyx moth has no mouth, just a coupla eyes and a kind of cute furry forelock. The moths never eat after they actually become moths.

Silk=Hello Kitty.

The awesome B/F and I were watching a riveting Nat Geo special today about a camera crew accompanying some Green Berets in Afghanistan. The subject of camouflage came up, and the B/F told me about all the things the US military has learned from various British Isle fighting traditions, in particular one about Scottish sheepherders camouflaging themselves, and this tradition giving eventual birth to the camouflage we know today.

It occurred to me that Willie The Shake had documented this in That Scottish Play, when the forest does indeed come to Dunsinane. EEEEeeeeee! Scareeeeee!

If you haven't read Macbeth, that probably won't make sense. here's the equation:

The forest is moving=camouflage.

Me lova da history, but my owna version evena beddah...

Make Due With What You Got...

2008-07-29T08:02:00.000-07:00

~
So, the awesome B/F's awesome Mom gave me about a bushel of polyester yarn in '70's crafty colors-she was going to make a tiger pillow cover before her hands got bad. It's black, road cone orange, 3 shades of brown, grass green and whitey-white white. And red. In squeaky, crunchy, washable polyester.

The lady at the yarn shop down the street suggested I donate it to a charity project, but I didn't really want to part with yarn from the awesome B/F's awesome Mom.

Then, it occured to me:

1. The B/F still has a stockpile of old, disgusting potholders. We really need potholders.

2. I need to be frugal for a while, on a ccount of my unwise financial short skirt and financial dark alley combo.

3. I'm obsessed with granny squares. AND I bought myself a book of 99 granny squares. AND I'm a beginner crocheter, who would love to learn lots of new stitches, but have fairly quick gratification.

Perfect! Nostalgia '70's Halloween potholders from Hell, here I come!
~

Grubbing Roving

2008-07-26T14:52:00.000-07:00

...will crawl for llama combings...

Mongol? Iowa? Oxen? Me???

2008-07-15T21:29:00.000-07:00

I just found out today about the new movie, "Mongol" about the early life of Genghis Khan. Arrrrg!!! I won't be able to make it! Waaaaa! Leaving for Iowa in 3 days.

And I am not ready.

Actually, I already packed two spindles and the bamboo/morino blend roving in a gorgeous buttery yellow called "Galileo" and my bombix indigo silk cap, in various shades of lavender, cobalt, etc. Yummy. I don't want thread from the silk-I want a nice, sumptuous yarn. We'll see.

I also saved a bunch of Rachel Brice performances from You Tube on my iTouch-just in case. In case of what? Well, just 'cuz, then. Also the Serpent Rouge performance from Tribal Fest 7, all chapters. And interviews. And Petite Jamilla, doing "Boos". No veil, but precision of technique that makes me cry a little.

Tomorrow is the final class of my 8-week beginner class with Suzanna, and I actually feel much worse about my progress as a dancer than I did before---because now I'm much more aware of how many things I'm doing wrong. It's a part of the process. You gotta get humbled first. I'm OK with this part. I e-mailed Suzanna asking her if I should actually move forward into the next level of beginner, and she said I'd probably be fine, but I dunno. I feel like a musk ox with a groin injury going over a barbed wire fence-graaaaceful!

I take that back. Oxen are lovely graceful creatures. I shouldn't insult them like that.

Boom-chee.

Sleep-bound now. I can't even go near what's left of my Corriedale/tensile roving. I'd just spin for hours...

Cats make Felt

2008-07-14T18:51:00.000-07:00

~
Well, one did.

Patricia B McConnell writes about one of her cats, who was a barn mouser and in the cold winters slept on the back of her favorite sheep. Examination of the sheep in the spring revealed a lovely, round patch of felt on her back!

~

For lovers of Felt...

2008-07-13T22:06:00.001-07:00

~

...and Mongolia. I personally have a big crush on Mongolia. The Yassa by Chingis Khan is one socio-political document I actually enjoy reading, about half the time in seriousness and about half the time for comic value:

http://www.coldsiberia.org/webdoc9.htm

and I love the association between Mongolians and the legendary Amazons. And the hordes that helped to bring down the Roman empire. Also, I dig yurts. And that ethereal, eerie tuvan singing! And yaks! And someday I WILL have rancid yak butter in my tea.

I OWN a copy of The Weeping Camel. I also gave one to my Mom.

Anyway, here it is: Mongolian Felt Making, on You Tube!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gJ0uojUHYdA

Dancers on the High Plains

2008-07-13T21:48:00.000-07:00

~

I haven't seen a comprehensive listing anywhere of Denver area belly dancers and events. So, I'm making a list.

Loooka these gorgeous creatures in Raqs Sayyal:

http://people.tribe.net/saira/photos/3e8f21b1-5352-406c-b330-d2e37fb1e2fd

Rafia is an amazing performer and a loving teacher. What a sweetheart. I'm dying to study with her someday:

http://www.rafiahdancer.com/id91.html

Denver chicks who do Tribal and Burlesque, among other styles. I took a workshop with them during Shimmy for The Cure this year. They are lovely people and great dancers. Watch 'em!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ewKF1NQ4MVg

Now watch my teacher, Suzanna Del Vecchio, who not only has been dancing for 30 years, but also teaches yoga in the Iyenga tradition. She's a real alignment freak. It's why I wanted to learn the fundimentals from her. Also, I saw her dance in Greek restaurants on Colfax in the '80s and I've always been a fan:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7XeRBVFGlC8

This is a fun dance troup I'm dying to see!

http://www.serpentmoondance.com/

And there are many more, but the very least I want to do is begin a comprehensive list for my own reference. Belly dance events are not widely advertised, so you have to check in with all the sites and really dig them all up.

~

First project completed!

2008-07-13T18:12:00.000-07:00

~ My very first finished project was this iTouch case, which my B/F collaborated on very ingeniously. I double crocheted the pouch from Moonlight novelty yarn I got at Michael's. The B/F asked, "Want a leather drawsting to slip more easily through the yarn?" Why, yes. I left the room to get ready for work and retuned to find he had not only inserted the drawsting, but had engineered a perfect slide-catch with an abalone button, which really brings out the fun elements of the yarn.

First Granny Square

2008-07-13T18:09:00.000-07:00

I was so excited! Then I got distracted! Like one of my dogs! Yaay, needle-felting! Yaay, spinning! Yaay, I can almost do a forward Egyptian with the correct form!

Ooops! All that hard work my friend JD spent with me, teaching me to crochet and read a pattern, etc., all gone! Wow! I forgot how to read a pattern in one week!

Work progressing...

2008-07-13T18:05:00.001-07:00

My spinning. The ball is the first ball of yarn I have ever spun (around a month ago) the spindle is almost full of my most recent spinning (today)

Both the spindle and the mossy green Corridale/tensile blend roving are from the Estes Park Wool festival this year.

Special thanks to a lady named Joy who didn't know me, but kindly pulled me aside and taught me to spin right there in the tent at the festival.

Why no movies?

2008-07-13T17:37:00.000-07:00

~

Some film maker needs to throw Rachel Brice and Mardi Love on the big screen, even if it's just for thirty seconds. Maybe in a James Bond film or something. I'm not asking for much. They're both so photogenic and such masters of the craft, I'm only asking Hollywood for a few seconds of really high-quality footage in a big ticket action flick so the girls will be interviewed in The Onion. I'm just saying.

When it comes to Zoe Jakes, though, build a whole scene around her in a wickedly hip indie steam punk movie. Yaaaaa. She should be an Industrial Goddess of some kind (Industrial Oracle?)

Petite Jamilla, though, I've actually written a part for, which is inspired by a woodcut illustration I saw in a copy of the Arabian Nights when I was a kid; it's of a belly dancer dancing for the sultan with a knife concealed behind her back (or was it in her belt?) Action-figure-belly-dancer, an international peacekeeper with a double veil routine no one can match! Way too hokey for Petite Jamilla, but it could be a fun flick.

In an episode of Firefly (The Train Job?) there's a belly dancer who hands Mal a note in a club. She's wearing a very Cabaret outfit with bead fringe, but also LED lights winking on her costume. I liked that, as a futuristic touch. I just watched the Mummy (1st one) with Brandon Fraser, and though it was fun, the overwhelming feeling I left with was one of repulsion. Ick. Also, the one dancer in the movie wore an ill-fitting costume and was presented as a joke. Hmmmph!

Gotta go. I have to slow-mo shimmy, which is my only shimmy, as I work my way slowly along. One bad knee makes a shimmy tough. I practice for while and then watch Rachel Brice do a drum solo. It doesn't discourage me-it inspires me.

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By Cane or by Crook?

2008-07-13T17:21:00.000-07:00

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Geeze. Do you know how many belly dancers knit? The lady who writes shimmy blog loves to knit socks. Then there's the THREE, count 'em THREE belly dance groups on Ravelry. Not so odd, of course, since dance is part costume and costume requires attention to aesthetics and craftsmanship. Tribal dancers are collectors of all that spectacular jewelry from many parts of the world and many dancers of all genres make their own, or part of their own costumes. Also, I've found it's intuitively delicious to have both dance practice in my daily life AND spinning and/or crotchet. It's nice, balanced nutrition for the nervous system.

Still, an eerie thought hit me when I was watching an Egyptian dancer on You Tube surrounded by a group of male dancers in robes with shepherd's crooks. I remembered my Nina and Vina DVD, in which there is a beautiful cane dance-and then I remembered meeting a tall, striking woman at the Estes Park Wool Festival who was carrying a tall, striking shepherd's crook. The images collided in my mind and gave me a tiny window into time...all those centuries herding sheep, shearing sheep, carding and spinning and weaving-knitting-crocheting...and on the other side of the tent, belly dance!

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Nature's Little Double Standard

2008-07-12T16:32:00.001-07:00

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After reading a belly dancer's blog, I'm filled with righteous anger. She's damned athletic, lovely, and works hard at her dancing:

http://www.shimmyblog.org/

This woman is active. Really active. She runs over 2 miles a day, goes to belly dance class, practices, swims, etc. She also has a belly she dislikes.

It's true that it's effortless to enjoy another woman's zaftig figure from across the room. We see the beauty in another woman's curves and softness. But when it's on our own bones it feels like a medieval scold mask, unfair and hideous and painful-to our own vanity, anyway.

I no longer agonize over every "fault" in the mirror, as prescribed by certain magazines. Life is both too short and too good. But there was a moment recently when I looked back at calendars I kept for 4 years in my late 30s and early 40s, carefully documenting all my activity in sets, amounts, and time. I did not cheat-if at all, I cheated myself of credit for all those workouts, shorting myself a little to increase my motivation. On the AVERAGE day, I biked or walked between 40 minutes and an hour, VIGOROUSLY-unless my knee stopped me; but even then I carried on with the workout, just a little more slowly. On the average day I also worked out for 30 minutes to an hour with weights and did between 50-200 situps every other day. And, I climbed a few low 13ers and did yoga, or went to martial arts classes. Oh, yeah-and I spent a year of it as a professional landscaper, hauling around bags of mulch, trees and plants and digging giant holes and small holes by the hundreds. I worked HARD. I worked out HARD. I went into the wilderness and hiked and biked HARD.

Still, I gained around 15 pounds, which has not come off to this day.

This isn't the cause of my indignation, because I do overeat, and maybe I'm a freak. The cause of this is the realization that I'm not alone, and that this injustice should be documented. I also know why it isn't, and that's what makes me really pissed.

Ever seen the show "Tougher In Alaska"? Couples thrown into the Alaskan wilderness with some oatmeal, beans and hunting gear work as hard as possible to put away some meat for the winter. Everybody lost weight. But here's how it sounded to me:

Doug lost 24 pounds. Cheryl lost 3.

Emmit lost 52 pounds. Jane lost 6.

Mat lost 28 pounds. Emily lost 4.

The frickin' INJUSTICE! Not only were both partners starving slowly, but the women were eating less, yet still working to the limit. Literally starving, and STILL unable to drop body fat.

As the awesome B/F pointed out, this is a great natural design. Women can starve longer than men and stay alive, thereby being better able to keep the next generation alive. But just because it's natural, and just because we know that we suffer from a ridiculous cultural bias about body composition, doesn't make it less infuriating.

Why? Because the insane medical community is playing a shadowy mind game. They invent numbers daily to scare us, I'm convinced. I've heard over and over and over how even a FEW POUNDS increases your risk for cancer, yet the Sheryl Crows and Melissa Etheridges of the world go unexplained. Seems to me that plenty of slender people get diseases and plenty of stouter people live a long, long time.

The medical community is a bunch of narcissistic snobs. Am I making an unjust, sweeping generalization? Ask a nurse, buddy.

I believe that a lot of very active women are working really hard in an effort to achieve something that may be out of the reach of REASON. If you really are working out as hard as you reasonably can without causing yourself harm (even though I have, MANY times incurred injuries from working out past a reasonable limit) when you work out hard enough to be really tired from it and do that again nearly every day of the week, that SHOULD BE ENOUGH. That is reasonable. Working past that is unreasonable, impractical and dangerous.

Still , the "studies" keep flooding in. Losing even a few pounds can make you live longer, improve your sex life, make you smarter, they say. It's propaganda, toxic propaganda from a group of control freaks who want us all to conform to their idea of health.

I work an average of three activities into my day, with one or two days off a week to rest my knee. After I've walked my dogs for an hour, done yoga or belly dance for 40 minutes, and worked out with weights for 40 minutes, they need to blow me.

Better, they need to blow US. It ain't just me.

~

About tea.

2008-07-11T20:01:00.001-07:00

~

...it really depends...

Earl Grey is a solid addiction, but the brand is crucial. I don't care much for the Stash version. Twinings is great. Also, if you're in the mood to play tea party, open up a bag of Lady Grey-nothing on earth smells more like a box of Trix.

Golden Moon is my gold standard:

http://www.goldenmoontea.com/?_kk=golden%20moon%20tea&_kt=f8eea007-b9da-4715-957f-f856721da632&gclid=CIvuvdiMvZQCFSQqagod0Rf8Sw

All of their teas are amazing, even the Pu-ehr, which was my first exposure to a tea I couldn't drink. Way TOO much like a wet forest floor for my palate, although I haven't tried it lately. Golden Moon are always improving their products, so it's worth it to try their teas again.

Summer standards:

Golden Moon Moroccan Mint-beautifully balanced and the best tea for summer in my opinion, except for Golden Moon Coconut Pouchong, which is mind-blowing with curry or other spicy food. I also love Lapsang Souchong with any BBQ, since the smokiness, especially when enjoyed with condensed milk like you get in Thai restaurants, is both tantalizing and satisfying (nice trick)

The B/F makes jar after jar of sun tea with Lipton on the deck, which works, but is for me merely functional. But, I'm a big tea snob. Zhena's Gypsy Tea in Lemon Jasmine is fun, a little self-indulgent, and heavily made-up...like a teenage girl at a family reunion-cosmetically enjoyable to an extent, but lacking the qualities that will hold my interest for long.

White tea blends are nice in summer, like any peach-and-white tea flavors you find on the shelves. But one White Tea for me stands out as a transcendental experience, a little bolt of enlightenment through palate: Golden Moon White Tea With Chrysanthemums. It is UNBELIEVABLE-a real journey into the delicate high that tea can give you, without a caffeine rush. It is an experience.

I gotta have my tea, whether it's Twinings Irish Breakfast to jolt me back into The Now at work when I'm dragging or my Golden Moon Moroccan Mint to ease me through the summer heat.

~

Happiness in the morning?

2008-07-11T19:52:00.000-07:00

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Happiness in the morning? A double-bagger Earl Grey (Twinings) and a little pile of projects, including:

My first granny square, pale silvery blue and periwinkle.

A felted pouch for my friend Craig's birthday, for his tarot cards (I am just not liking this right now)

A crocheted pouch of novelty yarn for my iTouch-embellished by artsy B/F. I picked out the "Moonlight" novelty yarn at Michael's, dc'd it up quickly with a big needle, and the B/F said, "You want a leather drawstring for that? It would slide through the yarn better". A half-hour later he had inserted the string and then a gorgeous abalone button as a slide-catch. What an eye he's got! But, this was a previous project-it's done.

~