My Life Coach training completed last weekend. It was intense. I have effective tools for fast change now. And I know what it is like to have them used on me.
Then, when I came out of class, and turned on my cell phone Sunday night, I discovered that Doug's father had had a heart attack. Shortly after attending his father's funeral, Mo went to the hospital with unexplained pain. They tested him twice, found nothing, though the doctor felt something wasn't quite right. Mo was preparing to leave when he had a heart attack, in the hospital. No better place for it.
He's doing very well. They expected to release him today. Doug flew to be with his family -- was already on his way before I knew it had happened. I was really glad that our friend David was visiting, and helped and supported Doug through the news and with getting to the airport. Good friends.
On the way home on Monday, I was involved in a small fender bender when a car stopped suddenly in front of me on the freeway. The car in front of me hit the car in front of it. I hit the one in front of me when I was unable to stop in time. No one hurt, plenty of time spent on the police report and speaking to insurance companies.
Yesterday I slept a lot. Blogging totally slipped my mind. I think missing that deadline, like being involved in the accident, is one more thing I'm going to give myself a pass on. Yes, possibly I could have done better, given more foresight. And also yes, I did well enough. So there we are.
I know the life coaching is the work I was meant to do. I love the work, and I love helping people to discover and become their best selves. Much more information is available at my website. See: www.annaparadox.com
If change was easy, we'd already be doing it. Stagnation is easy, and it also binds us. Freedom takes movement, even through difficulties.
So this week I wish you the courage to follow your dreams.
Wednesday, October 25, 2006
Tuesday, October 17, 2006
Busy Week
Hello, it's Tuesday. This week has gone very quickly. Doug has work, around his classes, helping to set up the computer network for the X-Prize Cup. I've had editing and more web work and more preparing the house to hold a home office. We seem much busier than we were just a couple weeks ago.
Doug is really grooving on the airport where he's been at work. It's a small municipal airport, and the people there really focus on flying. Balloons, airplanes, rockets -- we've had a flight theme running here recently. The earliest balloon flights date to the 1800's, the earliest airplanes were early in the 1900's. What a long way we've come.
I had my first experience proofing pages. Julie Czerneda sent me PDF pages for my story Shining Field, appearing in her anthology Polaris next year. That has to improve on sending physical pages back and forth. She has been great to work with. Very friendly and helpful. I had already enjoyed her writing. It's nice to enjoy her editing, too.
Thursday I leave for my in-person training. So this week is bound to go quickly, too. I'm liking being busier. It makes a nice change. Would it make a good lifestyle? I will have to see.
Doug is really grooving on the airport where he's been at work. It's a small municipal airport, and the people there really focus on flying. Balloons, airplanes, rockets -- we've had a flight theme running here recently. The earliest balloon flights date to the 1800's, the earliest airplanes were early in the 1900's. What a long way we've come.
I had my first experience proofing pages. Julie Czerneda sent me PDF pages for my story Shining Field, appearing in her anthology Polaris next year. That has to improve on sending physical pages back and forth. She has been great to work with. Very friendly and helpful. I had already enjoyed her writing. It's nice to enjoy her editing, too.
Thursday I leave for my in-person training. So this week is bound to go quickly, too. I'm liking being busier. It makes a nice change. Would it make a good lifestyle? I will have to see.
Wednesday, October 11, 2006
Tuesday, October 10, 2006
Calmer now
Doug said he could tell I was angry last week. I even left in a couple typos. Definitely out-of-character.
Feeling better now. Had more time with the subject. And, as further analyses come in, it appears that the legislation will make less difference. The most interesting effect has been that the publicly traded online poker services have been pulling out of the US market. The privately held ones have been remaining and assuring their customers of the safety of their money. Already some migration of players has shown in weekend traffic.
I've pulled my money out. I had other major projects going on, and was already considering leaving. I have poker topics I still want to turn into articles, and some articles already written. I don't know at what point I'll feel my material is too out of date to continue writing about poker, or if I will return to playing later. A lot will depend on how my other current games play out.
I've started distributing cards for www.dininglascruces.com. A few of the professional site cards have gone out, but largely as curiosities rather than advertising. My in-person training is getting close. I have worked and reworked the correspondance training items. Looked for other useful sources, and read additional material. Brainstormed a business plan and mentally rehearsed Life Coaching sessions. I'm as prepared as my will and available time can make me now.
At least until I think of something else to try.
A week from Thursday, I head for the in-person intensive. Then the time for preparation will be over.
Meanwhile, impelled by my anger about the poker restrictions, I took a closer look at some of the bills passed by the current legislature. By Amnesty International's accounting, the USA is now in violation of international law regarding the treatment of prisoners. Remember all those movies where the American heroes protest that their evil captors are breaking the Geneva Conventions? Well, it's now the US that has passed a law saying we won't follow the Geneva Convention if the president thinks we have a good reason not to.
I do not like having the government that supposedly represents me abridging human rights. At this point, our own government is creating more human misery and more fear than the terrorists they claim they are trying to protect us from.
I'm taking my first action, which is to complain in public. I will vote of course. And other actions -- as I find them.
May you have the courage to act for what you believe is right. I wish you this, even if we disagree on what that right may be.
Feeling better now. Had more time with the subject. And, as further analyses come in, it appears that the legislation will make less difference. The most interesting effect has been that the publicly traded online poker services have been pulling out of the US market. The privately held ones have been remaining and assuring their customers of the safety of their money. Already some migration of players has shown in weekend traffic.
I've pulled my money out. I had other major projects going on, and was already considering leaving. I have poker topics I still want to turn into articles, and some articles already written. I don't know at what point I'll feel my material is too out of date to continue writing about poker, or if I will return to playing later. A lot will depend on how my other current games play out.
I've started distributing cards for www.dininglascruces.com. A few of the professional site cards have gone out, but largely as curiosities rather than advertising. My in-person training is getting close. I have worked and reworked the correspondance training items. Looked for other useful sources, and read additional material. Brainstormed a business plan and mentally rehearsed Life Coaching sessions. I'm as prepared as my will and available time can make me now.
At least until I think of something else to try.
A week from Thursday, I head for the in-person intensive. Then the time for preparation will be over.
Meanwhile, impelled by my anger about the poker restrictions, I took a closer look at some of the bills passed by the current legislature. By Amnesty International's accounting, the USA is now in violation of international law regarding the treatment of prisoners. Remember all those movies where the American heroes protest that their evil captors are breaking the Geneva Conventions? Well, it's now the US that has passed a law saying we won't follow the Geneva Convention if the president thinks we have a good reason not to.
I do not like having the government that supposedly represents me abridging human rights. At this point, our own government is creating more human misery and more fear than the terrorists they claim they are trying to protect us from.
I'm taking my first action, which is to complain in public. I will vote of course. And other actions -- as I find them.
May you have the courage to act for what you believe is right. I wish you this, even if we disagree on what that right may be.
Monday, October 02, 2006
Angry
I'm really rather angry about having my ability to play online poker restricted. Last night, Senate majority leader Frist attached language making it illegal for US Banks to send money to online gambling sites to a port security bill. Since this is a Homeland security issue, Bush is almost certain to sign it into law.
It was a backhanded, last minute way to slip a new law through. Very end of the session, late at night.
I'm confused. Weren't the Republicans supposed to stand for more freedom? Where's my freedom to engage in mental contest by the free choice of all involved?
Weren't the Republicans supposed to stand for less government? Why are they pushing this regulation that will require new oversight bodies, vast additional paperwork from banks, and entire new ways of observing the actions of American citizens? Just to make sure we don't spend our money playing online poker? So, to protect you from online gambling, you'd like your government to track all your financial transactions?
OK, I've been angry about plenty the government has done recently. But this feels personal. It hits what I do with my free time, every week. It comes right into my house and interferes with my liesure and a tiny bit of my income.
And there are one hundred thousand other poker players who cared enough about this to join the Poker Players Alliance.
What I hope is that this, and all the other ways the current administration has been showing that it doesn't represent us, the people, will finally be enough for voters. And that the polls will resoundingly give at least one house back to the Democrats. Because this administration needs brakes and accountability.
Because I'm still hoping the system works. That voting can make a difference. That the opinion of the people still counts in this country.
Because if it takes more than voting to get our government to be OUR government again, it is going to be a lot more trouble.
It was a backhanded, last minute way to slip a new law through. Very end of the session, late at night.
I'm confused. Weren't the Republicans supposed to stand for more freedom? Where's my freedom to engage in mental contest by the free choice of all involved?
Weren't the Republicans supposed to stand for less government? Why are they pushing this regulation that will require new oversight bodies, vast additional paperwork from banks, and entire new ways of observing the actions of American citizens? Just to make sure we don't spend our money playing online poker? So, to protect you from online gambling, you'd like your government to track all your financial transactions?
OK, I've been angry about plenty the government has done recently. But this feels personal. It hits what I do with my free time, every week. It comes right into my house and interferes with my liesure and a tiny bit of my income.
And there are one hundred thousand other poker players who cared enough about this to join the Poker Players Alliance.
What I hope is that this, and all the other ways the current administration has been showing that it doesn't represent us, the people, will finally be enough for voters. And that the polls will resoundingly give at least one house back to the Democrats. Because this administration needs brakes and accountability.
Because I'm still hoping the system works. That voting can make a difference. That the opinion of the people still counts in this country.
Because if it takes more than voting to get our government to be OUR government again, it is going to be a lot more trouble.
Tuesday, September 26, 2006
A week of webbing
Is it true that one week ago I had never heard of WordPress? Wow. Now I have two sites well under development. Many little steps taken toward building the restaurant review site and the life coaching site. Restaurant reviews are ready for public access at www.dininglascruces.com. The life coaching site will only go live after my training. I am enjoying playing with it, and it will be good to have it almost there upon my return.
The in-person part of my training is less than a month away now, and I am really looking forward to it. Doug keeps asking me if I want to volunteer at the X-Prize Cup, and I keep saying 'I'm busy'. Then we giggle. My training and his space event overlap on the calendar. It's really fantastic that we both get to advance our dreams next month. Our good friend David is coming down to give Doug company and support for the event. I'm taking a room in the highly luxe resort for the training. We'll both be richly sustained.
It has been rewarding to work the images and colors for the websites. When the colors and fonts come right, I feel bubbly satisfaction. It does tire me more than usual to continue to focus on how things look. It's not my favorite mode of grappling with the world. I feel all the happier to get back to words after the change of mode.
It's a good idea for me to get away from the computer screen in general. The weather has been beautiful recently. It's starting to cool. On September 21, I was walking to campus, and I felt a cool breeze. Instantly I thought that feels like Fall. Yup, right on time.
May you all find your projects coming together.
The in-person part of my training is less than a month away now, and I am really looking forward to it. Doug keeps asking me if I want to volunteer at the X-Prize Cup, and I keep saying 'I'm busy'. Then we giggle. My training and his space event overlap on the calendar. It's really fantastic that we both get to advance our dreams next month. Our good friend David is coming down to give Doug company and support for the event. I'm taking a room in the highly luxe resort for the training. We'll both be richly sustained.
It has been rewarding to work the images and colors for the websites. When the colors and fonts come right, I feel bubbly satisfaction. It does tire me more than usual to continue to focus on how things look. It's not my favorite mode of grappling with the world. I feel all the happier to get back to words after the change of mode.
It's a good idea for me to get away from the computer screen in general. The weather has been beautiful recently. It's starting to cool. On September 21, I was walking to campus, and I felt a cool breeze. Instantly I thought that feels like Fall. Yup, right on time.
May you all find your projects coming together.
A week of web design
Is it true that one week ago I had never heard of WordPress? Wow. Now I have two sites well under development. Many little steps taken toward building the restaurant review site and the life coaching site. Restaurant reviews are ready for public access at www.dininglascruces.com. The life coaching site will only go live after my training. I am enjoying playing with it, and it will be good to have it almost there upon my return.
The in-person part of my training is less than a month away now, and I am really looking forward to it. Doug keeps asking me if I want to volunteer at the X-Prize Cup, and I keep saying 'I'm busy'. Then we giggle. My training and his space event overlap on the calendar. It's really fantastic that we both get to advance our dreams next month. Our good friend David is coming down to give Doug company and support for the event. I'm taking a room in the highly luxe resort for the training. We'll both be richly sustained.
It has been rewarding to work the images and colors for the websites. When the colors and fonts come right, I feel bubbly satisfaction. It does tire me more than usual to continue to focus on how things look. It's not my favorite mode of grappling with the world. I feel all the happier to get back to words after the change of mode.
It's a good idea for me to get away from the computer screen in general. The weather has been beautiful recently. It's starting to cool. On September 21, I was walking to campus, and I felt a cool breeze. Instantly I thought that feels like Fall. Yup, right on time.
May you all find your projects coming together.
The in-person part of my training is less than a month away now, and I am really looking forward to it. Doug keeps asking me if I want to volunteer at the X-Prize Cup, and I keep saying 'I'm busy'. Then we giggle. My training and his space event overlap on the calendar. It's really fantastic that we both get to advance our dreams next month. Our good friend David is coming down to give Doug company and support for the event. I'm taking a room in the highly luxe resort for the training. We'll both be richly sustained.
It has been rewarding to work the images and colors for the websites. When the colors and fonts come right, I feel bubbly satisfaction. It does tire me more than usual to continue to focus on how things look. It's not my favorite mode of grappling with the world. I feel all the happier to get back to words after the change of mode.
It's a good idea for me to get away from the computer screen in general. The weather has been beautiful recently. It's starting to cool. On September 21, I was walking to campus, and I felt a cool breeze. Instantly I thought that feels like Fall. Yup, right on time.
May you all find your projects coming together.
Tuesday, September 19, 2006
Changes Afoot
Changes Afoot
Web changes are on the way. I've spent a lot of the last week looking into hosting and web design. I'll likely move this blog to a paid host within a few weeks. I'll redirect and post links at that time.
It's amazing how much time searching for a good template, or even a good template idea can absorb. I really enjoyed it. Kept being startled by the darkening of the evening sky. Not too many things let me lose track of time.
The other large absorber of my mindshare has been editing for Tommy Angelo. Take a look at Tommy's poker article archive and scroll to the bottom of the left column. I've been working with him since the beginning of 2006, and having a great time with it. He just finished his most ambitious article yet, Reciprocality, and it should be posting to pokerpages soon.
All of which has left little time for poker! It's a curious state, to be engaged in working with writing about poker, and yet seldom play. When I have played, the large intervals since my previous sessions have left me feeling unfocused and not at my best. Since it's far more fun to play well (and win, variance allowing), I have been thinking a bit about my meta-game. I'm not sure yet how to arrange my approach to poker to arrive at better results. Thinking about it is a good first step!
Meanwhile, if you are having poker difficulties, and you are serious about your game, I strongly recommend you talk to Tommy. Go to tiltless.com and find out about his program.
Now I have business cards to design and websites to plot.
May you enjoy your work.
Web changes are on the way. I've spent a lot of the last week looking into hosting and web design. I'll likely move this blog to a paid host within a few weeks. I'll redirect and post links at that time.
It's amazing how much time searching for a good template, or even a good template idea can absorb. I really enjoyed it. Kept being startled by the darkening of the evening sky. Not too many things let me lose track of time.
The other large absorber of my mindshare has been editing for Tommy Angelo. Take a look at Tommy's poker article archive and scroll to the bottom of the left column. I've been working with him since the beginning of 2006, and having a great time with it. He just finished his most ambitious article yet, Reciprocality, and it should be posting to pokerpages soon.
All of which has left little time for poker! It's a curious state, to be engaged in working with writing about poker, and yet seldom play. When I have played, the large intervals since my previous sessions have left me feeling unfocused and not at my best. Since it's far more fun to play well (and win, variance allowing), I have been thinking a bit about my meta-game. I'm not sure yet how to arrange my approach to poker to arrive at better results. Thinking about it is a good first step!
Meanwhile, if you are having poker difficulties, and you are serious about your game, I strongly recommend you talk to Tommy. Go to tiltless.com and find out about his program.
Now I have business cards to design and websites to plot.
May you enjoy your work.
Monday, September 11, 2006
Body, image
Body, image
We ate tonight at a new restaurant that had a full wall of mirror in the dining room. I haven't had a full length mirror to reflect in since we came to Las Cruces. As usual, I'd forgotten how solid my torso is.
I measure 42-38-42. Some ways off the designated 'ideal'. I do have trouble finding pants that fit well.
What I saw was not fat, but armor. Here's the layer covering my abdomen, shielding from the knife that has twice sliced from navel to bikini line. Here's the padding to cushion the impact next time my car gets rear ended. Here's this much distance from the cruelty of the world.
I live, as best I can, open to the world. Optimistic and ready to engage. Or so I thought. But here I saw, some part of me wants walls and protections. Some part of me is blocking and shielding and coating me in fear.
I've never dieted. My body stabilizes well, maintaining the same weight except under exceptional stress. I stayed, without effort, at the same weight for five years before that little car accident, then gained ten pounds, and have stayed there for the last four. The other period when I first went over my 'ideal' weight saw our family farm go bankrupt, my brother killed in a car accident, and more -- how can I see these pounds with anything but compassion?
Of course, I would like to be healthier. That is a separate issue.
All in all, I could only think kindly of that shape in the mirror. Yes, she's heavier than ideal. Yes, I could work on that. And yes, that's me and my history, my flesh, my choices.
Doug, bless him, said I looked great.
I think acceptance first, and change as it comes.
And may you all come to peace with your bodies.
We ate tonight at a new restaurant that had a full wall of mirror in the dining room. I haven't had a full length mirror to reflect in since we came to Las Cruces. As usual, I'd forgotten how solid my torso is.
I measure 42-38-42. Some ways off the designated 'ideal'. I do have trouble finding pants that fit well.
What I saw was not fat, but armor. Here's the layer covering my abdomen, shielding from the knife that has twice sliced from navel to bikini line. Here's the padding to cushion the impact next time my car gets rear ended. Here's this much distance from the cruelty of the world.
I live, as best I can, open to the world. Optimistic and ready to engage. Or so I thought. But here I saw, some part of me wants walls and protections. Some part of me is blocking and shielding and coating me in fear.
I've never dieted. My body stabilizes well, maintaining the same weight except under exceptional stress. I stayed, without effort, at the same weight for five years before that little car accident, then gained ten pounds, and have stayed there for the last four. The other period when I first went over my 'ideal' weight saw our family farm go bankrupt, my brother killed in a car accident, and more -- how can I see these pounds with anything but compassion?
Of course, I would like to be healthier. That is a separate issue.
All in all, I could only think kindly of that shape in the mirror. Yes, she's heavier than ideal. Yes, I could work on that. And yes, that's me and my history, my flesh, my choices.
Doug, bless him, said I looked great.
I think acceptance first, and change as it comes.
And may you all come to peace with your bodies.
Tuesday, September 05, 2006
Happy Tuesday!
Happy Tuesday!
Doug is due in class in an hour and a half. He has his first graded quiz today.
School is agreeing with him. He keeps saying things like "Whoa! I can do that on the way home from school!" and "I love this calculator!". All the signs are good.
This morning, we hope to catch breakfast at ChaChi's, which has become our neighborhood restaurant. Their menu is largely Mexican, with some nods to American style breakfasts. The waitresses are recognizing us now -- good food, good service, good prices, cheerful ambience. It's really everything you want in a neighborhood cafe. Easy walking distance from our doorstep, right along Doug's path to class, too.
This is part of my new 'update blog on Tuesdays' initiative. Our much anticipated web comic, Girl Genius updates at Midnight EDT Sunday, Tuesday and Thursday on the dot and without fail -- the Foglios must use some sort of automated posting software. Eventually, I will investigate and get myself one of those. Until then, 'updating on Tuesdays' means that some time between Monday afternoon and Tuesday evening, I will add a post. You can think of that as updating on Wednesdays, if you like.
May still post outside that period as well, when taken by inspiration. But you know how it goes -- when it comes to production by inspiration versus production by persistence, persistence wins about 9 to 1.
We took no particular notice of Labor Day weekend. Doug has class Tuesdays and Thursdays, so a four day weekend is part of our lifestyle now. Ah, we are living so well! Now to get some income to sustain our dolce vita!
As usual, September, with classes starting and temperatures cooling feels like potential and new beginnings to me. A better time to start new projects than January. And we certainly are!
May Fall bring you renewal, too.
Anna
Doug is due in class in an hour and a half. He has his first graded quiz today.
School is agreeing with him. He keeps saying things like "Whoa! I can do that on the way home from school!" and "I love this calculator!". All the signs are good.
This morning, we hope to catch breakfast at ChaChi's, which has become our neighborhood restaurant. Their menu is largely Mexican, with some nods to American style breakfasts. The waitresses are recognizing us now -- good food, good service, good prices, cheerful ambience. It's really everything you want in a neighborhood cafe. Easy walking distance from our doorstep, right along Doug's path to class, too.
This is part of my new 'update blog on Tuesdays' initiative. Our much anticipated web comic, Girl Genius updates at Midnight EDT Sunday, Tuesday and Thursday on the dot and without fail -- the Foglios must use some sort of automated posting software. Eventually, I will investigate and get myself one of those. Until then, 'updating on Tuesdays' means that some time between Monday afternoon and Tuesday evening, I will add a post. You can think of that as updating on Wednesdays, if you like.
May still post outside that period as well, when taken by inspiration. But you know how it goes -- when it comes to production by inspiration versus production by persistence, persistence wins about 9 to 1.
We took no particular notice of Labor Day weekend. Doug has class Tuesdays and Thursdays, so a four day weekend is part of our lifestyle now. Ah, we are living so well! Now to get some income to sustain our dolce vita!
As usual, September, with classes starting and temperatures cooling feels like potential and new beginnings to me. A better time to start new projects than January. And we certainly are!
May Fall bring you renewal, too.
Anna
Tuesday, August 29, 2006
Exciting Times
Doug's first day of class went well.
Whoa! you say! Since when is Doug is school?!!!!
Good question. It all happened so fast. One day, NMSU, the University half a mile from our new home, announces a new Aeronautics Engineering degree. Doug discovers it, calls the college -- two weeks later he's enrolled, and Thursday August 24th -- surely a day that will live in perpetuity -- he took his first classes. My beloved husband is going to be a Rocket Scientist. I like it.
Do you know how often people say, "It isn't rocket science." I run into it about four times a week. I laugh.
Meanwhile, I have undertaken training as a Life Coach under Martha Beck. See her website here. I read an article by her, then a book, in June. In July, I read more articles and a second book, and decided I had to get in the training program. In early August, I took one of her seminars, and could verify in person that all I'd gathered from the reading held true, and this course absolutely resonated with my essential desires. I completed application to the program, and am doing the written preparatory work to the in-person training in October. I've never discovered a possible line of work that rang so right with me before. I want this very much, and I've been taking every step I can think of to see that it happens.
Like I said to Doug, I love that we are becoming the kind of people who reinvent themselves.
And so the leap we took in moving to Las Cruces progresses.
I know that these career paths are both the truest we have ever been to ourselves, and the ways we can best serve others. I am very thankful that we have had the courage and the guidance to reach this place.
And so I wish it for you: May you have the courage to do the work that fills your heart and best serves the world.
Anna
Whoa! you say! Since when is Doug is school?!!!!
Good question. It all happened so fast. One day, NMSU, the University half a mile from our new home, announces a new Aeronautics Engineering degree. Doug discovers it, calls the college -- two weeks later he's enrolled, and Thursday August 24th -- surely a day that will live in perpetuity -- he took his first classes. My beloved husband is going to be a Rocket Scientist. I like it.
Do you know how often people say, "It isn't rocket science." I run into it about four times a week. I laugh.
Meanwhile, I have undertaken training as a Life Coach under Martha Beck. See her website here. I read an article by her, then a book, in June. In July, I read more articles and a second book, and decided I had to get in the training program. In early August, I took one of her seminars, and could verify in person that all I'd gathered from the reading held true, and this course absolutely resonated with my essential desires. I completed application to the program, and am doing the written preparatory work to the in-person training in October. I've never discovered a possible line of work that rang so right with me before. I want this very much, and I've been taking every step I can think of to see that it happens.
Like I said to Doug, I love that we are becoming the kind of people who reinvent themselves.
And so the leap we took in moving to Las Cruces progresses.
I know that these career paths are both the truest we have ever been to ourselves, and the ways we can best serve others. I am very thankful that we have had the courage and the guidance to reach this place.
And so I wish it for you: May you have the courage to do the work that fills your heart and best serves the world.
Anna
Tuesday, August 22, 2006
Group Nakedness
Group Nakedness
Check this out: From Cardplayer online:
195 Show Up To Paddy Power Strip Poker Tournament
John Young Wins and Bares More for Poker Charity
One day, many years from now, John Young will sit down and amaze his grandchildren when he tells them he once won the world’s largest strip poker tournament.
Young, of Slough, England, beat out 194 other hopefuls at the Paddy Power World Strip Poker Championships that was held at London’s Cafe Royal Saturday to walk away with £10,000, a specially commissioned Golden Fig Leaf trophy, and entry to the Paddy Power Irish Open where up to £2 million will be up for grabs.
In addition, Paddy Power promised to donate a further £10,000 to the charity of the winner’s choice, Cancer Research, after John, who was the last of the players to have any clothes, revealed all to the crowd.
The tournament kicked off at 1 p.m. as 195 hopefuls from more than 12 countries set out to keep their clothes on and carve themselves a place in history as part of a new official Guinness world record for the biggest strip poker tournament ever.
The event had originally been an April Fool’s story by Paddy Power earlier this year but, after receiving requests from all over the world to take part, the bookie decided to run the tournament for real.
Each player was given five items of clothing which they used to buy chips. As they lost their chips, they cashed in their clothes for more. Some even opted to strip from the bottom up and sat playing naked except for a cap.
The tournament may become a yearly thing.
OK, look at this. 195 people wanted the opportunity to play poker in public and lose their clothes. It was guaranteed that to have the best chance to win you would have to strip. And everyone but the winner would lose all their clothes -- that is how a poker tournament works. Then the winner took off his remaining garments for charity.
At least 195 people think differently about public nudity than we are taught.
195, that's quite a few.
Worth considering, next time the temptation comes to think people are all alike.
May you cherish your uniqueness.
Anna
Check this out: From Cardplayer online:
195 Show Up To Paddy Power Strip Poker Tournament
John Young Wins and Bares More for Poker Charity
One day, many years from now, John Young will sit down and amaze his grandchildren when he tells them he once won the world’s largest strip poker tournament.
Young, of Slough, England, beat out 194 other hopefuls at the Paddy Power World Strip Poker Championships that was held at London’s Cafe Royal Saturday to walk away with £10,000, a specially commissioned Golden Fig Leaf trophy, and entry to the Paddy Power Irish Open where up to £2 million will be up for grabs.
In addition, Paddy Power promised to donate a further £10,000 to the charity of the winner’s choice, Cancer Research, after John, who was the last of the players to have any clothes, revealed all to the crowd.
The tournament kicked off at 1 p.m. as 195 hopefuls from more than 12 countries set out to keep their clothes on and carve themselves a place in history as part of a new official Guinness world record for the biggest strip poker tournament ever.
The event had originally been an April Fool’s story by Paddy Power earlier this year but, after receiving requests from all over the world to take part, the bookie decided to run the tournament for real.
Each player was given five items of clothing which they used to buy chips. As they lost their chips, they cashed in their clothes for more. Some even opted to strip from the bottom up and sat playing naked except for a cap.
The tournament may become a yearly thing.
OK, look at this. 195 people wanted the opportunity to play poker in public and lose their clothes. It was guaranteed that to have the best chance to win you would have to strip. And everyone but the winner would lose all their clothes -- that is how a poker tournament works. Then the winner took off his remaining garments for charity.
At least 195 people think differently about public nudity than we are taught.
195, that's quite a few.
Worth considering, next time the temptation comes to think people are all alike.
May you cherish your uniqueness.
Anna
Wednesday, July 12, 2006
5 am events
5 am events
"Doug," I say, "I smell skunk. That means one of two things, and one of them is very bad."
"I was dreaming someone was using a lighter," he says. We stumble out of bed, no lights, I put on my bathrobe and go smelling around. Doug turns off the cooling system.
The smell is strongest in our bedroom and in the laundry room by the furnace. Doug finds a flashlight, and by its light I search the phone book.
I tell the woman who answers, "I smell skunk. It's strongest near the furnace."
"I don't know what we can do about that," she says.
I stop. What? "Ummm, doesn't leaking gas smell like skunk?"
"Oh no," she says. "We use ------." My sleep-fogged brain does not catch the name. "It's a very strong smell, a very bad smell, and very distinct."
"Not skunk?"
"No, ------. It's very distinctive. We can still send someone out if you want us to check."
"Let me check with my husband."
I report that they don't use skunk. He reports that the smell seems to be dissipating and he doesn't hear any hissing.
"I think we are OK," I say.
"The skunk is a very humble creature," she says. "But when it dies, everyone knows. Do you live in the country?"
"In town." I describe my neighborhood.
"I know where that is," she says. "The skunks go everywhere. Especially after a rain. And especially in the country. Call us back if you want us to send someone out."
"I will," I say. I smile, and let it reach my voice. "Thank you very much."
"Doug," I say, "I smell skunk. That means one of two things, and one of them is very bad."
"I was dreaming someone was using a lighter," he says. We stumble out of bed, no lights, I put on my bathrobe and go smelling around. Doug turns off the cooling system.
The smell is strongest in our bedroom and in the laundry room by the furnace. Doug finds a flashlight, and by its light I search the phone book.
I tell the woman who answers, "I smell skunk. It's strongest near the furnace."
"I don't know what we can do about that," she says.
I stop. What? "Ummm, doesn't leaking gas smell like skunk?"
"Oh no," she says. "We use ------." My sleep-fogged brain does not catch the name. "It's a very strong smell, a very bad smell, and very distinct."
"Not skunk?"
"No, ------. It's very distinctive. We can still send someone out if you want us to check."
"Let me check with my husband."
I report that they don't use skunk. He reports that the smell seems to be dissipating and he doesn't hear any hissing.
"I think we are OK," I say.
"The skunk is a very humble creature," she says. "But when it dies, everyone knows. Do you live in the country?"
"In town." I describe my neighborhood.
"I know where that is," she says. "The skunks go everywhere. Especially after a rain. And especially in the country. Call us back if you want us to send someone out."
"I will," I say. I smile, and let it reach my voice. "Thank you very much."
Saturday, July 08, 2006
Europe!
Our Europe trip was amazing! We started with a single night in London. I went down to Gutshot, the poker club whose website publishes my articles. (See my article archive - here ). The manager, Jim, made us very welcome. I'm glad to report that the food, beer and atmosphere are all excellent. I tried a little pot limit Hold'em, which is their most popular game. Mostly folded everything, just watching how it was different from the limit Hold'em I usually play. Interesting.
Then off to Barnsdale Country Club, where Mom had exchanged her timeshare for a week's lodging for six. Doug's parents, Mo and Lois, joined Doug and me and Mom and Larry there. The guidebooks say this is one of the less interesting parts of England. Well, all of England must be fascinating then! There were five tourable castles within 10 miles. Plus a lake, a nationally famous garden, loads of great pubs, bird watching and more. Mom went to all the castles, Doug and I satisfied ourselves with one. And we toured the Barnsdale Gardens -- beautiful, divided into little sections on a human scale. Geoff Hamilton, who had a tv show in Britain, designed much of it. Doug's distant Welsh cousins Ernie and Sheila came up to the country club, took a room for two nights -- we were very glad to get to see them -- and wanted especially to tour the gardens. They watched Geoff every week, approved of the way he was willing to get his hands dirty. Old Geoff's been gone ten years, but his garden lives on.
Then on to Finland! That was more restful, and by that time, we needed it! Mo and Lois remained in England. Mom and Larry and Doug and I flew to Helsinki, and then drove to the resort she had reserved there -- the Hannunkivi Holiday Honka. First we drove west into the Sunset. Many lakes, low rolling hills covered in pines and birches rising above them, stylish modern buildings in the cities, some very graceful bridges. Then we drove north into the sunset, which was a bit disorienting! The sun went below the horizon for only an hour or two while we were there. It was never truly dark. We rolled into our cabin at 11 pm, and it looked like 8, still light, out. It was a strange, floating feeling.
Our cabin had a sauna, and was by a lake. The cupboard above the sink had a mesh floor, so you could put dishes there to drain and dry. The staff was extremely friendly and helpful. We enjoyed slowing down, trying the boats on the lake, walking into town. Generally a somewhat more luxurious form of camping.
One thing that interested me was that there seemed to be no fear of theft there. The resort left our room unlocked for us, and had paddleboats and rowboats sitting by the docks into the lake, for anyone to use. There were life jackets and darts and bikes, all unlocked, outside and freely available. It was only a mile's walk into town, where the library loaned Mom a copy of _The Old Man and the Sea_ on her signature, without asking for ID. Yes, we were somewhat out in the country. Still, what does it mean that people are so confident of each other there?
Our train from Helsinki left early Saturday morning. So we went into Helsinki a day before our reservation at Hannunkivi ended, and stayed one night there. We had time to take a walking tour and get a traditional Finnish meal. Hmmm, it appears their tradition is meat and potatoes. :-) Helsinki felt a bit like Portland or San Francisco, very clean, modern, great street market and parks, gorgeous Cathedrals and public buildings. The harbor had a mix of boats -- huge ferries and cruise ships, yachts, personal motorboats, and sailing ships, some with wooden hulls. Very cool. Wish I'd had time to shop, the stores looked great.
Then by train to St. Petersburg! That was by far the most intense part of our trip. The streets are hustling, the buildings are huge and most have decorative sculpture or columns, there are parks and monuments, an onion dome cathedral, canals and a major river. We took a walking tour our first night, and went into the Church of the Spilled Blood -- with the onion domes -- and the Hermitage art museum our second day. Our last morning, we just took our time getting ready to fly again. We had fantastic rooms at a B & B, hosted by the incredibly knowlegeable, gracious and English-speaking Natalya. I recommend the Assembly B & B in St. Petersburg highly. She taught us to drink vodka the Russian way. That's worth another story another day!
All in all, it was an amazing trip! And now we are glad to be home again.
May you all have the adventures that add savor to returning home.
Then off to Barnsdale Country Club, where Mom had exchanged her timeshare for a week's lodging for six. Doug's parents, Mo and Lois, joined Doug and me and Mom and Larry there. The guidebooks say this is one of the less interesting parts of England. Well, all of England must be fascinating then! There were five tourable castles within 10 miles. Plus a lake, a nationally famous garden, loads of great pubs, bird watching and more. Mom went to all the castles, Doug and I satisfied ourselves with one. And we toured the Barnsdale Gardens -- beautiful, divided into little sections on a human scale. Geoff Hamilton, who had a tv show in Britain, designed much of it. Doug's distant Welsh cousins Ernie and Sheila came up to the country club, took a room for two nights -- we were very glad to get to see them -- and wanted especially to tour the gardens. They watched Geoff every week, approved of the way he was willing to get his hands dirty. Old Geoff's been gone ten years, but his garden lives on.
Then on to Finland! That was more restful, and by that time, we needed it! Mo and Lois remained in England. Mom and Larry and Doug and I flew to Helsinki, and then drove to the resort she had reserved there -- the Hannunkivi Holiday Honka. First we drove west into the Sunset. Many lakes, low rolling hills covered in pines and birches rising above them, stylish modern buildings in the cities, some very graceful bridges. Then we drove north into the sunset, which was a bit disorienting! The sun went below the horizon for only an hour or two while we were there. It was never truly dark. We rolled into our cabin at 11 pm, and it looked like 8, still light, out. It was a strange, floating feeling.
Our cabin had a sauna, and was by a lake. The cupboard above the sink had a mesh floor, so you could put dishes there to drain and dry. The staff was extremely friendly and helpful. We enjoyed slowing down, trying the boats on the lake, walking into town. Generally a somewhat more luxurious form of camping.
One thing that interested me was that there seemed to be no fear of theft there. The resort left our room unlocked for us, and had paddleboats and rowboats sitting by the docks into the lake, for anyone to use. There were life jackets and darts and bikes, all unlocked, outside and freely available. It was only a mile's walk into town, where the library loaned Mom a copy of _The Old Man and the Sea_ on her signature, without asking for ID. Yes, we were somewhat out in the country. Still, what does it mean that people are so confident of each other there?
Our train from Helsinki left early Saturday morning. So we went into Helsinki a day before our reservation at Hannunkivi ended, and stayed one night there. We had time to take a walking tour and get a traditional Finnish meal. Hmmm, it appears their tradition is meat and potatoes. :-) Helsinki felt a bit like Portland or San Francisco, very clean, modern, great street market and parks, gorgeous Cathedrals and public buildings. The harbor had a mix of boats -- huge ferries and cruise ships, yachts, personal motorboats, and sailing ships, some with wooden hulls. Very cool. Wish I'd had time to shop, the stores looked great.
Then by train to St. Petersburg! That was by far the most intense part of our trip. The streets are hustling, the buildings are huge and most have decorative sculpture or columns, there are parks and monuments, an onion dome cathedral, canals and a major river. We took a walking tour our first night, and went into the Church of the Spilled Blood -- with the onion domes -- and the Hermitage art museum our second day. Our last morning, we just took our time getting ready to fly again. We had fantastic rooms at a B & B, hosted by the incredibly knowlegeable, gracious and English-speaking Natalya. I recommend the Assembly B & B in St. Petersburg highly. She taught us to drink vodka the Russian way. That's worth another story another day!
All in all, it was an amazing trip! And now we are glad to be home again.
May you all have the adventures that add savor to returning home.
Saturday, June 10, 2006
Cook Locally
Cook locally
We took a little time out last week to play tourist in our new home region. We had a local Visitor's guide, and followed one of the day trips in in. Drove over to Mesilla, the Mission era town on the edge of Las Cruces. Once Mesilla and Las Cruces were separated by the Rio Grande and the border between the US and Mexico. Then the river moved. Mesilla retains a lot of colonial Spanish flavor, with an attractive cathedral on the town plaza, and Mission style architecture around it.
Then we drove down to Stahneman's. They have 180,000 thousand acres of Pecan trees. We had just missed the tasting tour. The drive between the orchards is very gracious, especially where the pecan trees have grown to stretch arching branches across the road, in a fashion I usually expect from elms. Stahneman's has a spacious gift shop -- selling pecan gift tins, specialty foods, candy, ice cream, kitchen accessories and cookbooks. We browsed for some time. Naturally the cookbooks took a fair portion of my attention. Only a few days before, I'd said I wanted local recipes so we could start taking more advantage of the local ingredients. I settled on _The Aficionado's Southwestern Cooking_ by Ronald Johnson. It seems to be a classic, and I liked the way he talked about ways to vary the recipes. No photos, friendly attitude, solid food.
So, last night we followed his recipe to make Green Sauce. This may be the most New Mexican of New Mexican foods. We are only 80 miles from Hatch, the Green Chile capitol of the world. And the state question of New Mexico is 'Red or Green?' -- meaning, which color of chile sauce would you like on your dinner? (Of course you want chile sauce on your dinner, what are you thinking?!) When we crossed the border to New Mexico on our second trip here, and discovered that the convenience store offered green chili for the nachos, Doug said, "Ah! I'm home!" So of course Green sauce is where we started our New Mexico style cooking.
We had found frozen green chile purée at Costco in Albuquerque -- I'm sure they've never carried it in Oregon -- so of course we had to quadruple the recipe to match the volume of chiles. Costco, you know. So we had enough to simmer two and a half pounds of cubed and browned pork, plus some to use as salsa and several more packages to freeze. It was labelled 'Hot' and is it ever! The pork chili verde was excellent! Made a very nice dinner with broccoli and refried beans.
Other local specialties are pecans and honey. We've eaten a lot of pecans since arriving. I'll be looking for recipes for them. And there are lots of fruits and vegetables grown locally.
In fact, there's a farmer's market this morning, and I think I'll go.
We took a little time out last week to play tourist in our new home region. We had a local Visitor's guide, and followed one of the day trips in in. Drove over to Mesilla, the Mission era town on the edge of Las Cruces. Once Mesilla and Las Cruces were separated by the Rio Grande and the border between the US and Mexico. Then the river moved. Mesilla retains a lot of colonial Spanish flavor, with an attractive cathedral on the town plaza, and Mission style architecture around it.
Then we drove down to Stahneman's. They have 180,000 thousand acres of Pecan trees. We had just missed the tasting tour. The drive between the orchards is very gracious, especially where the pecan trees have grown to stretch arching branches across the road, in a fashion I usually expect from elms. Stahneman's has a spacious gift shop -- selling pecan gift tins, specialty foods, candy, ice cream, kitchen accessories and cookbooks. We browsed for some time. Naturally the cookbooks took a fair portion of my attention. Only a few days before, I'd said I wanted local recipes so we could start taking more advantage of the local ingredients. I settled on _The Aficionado's Southwestern Cooking_ by Ronald Johnson. It seems to be a classic, and I liked the way he talked about ways to vary the recipes. No photos, friendly attitude, solid food.
So, last night we followed his recipe to make Green Sauce. This may be the most New Mexican of New Mexican foods. We are only 80 miles from Hatch, the Green Chile capitol of the world. And the state question of New Mexico is 'Red or Green?' -- meaning, which color of chile sauce would you like on your dinner? (Of course you want chile sauce on your dinner, what are you thinking?!) When we crossed the border to New Mexico on our second trip here, and discovered that the convenience store offered green chili for the nachos, Doug said, "Ah! I'm home!" So of course Green sauce is where we started our New Mexico style cooking.
We had found frozen green chile purée at Costco in Albuquerque -- I'm sure they've never carried it in Oregon -- so of course we had to quadruple the recipe to match the volume of chiles. Costco, you know. So we had enough to simmer two and a half pounds of cubed and browned pork, plus some to use as salsa and several more packages to freeze. It was labelled 'Hot' and is it ever! The pork chili verde was excellent! Made a very nice dinner with broccoli and refried beans.
Other local specialties are pecans and honey. We've eaten a lot of pecans since arriving. I'll be looking for recipes for them. And there are lots of fruits and vegetables grown locally.
In fact, there's a farmer's market this morning, and I think I'll go.
Sunday, June 04, 2006
Counter Change
Counter Change
Right now, my counter is making me very happy.
We have a beautiful kitchen. The previous owners revamped it. The cupboard doors are hunter green, the counters, edges of the cupboards and door pulls are medium oak. They made a lovely backsplash of small green tiles bordered by oak trim, and covered the wall behind the sink in a pattern of stone tiles exactly to my taste. Mostly squares, a few diagonal seams -- just enough variation for interest without so much as to become gaudy.
One particularly gorgeous feature is the piecing of the oak boards in the corner. The boards run from the edge to the backsplash along all straight sections of counters. There is one corner. They meticulously fanned triangular pieces of oak to create an even and gorgeous transition from one facing of the strips to the next.
Now that Doug has repaired the under the cupboard lights, the whole counter glows in home magazine fashion. It really looks like a designer kitchen, photo-worthy, rich.
Using the kitchen instead of looking at it revealed a few problems. The space allowed at the end of one counter, where the water line to hook to an internal icemaker suggested we should put our refrigerator -- is actually too small to place any standard refrigerator, if you want to actually open the doors wide enough to open the drawers. The dishwasher is an inconvenient three steps distant from the sink. And, most ungracious of all -- the gorgeous wooden countertops were not waterproof! In the time between when we first saw the home, and when we took possession after closing, the area around the sink had darkened and waterspotted. Boards had separated from their neighbors and the gap had been filled with wood putty. The whole counter had aged, in a matter of weeks.
It's amazing how awkward it feels to work in a kitchen where you dare not get water on the counter. Every standard kitchen task becomes more complex.
Three days ago, I refinished a section of the counter. Sand, coat with polyacrylic, wait three hours, repeat. To a total of three coats, with a final sanding.
It's not perfect. I preserved some flaws too deep to be sanded out, and one section of the finish has a little pebbling. Yet that counter glows. I can fill a glass on it, without hyperattention to not spilling any. I can wipe it with a wet cloth, no harm done. I'm free.
So I'm now very happy about being able to do with a counter things that before I moved, I took for granted for counters.
That's the way it goes. We're often more appreciative of an improvement, than of the many blessings we're accustomed to.
I don't know how long I'll continue to be happy every time I wipe the newly refinished counter with a wet cloth. Most likely, in time, I'll forget how wonderful that seems to me now. But do I have to? Could I remember?
May you see one of your current blessings with fresh eyes.
Right now, my counter is making me very happy.
We have a beautiful kitchen. The previous owners revamped it. The cupboard doors are hunter green, the counters, edges of the cupboards and door pulls are medium oak. They made a lovely backsplash of small green tiles bordered by oak trim, and covered the wall behind the sink in a pattern of stone tiles exactly to my taste. Mostly squares, a few diagonal seams -- just enough variation for interest without so much as to become gaudy.
One particularly gorgeous feature is the piecing of the oak boards in the corner. The boards run from the edge to the backsplash along all straight sections of counters. There is one corner. They meticulously fanned triangular pieces of oak to create an even and gorgeous transition from one facing of the strips to the next.
Now that Doug has repaired the under the cupboard lights, the whole counter glows in home magazine fashion. It really looks like a designer kitchen, photo-worthy, rich.
Using the kitchen instead of looking at it revealed a few problems. The space allowed at the end of one counter, where the water line to hook to an internal icemaker suggested we should put our refrigerator -- is actually too small to place any standard refrigerator, if you want to actually open the doors wide enough to open the drawers. The dishwasher is an inconvenient three steps distant from the sink. And, most ungracious of all -- the gorgeous wooden countertops were not waterproof! In the time between when we first saw the home, and when we took possession after closing, the area around the sink had darkened and waterspotted. Boards had separated from their neighbors and the gap had been filled with wood putty. The whole counter had aged, in a matter of weeks.
It's amazing how awkward it feels to work in a kitchen where you dare not get water on the counter. Every standard kitchen task becomes more complex.
Three days ago, I refinished a section of the counter. Sand, coat with polyacrylic, wait three hours, repeat. To a total of three coats, with a final sanding.
It's not perfect. I preserved some flaws too deep to be sanded out, and one section of the finish has a little pebbling. Yet that counter glows. I can fill a glass on it, without hyperattention to not spilling any. I can wipe it with a wet cloth, no harm done. I'm free.
So I'm now very happy about being able to do with a counter things that before I moved, I took for granted for counters.
That's the way it goes. We're often more appreciative of an improvement, than of the many blessings we're accustomed to.
I don't know how long I'll continue to be happy every time I wipe the newly refinished counter with a wet cloth. Most likely, in time, I'll forget how wonderful that seems to me now. But do I have to? Could I remember?
May you see one of your current blessings with fresh eyes.
Sunday, May 21, 2006
Stuff
Stuff
My last post will have informed the alert reader (Hi, Doug!) that we have arrived in Las Cruces. Yes, we have been here since April 27th, and our stuff arrived in the truck on May 3rd. Time has just been flying. There is so much to do. Unpacking, small home improvements and repairs, learning where all the services of Las Cruces can be found, and adapting to local usages.
I love it here! There's so much more diversity and life than in Bend. Birds sing before and after dawn, there are all these new plants about. We are close to campus, and we've seen many shades of skin, a full spectrum of choices and styles. The food is great, too!
We've made very good progress on adapting this house to our ease, and placing our stuff within it. The spaces are different than our last house, of course. I noticed an awkwardness before we had enough tools about. I missed having writing tools at hand, bookmarks ready to mark my page, my address book -- the little conveniences that let me do the everyday tasks of my life easily. As we started unpacking our boxes, and placing these and similar things about for use, I began to feel more and more powerful. Simple powers -- like the ability to write a grocery list -- add up to a lot of leverage on the world. I've been very happy to regain those abilities.
So, for a while, every box we opened and distributed increased my power.
Then we hit a point where the next box was more likely to be a nuisance than a help. There are a few very useful things in most boxes -- and as we go on, more and more of the stuff seems burdensome and irrelevant. I have to find a place to put it, it doesn't add any new abilities to my life, it may be only very occasionally useful, and it clutters the clean lines of sight throughout the house. We hit the point of diminishing returns.
Of course, we ended up packing more stuff than ideal. At several points, we had helpers in who packed without trimming. And I reached a point where it was easier to pack an item than to make a decision about it. So there was a small amount of stuff that I knew, even in Bend, that I didn't need to bring.
We've discovered more that seems irrelevant to our new life as we learn about the climate and our inclinations here. Some things, like the turtlenecks, are seeming blatantly useless here. Others more subtly so. So, likely more trimming of possessions to come.
I want to remember that point of diminishing returns -- how I felt as unpacking changed from adding to my life to burdening it. Ideally, I'd like my level of stuff to create that maximumly powerful point all the time. Where does stuff stop adding to my abilities and start being a drain on my time and energy? Can I get rid of all the stuff beyond that point? Now there is a good question.
Ideals are meant to be imagined, not reached. I'll move toward this one, as I can, and enjoy where I am anyway. And then there is the organizing of the stuff, for ease and convenience -- and that too works better when there is less stuff to organize.
So on I go.
May you move ever closer to the ideal level of possessions.
My last post will have informed the alert reader (Hi, Doug!) that we have arrived in Las Cruces. Yes, we have been here since April 27th, and our stuff arrived in the truck on May 3rd. Time has just been flying. There is so much to do. Unpacking, small home improvements and repairs, learning where all the services of Las Cruces can be found, and adapting to local usages.
I love it here! There's so much more diversity and life than in Bend. Birds sing before and after dawn, there are all these new plants about. We are close to campus, and we've seen many shades of skin, a full spectrum of choices and styles. The food is great, too!
We've made very good progress on adapting this house to our ease, and placing our stuff within it. The spaces are different than our last house, of course. I noticed an awkwardness before we had enough tools about. I missed having writing tools at hand, bookmarks ready to mark my page, my address book -- the little conveniences that let me do the everyday tasks of my life easily. As we started unpacking our boxes, and placing these and similar things about for use, I began to feel more and more powerful. Simple powers -- like the ability to write a grocery list -- add up to a lot of leverage on the world. I've been very happy to regain those abilities.
So, for a while, every box we opened and distributed increased my power.
Then we hit a point where the next box was more likely to be a nuisance than a help. There are a few very useful things in most boxes -- and as we go on, more and more of the stuff seems burdensome and irrelevant. I have to find a place to put it, it doesn't add any new abilities to my life, it may be only very occasionally useful, and it clutters the clean lines of sight throughout the house. We hit the point of diminishing returns.
Of course, we ended up packing more stuff than ideal. At several points, we had helpers in who packed without trimming. And I reached a point where it was easier to pack an item than to make a decision about it. So there was a small amount of stuff that I knew, even in Bend, that I didn't need to bring.
We've discovered more that seems irrelevant to our new life as we learn about the climate and our inclinations here. Some things, like the turtlenecks, are seeming blatantly useless here. Others more subtly so. So, likely more trimming of possessions to come.
I want to remember that point of diminishing returns -- how I felt as unpacking changed from adding to my life to burdening it. Ideally, I'd like my level of stuff to create that maximumly powerful point all the time. Where does stuff stop adding to my abilities and start being a drain on my time and energy? Can I get rid of all the stuff beyond that point? Now there is a good question.
Ideals are meant to be imagined, not reached. I'll move toward this one, as I can, and enjoy where I am anyway. And then there is the organizing of the stuff, for ease and convenience -- and that too works better when there is less stuff to organize.
So on I go.
May you move ever closer to the ideal level of possessions.
Saturday, May 20, 2006
New Sand Garden
Today we walked down to get breakfast. Along the way, we wished our neighbors a good morning, admired the blooming cactus -- fruit of Monday's cloudburst.
Great breakfast.
Walking home, Doug stopped to admire a rock wall. The builder of it said we could have what we wanted of the leftover rocks. Back we went, with handtruck and gloves. I chose, and Doug and Mo, his father, loaded one rock onto the handtruck. Mo wheeled it home, and placed it as I wished, patient with my small adjustments until I had it right. Now my sand garden has its three foci. Telephone junction box, birdbath, stone.
Doug and Mo went off to another project, and I had my garden to myself. I took the sand rake -- left by the previous owners -- and smoothed and molded around my foci. The birdbath needed a slight adjustment. I made it, and leveled it again. One side of the rake smooths and moves, the other makes inch-wide furrows and pulls debris out of the sand. First, the smooth side to make good contours. Then the pegged side to remove the fallen leaves. Then the pegged side again, to make pretty patterns in the sand.
I could see where I lost focus. Small wiggles, or gaps in the minifurrows. A little touch-up, and then the acceptance of it, as it is.
Soon I will place a bench, sheltered beside the shed and facing the sand garden. Then I can sit there. Just for me.
Great breakfast.
Walking home, Doug stopped to admire a rock wall. The builder of it said we could have what we wanted of the leftover rocks. Back we went, with handtruck and gloves. I chose, and Doug and Mo, his father, loaded one rock onto the handtruck. Mo wheeled it home, and placed it as I wished, patient with my small adjustments until I had it right. Now my sand garden has its three foci. Telephone junction box, birdbath, stone.
Doug and Mo went off to another project, and I had my garden to myself. I took the sand rake -- left by the previous owners -- and smoothed and molded around my foci. The birdbath needed a slight adjustment. I made it, and leveled it again. One side of the rake smooths and moves, the other makes inch-wide furrows and pulls debris out of the sand. First, the smooth side to make good contours. Then the pegged side to remove the fallen leaves. Then the pegged side again, to make pretty patterns in the sand.
I could see where I lost focus. Small wiggles, or gaps in the minifurrows. A little touch-up, and then the acceptance of it, as it is.
Soon I will place a bench, sheltered beside the shed and facing the sand garden. Then I can sit there. Just for me.
Thursday, April 13, 2006
Acts of Faith
Acts of Faith
We are about to move 1500 miles. Lightening up is a good idea. There will be no making a second trip to gather the items we couldn't quite fit in the first time.
We have a lot of stuff. Last time, we used U-Haul's largest truck, plus two runs with my stepfather's trailer. We've bought some additional furniture and stuff in the five years since then. Pruning is ongoing.
We trimmed a little more than ten percent of our library. We're pretty much keeping the entire rock collection. We took a few cubic feet out of the games collection. And I'm letting go of twice as much volume from my cloth stash.
The mover's video instructions suggest tossing all cleaning supplies and pantry items. Can I really do that?
I see that I've been using stuff as a safety net. The pantry represents this much margin between me and hunger. The cleaning supplies, a bank of resources to avoid squalor even when broke. More t-shirts than I can wear in a month -- that much insurance against going cold and naked. Unread magazines -- that much barrier between me and boredom -- which is what? The fear that I can't face my own thoughts without distraction?
We once went to a museum in the Welsh countryside that recreated typical homes from pre-literate, medieval, and 1650, 1750, 1850 and 1950 eras. You could see the stuff swell hugely for 1950, kitsch and radio and home decor and utensils of vast variety and color -- enough to choke on. I liked the sparsity of 1750. One table. One chair, one plate, per family member. Of course, this one bed per family arrangement needs to go. And there is a lot to be said for keeping the livestock in a separate building.
The old paradigm -- the old proverb -- 'Waste not, want not' -- dates to that time. And it still has its applications. Still, could they have imagined receiving by post, for free, enough paper each week to light each morning's fires? Would they have recoiled, shouting 'Sin!' at a catalog offering seventy-four different swimsuits? And what would they have done with a collected stack of twenty AOL discs?
Really, this stuff has to go. I need my irreplaceable time and the energy it would take to track and move all this for better things.
And so, into the trash with every frayed towel and stained t-shirt. Send the fresh, durable pantry items to the Food Bank, and let go of the past-its-use-by-date dressing mix. Toss the last half cup of flour. I can do this.
And every discard is an act of faith -- faith that I will have what I need, when I need it. Faith that I have the resources to feed myself and clothe myself and face time without props. Faith that everything will be OK.
May you find your safety in yourself rather than your possessions.
We are about to move 1500 miles. Lightening up is a good idea. There will be no making a second trip to gather the items we couldn't quite fit in the first time.
We have a lot of stuff. Last time, we used U-Haul's largest truck, plus two runs with my stepfather's trailer. We've bought some additional furniture and stuff in the five years since then. Pruning is ongoing.
We trimmed a little more than ten percent of our library. We're pretty much keeping the entire rock collection. We took a few cubic feet out of the games collection. And I'm letting go of twice as much volume from my cloth stash.
The mover's video instructions suggest tossing all cleaning supplies and pantry items. Can I really do that?
I see that I've been using stuff as a safety net. The pantry represents this much margin between me and hunger. The cleaning supplies, a bank of resources to avoid squalor even when broke. More t-shirts than I can wear in a month -- that much insurance against going cold and naked. Unread magazines -- that much barrier between me and boredom -- which is what? The fear that I can't face my own thoughts without distraction?
We once went to a museum in the Welsh countryside that recreated typical homes from pre-literate, medieval, and 1650, 1750, 1850 and 1950 eras. You could see the stuff swell hugely for 1950, kitsch and radio and home decor and utensils of vast variety and color -- enough to choke on. I liked the sparsity of 1750. One table. One chair, one plate, per family member. Of course, this one bed per family arrangement needs to go. And there is a lot to be said for keeping the livestock in a separate building.
The old paradigm -- the old proverb -- 'Waste not, want not' -- dates to that time. And it still has its applications. Still, could they have imagined receiving by post, for free, enough paper each week to light each morning's fires? Would they have recoiled, shouting 'Sin!' at a catalog offering seventy-four different swimsuits? And what would they have done with a collected stack of twenty AOL discs?
Really, this stuff has to go. I need my irreplaceable time and the energy it would take to track and move all this for better things.
And so, into the trash with every frayed towel and stained t-shirt. Send the fresh, durable pantry items to the Food Bank, and let go of the past-its-use-by-date dressing mix. Toss the last half cup of flour. I can do this.
And every discard is an act of faith -- faith that I will have what I need, when I need it. Faith that I have the resources to feed myself and clothe myself and face time without props. Faith that everything will be OK.
May you find your safety in yourself rather than your possessions.
Friday, March 31, 2006
Using Things Up
For a while, I've known we were moving. It becomes more concrete every day. We spent March 12th through 18th driving to Las Cruces, choosing a home and making an offer on it, waiting for the offer's acceptance, and driving home again. We've accepted an offer on our home. It was listed for only 2 weeks.
So, now, if all continues to go well, we close on the home here in Bend on April 24th, drive ourselves and our cats to Las Cruces, and close on the home there on April 27th. Meanwhile, a hired truck brings all our stuff behind us, and we'll be able to unload it directly into the new place. That's just the way I wanted it.
We could still hit some snags. Not for lack of anything I could have done. I've played this hand beautifully, and if the cards end up falling against me later -- that's just the way it goes. Contigencies -- there is always something that can be done.
So, in the meanwhile, there is no point in moving more consumables than we have to. I've been cooking down the pantry. Emptying the freezer of the packages from the whole beef we bought. Making do with fewer than the usual number of shampoos, as one bottle after another goes empty, and is not replaced.
And as we pack things up, we have more space, more room to move. I'm not quite ready to let go of all our stuff. I begin to see, a little, how having less stuff could be a pleasure. Something for one of these days.
Plans and shifts. I'm really looking forward to this move, and I'm enjoying what I'm learning getting ready for it.
May your life bring you exactly what you need.
Anna
So, now, if all continues to go well, we close on the home here in Bend on April 24th, drive ourselves and our cats to Las Cruces, and close on the home there on April 27th. Meanwhile, a hired truck brings all our stuff behind us, and we'll be able to unload it directly into the new place. That's just the way I wanted it.
We could still hit some snags. Not for lack of anything I could have done. I've played this hand beautifully, and if the cards end up falling against me later -- that's just the way it goes. Contigencies -- there is always something that can be done.
So, in the meanwhile, there is no point in moving more consumables than we have to. I've been cooking down the pantry. Emptying the freezer of the packages from the whole beef we bought. Making do with fewer than the usual number of shampoos, as one bottle after another goes empty, and is not replaced.
And as we pack things up, we have more space, more room to move. I'm not quite ready to let go of all our stuff. I begin to see, a little, how having less stuff could be a pleasure. Something for one of these days.
Plans and shifts. I'm really looking forward to this move, and I'm enjoying what I'm learning getting ready for it.
May your life bring you exactly what you need.
Anna
Thursday, March 09, 2006
Poker Articles, Writers, Reports, News - Gutshot Poker Collective - Play Online Poker
Time for a confession. I'm postmodern.
I spent years not even knowing what postmodern meant. That was pretty postmodern in and of itself. In fact, I still may not know. Well, that's one of the things about it. Not knowing is essential to being postmodern.
It isn't entirely despair. Like we had optimistic and pessimistic existentialists -- assuming I understood them correctly, which may be too much to claim -- there is actually a bright side to postmodernism. When you're willing to take everything apart, you create room for tolerance.
And that's how I really know I'm postmodern. I've taken myself apart. Deconstructed. Looked at the foundations of the foundations, and discovered that's really no there there. I've done it, every so often, all my life.
It's not the most fun part of being postmodern. There's a lot more play in the return of humor to philosophical discourse, self-referentialism, the conscious collaging of separate pieces. However, deconstruction is the heart of postmodernism. Once the foundation reveals itself as emptiness, a huge weight disappears. Of course there is humor -- huge structures from emptiness is funny. Of course we refer to ourselves -- there's nothing more solid to call upon. Of course we gather bits from everywhere, and use them again -- with no foundation to rise from, we must gather sideways instead.
Tomorrow I may reconstruct myself. Regain a sense of self, have faith in something I can put my feet on. Believe that truth is obtainable, put myself in service to a cause, work for the better tomorrow that is the great modern promise. In fact, I'm sure I will. I always have before.
And there is something that chooses -- something that remains, nameless and unknown, yet a seed that recreates. I don't know what it is. Each time, it pulls some me together again.
That, and that, will take me through today. Though now I feel low and lost, eventually -- eventually I will be again.
I spent years not even knowing what postmodern meant. That was pretty postmodern in and of itself. In fact, I still may not know. Well, that's one of the things about it. Not knowing is essential to being postmodern.
It isn't entirely despair. Like we had optimistic and pessimistic existentialists -- assuming I understood them correctly, which may be too much to claim -- there is actually a bright side to postmodernism. When you're willing to take everything apart, you create room for tolerance.
And that's how I really know I'm postmodern. I've taken myself apart. Deconstructed. Looked at the foundations of the foundations, and discovered that's really no there there. I've done it, every so often, all my life.
It's not the most fun part of being postmodern. There's a lot more play in the return of humor to philosophical discourse, self-referentialism, the conscious collaging of separate pieces. However, deconstruction is the heart of postmodernism. Once the foundation reveals itself as emptiness, a huge weight disappears. Of course there is humor -- huge structures from emptiness is funny. Of course we refer to ourselves -- there's nothing more solid to call upon. Of course we gather bits from everywhere, and use them again -- with no foundation to rise from, we must gather sideways instead.
Tomorrow I may reconstruct myself. Regain a sense of self, have faith in something I can put my feet on. Believe that truth is obtainable, put myself in service to a cause, work for the better tomorrow that is the great modern promise. In fact, I'm sure I will. I always have before.
And there is something that chooses -- something that remains, nameless and unknown, yet a seed that recreates. I don't know what it is. Each time, it pulls some me together again.
That, and that, will take me through today. Though now I feel low and lost, eventually -- eventually I will be again.
Sunday, January 22, 2006
Mornings
Recently, my sleep pattern has changed. I find I only need six hours. I'm crediting it to the Holosync. It might just be maturity.
This morning, I am at my brother and sister-in-law's home in Winnemucca. They both rose early, went out for coffee. Doug lies abed, getting his beauty sleep -- and it must work, he's very attractive! And I am thinking about early mornings I have known.
My sister rises early too. Genetics, or a legacy of youthful farm labor?
Because, this, to me, was the archetypical farming morning:
Dad would call through the bedroom door, and I'd roll out of bet, dress with jeans, button front shirt, hat and tennis shoes. We'd be out the front door, and into the pickup, ten minutes later. Another ten minutes to drive to the farm, sun rising over the hills, air fresh and moist. Then my sister and I would take Grandpa's pickup out to the out to the fields.
We moved irrigation lines. The wheel lines were easy. Disconnect the four inch diameter hoses from the side line, start the motor in the center of the field with the pull rope, walk behind as the pipes rolled about ten yards beyond the limit of wet soil. Reconnect the hose at the new location. Start the timer. Check that all the sprinklers opened up as they should. Next field.
The intermediate wheatgrass, though, was too tall for the wheel lines. Rolling along would have broken the tops off the stalks, scattered the seed that was the most profitable fruit of the field. So we had hand lines. Again, disconnect from the sideline. We practiced, and we could lift the twenty foot segment from the center, press it toward the next segment, and twist it just so, releasing the catch and freeing it. Then lift the pipe overhead to clear the stalks, and march it to its new location, wet wheatgrass brushing against our clothes in the mosquito-laden dawn.
Reassemble. Reattach. Timer. Check for trouble. At last, drive back to the house.
Where Grandma cooked hamburger patties and toast, cottage cheese and sliced tomatoes. And we could visit until our clothes dried, and it was time to go hoe or hay.
This morning, I am at my brother and sister-in-law's home in Winnemucca. They both rose early, went out for coffee. Doug lies abed, getting his beauty sleep -- and it must work, he's very attractive! And I am thinking about early mornings I have known.
My sister rises early too. Genetics, or a legacy of youthful farm labor?
Because, this, to me, was the archetypical farming morning:
Dad would call through the bedroom door, and I'd roll out of bet, dress with jeans, button front shirt, hat and tennis shoes. We'd be out the front door, and into the pickup, ten minutes later. Another ten minutes to drive to the farm, sun rising over the hills, air fresh and moist. Then my sister and I would take Grandpa's pickup out to the out to the fields.
We moved irrigation lines. The wheel lines were easy. Disconnect the four inch diameter hoses from the side line, start the motor in the center of the field with the pull rope, walk behind as the pipes rolled about ten yards beyond the limit of wet soil. Reconnect the hose at the new location. Start the timer. Check that all the sprinklers opened up as they should. Next field.
The intermediate wheatgrass, though, was too tall for the wheel lines. Rolling along would have broken the tops off the stalks, scattered the seed that was the most profitable fruit of the field. So we had hand lines. Again, disconnect from the sideline. We practiced, and we could lift the twenty foot segment from the center, press it toward the next segment, and twist it just so, releasing the catch and freeing it. Then lift the pipe overhead to clear the stalks, and march it to its new location, wet wheatgrass brushing against our clothes in the mosquito-laden dawn.
Reassemble. Reattach. Timer. Check for trouble. At last, drive back to the house.
Where Grandma cooked hamburger patties and toast, cottage cheese and sliced tomatoes. And we could visit until our clothes dried, and it was time to go hoe or hay.
Saturday, December 31, 2005
Dangerous Oatmeal
I like to take a few chances.
One is pursuing the perfect bowl of oatmeal at high speed.
Microwave oatmeal is break-dancing on an antenna. First steps involve a lot of falling. A lot of boil-overs and graceless flailing. I looked deep into the heart and oatmeal, and found this is what it needed: a larger bowl.
So, I make my morning oatmeal like this: two teaspoons of sunflower seeds, one slice of candied ginger, diced, this much oatmeal, poured from the bag, and one cup of soy milk. I put it all in a four cup Pyrex measure, set that upon the turntable, and run our 1400 watt microwave for two minutes.
Two minutes is fine. At two minutes, I can walk away, and the oatmeal will seldom boil over. And I'll have a decent bowl of oatmeal, a bit dry in the center of the flakes, perhaps, but perfectly palatable.
Ah, but three minutes! Three minutes yields an excellent bowl of oatmeal. At three minutes, all the flakes are plump and moist, the milk has merged into something greater, and an exquisite edge of carmel has joined the flavor circus. Three minutes is gorgeous.
And three minutes means pushing the edge. Complete attention, as I watch the oatmeal rise through the gridded window. My finger hovers, ready to stop the process, let the foam fall, rescue my carefree breakfast from wasting itself on the surface of the turntable. Each morning, with changes in the atmosphere or whim of oatmeal volume, the process reinvents itself -- no simple formula can capture its living complexity. Just me, completely alive to the moment, watching the rise, hitting the button, looking at the black screen that hides the contents when the power is off, until I feel my moment return, restarting, and repeating. To three minutes. Or maybe a little longer.
And then, if I have danced my dance well, I eat a great bowl of oatmeal.
Or if not, I suffer the agonies of short rations and microwave KP duty.
Or maybe not. Maybe it's only oatmeal.
Or maybe it's something magnificent, because I have invested myself in it.
Here is your day. May you dramatize it or float through it, as suits you best.
One is pursuing the perfect bowl of oatmeal at high speed.
Microwave oatmeal is break-dancing on an antenna. First steps involve a lot of falling. A lot of boil-overs and graceless flailing. I looked deep into the heart and oatmeal, and found this is what it needed: a larger bowl.
So, I make my morning oatmeal like this: two teaspoons of sunflower seeds, one slice of candied ginger, diced, this much oatmeal, poured from the bag, and one cup of soy milk. I put it all in a four cup Pyrex measure, set that upon the turntable, and run our 1400 watt microwave for two minutes.
Two minutes is fine. At two minutes, I can walk away, and the oatmeal will seldom boil over. And I'll have a decent bowl of oatmeal, a bit dry in the center of the flakes, perhaps, but perfectly palatable.
Ah, but three minutes! Three minutes yields an excellent bowl of oatmeal. At three minutes, all the flakes are plump and moist, the milk has merged into something greater, and an exquisite edge of carmel has joined the flavor circus. Three minutes is gorgeous.
And three minutes means pushing the edge. Complete attention, as I watch the oatmeal rise through the gridded window. My finger hovers, ready to stop the process, let the foam fall, rescue my carefree breakfast from wasting itself on the surface of the turntable. Each morning, with changes in the atmosphere or whim of oatmeal volume, the process reinvents itself -- no simple formula can capture its living complexity. Just me, completely alive to the moment, watching the rise, hitting the button, looking at the black screen that hides the contents when the power is off, until I feel my moment return, restarting, and repeating. To three minutes. Or maybe a little longer.
And then, if I have danced my dance well, I eat a great bowl of oatmeal.
Or if not, I suffer the agonies of short rations and microwave KP duty.
Or maybe not. Maybe it's only oatmeal.
Or maybe it's something magnificent, because I have invested myself in it.
Here is your day. May you dramatize it or float through it, as suits you best.
Tuesday, December 20, 2005
Letters
Dear Readers,
So many of you have forgotten about writing personal letters. Is there no place in the world for time spent, writing one person to one person? Here is an art, crafting words for one other's eyes, that is practice for truth, for relationship, for empathy and presence. There is value in the old forms.
Yes, I know you are busy. Phone calls are faster, and hearing a voice is its own pleasure. Casual emails, dropping the formalities, get something said without placing too much weight on it. Barely personalized mass mailings of Christmas cards let you connect with the so many you know and feel for, say hello, I'm still here, I still care and still have time for your life. I thank you for those efforts of connection and care.
And I challenge you -- look at the letter. See, here: the date. Forever marking this expression as belonging to one point in time. Breathing the now of that moment. This is what I said to you then.
And the salutation: oh, how I have constructed and deconstructed the salutation over the years. I was taught, to begin with, that you wrote "Dear ..." as a form. It no longer meant that you held dear the person so saluted, any more than putting the knife on the right of the plate means you are taking special care to notice that the person you are setting the table for is right-handed. All "Dear ..." meant was that you knew and followed the correct form. And then, and then -- oh, the letters we wrote, and how we experimented, brash, wild rebels, with other salutations! "Hello, ..." "Good morning! ..." "Hi, ...". We might try "Dearest ..." in ironicool mode or "Old Chap ..." in Brit-derived semi-casual literary reference mode. We might even write "Beloved ..." in a wild access of self-unveiling and passion. And back to "Dear ...", with full import, yes, it is a form, and yes! it is a truth, you are dear to me, and I show it by taking the time to write, and I create it by trusting and believing and writing to you my truth, my self, these gifts of words. Dear reader.
And then the body. Room for improvisation. Simple, because all we really need is the intent to communicate. Newsy, because we have stories to share. Or want to be known. Stylish, look, isn't this beautiful? Don't I make these words worth the time of reading? Aren't I clever? Heartfelt, to reach you. Tailored, to show I have seen who you are, and I have chosen this for you. Containing gifts of information and appreciation.
Look! for you! this astounding quote I found today: "Through it all, listen to the stirrings of your heart and the calling of your soul. The ultimate purpose of spirituality is to bridge the illusory divide between the self and the Divine. (...) Spirituality is a full-contact sport, and you are called to participate in your own journey on as deep of a level as you can." Jhenah Telyndru.
Isn't that the heart of Christmas? How God sent his son to bridge the gap between Himself and us? And how our part, is to build our own end of the bridge, as best we know how to do it, and come to Him in the middle? And build our own bridges, one to another, recognizing one another as His children, His hands, His workings through this world?
And isn't a letter a bridge? An art, a path, a way? Not just the bridge between person and person. Like all arts, the bridge between who we are now and who we are becoming. Shall we become masters of something? What is your art? Is it reaching for perfection in the shape of a sentence, the color brushes of oil paint, a glory of expression of note, rhythm and passion in song? Is it getting through a day of career and family and home and still being sane at the end? Is it doing your work just a little better than the day before? Is it more self-awareness in that asana, or more devotion in that prayer? A martial art? Friendship? Marriage? And couldn't writing a letter enhance whatever art you practice? Or be its own art, its own ascent to the pinnacle?
Yes, the body.
And then, the closure. The classical form is "Your devoted servant," and who in our democratic present would want that? Who would give themselves to serve another, devotedly, voluntarily, and as a formula? Never mind that the closure would be returned in form again. There's something, in a meeting of modern equals, free men and women, that rebels against declaring oneself a servant. And so, we have, "Your friend," or move to dropping what exactly we are, and write, "Yours," all simply. Yet, that's too plain, does not carry our intent -- so we get "Devotedly yours," "Fraternally yours," "Sincerely yours," oh, yes, but really this whole possession thing is a bother, and it becomes just "Sincerely," for the less intimate letters. And sincerely is the new standard. To say we really meant it, we are giving, if not ourselves, then at least our truth -- a hair-thin distinction, isn't it?
And "Love," is the standard for those we are familiar with -- familiar in the old nearly family, shocked Victorian woman exclaiming with her hand to her chest "You are too familiar, sir!" sense -- for those we can clearly and unironically admit to loving, at least as far as a semi-form closing, 'cause writing "I love you" might just be too much.
And they all mean I care. From "Your devoted servant," to "Yours," to "Sincerely," to "Love," they all express our intention to connect, one to another.
Which is why we have the emerging alternate standard of closing by wishing someone well. "Best wishes," "All the best to you," "May you have your heart's desire," "Merry Christmas," "Blessed Be," "Live long and prosper," and many more. Room for creativity here. If creativity is what you want. Because original or form, the letter still says: Salutation: I care; Body: I care; Closing: I care. And that is the beauty and value of the forms, that even tongue-tied and self-conscious, here we can say and connect, in the tested and beautiful ways.
And so I take letter-writing as one of my arts. Should you choose this art, or should you choose another, may it bring you closer to the Divine and to the ones you love this season.
Devotedly yours,
Anna
So many of you have forgotten about writing personal letters. Is there no place in the world for time spent, writing one person to one person? Here is an art, crafting words for one other's eyes, that is practice for truth, for relationship, for empathy and presence. There is value in the old forms.
Yes, I know you are busy. Phone calls are faster, and hearing a voice is its own pleasure. Casual emails, dropping the formalities, get something said without placing too much weight on it. Barely personalized mass mailings of Christmas cards let you connect with the so many you know and feel for, say hello, I'm still here, I still care and still have time for your life. I thank you for those efforts of connection and care.
And I challenge you -- look at the letter. See, here: the date. Forever marking this expression as belonging to one point in time. Breathing the now of that moment. This is what I said to you then.
And the salutation: oh, how I have constructed and deconstructed the salutation over the years. I was taught, to begin with, that you wrote "Dear ..." as a form. It no longer meant that you held dear the person so saluted, any more than putting the knife on the right of the plate means you are taking special care to notice that the person you are setting the table for is right-handed. All "Dear ..." meant was that you knew and followed the correct form. And then, and then -- oh, the letters we wrote, and how we experimented, brash, wild rebels, with other salutations! "Hello, ..." "Good morning! ..." "Hi, ...". We might try "Dearest ..." in ironicool mode or "Old Chap ..." in Brit-derived semi-casual literary reference mode. We might even write "Beloved ..." in a wild access of self-unveiling and passion. And back to "Dear ...", with full import, yes, it is a form, and yes! it is a truth, you are dear to me, and I show it by taking the time to write, and I create it by trusting and believing and writing to you my truth, my self, these gifts of words. Dear reader.
And then the body. Room for improvisation. Simple, because all we really need is the intent to communicate. Newsy, because we have stories to share. Or want to be known. Stylish, look, isn't this beautiful? Don't I make these words worth the time of reading? Aren't I clever? Heartfelt, to reach you. Tailored, to show I have seen who you are, and I have chosen this for you. Containing gifts of information and appreciation.
Look! for you! this astounding quote I found today: "Through it all, listen to the stirrings of your heart and the calling of your soul. The ultimate purpose of spirituality is to bridge the illusory divide between the self and the Divine. (...) Spirituality is a full-contact sport, and you are called to participate in your own journey on as deep of a level as you can." Jhenah Telyndru.
Isn't that the heart of Christmas? How God sent his son to bridge the gap between Himself and us? And how our part, is to build our own end of the bridge, as best we know how to do it, and come to Him in the middle? And build our own bridges, one to another, recognizing one another as His children, His hands, His workings through this world?
And isn't a letter a bridge? An art, a path, a way? Not just the bridge between person and person. Like all arts, the bridge between who we are now and who we are becoming. Shall we become masters of something? What is your art? Is it reaching for perfection in the shape of a sentence, the color brushes of oil paint, a glory of expression of note, rhythm and passion in song? Is it getting through a day of career and family and home and still being sane at the end? Is it doing your work just a little better than the day before? Is it more self-awareness in that asana, or more devotion in that prayer? A martial art? Friendship? Marriage? And couldn't writing a letter enhance whatever art you practice? Or be its own art, its own ascent to the pinnacle?
Yes, the body.
And then, the closure. The classical form is "Your devoted servant," and who in our democratic present would want that? Who would give themselves to serve another, devotedly, voluntarily, and as a formula? Never mind that the closure would be returned in form again. There's something, in a meeting of modern equals, free men and women, that rebels against declaring oneself a servant. And so, we have, "Your friend," or move to dropping what exactly we are, and write, "Yours," all simply. Yet, that's too plain, does not carry our intent -- so we get "Devotedly yours," "Fraternally yours," "Sincerely yours," oh, yes, but really this whole possession thing is a bother, and it becomes just "Sincerely," for the less intimate letters. And sincerely is the new standard. To say we really meant it, we are giving, if not ourselves, then at least our truth -- a hair-thin distinction, isn't it?
And "Love," is the standard for those we are familiar with -- familiar in the old nearly family, shocked Victorian woman exclaiming with her hand to her chest "You are too familiar, sir!" sense -- for those we can clearly and unironically admit to loving, at least as far as a semi-form closing, 'cause writing "I love you" might just be too much.
And they all mean I care. From "Your devoted servant," to "Yours," to "Sincerely," to "Love," they all express our intention to connect, one to another.
Which is why we have the emerging alternate standard of closing by wishing someone well. "Best wishes," "All the best to you," "May you have your heart's desire," "Merry Christmas," "Blessed Be," "Live long and prosper," and many more. Room for creativity here. If creativity is what you want. Because original or form, the letter still says: Salutation: I care; Body: I care; Closing: I care. And that is the beauty and value of the forms, that even tongue-tied and self-conscious, here we can say and connect, in the tested and beautiful ways.
And so I take letter-writing as one of my arts. Should you choose this art, or should you choose another, may it bring you closer to the Divine and to the ones you love this season.
Devotedly yours,
Anna
Sunday, December 18, 2005
Twenty years of bliss
I have a really great marriage. When people fantasize about their ideal marriage, their fantasy is only half of my reality. I mean, look at this:
It's snowing. It snowed all day yesterday. So we need to clean the walks. Doug takes the snow shovel. I take a straw broom and make like a Russian grandmother --
now, why I keep feeling like a Russian grandmother, I don't know. I have no Russian ancestry, as far as I know, mostly Swede/Suomi, German and English -- but this photo I saw once -- or did I dream it -- with this woman, all bundled with her broom, waiting in the doorway for her chance to sweep -- labelled as Russian grandmother, employed as as snowsweeper for pennies a day -- that has stayed with me for years, decades even, and especially now that my waist is more sturdy than slim, and my hair piles on top of my head as the first of many snowballs that shape my silhouette -- I find myself thinking of myself as a Russian grandmother
-- so I make like a Russian grandmother, and together we go clear the snow. And he conscientiously asks if I want the Yak traks, so I won't slip. And just this morning, I was theorizing that my charisma was around 14, with a plus two bonus for nerds, since I speak the language, and he says you're 18/99 to me. Even though I've been his trophy bride for almost 20 years, and have this Russian grandmother vibe going on.
And we have no income, and it's him and me together, happy, anyway. Glad to be together. Taking on the projects, the one day at a time, to get to our next thing. Enjoying having more time together. And there through the ups and downs.
Like that. The real thing. Love.
It's snowing. It snowed all day yesterday. So we need to clean the walks. Doug takes the snow shovel. I take a straw broom and make like a Russian grandmother --
now, why I keep feeling like a Russian grandmother, I don't know. I have no Russian ancestry, as far as I know, mostly Swede/Suomi, German and English -- but this photo I saw once -- or did I dream it -- with this woman, all bundled with her broom, waiting in the doorway for her chance to sweep -- labelled as Russian grandmother, employed as as snowsweeper for pennies a day -- that has stayed with me for years, decades even, and especially now that my waist is more sturdy than slim, and my hair piles on top of my head as the first of many snowballs that shape my silhouette -- I find myself thinking of myself as a Russian grandmother
-- so I make like a Russian grandmother, and together we go clear the snow. And he conscientiously asks if I want the Yak traks, so I won't slip. And just this morning, I was theorizing that my charisma was around 14, with a plus two bonus for nerds, since I speak the language, and he says you're 18/99 to me. Even though I've been his trophy bride for almost 20 years, and have this Russian grandmother vibe going on.
And we have no income, and it's him and me together, happy, anyway. Glad to be together. Taking on the projects, the one day at a time, to get to our next thing. Enjoying having more time together. And there through the ups and downs.
Like that. The real thing. Love.
Monday, December 12, 2005
Motel memories
The earliest memory I have of a motel: we were on our way to Christmas. I don't know why we stopped -- usually we made the trip in a single day. It was late. We checked in, Dad dashing to the office through the rain, and moved into a room. The roof leaked into the center of the second bed. So somehow, we arranged two adults and three -- or was it four? -- children around the relentless drip and splosh.
Nonetheless, I've always liked motels. Some place new, an adventure -- maybe even then I liked rising to the challenge of dealing with the unexpected.
There was a family that came each summer to stay in the small town I grew up in. They took lodging in the Miles Motel, and I peered through the door into their room, as fascinated as if they dwelt in a fairy burrow.
For one family reunion, we stayed in a motel with remarkably low rates. Inside, the rooms had the further surprises of a kitchen, complete with oven, and pink painted stone walls. Only the mosquitos rising off the nearby creek marred my fantasy of settling in there for months to write a novel.
My great origami road trip brought me to motel after motel. The most interesting lay along the old Route 66 -- with staff seemingly all a family, and signs faded, with the tourist flow having diverted along the new freeway. At one, a lone musician in the attached cafe countered my request for Greenback Dollar with a decent rendition of Tom Dooley. In another -- seemingly the last room in town -- the smoke was so thick, I decided a shower the next morning would serve no purpose.
The greatest gift I found was in a room with dingy tub and bars on the windows. The bed had one of those massage devices that shook the frame for a few minutes for a quarter. I had had a rough day -- the travel was beginning to wear on me in aching muscles, twisty stomach and pounding head. I lay on that bed, and dropped my quarter in, reaching again and again into the tarry cavity to retrieve my quarter where it dropped all the way through.
Nonetheless, I've always liked motels. Some place new, an adventure -- maybe even then I liked rising to the challenge of dealing with the unexpected.
There was a family that came each summer to stay in the small town I grew up in. They took lodging in the Miles Motel, and I peered through the door into their room, as fascinated as if they dwelt in a fairy burrow.
For one family reunion, we stayed in a motel with remarkably low rates. Inside, the rooms had the further surprises of a kitchen, complete with oven, and pink painted stone walls. Only the mosquitos rising off the nearby creek marred my fantasy of settling in there for months to write a novel.
My great origami road trip brought me to motel after motel. The most interesting lay along the old Route 66 -- with staff seemingly all a family, and signs faded, with the tourist flow having diverted along the new freeway. At one, a lone musician in the attached cafe countered my request for Greenback Dollar with a decent rendition of Tom Dooley. In another -- seemingly the last room in town -- the smoke was so thick, I decided a shower the next morning would serve no purpose.
The greatest gift I found was in a room with dingy tub and bars on the windows. The bed had one of those massage devices that shook the frame for a few minutes for a quarter. I had had a rough day -- the travel was beginning to wear on me in aching muscles, twisty stomach and pounding head. I lay on that bed, and dropped my quarter in, reaching again and again into the tarry cavity to retrieve my quarter where it dropped all the way through.
Sunday, November 13, 2005
The strange feeling of having your skin off
Over the past couple of weeks, I've had a strange sensation. I'll try to describe it.
It started nearly as intense as pain. I felt as though my skin was off. I was that sensitive to happenings around me, new thoughts and feelings, the presence of other people. It was almost as though "I" extended amoebic feelers into the world, some ways beyond my skin. Not just through space, but to wherever I had my attention. And these feelers could easily be hurt, because they were soft and very open. They weren't hurt, though -- they just poured bright sensation to me, richer more glowing colors than I had ever seen, as if dark glasses I had worn all my life had suddenly dissolved.
It reminded me of the image of the Pierced Shield, new openness to everything, unprotected and yet finding there was nothing to be protected from, it turns out everything I was holding the shield against was nourishment.
Or I felt as though I had come out of a cocoon, all delicate wings and sunlit color, not yet realizing I could fly.
I spent two or three days with that much intensity.
Since then, it's settled a little. Now it's more as if I have removed a layer of clothes, to feel the sun on my skin, than if my skin itself is gone.
This comes after starting a new level of Holosync, an audio-aided meditation program. It also comes as we negotiate changes in our life -- a period of potential and endings. We may soon sell the house. Doug is seeking work. All our usual schedules are loosed. I'm working intensely on creating the mental and physical states I need to play good poker. One of my friendships has ended, others show promise. Dad is better, and still at risk. Many, many uncertainties. Many changes.
And I feel open, and happy, and I'm going easily deeper into yoga postures than I have in a long time, though my practice is light.
Too open, too ongoing to end a post in any neat way.
It started nearly as intense as pain. I felt as though my skin was off. I was that sensitive to happenings around me, new thoughts and feelings, the presence of other people. It was almost as though "I" extended amoebic feelers into the world, some ways beyond my skin. Not just through space, but to wherever I had my attention. And these feelers could easily be hurt, because they were soft and very open. They weren't hurt, though -- they just poured bright sensation to me, richer more glowing colors than I had ever seen, as if dark glasses I had worn all my life had suddenly dissolved.
It reminded me of the image of the Pierced Shield, new openness to everything, unprotected and yet finding there was nothing to be protected from, it turns out everything I was holding the shield against was nourishment.
Or I felt as though I had come out of a cocoon, all delicate wings and sunlit color, not yet realizing I could fly.
I spent two or three days with that much intensity.
Since then, it's settled a little. Now it's more as if I have removed a layer of clothes, to feel the sun on my skin, than if my skin itself is gone.
This comes after starting a new level of Holosync, an audio-aided meditation program. It also comes as we negotiate changes in our life -- a period of potential and endings. We may soon sell the house. Doug is seeking work. All our usual schedules are loosed. I'm working intensely on creating the mental and physical states I need to play good poker. One of my friendships has ended, others show promise. Dad is better, and still at risk. Many, many uncertainties. Many changes.
And I feel open, and happy, and I'm going easily deeper into yoga postures than I have in a long time, though my practice is light.
Too open, too ongoing to end a post in any neat way.
Sunday, November 06, 2005
Holy days
We had a glorious Halloween. Surely this holiday makes us all richer. It's like mental training for entrepreneurs. One day, where we institutionally reward becoming someone else, and demonstrate that abundance is yours for the asking. Just as American as the festival of goods that is the main thrust of Christmas.
Most of the stores around here leapt from Halloween decorations to Christmas on November 1st. I think that is a mistake. Yes, they're eager, in the uncertain economy, to encourage the glow of spending. Dropping the practice of appreciating our abundance -- Thanksgiving -- undercuts the value of all goods. Although Thanksgiving sells relatively few goods, it creates satisfaction with the goods one has. Pushing sales without allowing appreciation makes all goods hollow. Without celebrating what we have, we can too easily reach a point where any possession becomes meaningless. Without Thanksgiving, Christmas will suffer a backlash. So, I'd think, that though it generates few sales, it would pay in the long run to recognize Thanksgiving.
I cooked a turkey and a ham for the members of my Amaranth group last Thursday. I didn't know how many people would show up. First guess, twenty people. Next rumor -- forty at most. I had a twenty pound turkey, everyone was bringing sidedishes. As the day approached, with Auditor Vorthys' admonition of "No artificial scarcities" ringing in my inner ears, the desire to add a ham grew. So, the morning of the roasting, I bought a ham. I chose the most beautiful one, rather than the largest or the cheapest. Rinsed the turkey, brushed it with a mixture of olive oil, salt and paprika, set it in my roasting pan, and the pan in the oven -- and discovered I had no room for the ham. Ah, um, oh -- aha! -- I put it in a stainless steel stew pot with a cover, poured in a half inch of water, and simmered for two hours. It worked wonderfully.
The house smelled incredible. The brush mixture created the most gorgeously russet roasted turkey I've ever seen. One of the members of the group expertly carved and deboned it in the Lodge kitchen. My husband sliced the ham.
Of course everyone brought massive food potluck to the dinner. Of course we had half the turkey and two-thirds of the ham to bring home. I'm contemplating the creation of a turkey meatloaf, and glowing at how well fed and rich we are.
Give thanks, everyone. We live in incredible abundance.
Most of the stores around here leapt from Halloween decorations to Christmas on November 1st. I think that is a mistake. Yes, they're eager, in the uncertain economy, to encourage the glow of spending. Dropping the practice of appreciating our abundance -- Thanksgiving -- undercuts the value of all goods. Although Thanksgiving sells relatively few goods, it creates satisfaction with the goods one has. Pushing sales without allowing appreciation makes all goods hollow. Without celebrating what we have, we can too easily reach a point where any possession becomes meaningless. Without Thanksgiving, Christmas will suffer a backlash. So, I'd think, that though it generates few sales, it would pay in the long run to recognize Thanksgiving.
I cooked a turkey and a ham for the members of my Amaranth group last Thursday. I didn't know how many people would show up. First guess, twenty people. Next rumor -- forty at most. I had a twenty pound turkey, everyone was bringing sidedishes. As the day approached, with Auditor Vorthys' admonition of "No artificial scarcities" ringing in my inner ears, the desire to add a ham grew. So, the morning of the roasting, I bought a ham. I chose the most beautiful one, rather than the largest or the cheapest. Rinsed the turkey, brushed it with a mixture of olive oil, salt and paprika, set it in my roasting pan, and the pan in the oven -- and discovered I had no room for the ham. Ah, um, oh -- aha! -- I put it in a stainless steel stew pot with a cover, poured in a half inch of water, and simmered for two hours. It worked wonderfully.
The house smelled incredible. The brush mixture created the most gorgeously russet roasted turkey I've ever seen. One of the members of the group expertly carved and deboned it in the Lodge kitchen. My husband sliced the ham.
Of course everyone brought massive food potluck to the dinner. Of course we had half the turkey and two-thirds of the ham to bring home. I'm contemplating the creation of a turkey meatloaf, and glowing at how well fed and rich we are.
Give thanks, everyone. We live in incredible abundance.
Sunday, October 30, 2005
Quixotic quests
Itunes offered a handful of inexpensive audiobooks on sale recently. I picked up _Julie and Julia_, abridged. The author reads it herself. One day, depressed, 29, and feeling like a failure, Julie Powell decided to cook every recipe in _Mastering the Art of French Cooking_. She went into hysterics when meeting difficulties. Eventually, as she blogged about the experience, gained an audience, conquered more recipes, and started getting some perspective on the world, she became happier. She finished her quest and turned it into a book. The end.
I didn't like the book very much. It's nice that she gets better. Still, she spends the first third in a disgusting abyss of self-pity. At one point, she even describes herself as the hysteric woman in _Airplane_ and her husband as all the other passengers, slapping her out of it. Ouch, I hope that was metaphorical.
It's good to set goals and accomplish them. Good food is good for your spirits. And I suppose starting at a low point makes better drama. Still, it was a low point of her own creation. No one has to go into a trance of self loathing because they are a secretary, because they married their high school sweetheart, because they are 29. Not even because their biological clock is ticking.
Ah, well. There's some value to watching her build a better philosophy. And the cooking is interesting. I'll even grant that others might find the things I let myself get blue over to be equally trivial, now and then. And I enjoyed thinking about the value of good food. So the book has something to offer, if you slog through the dreariness.
I was recently reading _No Plot? No Problem!_ by Chris Baty. It's a guide to the glorious quest that is National Novel Writing Month. NaNoWriMo is an online community for writing 50,000 words in the month of November. I'm entering again this year.
_No Plot? No Problem!_ is cheery, daring, celebratory of imperfection. It's practically the antipodes of _Julie and Julia_. It's a handbook for setting aside your mental editor and pumping out gales of fiction. Because, surprisingly, just getting something written often produces delightfully adequate stories. Or in any case, beats putting off writing to meet a higher standard another day that never comes.
In one exercise, Chris Baty has us write lists of what we love in novels and what we hate in novels. It was the first time in a long time I'd given myself permission to follow my own tastes. And you know, I don't really like a lot of the fiction heralded as important literature. I don't like depressed characters barely managing to come to grips with the disappointments of their mediocre lives. I'm not impressed by gritty reality. I want color, adventure, grand plans, and gonzo worlds. I want optimism and humanity and humor. Sure, I want a leavening of truthful observation and problems thorny and substantial. I want continuity, and magic and science that have a price and don't change their rules midstream. I want competent characters, wit and good prose.
I also noticed that I'm a bit more accepting of lit fic in movies than in novels. I didn't mind _Lost in Translation_ so much, and I was fond of _Sideways_. Still -- really -- _Star Trek: First Contact_ really hit the target. Come to think of it, so did _Spiderman_ one and two. (And no, none of Star Wars 1-3 did.)
So now you know. I'm a fan, and we actually have critical targets.
And if my taste sounds like something you would share, check out the reviews button on the left for more.
I didn't like the book very much. It's nice that she gets better. Still, she spends the first third in a disgusting abyss of self-pity. At one point, she even describes herself as the hysteric woman in _Airplane_ and her husband as all the other passengers, slapping her out of it. Ouch, I hope that was metaphorical.
It's good to set goals and accomplish them. Good food is good for your spirits. And I suppose starting at a low point makes better drama. Still, it was a low point of her own creation. No one has to go into a trance of self loathing because they are a secretary, because they married their high school sweetheart, because they are 29. Not even because their biological clock is ticking.
Ah, well. There's some value to watching her build a better philosophy. And the cooking is interesting. I'll even grant that others might find the things I let myself get blue over to be equally trivial, now and then. And I enjoyed thinking about the value of good food. So the book has something to offer, if you slog through the dreariness.
I was recently reading _No Plot? No Problem!_ by Chris Baty. It's a guide to the glorious quest that is National Novel Writing Month. NaNoWriMo is an online community for writing 50,000 words in the month of November. I'm entering again this year.
_No Plot? No Problem!_ is cheery, daring, celebratory of imperfection. It's practically the antipodes of _Julie and Julia_. It's a handbook for setting aside your mental editor and pumping out gales of fiction. Because, surprisingly, just getting something written often produces delightfully adequate stories. Or in any case, beats putting off writing to meet a higher standard another day that never comes.
In one exercise, Chris Baty has us write lists of what we love in novels and what we hate in novels. It was the first time in a long time I'd given myself permission to follow my own tastes. And you know, I don't really like a lot of the fiction heralded as important literature. I don't like depressed characters barely managing to come to grips with the disappointments of their mediocre lives. I'm not impressed by gritty reality. I want color, adventure, grand plans, and gonzo worlds. I want optimism and humanity and humor. Sure, I want a leavening of truthful observation and problems thorny and substantial. I want continuity, and magic and science that have a price and don't change their rules midstream. I want competent characters, wit and good prose.
I also noticed that I'm a bit more accepting of lit fic in movies than in novels. I didn't mind _Lost in Translation_ so much, and I was fond of _Sideways_. Still -- really -- _Star Trek: First Contact_ really hit the target. Come to think of it, so did _Spiderman_ one and two. (And no, none of Star Wars 1-3 did.)
So now you know. I'm a fan, and we actually have critical targets.
And if my taste sounds like something you would share, check out the reviews button on the left for more.
Wednesday, October 12, 2005
Kim Chee
I'm making my second batch of kim chee today.
The first batch was last spring. We split the seasoning packet in half -- thinking one quart of kim chee was plenty -- and enjoyed the curious process. The kim chee overflowed when we opened the quart jar to try it. It's a fermented product, like wine or beer, but much faster. Toward the end of the quart, we were a little tired of it. I thought I might not ever make a second batch.
Time goes on. Midsummer, I bought a jar of kim chee. A pint. We finished it quickly. A couple weeks ago, the thought of making another batch began to dwell in my mind. I couldn't find good napa cabbage my first runs to the grocery store. Three days ago, I did.
Yesterday, I started the salt water soak. Today I rinsed the condensed cabbage, mixed it with the seasoning, and stuffed it in an antique blue wire-seal Mason jar. It smelled wonderful, and I can hardly wait for it to be ready tomorrow.
One day to wait for the kim chee alchemy. The pressure of the sealed jar and the heat of the red pepper will transform bland cabbage into something daring and piquant. You have to love yeast, it makes so many good foods out of dull ingredients -- beer, wine, bread, kim chee. Grapes, I suppose, are not dull -- merely sweet and innocent. Wine is headier, more sophisticated.
It stores better, too.
I've been under pressure and heat myself recently. With our reduced income, my father's illness, and the refining edges of my normal charity work and poker beats, it's been quite a time. I'm hoping the work I do on myself will serve as divine yeast, and re-inspire me as something tastier.
As for the kim chee -- to paraphrase Voltaire -- once, an adventuress, twice, an addict.
The first batch was last spring. We split the seasoning packet in half -- thinking one quart of kim chee was plenty -- and enjoyed the curious process. The kim chee overflowed when we opened the quart jar to try it. It's a fermented product, like wine or beer, but much faster. Toward the end of the quart, we were a little tired of it. I thought I might not ever make a second batch.
Time goes on. Midsummer, I bought a jar of kim chee. A pint. We finished it quickly. A couple weeks ago, the thought of making another batch began to dwell in my mind. I couldn't find good napa cabbage my first runs to the grocery store. Three days ago, I did.
Yesterday, I started the salt water soak. Today I rinsed the condensed cabbage, mixed it with the seasoning, and stuffed it in an antique blue wire-seal Mason jar. It smelled wonderful, and I can hardly wait for it to be ready tomorrow.
One day to wait for the kim chee alchemy. The pressure of the sealed jar and the heat of the red pepper will transform bland cabbage into something daring and piquant. You have to love yeast, it makes so many good foods out of dull ingredients -- beer, wine, bread, kim chee. Grapes, I suppose, are not dull -- merely sweet and innocent. Wine is headier, more sophisticated.
It stores better, too.
I've been under pressure and heat myself recently. With our reduced income, my father's illness, and the refining edges of my normal charity work and poker beats, it's been quite a time. I'm hoping the work I do on myself will serve as divine yeast, and re-inspire me as something tastier.
As for the kim chee -- to paraphrase Voltaire -- once, an adventuress, twice, an addict.
Wednesday, August 10, 2005
Spam in comments
Comments on the last post have been turned off. There was only one -- a spam. I'm having trouble with the comment removal function of blogger. Their help files say that you may need to turn off firewall protection to use it. We have hardware running the firewall between our machines and the internet. So, for the moment, I set all comments on that entry to hidden.
It's interesting that the kaleidoscope of business links I offer on the right of this page have plenty of Texas Hold'Em content today. Their official policy is no gambling content (and no reference to the offers) on blogs that use them. Have they decided poker isn't gambling? California law seems to take that stance. I enjoy seeing them, as a puzzle to see what they take as relevant from my very free-form blog, and as a nice bit of contrasting color. That's all the benefit I've had from them. Reality check: not getting rich here. They probably work best from focused and highly marketed websites, rather than sleepy and personal ones like mine.
It's interesting that the kaleidoscope of business links I offer on the right of this page have plenty of Texas Hold'Em content today. Their official policy is no gambling content (and no reference to the offers) on blogs that use them. Have they decided poker isn't gambling? California law seems to take that stance. I enjoy seeing them, as a puzzle to see what they take as relevant from my very free-form blog, and as a nice bit of contrasting color. That's all the benefit I've had from them. Reality check: not getting rich here. They probably work best from focused and highly marketed websites, rather than sleepy and personal ones like mine.
Thursday, August 04, 2005
A quarter's absence
So, it has been a while. Things go on. Doug has changed work situations. Since a change of management at the beginning of the year, he has not been enjoying his work. July 21st, they mutually decided he would leave. He picked up half-time work consulting already, and could increase his hours there. It's not his heart's desire -- so, at half time, he can can continue to pursue his real dream, recover a bit of the wear on his health the last stressful months created, and make sure he's leaning his ladder against the right wall before he climbs it.
Half income is a challenge for me. And that's taking challenge in both positive and negative fullness of connotation. I like having a project, being useful. Yet I miss the freedom of higher income. There's no doubt we can get through six months, even a year of this. Yet at moments I slip toward despair... it's stress. Somehow, the knowlege that we can do this and the fear that we can't coexist in me. Working, working.
Meanwhile, I had several developments in my poker game. I took a local class, met several people. I've now written five articles for Gutshot.co.uk. I've enjoyed that. Also putting in more time on my online game. I purchased a Windows machine. Definitely runs the poker clients better. Macs completely own Windows machines in beauty and elegance.
Amaranth goes along. We handled the fireworks situation about as well as last year. I really enjoyed being able to delegate all the initial scheduling to someone else. The actual work is fine -- I hate calling people to get them to work. I put in more hours and enjoyed them more this year.
Our membership is falling, though. We are only one or two losses away from being unable to continue. I was the only member who managed to attend a conference on how to increase membership. It was disheartening. People are trying to bring the Masonic bodies into greater public awareness and make them more relevant to the twenty-first century. The task group I was in all seemed highly daunted by the task. So I really don't know what will happen with that.
It's quite likely Doug's career search will lead us out of Bend. When we can't quite fill our offices now, and only half a dozen members do eighty percent of the work, things could be grim when I go.
Oh, well. Some things are meant to end. And if the remaining members want the benefits, they'll find a way to make it happen. And if not -- at least it will stop being my problem. There is a real pleasure in releasing responsibility. Shame I'm overage to be a slacker.
So -- lots going on, and I've been writing -- just not here. Do check out the Gutshot articles -- I'm happy with them.
And I wish you all a great summer.
Half income is a challenge for me. And that's taking challenge in both positive and negative fullness of connotation. I like having a project, being useful. Yet I miss the freedom of higher income. There's no doubt we can get through six months, even a year of this. Yet at moments I slip toward despair... it's stress. Somehow, the knowlege that we can do this and the fear that we can't coexist in me. Working, working.
Meanwhile, I had several developments in my poker game. I took a local class, met several people. I've now written five articles for Gutshot.co.uk. I've enjoyed that. Also putting in more time on my online game. I purchased a Windows machine. Definitely runs the poker clients better. Macs completely own Windows machines in beauty and elegance.
Amaranth goes along. We handled the fireworks situation about as well as last year. I really enjoyed being able to delegate all the initial scheduling to someone else. The actual work is fine -- I hate calling people to get them to work. I put in more hours and enjoyed them more this year.
Our membership is falling, though. We are only one or two losses away from being unable to continue. I was the only member who managed to attend a conference on how to increase membership. It was disheartening. People are trying to bring the Masonic bodies into greater public awareness and make them more relevant to the twenty-first century. The task group I was in all seemed highly daunted by the task. So I really don't know what will happen with that.
It's quite likely Doug's career search will lead us out of Bend. When we can't quite fill our offices now, and only half a dozen members do eighty percent of the work, things could be grim when I go.
Oh, well. Some things are meant to end. And if the remaining members want the benefits, they'll find a way to make it happen. And if not -- at least it will stop being my problem. There is a real pleasure in releasing responsibility. Shame I'm overage to be a slacker.
So -- lots going on, and I've been writing -- just not here. Do check out the Gutshot articles -- I'm happy with them.
And I wish you all a great summer.
Friday, May 20, 2005
Blank Book
I put in a good day today. I caught up on the dishes, fed myself good food, brought the checkbook up to date, and played about 4 hours of online poker. There's a bonus to clear within a week -- I met one-fifth of the requirements today, so that should go well.
Called Doug -- he's delayed in Durango, as his travelling partner's sister-in-law went into labor this morning. Jay would like to stay to see his new niece or nephew, and who can blame him? So they'll likely remain there through tomorrow, and come home in a marathon session Sunday.
So then, 4:30 and all goals for the day accomplished, I headed for Barnes and Noble. There's something satisfying in wandering among books, skimming here and there. I have dozens of books at home, awaiting my attention. So all I bought was another blank journal. I fly through those at a steady average of three pages a day.
I was interested to see a trend in mysteries featuring literary characters. There are series featuring Jane Austen and Elizabeth Darcy, and both Irene Adler and a young woman named Mary Russell have series spinning off from Sherlock Holmes. These have all reached multiple entries in the series. So I expect people are reading the originals, too. Glad to see it. Certainly I've found the Sherlock Holmes stories and the books of Jane Austen among the most delectable of classics.
If I should find myself around long enough for Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaiman to have passed into classic status, I could see writing a series of mysteries featuring them as detectives. Terry would have a series of young informants named Kevin, and disarm antagonists with wit, while Neil blended into the seedier edges of rock music and goth culture and generated useful mystic synchronicities -- maybe, but not unequivocally, gaining supernatural aid. A literary riff, not a serious portrayal -- and my apologies to both the still quite living authors.
How would Jane Austen feel about being recast as a proto-feminist detective?
Also found it quite relaxing to write those journal pages without a cat competing for the space on my lap. When you work from home -- it's relaxing to get out now and then.
Called Doug -- he's delayed in Durango, as his travelling partner's sister-in-law went into labor this morning. Jay would like to stay to see his new niece or nephew, and who can blame him? So they'll likely remain there through tomorrow, and come home in a marathon session Sunday.
So then, 4:30 and all goals for the day accomplished, I headed for Barnes and Noble. There's something satisfying in wandering among books, skimming here and there. I have dozens of books at home, awaiting my attention. So all I bought was another blank journal. I fly through those at a steady average of three pages a day.
I was interested to see a trend in mysteries featuring literary characters. There are series featuring Jane Austen and Elizabeth Darcy, and both Irene Adler and a young woman named Mary Russell have series spinning off from Sherlock Holmes. These have all reached multiple entries in the series. So I expect people are reading the originals, too. Glad to see it. Certainly I've found the Sherlock Holmes stories and the books of Jane Austen among the most delectable of classics.
If I should find myself around long enough for Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaiman to have passed into classic status, I could see writing a series of mysteries featuring them as detectives. Terry would have a series of young informants named Kevin, and disarm antagonists with wit, while Neil blended into the seedier edges of rock music and goth culture and generated useful mystic synchronicities -- maybe, but not unequivocally, gaining supernatural aid. A literary riff, not a serious portrayal -- and my apologies to both the still quite living authors.
How would Jane Austen feel about being recast as a proto-feminist detective?
Also found it quite relaxing to write those journal pages without a cat competing for the space on my lap. When you work from home -- it's relaxing to get out now and then.
Sunday, May 15, 2005
Lonesome Blues
I'm getting all my work done too quickly.
Doug is on vacation -- on a Ghia cruise with a fellow car enthusiast -- and I've been cleaning house and playing poker and catching up on my reading and finding the days all too long. I think I normally stop to play and rest when he comes home and since he hasn't -- all work makes Anna dreary and restless.
I could take on some new projects, but I don't really have the heart for any of them. I've been eating well, getting enough sleep, even exercising. It's enough to make me want to bang my head.
There have been some interesting events since my last post. I was successfully installed for Amaranth, and my origami decorations went over well.
I caught a cold, with all the drama that entails.
Dad decided to relocate permanently to Yuma, Arizona. I went over Friday to help him with his garage sale. He's done an amazing job of sorting out his possessions -- one part to discard, one part to sell, one part -- only enough to fit in his Jeep -- to take to his new home. Every time we've moved, I've gotten terribly bogged down in that triage. I find it hard to let go.
I also published an article at Gutshot Poker online. They said they were looking to establish longterm relationships with writers, so I intend to send them an article or two every month. Cool -- a column! I've sent a second article, and I'm enjoying writing them.
So Dad was introducing me around Prineville as his published daughter. I was pleased to see that his copy of the manuscript of my second novel made the cut of possessions to take to Yuma.
So, the third novel is a project I could spend some time on. Or finishing the foam project. Or any of a large number of other pieces of work. I have plenty to do.
It's just that none of it is feeling all that worth doing just now.
Doug is on vacation -- on a Ghia cruise with a fellow car enthusiast -- and I've been cleaning house and playing poker and catching up on my reading and finding the days all too long. I think I normally stop to play and rest when he comes home and since he hasn't -- all work makes Anna dreary and restless.
I could take on some new projects, but I don't really have the heart for any of them. I've been eating well, getting enough sleep, even exercising. It's enough to make me want to bang my head.
There have been some interesting events since my last post. I was successfully installed for Amaranth, and my origami decorations went over well.
I caught a cold, with all the drama that entails.
Dad decided to relocate permanently to Yuma, Arizona. I went over Friday to help him with his garage sale. He's done an amazing job of sorting out his possessions -- one part to discard, one part to sell, one part -- only enough to fit in his Jeep -- to take to his new home. Every time we've moved, I've gotten terribly bogged down in that triage. I find it hard to let go.
I also published an article at Gutshot Poker online. They said they were looking to establish longterm relationships with writers, so I intend to send them an article or two every month. Cool -- a column! I've sent a second article, and I'm enjoying writing them.
So Dad was introducing me around Prineville as his published daughter. I was pleased to see that his copy of the manuscript of my second novel made the cut of possessions to take to Yuma.
So, the third novel is a project I could spend some time on. Or finishing the foam project. Or any of a large number of other pieces of work. I have plenty to do.
It's just that none of it is feeling all that worth doing just now.
Monday, April 11, 2005
Celebrate nostril breathing day!
Hurrah! A holiday for me!
I'm all cheery and a bit light-headed -- I've been able to breathe through my nose since last evening, and I'm probably getting more oxygen than I was the last few days. Slightly later recovering than I expected last entry, but still on track. Expect I'll be fine and perky for Installation this weekend.
Thank goodness I didn't have to resort to the dreaded hot foot bath. The nasal irrigation is unpleasant enough. It doesn't take very long, and really relieves sinus pressure, so I discipline myself to it easily enough. Those hot foot baths mean more than an hour of sweating, and several hours too exhausted to do anything but lie there.
Well, this whole subject is disgusting, and I'm glad I'm ending this cold. I picked up some origami bouquets I had made for my Mom over the years from her house today. She's lending them back to me so I can decorate for Installation. They needed dusting and some small repairs. I've finished all but one of them. I'll need to make a couple more. I really enjoy making origami bouquets. The spark of the bright colors, the creative choices to make in combining shapes, patterns, and sizes, the sensual press of fingers against paper, the sheer delight of a stretch move that blooms a flat packet into a three dimensional flower -- it's one pleasure after another.
Strangely, one of the most common comments I get on origami is "That must take a lot of patience." I've even heard that from people who knit!
Just goes to show we don't all enjoy the same things. And that is itself a very good thing.
I'm all cheery and a bit light-headed -- I've been able to breathe through my nose since last evening, and I'm probably getting more oxygen than I was the last few days. Slightly later recovering than I expected last entry, but still on track. Expect I'll be fine and perky for Installation this weekend.
Thank goodness I didn't have to resort to the dreaded hot foot bath. The nasal irrigation is unpleasant enough. It doesn't take very long, and really relieves sinus pressure, so I discipline myself to it easily enough. Those hot foot baths mean more than an hour of sweating, and several hours too exhausted to do anything but lie there.
Well, this whole subject is disgusting, and I'm glad I'm ending this cold. I picked up some origami bouquets I had made for my Mom over the years from her house today. She's lending them back to me so I can decorate for Installation. They needed dusting and some small repairs. I've finished all but one of them. I'll need to make a couple more. I really enjoy making origami bouquets. The spark of the bright colors, the creative choices to make in combining shapes, patterns, and sizes, the sensual press of fingers against paper, the sheer delight of a stretch move that blooms a flat packet into a three dimensional flower -- it's one pleasure after another.
Strangely, one of the most common comments I get on origami is "That must take a lot of patience." I've even heard that from people who knit!
Just goes to show we don't all enjoy the same things. And that is itself a very good thing.
Friday, April 08, 2005
Soon back in game
Woke up this morning feeling a lot better. Last Saturday, I left home at 6:30 am to go to a day of Amaranth meetings in Portland. Didn't get home until 10 pm. Sunday, I stressed over hosting our book club at our house, and did a bunch of cleaning and worrying. Book club went fine, not sure why I worry so much. We were discussing Wyrd Sisters, by Terry Pratchett, a book I love (check the review blog) and I really enjoyed talking about it. I was pretty tired when it was over.
Monday, just couldn't get rested. Tuesday, dragged around the house. Finished putting 2004's poker results in a database so I could complete my taxes. Haven't sent them yet -- want to check them when my head is clear. We went out for dinner Tuesday night -- I had a coupon at McGrath's for a free appetizer basket. Whoof! Everything breaded and deep fried! Way heavier and richer than I usually eat, and I didn't sleep well. So Wednesday, I have a full on cold.
Thursday, still ill. Went to Amaranth anyway, there was a lot of work I needed to get done there for Installation, only 10 days away. Couldn't get away until 9:30 pm.
Did do some salt water gargling and snorting. Cleared my head a lot. Slept until about 3:30 am, pretty well, sat up and did Holosync from 4:30 to 5:30, got back to sleep and woke about 8:20 after a very restful few hours. So I'm feeling much better today, head not so stuffy, energy better, and _hungry_ -- which is a very good sign, my appetite has been gone since that appetizer platter. I could be symptom free tomorrow -- which will be one of the fastest clearings of a cold I've ever done. My health has been improving. Very nice.
Meanwhile, huge fluffy flakes are falling outside my window. More strange weather this year. So Doug took the car, and I'm home to rest and improve. And tomorrow is Saturday. It's all good.
Monday, just couldn't get rested. Tuesday, dragged around the house. Finished putting 2004's poker results in a database so I could complete my taxes. Haven't sent them yet -- want to check them when my head is clear. We went out for dinner Tuesday night -- I had a coupon at McGrath's for a free appetizer basket. Whoof! Everything breaded and deep fried! Way heavier and richer than I usually eat, and I didn't sleep well. So Wednesday, I have a full on cold.
Thursday, still ill. Went to Amaranth anyway, there was a lot of work I needed to get done there for Installation, only 10 days away. Couldn't get away until 9:30 pm.
Did do some salt water gargling and snorting. Cleared my head a lot. Slept until about 3:30 am, pretty well, sat up and did Holosync from 4:30 to 5:30, got back to sleep and woke about 8:20 after a very restful few hours. So I'm feeling much better today, head not so stuffy, energy better, and _hungry_ -- which is a very good sign, my appetite has been gone since that appetizer platter. I could be symptom free tomorrow -- which will be one of the fastest clearings of a cold I've ever done. My health has been improving. Very nice.
Meanwhile, huge fluffy flakes are falling outside my window. More strange weather this year. So Doug took the car, and I'm home to rest and improve. And tomorrow is Saturday. It's all good.
Tuesday, March 29, 2005
Kitchen Serendipity
Recently I found myself with 5 croissants past their prime. Result of buying a Costco flat of them for easy breakfasts at a conference. What to do? Why not make bread pudding?
So I tore them in bite sized pieces, and tossed them into a square baking dish. Then I mixed up my usual custard -- quart of soy milk, 4 eggs, cinnamon, vanilla, pumpkin pie spices to taste. Dash of salt. One quarter cup of sugar -- which is light for most folks' taste -- I've been easing my taste for it, since there is a diabetic in the house. I beat that all together well, and poured it over the croissant pieces, and put it in the oven at 350 degrees.
One hour later, I opened the oven door, and wow! The pudding has puffed three inches over the dish, like a beautiful golden souffle! Gorgeous!
I took it to the table, and it gently settled, leaving a thickly risen rim around a flatter center, like a pizza crust or a dutch baby pancake. It tasted quite reminiscent of a dutch baby, too, so I served mine with lemon liqueur. Doug preferred his bit with maple syrup.
A sweet reward for good stewardship of groceries and a willingness to experiment in the kitchen.
So I tore them in bite sized pieces, and tossed them into a square baking dish. Then I mixed up my usual custard -- quart of soy milk, 4 eggs, cinnamon, vanilla, pumpkin pie spices to taste. Dash of salt. One quarter cup of sugar -- which is light for most folks' taste -- I've been easing my taste for it, since there is a diabetic in the house. I beat that all together well, and poured it over the croissant pieces, and put it in the oven at 350 degrees.
One hour later, I opened the oven door, and wow! The pudding has puffed three inches over the dish, like a beautiful golden souffle! Gorgeous!
I took it to the table, and it gently settled, leaving a thickly risen rim around a flatter center, like a pizza crust or a dutch baby pancake. It tasted quite reminiscent of a dutch baby, too, so I served mine with lemon liqueur. Doug preferred his bit with maple syrup.
A sweet reward for good stewardship of groceries and a willingness to experiment in the kitchen.
Thursday, March 24, 2005
What stories would a peaceful world tell?
I'm wondering about the fiction of the future. If we get to the kind of future I'm hoping for and working towards -- one where conflict is resolved through talking, not fighting -- will they still enjoy the stories we write today? Or will our plots and characters strike them as distastefully violent and conflicted, the way the unexamined racism of much 1930's pulp fiction grates on our ears today?
The barest skeleton of plot is: problem, resolution. Our best-selling novels pile one problem on another -- the lead character sets out to solve one problem, and then things get worse. And worse. Until finally everything is resolved, usually quite close together, in the last small portion of the book.
Would this look stilted, tortured, and unnatural to a world of peaceful people? Will they make some breakthrough and look back at us as though we all lived Idiot Plot lives? Future readers might pick up our novels and say, "Hey! This guy's violating the 3rd law of How to Get Along! And there his love interest goes violating the 4th law! And now they're both breaking the first law! Are they both idiots? Man, I just can't relate to this. Why'd anyone read this stuff, anyhow?"
See, maybe the future will be better, because people will learn something that seems simple and obvious to them -- even though we don't know it yet. The way it seems simple to us to wash our hands before eating. Or that the world is round. And then, when they look at how we ignored this glaringly obvious principle, they'll find it hard to empathize with our problems.
And maybe -- since I'm postulating peaceful people -- the whole idea of problem, resolution -- will just not interest them all that much.
The barest skeleton of plot is: problem, resolution. Our best-selling novels pile one problem on another -- the lead character sets out to solve one problem, and then things get worse. And worse. Until finally everything is resolved, usually quite close together, in the last small portion of the book.
Would this look stilted, tortured, and unnatural to a world of peaceful people? Will they make some breakthrough and look back at us as though we all lived Idiot Plot lives? Future readers might pick up our novels and say, "Hey! This guy's violating the 3rd law of How to Get Along! And there his love interest goes violating the 4th law! And now they're both breaking the first law! Are they both idiots? Man, I just can't relate to this. Why'd anyone read this stuff, anyhow?"
See, maybe the future will be better, because people will learn something that seems simple and obvious to them -- even though we don't know it yet. The way it seems simple to us to wash our hands before eating. Or that the world is round. And then, when they look at how we ignored this glaringly obvious principle, they'll find it hard to empathize with our problems.
And maybe -- since I'm postulating peaceful people -- the whole idea of problem, resolution -- will just not interest them all that much.
Tuesday, March 22, 2005
You know, I have a belief that my life is not very interesting. To others, anyway. I enjoy many daily small interests -- the weblogs I keep up with, the games I play, my studies in self-improvement and poker, insights I have while writing my other journal by hand. I would never bore you with the two pages I spent considering whether I'd learned anything from discovering I had different expectations of friendship than Catherine. Or with the consideration of how rotating an asymmetrically patterned piece of origami paper can have a different effect when turning it into one of the 170 Fuse boxes I recently made. I don't expect you to want a box by box commentary through 170 boxes.
Did you see Beyonce performing at the Oscars? I found myself thinking -- how many love songs has she sung in her life, and isn't she tired of overemoting basicly the same lyrics again and again? How can any of that expression be meaningful if you apply it to all the songs?
I don't have a defined audience and subject matter. Penny Arcade does -- gamers and games -- and they have been very successful with that. I don't have glamour brought from celebrity in another field -- like Wil Wheaton or Neil Gaiman -- that brings people in to be captured by the excellence of the writing. I don't have the scheduled reliability of Topic or the gonzo iconoclasm of David Brin or J. Perry Barlow. In fact, I may not have the excellent writing to hold you, should you happen to come by.
And yet.
When Wil Wheaton writes about events that in other hands might seem small, I care. So the subject matter I have to offer need not be inherently boring.
And I _can't stop_. Late, infrequent, trivial -- I still find myself wanting to write here. So, read or not, watch out WWW, here I write.
And hey, maybe the excellence will come later. As Marion Zimmer Bradley used to say, every writer has a million bad words to get out of the way before the good ones come.
Did you see Beyonce performing at the Oscars? I found myself thinking -- how many love songs has she sung in her life, and isn't she tired of overemoting basicly the same lyrics again and again? How can any of that expression be meaningful if you apply it to all the songs?
I don't have a defined audience and subject matter. Penny Arcade does -- gamers and games -- and they have been very successful with that. I don't have glamour brought from celebrity in another field -- like Wil Wheaton or Neil Gaiman -- that brings people in to be captured by the excellence of the writing. I don't have the scheduled reliability of Topic or the gonzo iconoclasm of David Brin or J. Perry Barlow. In fact, I may not have the excellent writing to hold you, should you happen to come by.
And yet.
When Wil Wheaton writes about events that in other hands might seem small, I care. So the subject matter I have to offer need not be inherently boring.
And I _can't stop_. Late, infrequent, trivial -- I still find myself wanting to write here. So, read or not, watch out WWW, here I write.
And hey, maybe the excellence will come later. As Marion Zimmer Bradley used to say, every writer has a million bad words to get out of the way before the good ones come.
Thursday, February 24, 2005
I've now made public an intent to add comments to this blog. I hope to get to it soon.
First, though -- I'm having a bad day. I received a call reminding me I had work for my charity group to attend. I am really in resistance to this. I hate having my own projects interrupted to attend to the commitments I was pretty much tricked into.
The story goes like this: the leader of the group at the time asked if I could take the Associate Conductress position in our local Amaranth group. I had been a member for a few months. She said, watch what the current AC does, and see if you can do that. It was not too tough. I agreed.
THEN I find out that accepting AC means starting the line -- four years of ever larger commitments within the meetings, AND additional work that goes with the positions outside the meetings. I've done my best. I have one more year to go in the line, and I have gotten some good things done, and supported our excellent cause diabetes research. BUT...
After the call yesterday, I slept badly. Today, my stomach is queasy, and I have lines of pain flaring along my muscles. And this happened the last time I suddenly found myself dealing with extra Amaranth work, too.
All my philosophy, all my apparent goodwill to do the work, to do the best I can for our group, betrayed as not fully what I wish by the clear physical symptoms I develop when I need to do it. There I go. It's just too much. I hurt.
So, anyway. Though I'd like to spend the morning researching how to add comments to this blog, and the afternoon earning money, I will instead be setting tables and serving a meal to 120 people, developing forms to help the other members of the group, and making phone calls to remind members of the meeting Saturday and find the necessary volunteers required by group bylaws. None of which I enjoy, even when I don't feel sick to my stomach and achy all over.
I keep thinking there's some way I can adjust my attitude and do this work without pain. But I haven't been able to find it. And I'm not willing to break the commitment (even though it was given under false pretenses) and blow the whole thing off. So I'm suffering.
The best I can manage is: this too, will pass.
First, though -- I'm having a bad day. I received a call reminding me I had work for my charity group to attend. I am really in resistance to this. I hate having my own projects interrupted to attend to the commitments I was pretty much tricked into.
The story goes like this: the leader of the group at the time asked if I could take the Associate Conductress position in our local Amaranth group. I had been a member for a few months. She said, watch what the current AC does, and see if you can do that. It was not too tough. I agreed.
THEN I find out that accepting AC means starting the line -- four years of ever larger commitments within the meetings, AND additional work that goes with the positions outside the meetings. I've done my best. I have one more year to go in the line, and I have gotten some good things done, and supported our excellent cause diabetes research. BUT...
After the call yesterday, I slept badly. Today, my stomach is queasy, and I have lines of pain flaring along my muscles. And this happened the last time I suddenly found myself dealing with extra Amaranth work, too.
All my philosophy, all my apparent goodwill to do the work, to do the best I can for our group, betrayed as not fully what I wish by the clear physical symptoms I develop when I need to do it. There I go. It's just too much. I hurt.
So, anyway. Though I'd like to spend the morning researching how to add comments to this blog, and the afternoon earning money, I will instead be setting tables and serving a meal to 120 people, developing forms to help the other members of the group, and making phone calls to remind members of the meeting Saturday and find the necessary volunteers required by group bylaws. None of which I enjoy, even when I don't feel sick to my stomach and achy all over.
I keep thinking there's some way I can adjust my attitude and do this work without pain. But I haven't been able to find it. And I'm not willing to break the commitment (even though it was given under false pretenses) and blow the whole thing off. So I'm suffering.
The best I can manage is: this too, will pass.
Thursday, February 17, 2005
More small improvements to the site this morning. I found a copy of HTML Visual Quickstart Guide at a local used bookstore, and it has really been a lot of help.
Used books are good. I had credit for trading books there, so I paid $4.50 for it. It's always pleasant to get a bargain. And right now, I'm feeling very motivated to live frugally and pay my debts down to Zero. In about fifteen months, my Mom has invited us to share a week in a condo in England. I'd really like, as long as we're crossing the Atlantic, to spend an extra week or two on the continent. Maybe we could get to Italy this time. So, all the money I'm putting to debt, I'd like to throw into savings, and really have a good time. First things first -- pay off that credit.
Then plump up the savings, then La Dolce Vita!
It's the La Dolce Vita part that's motivating. Credit or debt is like plain numbers on a page to me -- I have a certain indifference to it. I can only get excited about things I could do with the money, not the money itself. And that's fine.
So I'm thinking of long, warm evenings drinking wine, surrounded by Roman architecture and women wearing fine Italian shoes. The scent of garlic, and antipasto, pasta, entree, tiramisu parading to my table to savor while having long conversations with Doug. See, that's the kind of reward that's worth a little belt tightening!
Ciao, all.
Used books are good. I had credit for trading books there, so I paid $4.50 for it. It's always pleasant to get a bargain. And right now, I'm feeling very motivated to live frugally and pay my debts down to Zero. In about fifteen months, my Mom has invited us to share a week in a condo in England. I'd really like, as long as we're crossing the Atlantic, to spend an extra week or two on the continent. Maybe we could get to Italy this time. So, all the money I'm putting to debt, I'd like to throw into savings, and really have a good time. First things first -- pay off that credit.
Then plump up the savings, then La Dolce Vita!
It's the La Dolce Vita part that's motivating. Credit or debt is like plain numbers on a page to me -- I have a certain indifference to it. I can only get excited about things I could do with the money, not the money itself. And that's fine.
So I'm thinking of long, warm evenings drinking wine, surrounded by Roman architecture and women wearing fine Italian shoes. The scent of garlic, and antipasto, pasta, entree, tiramisu parading to my table to savor while having long conversations with Doug. See, that's the kind of reward that's worth a little belt tightening!
Ciao, all.
Monday, February 14, 2005
You wouldn't believe how pleased I am with myself for recent HTML victories on this site. I was able to place my ads just where I wanted them and retrieve my title from under the search bar. I'm really tickled pink.
Well, best not to make any promises about further improvements just now. Best to all, and wish me luck.
Well, best not to make any promises about further improvements just now. Best to all, and wish me luck.
Thursday, February 10, 2005
Spent a good portion of this morning making barbecue sauce. Surely you've heard that the map is not the territory. More interestingly, the recipe is not the sauce.
I do know cooks who follow recipes very closely. I generally look at them more as inspiration. And in this case, I made up the recipe myself, so it's clearly a work in progress. Nothing to cling to there.
So -- I started a few years back to develop a barbecue sauce recipe. I knew it should have tomatoes and spiciness to it. A bit of vinegar tang. And I more often bake items with a sauce than actually barbecue over smoke. So a little smoke flavor could certainly help.
So one day, I opened a can of chipotles, took a sniff, and thought -- this smells like barbecue! Aha! Now I know how to get the smokiness and the heat into my sauce! Excellent!
I had a look at other barbecue sauce recipes. None had chipotles in them. Tomatoes, vinegar, sometimes mustard -- there's a lot of variation in them. I wanted one with relatively little sweetness -- no added sugar or corn syrup. I wanted one with a complex flavor. And I wanted to make it from ingredients I could keep on hand.
Onion is always good with meat. Many good recipes start: Saute an onion. Seemed like a good place to start. Butter always tastes rich, and I love garlic, but didn't want it to dominate. So, I started by sauteing half an onion and 2 cloves of garlic in 2 T (tablespoons) of butter. That softened them up nicely, the better to spread them on the meat, later.
In my first iteration, I tried adding some tequila here. Plenty of BBQ sauces seem to have bourbon or the like in them, and I prefer tequila. Didn't seem to add enough flavor to be worth the extra time. I dropped that step in the third trial or so.
Next, tomatoes. Since I wanted my sauce to be thick, and I wanted to make it from the pantry, I used canned tomatoes. Quite a few -- these add the most volume to the sauce. One 16 oz can was convenient.
Next, the chipotles. I didn't want fire alarm hot -- just a nice, tongue-tingling spiciness. Two chopped chipotles and two T of sauce from the can seemed about right.
Vinegar -- helps the sauce penetrate as well as adding flavor. Tasting bit by bit, I found 4 T about right.
Taste again. Tangy enough, but not sufficiently complex. Also, too bright a red -- barbecue sauce needs a dark, mysterious look. Taste -- hmm, do need a little sweetness. 2 T of molasses darkens it some, adds interest, and is ample sweetening for my palate. Still a little too bright, too simple.
So, I looked through the recipes some more. A lot of them called for Worcestershire -- something I don't keep on hand. I do have soy sauce -- aha! 1 T of soy, and I've hit it. This sauce will absolutely DO.
In a sudden excess of whimsy, I gave it the name Oregon Pantry Worcestershire we don't need no stinking Worchestershire Oven Barbecue Sauce. Far too long. Mostly goes by Oven Barbecue Sauce now.
Then -- I had to simmer it until all the pieces softened and the sauce thickened. Long periods on my feet, stirring -- has to be a better way. Blend it! But still too thin. So, I doubled everything but the tomatoes, and traded two 16 oz cans of tomatoes for a 28 oz can of tomatoes and a 7 oz can of tomato paste. More success!
But then -- what was I going to do with those leftover chipotles? They're pretty good chopped and scrambled with eggs. But wouldn't it be more elegant to use them all in the sauce recipe?
So, today's iteration -- tripled most ingredients, one extra garlic clove because they smelled better than usual -- two 28 oz cans of tomatoes and two cans of tomato paste, just because -- and the entire contents of the 7 oz can of chipotles, nicely minced.
It smells and tastes wonderful, and I'm giving it its final trial on some beef short ribs this evening. I can hardly wait.
Did I ever make it quite the same twice? Who knows! It's been good every time.
I do know cooks who follow recipes very closely. I generally look at them more as inspiration. And in this case, I made up the recipe myself, so it's clearly a work in progress. Nothing to cling to there.
So -- I started a few years back to develop a barbecue sauce recipe. I knew it should have tomatoes and spiciness to it. A bit of vinegar tang. And I more often bake items with a sauce than actually barbecue over smoke. So a little smoke flavor could certainly help.
So one day, I opened a can of chipotles, took a sniff, and thought -- this smells like barbecue! Aha! Now I know how to get the smokiness and the heat into my sauce! Excellent!
I had a look at other barbecue sauce recipes. None had chipotles in them. Tomatoes, vinegar, sometimes mustard -- there's a lot of variation in them. I wanted one with relatively little sweetness -- no added sugar or corn syrup. I wanted one with a complex flavor. And I wanted to make it from ingredients I could keep on hand.
Onion is always good with meat. Many good recipes start: Saute an onion. Seemed like a good place to start. Butter always tastes rich, and I love garlic, but didn't want it to dominate. So, I started by sauteing half an onion and 2 cloves of garlic in 2 T (tablespoons) of butter. That softened them up nicely, the better to spread them on the meat, later.
In my first iteration, I tried adding some tequila here. Plenty of BBQ sauces seem to have bourbon or the like in them, and I prefer tequila. Didn't seem to add enough flavor to be worth the extra time. I dropped that step in the third trial or so.
Next, tomatoes. Since I wanted my sauce to be thick, and I wanted to make it from the pantry, I used canned tomatoes. Quite a few -- these add the most volume to the sauce. One 16 oz can was convenient.
Next, the chipotles. I didn't want fire alarm hot -- just a nice, tongue-tingling spiciness. Two chopped chipotles and two T of sauce from the can seemed about right.
Vinegar -- helps the sauce penetrate as well as adding flavor. Tasting bit by bit, I found 4 T about right.
Taste again. Tangy enough, but not sufficiently complex. Also, too bright a red -- barbecue sauce needs a dark, mysterious look. Taste -- hmm, do need a little sweetness. 2 T of molasses darkens it some, adds interest, and is ample sweetening for my palate. Still a little too bright, too simple.
So, I looked through the recipes some more. A lot of them called for Worcestershire -- something I don't keep on hand. I do have soy sauce -- aha! 1 T of soy, and I've hit it. This sauce will absolutely DO.
In a sudden excess of whimsy, I gave it the name Oregon Pantry Worcestershire we don't need no stinking Worchestershire Oven Barbecue Sauce. Far too long. Mostly goes by Oven Barbecue Sauce now.
Then -- I had to simmer it until all the pieces softened and the sauce thickened. Long periods on my feet, stirring -- has to be a better way. Blend it! But still too thin. So, I doubled everything but the tomatoes, and traded two 16 oz cans of tomatoes for a 28 oz can of tomatoes and a 7 oz can of tomato paste. More success!
But then -- what was I going to do with those leftover chipotles? They're pretty good chopped and scrambled with eggs. But wouldn't it be more elegant to use them all in the sauce recipe?
So, today's iteration -- tripled most ingredients, one extra garlic clove because they smelled better than usual -- two 28 oz cans of tomatoes and two cans of tomato paste, just because -- and the entire contents of the 7 oz can of chipotles, nicely minced.
It smells and tastes wonderful, and I'm giving it its final trial on some beef short ribs this evening. I can hardly wait.
Did I ever make it quite the same twice? Who knows! It's been good every time.
Sunday, February 06, 2005
OK, new review here: Paradox World Reviews I started this on the date listed, but only published it today. More to come soon.
Had a sore throat for a couple days. It has been a stressful couple of weeks. Applying the usual remedies.
In my case, the usual remedies include tea, hot wraps on the throat, and gargling with antiseptic. My antiseptic of choice at the moment is Don Crispin fake tequila, mixed half with water. We picked it up a couple years back in a Puerto Vallarta tourist trap. The bottled liquor is harsh, smoky, and although an agave distillate, created in the wrong area of Mexico to be tequila. Seems like the samples they gave us when selling it tasted better. In any case, it's undrinkable, and doesn't make a good Margarita, either. Mixed half with water, though, it still tastes better than Listerine, and seems equally effective on bleeding gums. Why would you want to use a mouthwash you're carefully warned against swallowing?
Doug and I are going to our local book club this afternoon. This month, we're discussing one of the books we presented for the group's consideration. I'm interested to see how they will like it. I didn't care for last month's selection. Rereading Expendable, by James Alan Gardner this month, I liked it even more than the first time. Festina Ramos has a distinctive voice, she starts cynical and becomes more effective, and I'm completely jealous of the idea he had about how a multi-species galactic civilization might work. One simple rule -- murder a sentient being, and if you travel into interstellar space, you will yourself die. Enforced by Arthur C. Clarke axiom means -- that is, it's probably technology, but it's so advanced it looks like magic. It's one hundred percent effective. This is as brilliant a story seed as Asimov's Three Laws of Robotics. Most of the other set-ups for meeting other intelligent species had become a bit tired. The most common is that we're the best, smartest, and fastest out there, or in some other way critical, so that we have an edge. Another is that they are all hostile, so once we get out there, we'll be in one fight after another. It is tricky -- it doesn't seem likely that all other intelligences will be inferior to us. So, if they are vastly more advanced than us, what is to keep them from wiping us out? James Alan Gardner's solution to that conundrum is simple and brilliant. They're civilized, and some of the really advanced ones enforce that civilization on all the rest. There you go -- we can be the new kids on the block, and still have a chance to play.
He's continued the story into a fair number of sequels now. I may just reread the entire series. I had already reread Vigilant. Its vision of a political system that has a system to purge corruption and forsee the consequences of any governmental action felt comforting to return to recently. It's a fast-paced adventure story with Heinleinian social thought in it, too.
I feel some inclination to get the reviews area of this site back in action. I'll link to it here if that inclination becomes reality.
In my case, the usual remedies include tea, hot wraps on the throat, and gargling with antiseptic. My antiseptic of choice at the moment is Don Crispin fake tequila, mixed half with water. We picked it up a couple years back in a Puerto Vallarta tourist trap. The bottled liquor is harsh, smoky, and although an agave distillate, created in the wrong area of Mexico to be tequila. Seems like the samples they gave us when selling it tasted better. In any case, it's undrinkable, and doesn't make a good Margarita, either. Mixed half with water, though, it still tastes better than Listerine, and seems equally effective on bleeding gums. Why would you want to use a mouthwash you're carefully warned against swallowing?
Doug and I are going to our local book club this afternoon. This month, we're discussing one of the books we presented for the group's consideration. I'm interested to see how they will like it. I didn't care for last month's selection. Rereading Expendable, by James Alan Gardner this month, I liked it even more than the first time. Festina Ramos has a distinctive voice, she starts cynical and becomes more effective, and I'm completely jealous of the idea he had about how a multi-species galactic civilization might work. One simple rule -- murder a sentient being, and if you travel into interstellar space, you will yourself die. Enforced by Arthur C. Clarke axiom means -- that is, it's probably technology, but it's so advanced it looks like magic. It's one hundred percent effective. This is as brilliant a story seed as Asimov's Three Laws of Robotics. Most of the other set-ups for meeting other intelligent species had become a bit tired. The most common is that we're the best, smartest, and fastest out there, or in some other way critical, so that we have an edge. Another is that they are all hostile, so once we get out there, we'll be in one fight after another. It is tricky -- it doesn't seem likely that all other intelligences will be inferior to us. So, if they are vastly more advanced than us, what is to keep them from wiping us out? James Alan Gardner's solution to that conundrum is simple and brilliant. They're civilized, and some of the really advanced ones enforce that civilization on all the rest. There you go -- we can be the new kids on the block, and still have a chance to play.
He's continued the story into a fair number of sequels now. I may just reread the entire series. I had already reread Vigilant. Its vision of a political system that has a system to purge corruption and forsee the consequences of any governmental action felt comforting to return to recently. It's a fast-paced adventure story with Heinleinian social thought in it, too.
I feel some inclination to get the reviews area of this site back in action. I'll link to it here if that inclination becomes reality.
Tuesday, January 11, 2005
Here is an urgent and meaningful defense of the right to free speech. It seems quite applicable to our own country, though the author is writing from Scotland. I urge you to consider the arguments at The Woolamaloo Gazette.
I recently read Russka -- or the first part of it, anyway -- for a book club. I found the viewpoint of a character who seemed glad to style himself "the slave of the tsar" completely alien. Much weirder than a Klingon, Vulcan or Ferengi. Why would you want to yield your individuality to an autocrat? The tsar in question, Ivan, went on to kill vast numbers of his own people, as Stalin would do later. Which comes first -- being willing to accept a bad leader, or getting one?
Yes, there are situations in which it is right to follow. But how many people who have posted those "Freedom isn't free" bumper stickers have realized that we must equally resist our own government when it is oppressive as fight against other nations who threaten us. The American Revolution _was_ a resistance against our own government at the time. It has taken popular action at personal risk to obtain the civil freedoms we hold dear. And it may require a price for us to continue to enjoy them.
I recently read Russka -- or the first part of it, anyway -- for a book club. I found the viewpoint of a character who seemed glad to style himself "the slave of the tsar" completely alien. Much weirder than a Klingon, Vulcan or Ferengi. Why would you want to yield your individuality to an autocrat? The tsar in question, Ivan, went on to kill vast numbers of his own people, as Stalin would do later. Which comes first -- being willing to accept a bad leader, or getting one?
Yes, there are situations in which it is right to follow. But how many people who have posted those "Freedom isn't free" bumper stickers have realized that we must equally resist our own government when it is oppressive as fight against other nations who threaten us. The American Revolution _was_ a resistance against our own government at the time. It has taken popular action at personal risk to obtain the civil freedoms we hold dear. And it may require a price for us to continue to enjoy them.
Saturday, December 18, 2004
We had been letting Pike out on the second story balcony. It seemed to give him a taste of the outdoors without giving him a chance to get into another cat fight. All good, right?
Guess not. The other night, we let him out, and he went into his defensive posture when Doug opened the door to call him back in. Doug tried to talk him down, but Pike had seen another cat. Pike shot into the yard, squeezing between the rails and stretching down the wall, to land with a yowl and chase the other cat to the fence.
I said, "Bet he got an intimidation bonus for that."
Doug replied, "Initiative, too. Stupid beloved maniac cat."
Just goes to show, Tycho's not the only one framing his life in gaming terms. See this strip from Penny Arcade. Even though I haven't played a live game in years, I still think in gaming metaphors.
And I'm glad about it. Whether you get your initial skills by roll of the dice, as in Advanced Dungeons and Dragons, or by allocating points, as in GURPS or Call of Cthulhu, you learn something useful. Not everyone has the same strengths and weakness, and a party of mixed skills is the best road to success.
And then there's experience and leveling up -- always my favorite part of gaming. As you accept challenges, you gain abilities, becoming stronger and stronger. What a great way to look at life!
Anyway, Pike didn't take any injuries. Maybe the threat of 13 pounds of cat falling from heaven like a meteor will get around the neighborhood and discourage trespassing into our yard. Not that we really need our yard defended, Pike!
And he's not going on the balcony after dark any more.
Guess not. The other night, we let him out, and he went into his defensive posture when Doug opened the door to call him back in. Doug tried to talk him down, but Pike had seen another cat. Pike shot into the yard, squeezing between the rails and stretching down the wall, to land with a yowl and chase the other cat to the fence.
I said, "Bet he got an intimidation bonus for that."
Doug replied, "Initiative, too. Stupid beloved maniac cat."
Just goes to show, Tycho's not the only one framing his life in gaming terms. See this strip from Penny Arcade. Even though I haven't played a live game in years, I still think in gaming metaphors.
And I'm glad about it. Whether you get your initial skills by roll of the dice, as in Advanced Dungeons and Dragons, or by allocating points, as in GURPS or Call of Cthulhu, you learn something useful. Not everyone has the same strengths and weakness, and a party of mixed skills is the best road to success.
And then there's experience and leveling up -- always my favorite part of gaming. As you accept challenges, you gain abilities, becoming stronger and stronger. What a great way to look at life!
Anyway, Pike didn't take any injuries. Maybe the threat of 13 pounds of cat falling from heaven like a meteor will get around the neighborhood and discourage trespassing into our yard. Not that we really need our yard defended, Pike!
And he's not going on the balcony after dark any more.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)