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Below are the 25 most recent journal entries.

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  2007.10.22  22.38
OHHHYEAH!!!



I've been looking for this pic forever.

  
 


 
  2007.10.20  22.05
phillipa gregory

I just bought "The Bolyn Inheritance" It, like the other installments in her fictionalized Tudor History , does not paint the rosiest picture of male/ female relationships.

This one is about Anne of Cleaves. She was one of the divorced wives of Henry the Eighth, and the traditional account is that he was duped by a overly flattering portrait, and that she was too unattractive to arouse Henry enough to consummate the marriage. Gregory finds historical evidence that suggests that this translation is less fact based than it is Henry- based. and that the real reason the marriage failed had more to do with Henry's ill health, overindulgence in wine, and the fact that Anne, not knowing him on first meeting, made it loudly and publically clear that she was repulsed by him.

This is what gets me about all of these stories, and this will probably sound wierd == I am almost less appalled by the actual executions of Anne and Katherine Parr than I am by the incredible amount of shame and contempt henry heaped on Anne of cleaves and Katharine of Aragon. The shame they had to live with. The shame that their own kin and friends had to agree with, to save their own necks== or, in some cases, just because it is so much more sexy to believe ugly stories.

Anyhow.. running out of steam for some reason....

  
 


 
  2007.10.13  00.06
day three

currently there is a kerfuffle in the works regarding an ani difranco line I tossed out, so I figured transcribing the lyrics would be a good typing excercise:

Not a Prettygirl (note: all one word.)

I am not a prettygirl
that is not what I do
I ain't no damsel in distress
and I don't need to be rescued

so put me down, punk
wouldn't you prefer a maiden fair
isn't there a kitten
stuck up a tree somewhere

I am not an angry girl
but it seems like I got everyone fooled
everytime I say something they find hard to hear
they chalk it up to my anger
and never to their own fear
Imagine you're a girl
Just trying to finally come clean
lmowing all the while they'd prefer you were dirty
and smiling

and I am sorry
but I am not a maiden fair
I am not a kitten
Stuck up a tree somewhere.

generally my generation
wouldn't be caught dead working for the man
generally I agree with them
trouble is you gotta find yourself an alternate plan
and I have earned my disillusionment
I have been working all of my life
and I am a patriot
and I am fighting the good fight
and what if there are no damsels in distress
what if I knew that, and called your bluff
dont you think every kitten figures out how to get down
whether or not you ever show up?

I am not a prettygirl
I don't really want to be a prettygirl
I want to be more than a prettygirl

  
 


 
  2007.10.11  20.33
day two of type mask

I know this is really boring, but this does define, "get a blog", right?

I am getting a lot faster... it's pretty amazing how much I have improved in one day. still probably only going at twenty wpm if that, but still feeling more familiar with keyboard.

The reason this whole exercise is important is that I will be looking for a new job as of January and in all likelihood it will not be in childcare. I need a job on which I can move out. thus, at age 38, I am learning how to touch type.

People don't understand what childcare workers put into childcare. You develop a very specific skill set, not easily applicable to other jobs, you end up in a profession that has a notorious burn out and turnover rate-- and that shows on your resume, you are in a profession that has no pension, no retirement plan, and you can actually acquire a BA or even a Master's without that reflecting in your payscale at all. You can develop decades worth of study and knowledge in your field, backed up by hard fact and exhaustive study, and still be treated like a glorified babysitter by the same people who are theoretically trusting you to spend eight hours of that child's waking life raising them.

Little longer, and faster, now, but can only ramble... need to get a typing flow to improve my writing flow.

  
 


 
  2007.10.10  20.25
blind item

bear with me, folks I am using a typing mask to do this,,, if you dont know what a typing mask is, it's a plastic dingum that you slip over your keyboard to practice touchtyping . Just to give you an idea of how much i suck at this, it took me about ten minutes just to type these two lines.

so I am trying to free associate and write anything that comes to my mind, which I should try to do once in a while anyway, right?

I am watching " You, Me , and Everyone we Know" for about the fourth time. It's the kind of film people call "quirky", which in my mind is just a word that means "It doesnt tell one of the same six stories I am used to hearing."

My mom has this sixth sense about when I am doing things that require concentration. All night she has been coming down and getting slice after slice of bread. Or just staring listlessly into the fridge. Flippin wierdo.

Well, I'm gonna stop now, before I go blind. (I know, I've promised that before.)

  
 


 
  2006.11.20  23.11
My CDEV midterm paper, for your entertainment.

Stress reduction for Childcare Workers

Saturday 9:30-- 12:30





Reflection Paper



For my "reflection day" I decided to travel down south for the weekend, stay somewhere for the night, and find something restorative to do in the morning. The entire trip turned out to be a good overview of things i do to create more stress in my life, and effective ways I have learned to cope.

I left at about 5:00 Friday night, and decided to find a hotel n the Santa Cruz area, figuring there would be plenty of affordable hotels there. I went without a map or a reservation. This kind of thing comes up in my journal a lot- my lack of planning or organization sends me into a fluster sometimes. I ended up lost in Aptos at a bout 8:300 PM.

Another bad habit I have is to blame bad fate instead of resigning myself to the consequences of 9say) not checking a map before a trip.So I was driving around muttering things like,"Why does this always happen to me?" and "It's just my luck!" and hoping if I thought happy thoughts a motel would turn up.



Even as i was calling upon the fates, I was driving past gas station after gas station.I was too shy, embarrassed, proud, whatever to pull over and ask for information about hotels. This is another common roadblock for me-- I worry too much about what other people think of me, and will put myself through a lot of trouble to avoid personal embarrassment.



Finally I had a stern talk with myself and forced myself to pull over at a gas station near a shopping center. I parked the car--and across the street I saw the sign for a Best Western. I ran across the street and reserved a room Until I looked at the bill I didn't realize I was in Aptos.



Largely due to good planning, Saturday turned out to be a much better day.

I had passed through Capitola at sundown on Friday night, and thought the place looked so charming, I decided to spend the next day there. I used a map in my room to plan my route the night before.



Here are the good things I did for myself on Saturday:

I took a nice long bath in the morning, throwing the last of a bottle of champagne I'd had the night before. (It's a spa thing.) Instead of rushing to pack up in the morning like I usually do when I am traveling, I got my bag packed, made some( decaf) coffee, and hung out in the room till about a half hour before check out time. sitting on the balcony and enjoying the breeze. It was hard for me to give myself permission to not to rush, but there was really no reason to rush.



When I did leave, I noted that my preparation the night before helped me find Capitola easily , and I could relax and enjoy the drive. Once I got there, I pretty much spent the day people-watching, sitting on the beach, and window-shopping, but I consciously did several things that relax me:



People watching/ animal watching.



It was nice to get "out of my own head" and be aware of things surrounding me. I watched some toddlers climbing on rocks-- one was really good at it-- and I spent a ridiculous amount of time watching the seagulls and blackbirds collecting by an estuary looking for handouts from the restaurants. They seemed to take any sign of attention as an offer of food. They were hilarious. ANyway, this kind of nature observation is a sort of meditation for me, and it really expands my imagination-- a lot of my personal writing lately has been "travelogues' of different road trips I have taken.



Meditating



I also to do some more internal meditating. I found a spot by the bank of the estuary to soak my feet-- you may recall I have been having foot problems resulting form a heel spur. I just sort of stared down into the clear water at the bottom of the riverbed, and blocked out everything else but the sound of the water rippling and the sight of the shells and pebbles on the bottom. I did that for a long time. It was almost like sleeping.



Foot rubs.



After the foot soak, I tried out some of the foot rubs we learned in class. I have been trying to do those daily, and the effect has been remarkable. I still have some pain, particularly when I overexert myself, but it is nowhere near what it used to be.After walking around all morning,t he combination of the foot soak and the foot rub was really healing.



Singing



Simply as a deep breathing exercise, singing really relaxes me, but it also is a source of deep emotional expression and release. (this also keeps coming up in my journal as a coping strategy.)I am very shy about being caught singing in public. I've been trying to get over that lately and just sing whenever I feel like it (within reason). I reassure myself with the thought that whenever I catch somebody singing, it feels like a grace moment.

And yes, I have a fairly decent voice. Still, most of my singing took place in the privacy of my car.

Driving.

Considering how much of my journal entries are devoted to whining about traffic in the morning, it is surprising that my main method of relaxation---- when I really am having a bad day, or when I have a serious need to recharge-- is taking a long drive. That was my primary for taking the road trip in the first place-- when I heard the direction, "do something you will find relaxing and restorative' I immediately pictured roads winding around Coastside mountains and yearned for travel. There is something about being in my won space, surrounded by my own music(Natalie Merchant this weekend) and driving in a remote area that seems to reset my dials. I told my therapist later that the feeling I get at these times is the way i would like to feel all the time. She said "I want to propose to you that at those time you are experiencing your authentic self."

Cool. Now I just have to figure out how to achieve that feeling without wasting money on gas.

Seriously, it is a goal of mine to work a more regular practice of meditation into my daily life, and calling on those memories might be a good way to start.

My therapist also said she thought it was not a mistake that i was taking this class at this time in my life-- this year has been personally challenging to say the least, with the recent death of my biological father, the serious illness of a friend, and my feet apparently disintegrating form underneath me. I think a lot of my current strategies for coping have been for the most part, tried and found wanting-- that is, I have several habits that increase my stress rather than alleviating it-- and I am at a place to chose differently.



I have long called myself a pacifist, but I often wage war on myself. It is time to remedy that.

  
 


 
  2006.07.07  12.54
The Crow files: an ongoing saga (also see link below)

The Bandolier raven: (The trail information says there's no crows there)

I had been bugging my compatriots with my inane crow stories all weekend. I'll spare you. If you are curious, check the last entry in my Livejournal

In any case, I sensed some loving eye-rolling in some of the comments-- you know you have found your people when they make no secret that they think you are a raving lunatic, but they still love you. So when a raven , bullied about by a blustery wind, perched on a nearby pickup truck at the parking lot next to the gift shop in Bandolier, where a group of us were resting, I decided to try out my corvid mojo.

I cawed at him. (he was acting like a "him" Trust me.The Bird Book tells me these things)

He looked over,then ignored me.

I cawed again.

This time he looked over with pointed interest, and cawed back.

I "purred" at him (check link below-- I discovered a "kin" call, whick kind of sounds like a caw-y purr.)

At this he hopped off the truck and paced around the benches where we sat, keeping a wide berth, and not taking his eye off of me. He came around a path at the back of the benches and walked up to us, and began cawing. I cawed back, he cawed. I cawed back. I purred a bit. This was apparently coming on to strong for him, and he cawed back. Etc.

By this time the rest of the group had come back from their hike and joined us. Somebody else joined us, too-- a smaller raven, who sat on top of the roof of the gift shop and delivered some kind of lecture to the crow on the ground. He began pecking at the ground.("Honest, honey, I was just looking for bread.") He cawed at us a couple more times, again got a tongue (beak) lashing, and pecked wildly at the ground. Then MacGyver's Apprentice said he tried to get a picture of him, and he took off. With Spouse.

Lyda Rose called me a "crow femme fatale."

Having said all this, I must add that Lyda was eating an ice cream cone at the time.He probably expected we'd pitch it to him eventually, being such good friends and all.

  
 


 
  2006.03.26  21.19
Dances with crows

I added another story to the crow file, in case y'all areinterested:



http://bunnywithanaxe.livejournal.com/2347.html

  
 


 
  2006.03.26  18.08
The Girl with the white parasol

We are discussing moments that  various couples had-- when the "knew" that that person was the one.

The problem is, I  think I have felt "the moment" before--or at least,  "a" moment, if only in the sense of establishing a prototype of the way I wanted to feel. I've just yet to find myself in a position where it was appropriate to follow through on it.
Anyway, I had possibly two "aha" moments-- possibly one with a part aAand B. I'll getback to that.In any case, they turned out to be Citizen-Kane, Girl-with-the-white parasol moments and I never got a chance to find out if I should/ could trust those particular instincts.Here they are, for your reading pleasure:

1. About 60 pounds and 15 years ago, I was walking down a hall at ____ _______.and I passed a classroom where a movie was playing. Back then I was about a size 10 and wore funky hippie clothes even to my preschool job, and I had a short dark brown bob. In other words, I was pretty cute.Anyway, I stopped in the hall and watched this movie for a whille. I saw that it was a documentary or an educational film of some sort, and I almost began to walk away. Then the narrator began talking. Instead of droning on about obvious stuff, the narrator was actually engaging and interesting. So, I stopped and watched. I have a vague memory of dark-skinned women in t robes and turbans, seated, talking to each other. 

It was a hot day--which is probably why the door to the classroom was open to begin with.A lot of people were looking grouchy that day. A grouchy-looking dark-haired  man came up the aisle of the darkened classroom and grabbed the door, darting me a sharp look.I mumbled an apology and started to head off.

He stopped before he shut the door."The light''s coming in. Do you want to come in?"
I blinked.
He stepped out into the hall and repeated himself-- I saw now that he wasn't really grumpy, he was just curt.  he was also kind of attractive, in a starchy sort of way."I'm just shutting the door to keep the room dark. Come on in if you want to wacth."

I looked up at him, and he was giving me a really direct look, like his eyeballs had points.Eye contact was never easy for me, but in this caseit was unavoidable--he was not much taller than me, and his eyes came right at me. That's when it happened. When I made eye contact, I felt something like "POW." Like I had an unknown electric cord attached to me and it had just gotten plugged in. Since I had never felt that before, I had no basis for interpretation-- I had no idea whether this feeling was a good thing or a bad thing. I just suddenly felt like the look we were holding together was tangible, as if he were holding my arm rather than just my gaze.Whatever thoughts that were drifting through my head were monkeywrenched by the immediacy of the moment I was confused, maybe even a little frightened.

(Later that evening a wordc for the feeling came to me--"magnetism")

"I -I - This isn't my class", I sputtered.
This is when the spell broke. he straightened up, gave an exasperated snort, and puffed, "I'm the INSTRUCTOR!"

The prissy tone he took kind of put me off, and it finally occured to me to ask myself if it was normal for for an instructor to be recruiting bypassers to come into his class. So I did something I rarely do-- I flat out lied.. I told him that I had another class.

I wasn't going to any class. My next class was something like four hours off. I hung out in the library for a while. About an hour later, I found myself walking down the same hall again. I peeked in the door again. This time the INSRUCTOR  and the students were discussing the film. SOmethng stopped me again- a student about my age was delivering an animated speech about the movie, the whole class seemed alive and excited, and the INSTRUCTOR was sitting on the edge of his desk, swinging his heels, and looking more like a bright, friendly guy having an interesting conversation than a teacher asessing a student's comments.He looked up and spotted me again. He laughed.and beckoned to me.

"Come in!"

And I skittered. At the time I was just a bunny, no axe
.
2 The weird thing is, I think I met him again.. I think.

That year (shortly after I'd begun dating my first serious boyfreind) I went to the Sing-it-Yourself Messiah at Davies Symphony hall, with my mother and my sister. We went to look at the practice tapes and other merchandise, and I looked up to see a quite handsome man standing behind the  swag table.He looked familiar.

"Where have I seen you before?" I asked.

He gave me a sideways look and a knowing smirk. I can't really remember that much about how he looked; only that he had dark hair, that damned insufferable smirk and a dangerous twinkle in his eye.He shrugged.
"Where have you seen me before." he said quietly.
I stared at him and thought.
"You go to ____ _______ ."
"No," he said quietly. "I work at ____ _______ ." Insufferable smile.
"Oh!" That's right! Music Department!"
"No," he said quietly. Insuferable smile.
I was moving from intrigued to annoyed, and I still could not place him. I was seconds away from teling him to wipe that damn smirk off when my mother took me by the arm and drew me away, making some coment about our seats.
Once we were theoretically out of earshot, Mom and Sis pounced."What was that about?  He was cute!"
I shrugged, still trying to place him.
"You should ahve given him your number!" they insisted.
Now, as I said, I had just acquired my first serious boyfriend and I was very much  a one-guy-gal.I opened my mouth to to retort to that effetct. for some reason, the words melted in my mouth, and I took another peek at him. He'd been watching us--me-- the whole time, his eyes slanted to one side, that twinkle even more dangerous.

There it is.(they are. )As I said, might have been same guy, might have been completely unrelated persons who happened to work at at ____ _______.. All I know is, I never forgot him/ either of them, nor my first encounter with magnetism.





Mood: restless
Music: "Someone to Watch over Me"(Just came on) 		 
 


 
  2006.03.04  20.26
Chimayo

I think this song by Fernando Ortega is one of the most beautiful songs I've ever heard. 

I am copying the lyrics here becasue I have literally spent a couple years intermittantly searching for them, so I want to make sure they stay handy:

I have seen the golden summer light
Flicker in the trees,
In the orchard where the long grass
Sways in the breeze.
In the shade across the fence
An old man in a chair
Dreams of the names and faces
Who’ve been there.

But lately I have seen you fading
As the world is changing,
As the seasons fly.
Still my heart in secret
Holds on to the deepest colors
Of the earth and sky.

In the graying of the year
When leaves and sunlight fall,
Make the shadows of the orchard
Deep and tall.
Then the winter comes and covers
All that does not move
Underneath the Sangre Cristo
Stars and moon.

But I will come and find you
When the spring unbinds you
Singing of an older time,
Still my heart in secret
Holding to the deepest colors
Of the earth and sky.

(will now undertake serious attempt to learn to sing this one :D :D :D )




 
 


 
  2005.11.23  20.54
The Story of the Weeping Camel.

If you haven't seen this one, do. It's in the Foreign Film section-- it's a film from Mongolia, and is a semi-documentary. I really want to look up details on the production and find out just how much is straight documentry.

It kind of reminds me of the Iranian film "The White Baloon"-- a sort of overview of an entire culture held together by one maddening cliffhanger. The culture in this case is that of nomads in the Gobi desert--the cliffhanger is a piss-mean, rebellious Bactrian (two-humped) she-camel and her baby. The mother, for whatever reason, does not bond with the baby camel, and refuses to nurse. While the bulk of the film is about the camel-herders themselves, the little family and their expanded tribe, everybody in the film is concerned with the families efforts to reunite mother and child.

The first scene where the mother rejects the baby is viscerally jolting. I was angry at the stupid beast. Never mind that it is just an animal, not to mention one of verifiably nastiest animals on the planet, never mind that there might be some physical issue that is holding the mother back, I hate her. The nomad-wife gently leads the baby to the mother's udder, the mother dodges. The wife tries again, the mother kicks her hind leg to dislodge the baby. The wife leads the baby around to touch noses with the mother, and the mother curls back her lips and gnaws the baby's neck. Finally Wife gives up and lets Mother wander away. Baby is then left to halfheartedly trot towards the retreating mother,keening eerily.

The keening is pretty much the soundtrack--the baby's cries dominate the ambiance in most of the scenes. It is wailing and tonal, a high-pitched cry that follows a descent in the universal pattern of vocal misery.It defies what I just wrote about the principles in this drama being "just animals" Again, the viscera is indignant-- how could any female mammal of any species hear that awful sound and ignore it?or walk away form it? The sounds from the mother are mainly grunts of irritation, or threatening growls as the humans try to manipulate the situation.

Wife finally ties Mother's leg down, and tightly muzzles her snout. It's pretty gratifying, but they have to let Baby go before he is finished,or else Mom will go ballistic. Baby never experiences a sensation of fullness. Every once in a while the camera man catches streams of moisture coursing from the Baby's eyes.If they are not tears,they sure are a spooky imitation.

One of the children of the nomad family comes across Wife trying to supplement the now-staggering Baby's feed by giving him extra she's milked from Mom through a skin bottle. The son asks Wife "If the mother does not feed the baby camel will it die?"

"What a question!" rebukes Wife. But she doesn't answer.

Finally the tribe musicians are enlisted to solve the problem. The remedy seem to lie in strapping a viola-type instrument to the mother camel's hump,and allowing her own moans of discomfort at this burden to resonate with the strings. This somehow hypnotises her. No shit, it really calms her down quickly.

Once she is settled, one of the musicians takes the viola down again and starts playing it with abow. The mother moans in sympathy with the strains coming from the instrument, Off in the background the baby camel is tied to a stake, practically wrenching his leg off in an attempt to reach the mother. Mother keeps moaning. The camera man catches the setting sun on the mother's face, again, those weird "tears" appear to stream form the animal's eyes.Her moans sound like a deeper, adult version of the baby's. They join voices, and finally somebody lets the baby loose and leads him forward.

The mother stands perfectly still as the baby walks over and begins to nurse. The viola plays.The mother moans, and turns to awkwardly nuzzle Baby. Wife, stroking Mother, begins to sing a simple chant, light and high and sweet. The other camels stop grazing and stare at the proceedings, as if commanded to do so.After a while the music falls silent and the humans watch peacefully as the baby drinks.

Wife remarks,"Finally, she let the baby nurse." Pause. "At last he'll be full."

They all nod, then get up and leave. Their lack of astonishment is astonishing.Of couse my mod'ren, scientific mind screams: how the hell did they know that would work?? What convolutions of oral tradition passed this one along? What accident of fate made them discover this trick???

The cliffhanger solved, the story should be over. But when the humans walk way, the camera stays with the principles, Mother and Baby. It's the most heartbreaking, powerful, important scene in the film.

Baby is pretty much done, is not keening anymore--actually, he looks pretty damn chipper--and is sort of hanging around Mother as one would expect a camel that has been kicked by his mother since birth to hang around-- close enough to enjoy the proximity, but far enough away not to invite abuse. But this time, it is the mother who is providing the soundtrack-- the moaning that started in the music performance never stops. It's as if all those weeks of detachment from her calf are falling upon her,and she is mourning the seperation that just ended.Would it be too weird and anthropomorphic to use the word "regret"? Or "penitant"? In any case, the animal is clearly grieving. The wailing is serving some mysterious animalia cathartic purpose,and Mother vents her feelings loudly.

At some point Baby seems to realize all this caterwauling is about him, so he comes back to nurse, thought clearly not enthused. Mother continues to cry, nuzzling the haunches of the baby. Baby, I guess expecting a bite, skitters back, then again seems to recognize the gesture as friendly and trots forward.It is just small enough to run right under Mom and tickle her tummy with his humps. Mom nuzzles and the wailing subsides.She can'tseen to get enough of the colt, nozing its head, neck, humps. The two animals go from nuzzling to gently frolicking, the sounds go from keening to something more turtledovey, and the sun literally sets on the mother and calf rejoicing in the universal mammalian refreshment of skin on skin.

What could I possibly add to that? Except GO RENT IT.

  
 


 
  2005.10.04  21.33


I have just learned that, according to a poll run in, NEJ*  I, your humble servant, have been voted one of the 100 most influential people in the world.

 

Admittedly I'm number 87, but still, top 100.

 

Due to the high volume of response, I am forced to only accept congratulations in the form of checks, money orders, or Paypal deposits.

 

http://www.livejournal.com/~abooth/  (in solidarity)

 

*Narcsissitic Egomaniac's Journal.

 

And who the hell is Dan Brown, anyway?



  
 


 
  2005.09.18  19.23
Why I can't forget.

1. The crow thing.

Few pages back, you will find a story where I had this stand-off with a crow in front of Cloud Hall. I am pacing this crow that talks smack to everybody that comes near its tree. I mention somebody coming down and giving me a funny look while I was doing this. It was him.

I remeber looking up and seeing him come down, and I remeber clearly the look on his face. His eyebrows were bunched together, but at the same time he was wearing a huge grin. He coudn't have been saying more clearly "WHAT THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU ARE DOING, YOU LUNATIC?" if somebody had handed him a bullhorn. It was instantly obvious that he had glanced over and accurately sussed out what I had doing in that one glance. I figured out this information just as quickly, and I nodded at him good-naturedly, without breaking my stride. I knew that would make him laugh. It did.

I also knew he would bring it up the next time he saw me-- was so sure, as a matter of fact, that I sort of rehearsed my explanation. Sure enough, next time I saw him in ____, he wandered over to me, apparently abosorbed in the papers he was shuffing in his hand.

I waited. I could tell the papers were a prop. Sure enough, he cleared his throat.

"So, what was with that crow earlier?"

I could feel myself blushing. "Oh, you noticed that." I said breezily, as rehearsed.

He shrugged, smiled, and fixed me with a firm, questioning look. He is really good at this look, There is no retreating from it.

"well, I was noticing this crow that hung out in between two of those pine trees every day. It was challenging everyone that passed by, and I finally got curious about what he would do if I challenged him."

"And?"

I grinned. "He didn't like it."

"You're sure it was male?"

"Yes, " I said definitely. "It was acting male."

At this his eyelids dropped to half-mast. He blinked a couple times, and his grin grew a tiny bit wider and a little less polite. I became suddenly aware of the extreme maleness of the person I was talking to.The heat came back to my face.

"No offense."

"None taken." There was definitely a twinkle in his eye now.

Now, this is gonna sound weird, but it was at this point that I realised I was kind of flirting with him. Yes, sad as it sounds, that is how I flirt. And I was still married at the time, and I was feeling kind of guilty about it, so I sat up straight and made sure to wave my left hand around and made some comment about how male crows were very territorial and females tended to hang back. He just sort of rolled his eyes as if to say "too little, too late" and went back to shuffling papers. He was still smiling, though.

2. Cayuga Park

THe day after my ex left, I was in the hallway of ____ , looking at a display in one of the cases. It had been up for weeks, and I found it fascinating. It was a pictorial of Cayuga Park.

Cayuga Park is the result of a neighborhood repair project. A local gardener/woodworker took on the task of cleaning up the park after a storm had knocked over several trees. He carved the trees, large brances,etc into santos and garden gnomes and animals, sometimes using trees that were still mostly standing as a base. The pictures were gorgeous, and I finally got out my notebook to jot down the address.

His voice came over my shoulder."You gonna check that out?"
I guess he had been looking it over too.

"Sure," I said. "it's only a few blocks away."

"Really?"

"Yeah, I have like a two hour break till my next class anyway.Cayuga is just about two or three blocks down Ocean, and it sounds like you just find it, take a right, and drive to the dead end. Really have no excuse not to go it it's that easy. "

"Right." he said soberly. I looked at him. He was staring past me at the display, and seemed to be taking my words to heart."Right," he said again.

I took advantage of his apparent mood. "Do you have an office?"

His eyes flashed at me."Sort of," he grumped. (Later I found out what he meant; he basically shared a closet with two other people.)

"Do you usually eat lunch in your office?

"Yeah."

"Well, you can sit in your office and eat lunch, or you can drive two blocks and take it to a park." I shrugged.

He tipped his head as if he were rocking the idea around in it. He looked pleased. 'Yeah, you're right."

I turned back to the flyer and kept jotting directions. "Well, anyway, I'm going."

And I did go, a while later. But in that time the reality of the night before was hitting me. John had given me a speech about how unhappy he was, particularly with me, and had moved to his best friend's house that night to decide what he was going to do with me. I plodded around the park, which was indeed as cool as described in the flyers. They had just watered everything and there were puddles in one area, which I slogged through anyway, because I didn't want to miss anything. There were also a lot of cool little cubby bench type things, which I loved.I sat down on one of these to have a good cry, because I really wished I could share that place with John. The whole time I was there I was thinknig about how I woud have described it to him, how cool he would think it was.

Ir was getting cold, and I finally got up to head back to my car. I passed a man heading in as I headed out. I nodded shortly, he nodded back, then I realised I recognised him.

He bit! I thought, completely forgetting about my soon-to-be ex for a moment. He took the bait!

"You came!" I crowed. I was really happy, becasue based on the conversation I had with him he sounded like a creature of habit and I figured he was only humoring me when he said he might come. He shrugged and smiled, but gave me that pointed look.

I ignored it, still too pleased to remember I had been crying. I tried to wipe my face without being obvious about it. "I'm glad you did, it's pretty cool!"

"Is it? Were you impressed?"

"Oh, yeah" I was relieved. If I kept talking, he woudn't bring up the condition of my face. "There is some cool stuff up in the trees, there is a little treehouse sort of thing over there, but be careful walking around in that are because it's kind of muddy."

"Well, I'll just not go over there." His look was getting more and more pointed.

"Yeah, true," I kept trying to wiggle out form under that look. "Anyway, there is plenty of other stuff to --"

"Yeah," he nodded briskly. "Yeah. Are you OK?"

I faltered, because I wanted to lie so bad. Anybody else I think I could have done it[Oh, nothing is wrong, allergies], but I couldn't with him. Becasue he wasn't just asking, he really wanted to know.

"No,"I finally said.I couldn't look at him.

"Anything I can help with?"

I thought about asking him to give John a call and convincing him to come back, and that made me smile. I just shook my head. "No."

He actually laughed a little.But it was a kind laugh, and the warmth in his eyes told me he knew what I meant. "No. Ok."

He was so disarming I laughed a little, too. Then I shrugged. "Life is just sort of... happening right now."

He just nodded and looked at me sadly. The one thing I remember, the one thing that I found the most attractive about him, was the way one glance from him could convey what would take a paragraph for somebody else to cover. He didn't give me a bunch of phoney-balony sympathetic platitudes, he just gave me one long look that said he knew just where I was coming from. It was a little too much for me, in my state.

"Well, hope you enjoy the park," I said, moving to the gate.

He nodded. "Take care."

That was the beginning, and there were other, more involved, perhaps more meaningful conversations, but this is where it started. He was just different. he saw things differently in general, he saw things other people missed. I think he saw things about me that other people miss. And I miss having that gaze on me.

And he took my advice about the park,. He let me affect him. That happened more than once.

  
 


 
  2005.09.05  11.32
This is me.

http://www.tljones.co.uk/apd/apd.htm


Read the "manifestations" section.

(sigh) where do I start?

  
 


 
  2005.08.01  19.32
Ok, I bite

I just liked my answers.

Your love is... by ChibiMarronchan
Your name is...
Your kiss is...breath taking
Your hugs are...friendly
Your eyes...twinkle in the moonlight
Your touch is...irresistable
Your smell is...amazing
Your smile is...encouraging
Your love is...one of a kind
Quiz created with MemeGen!


  
 


 
  2005.07.16  14.51
May as well put my information to use

(In no particular order) Signs that you should get your kid out of a school/ get a job elsewhere:

1.The walls are decorated with stuff the teacher has made.

2. All signs are at adult-eye level, even the ones theoretically aimed at the kids.

3. Most children's art involves dittos.

4.The teachers spend more time talking to you than the kids when you come in.

5. The teachers see any activity--bean-counting, yard-sweeping, anything- as more important that supervising the kids-- that is, they seem to find any excuse to get out of the classroom

6.There are beautiful, new, interesting books arranged in a moblie, or an adult-high display on the wall. The actual books on the shelves are missing pages and covers.

7.Teachers yell at kids to stop yelling at kids.

8. Some kinds cannot do anything right, no matter what. They will only get attention when they are doing something wrong.

9.Favorites. It's normal for teachers to become attached to certain kids, but when one child is told to rest on their cot at naptime and another is invited on the teacher's lap to play, something is wrong.

10. Kids below age 2 two are given affection, positive attention, and nurturing; when they hit age 2-2 1/2 they are expected to stop crying, always listen perfectly, and never fuck up.

11. Outside time is just really a group break for the teachers, and this is the appropriate time to spend a couple hours catching up on thing.

(Will think of more later)

...

12. Transitions happen like mosh pits. Kids are expected to switch gears at the single bark of an order, with no smooth transition from one activity to another.

13. If a sub is used, the teachers use that opportunity to take a break form the harder discipline cases. So an already hard-to-handle kid is left with a total stranger and both are expected to work in complete harmony.

14. If you hear a teacher say to a 5 year old kid at any point "No crying. We don't have babies here," RUN.This person knows squat about kids, not to mention human beings.
(Don't even get me started on "Big Boys Don't Cry." People should have bamboo rammed up their nails and be told, "Aww, is the baby crying? Boo-hoo, little baby...")

15. Teachers set really bizzare, random limits and stroll out of the room,leaving another co-worker--or sub whom kids do not know from fucking Adam-- to either enforce the dumb rule or blow it off in front of kids. :"Don't let them use the cookie cutters on the green playdough;they are supposed to use that for grass. Ok, I am gonna go now." (ok that's an exaggeration, I can't think of a real life example right now, But it happens.)


Oooh! Naptime! Almost forgot!

16. Teachers tell all the kids to lie down and be silent on their mats, then walk out of class en masse, leaving one teacher to bounce around from kid to kid trying to settle things down as they polish off leftover snack and find anything they can do that will keep them out of the naproom.

17. ...but once the lone naproom attendant has managed to get all except a few kids to sleep, the prodigal teachers return to have a loud conversation aobut "days of our lives" right over the kids' heads.

[Tangent: I am really hypersensitive to noise. I have blamed it on my childhood--listening for the footsteps of abusive father, etc-- but I think a lot of it,maybe even most of it, is more about my naptime experiences as a teacher. I get really really alert to any little sound in the room when i see a little kids's eyes starting to droop, while I am sittng beside them rubbing their backs or stroking thier hair. I want everything to be perfect for them. It hit me today because I was working with this idiot who seemed to have a built-in radar about it; every time the kid I was working on would doze off that seemed to be her cue to shout over to a co-worker, "OH! DID YOU HEAR WHAT MADGE SAID TODAY??" Bah.)

18. Teacher tells sub kids get up at 2:30. One (rambunctious)kid wakes up at 2:10, but in a breathtaking display of self-control mamages to relax and stay in a prone position till 2:30. Sub informs teacher of such, and asks if it is ok to at least let kid read book on mat. Teacher says kid is to sleep 15 more minutes.Kid, despite overwhelming sucess, is shoved minute by agonizing minute over the line of fucking up, and basically his sucess is buried in the ensuing conflict with teacher.

20. (as above) basically any excuse to make the kids lie prone as long as the teachers want to kick back and chat, is a valid excuse. Keep 'em down till four o'clock, I say! (must be fucking Chinese Water Torture for the kids."lie still! Go back to sleep! Lie still, I said!"

(to be continued, I am sure)

  
 


 
  2005.06.28  10.56
I know you are all probably bored stiff with this, but...

One more note to Mom!

Straight A's bitch. Straight motherfucking A's. Despite all your stupid little games, despite all the noisy projects you found to do in the hallway when I mentioned the word "homework", despite all the times you arranged to have the Neph spend the night when I had an exam the next day, straight fucking A's. So go ahead and keep it up. I am gonna get straight A's next semester, too, and the semester after that. And hopefully before that I will be out of this shack, on my own, away from your bullshit.

  
 


 
  2005.05.11  15.40
Val

Today I got a talking-to from one of my instructors, Val. She is a dynamic black woman with a gorgeous speaking voice and a no-bullshit attitude. Her perception of my work does not match mine at all.

It started when I was sitting after class waiting for tips from her about my resume-building. She talked with me for a while, then her cell rang. She began speaking to her nephew, who was apparently fucking up. She scolded him at first, then launced into this speech about how much potential he had and how much intellgence he had and how his future could be anything he wanted. I actually began to tear up. Ok, there is a hormonal aspect to that, but still.

Whne she hung up I said "Lucky kid"

"not really" she said.

"No, I said. "Lucky he has someone to talk to him like that."

And I described a typical discussion about my future that I would have with my mom, over and over again. "This will be the first generation that does not surpass it's parents, she would say. Over and over. It was like she was banking on it for some reason It wasn't till just this year that it hit me-- all I had to do was get a BA. Boom. Surpassed both of them.

Anyway, at this she launced into a completely new pep talk just for me. No worries about the strain, it really isn't a chore getting Val to talk. She told me a bit about her considerable struggles to achieve her MA and the complete lack of support form her family, and her decision to succeed well past her family's expectations. She wanred me that when I succeed in my goals ("and you WILL" she thundered) all of a sudden my family would rush forward to claim me. She told me I could pick my own family. She told me I could design my own life.

But what really blew me away was her feedback about my work If you had asked me for a self evaluation at that poijnt I would have said that I was trying hard and probably bumbling along at the same level of incompetence as the rest of the class. A few weeks ago Val read the collective lcas the riot act and said that only two people in the entire class would get A's at midterm. I was positive that i ewas off that list, but as I am pretty content with a B, I didn't worry about it. In the course of the pep talk, she told me I was the ONLY one at this point that she would give an A.

Since I was honestly flabbergasted, I asked for some feedback. She basically painted a picture of myself that violated the picture of myself I usually carry-- she said I was a good leader (I was traffic director for a while) that I was able to work with a team and get results from them, that I would follow through on every task she set for me and follow through on every taks I set for myself. She used the word" follow through" about six times. And when I thought it over I had to agree, but it was wierd that I had to have her point it out to me-- I thought follow through was just a trait that most reasonable adults had and it was nothing remarkable.Turns out I'm wrong; there are apparently a heckuvalot of adults getting a paycheck out there who suck at follow-through.

It has been a rough couple of days for me, and as she went on and on I just felt like a kid getting a bottle. I have never had a person express such vigorous and relentless faith in me before. SHe talked about the "aunts" she had chosen for herself in place of the family she'd jettisoned: Belva Davis, Correta Scott King, some more dynamite women of color I can't remember off bat.

ANd to top it off, Doc ( the head teacher of the radio station) came in and handed the Belva Davis scholarship to Val and mumbled(he seemed tired) "Know anybody who should go for this?"

She glanced at it, and flicked it right to me.

(Oh, and when I discussed my family and how they sometimes interfere with my studying, she sniffed,"Constipation ain't contagious. That's their problem.")

  
 


 
  2005.05.10  10.36
Jolt

In bumbling around on one of my websites, I come across a link that leads me to a page of information on somebody I know.Knew.

There is a picture there of a face I haven't seen in a long time. Jolt.

There is also a collection of contact information. 99% of me knows it would be stupid to use it. That little 1% is self distructive and Pollyannaesque. I will be healthy and sane and not use the information.

But I look at the face for a while.

It is still a great face.

A little tired looking, but great.

Log out.

  
 


 
  2005.05.07  16.52
A-salaam Alekeim, Brother Minister.

Never watch "Malcolm X" when you are high on a G&T.It will make you very angry.All those government pussy-faced creeps who claimed they just wanted everyone to get along. Liars. LIARS!!!

My relationship with the former Malcolm Little is very strange and mystical to me. It all started with my meditations on the doctrine of communion of saints

(here's where I get wierd and religious. All you non-religious folk out there: deal. I gotta be me.)

I never really understood the concept of Communion of Saints till I read a book by Catherine Marshall called "Something More," till then the phrase "communion of saints" was just something I mumbles in the recitation of the Apostles creed. As she explained it, it was the idea that the blessed dead (read: those who are saved and go on to Heaven) are standing before the throne of God and praying for you. It is pretty much the same idea as Catholic Saint revererence, only according to her us Protestants, because we believes in the sainthood of all believers, can call upon those close to us for prayers, rather than special saints. I had been raised to believe that such musings/ communications with those gone before were evil and idolatrous, so the idea that it was ok for us Lutherans was a new one to me ( I was very, very Lutheran at the time)

So I started, of course with people I knew-- my grandmother; Barbara Rushton, the lady who sang alto in the choir and took me under her wing; Leo Weissman, the only adult male in my teenage life who treated me like a princess. St Martha is my offical Catholic saint Patron, and I wear her medal around my neck.

Then I got older, and started to become a Universalist (translation: Christian who believes that all will eventually be accepted into Paradise) So when Isaac Asimov, that thundering atheist died, I boldly asked for his prayers and patronage. Same with Steve Allan, Bill Maudlin, and others. Then I saw Malcolm X

I was putting it off for years, becasue I consider myself a peace-monger, and it was always my understanding that Malcolm preached violence and reverse racism. When I saw the movie I really kicked myself for putting it off: I am a low-wave Spike Lee fan, and should have known it would have been worhtwhile despite my misgivings. It was breathtaking. Especially the end. Malcolm, after preaching seperatism and the evilness of the white race, goes to Mecca and is forced to participate in communal worhip and living with white Muslims. His mind is blown. He comes back to America and get this-- this proud, outspoken man who has made all these thundering indictments against whites as a race, many one could argue are deserved-- admits that he was wrong. He says that his sweeping statements about the white race were unecessarily hurtful to those white people who had genuine good intentions, and he vowed from then on to be a person striving for brotherhood between all races. It does not suprise me, that when he finally made this choice, the people that had him followed In Cario finally had him killed.

So me being me, I asked him right then and there for his prayers, and for his patronage. This is the wierd bit(and I wasn't drunk then.) All the times I "asked" this of dead folk before I pretty much felt like it was a purely spiritual/ psychological excercise that meant nothing significant other than subconcious acting out of-- whatever. When I asked Malclom Little to be my patron, I got a strong sense that the answer was "yes." It was impossible to argue with.

You tell me. All I know is it was different.

So, Brother Minister, pray for me.I want to be as courageous as you, as humble as you, as honest as you. Please pray that I will choose diligence rather than comfort, and integrity rather than popularity. A-salaam alekeim, my brother,El-Hajj Malik El-Shabazz.

  
 


 
  2005.04.23  20.38
More dreams

Few nights ago--

Dreamed I reached up my back and felt hair growing there. was disturbed so I went into my room and shut the door, took off my shirt and tunerd around to check it out. My back was thickly covered with this reddish gold hair, kind of matted like lamb's wool. Sprouting out of my shoulderblades were the beginnings of wings, covered in a blonder shade of the hair. Also I noticed right at the base of my spine I had a little tail growing, mostly just a knob with a little tuft of that blond hair on it.

This morning--

D. and I are driving around and we stop at a little inn. It is an older place and a little run down, but the rooms are really comfy, with big soft beds and cushiony chairs and quilts draped everywhere. There is a litte kitchennette, and--here is the odd thing-- that is where the shower/ bath is located, hidden by a red curtain. D. is getting salad stuff out for dinner, and I tell him I want to run the bath so it will be ready afterward.(I have an, er, thing about bathtubs) I pull back the curtain and am a little put off because the wall behind the bath is covered with mildew and peeling paint, but I look down and see that the tub is this gorgeous deep sunken thing, white with a red chinat plate pattern. I run the water, but notice that even though the plug had been pulled up the water is still running thorough. I also notice that thre is a rubber stopper attached to the faucet that fits over everything, so I adjust it over. I wake up.

Also this morning(after I went back to sleep)--

I am sitting at a table with two girls, both adopted children of somebody I know. We are in a very posh house and the girls are both dressed in private school blazers. The oldest is about twelve,with very dark, dark skin and white white teeth; she is chatting with me and comes across as very accomplished and confident. I like her right away. She is wearing a set of pearls, and I make a remark to the effect that I am sure her mother gave her the pearls because she treasures her as much as them.

At this point I notice the other girl, about seven, wriggling around in her chair, stretching her arm above her head with a fork in it. She has straight brown hair in a bowl cut and huge staring brown eyes;to be specific, she looks like a portrait my mother painted a long time ago of a little Indian girl; everyone who saw the finished product thought it was me. She is frowning at me, and seems to have a hard time keeping still in her seat.

"You seem like an interesting person," I say. "What is your name?"

"Rilla." she says.
"That's an interesting name," I say "Is it short for something else?"
And I wake up, even as I am thinking of asking her if she doesn't like what she is eating.

I had another dream that involved me being in a sitcom as a nanny for the White House, but I can't remeber that one.

  
 


 
  2005.04.06  19.02
Interlude-- writer's fright

For instance, I was going to post a follow up to the previous post, but I am working up to it. I know it is going to take a while, and a lot of thought, and when I think about sitting down and knocking it out, it actually feels kind of like stage fright. Different than just writer's block-- when I have writer's block, I just have nothing to say; I sit at the computer, try, give up.

In this case I have plenty to say, but it seems like such a chore to say it, with the strength I want to say it. I am worried it will come out wrong, that my words will never encompass what the incident meant to me; Perhaps it is the fact that I am doing it in Livejournal, and the whole world can see? perhaps I am just writing too damn much lately? ( I write for every class in some capacity).

As for writing nobody sees-- I had taken to journaling, but was finding that I did best with a blank sketchbook, as sometimes it seemed that words were not enough and I would have to illustrate my thoughts. I make all these excuses for leaving it behind, though-- too much to stuff in my book bag, too many other things I neeed to do, etc.More stage fright?

  
 


 
  2005.04.02  18.43
the cocksucking bitch--- part 1

I have gotten a couple call backs at the substituting agency For which I work, Last week I returned to one of the worst schools I have ever worked at, near the [deleted] in San Francisco-on-Daly City. I told some freinds of mine about my experiences there the last time. I spent the day peeling kids off each other as they got into minor fights that escalated into threats of murder-- not exaggerating-- shooing the kids away from the fence when local gangbangers strolled by to invite the bigger, stronger looking boys into thier posses, and putting my arms around kids and holding them as they fought, kicked, and struggled to break out, attack someone, fling themselves from the furniture, etc. As the cherry on the hot fudge sundae of my day, a kid hung from a puppet theater railing and, apropros of nothing, called me a cocksucking bitch.

At which one of my friends maintained that this was why those who did not allow teachers to excercise corporal punishment were contributing to child abuse.The conversation was interrupted,and I was never able to respond.

And this remark was made many months ago, which should show how badly I need to get over it. But there were two reasons this remark stuck in my craw--

1. I don't just work under California guidelines for discipline, I agree with them. And he knows this.
2. Despite the fact that California teachers are not allowed to spank kids, there are many, many teachers I have personally encountered, even in environments that start out like the one I described, that are doing phenominal work under heartbreaking circumstances and are busting thier asses doing it. His remark was a big old fuck-you to all those folk.Their jobs are hard enough.
3. He never even bothered to ask how I handled the situation. And since my pride was wounded, I never told him, feeling that I would be offering my experiences as an apology or a defense.
[oh, and by the way, I was working for a preschool.Kid in question was about 4.]


... as it happened I was pretty proud of the way I did handle the situation.

I can still picture the little girl in question ( again, since the conversation was aborted, I never got a chance to correct the people who assumed it was a boy )hanging from the bar, leering at me with a mean-spiritedness that surpassed her age. I knew I coudn't let the remark go, but there were several factors I had to consider.

As a sub, I could have easily passed the issue off to one of the regular teachers, but I had seen their style, and knew that the next ten minutes or so the air would be resounding with gasps of horror and the child would be swooped up and sat in a chair and given a lecture that would escalate in volume long after the main point was made.Drama, drama, drama.Some instinct told me, born of having seen this kid many times over my 13 years of teaching, that the drama was exactly what the kid was hoping for. Something aboutt he glitter of malice in her eyes told me that she had already learned the power of ugly words, and that the worst thing I could do was to let that remark turn the class upside down. It would prove how well it worked.

It also occured to me to wonder where she had heard that phrase. From one of those goons that were hovering around the fence? Directed at a girlfriend, a mother,even her? From one of the songs that played in the apartments near by, songs that told that little four year old future woman what names she would be called,hpw hard she would be slapped if she talked smack, how tiny her waist should be, how shapely her ass should be, how she should dance, move, fuck? What would it serve if I showed her those words could make me crumble?

So I looked her right in the eye, shrugged, and said, "No, I'm not."

Her eyes widened, She stopped swinging."Yes, you is! You're a cocksucking bitch! Cocksucking bitch!"

I acted like I was thinking it over. "Uhm, no, I'm not. And I don't want to talk to someone who talks to me that way. I'm gonna see what those guys are doing."

With that I walked over to a group of girls that were cheerfully playing with dolls, and lavished them with attention. CSB stillhung from the rod, staring at me. After a while she dropped and wandered over, fingers in her mouth, eyes wide. I kept ignoring her for a minute or so, then casually looked up and asked if she wanted to play. She nodded shyly and joined in.

She was pretty much my little buddy for the rest of the day, no angel by any means, but suddenly eager to impress me with little songs, cartwheels, crayoned pictures. I am sure my friend would pick apart my technique and find all kinds of fault with it, but I say the proof is in the freaking pudding. Something I said got through. And if at the very least I showed her that she didn't have to believe the shit that someone might tell her her about herself, I think I did good.

  
 


 
  2005.03.15  09.17
Oh, by the way...

I got an "A" on "Coupon." :D

  
 


 
  2005.03.03  11.43
SOF Crew news

SOF crew, please check the community page for an important (at least to me:D ) announcement)

  
 


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