the daily discovery

pulse check

2011-05-03T14:12:00.001-07:00

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all over the place

2011-04-25T15:16:00.001-07:00

That describes me these past months. Involved to the limit of my physical ability. Then the inevitable crash, which I am still recovering from. Recovery isn't the right word. Its a poor approximation and a dissappointing understatement. These past months have been a search.

So what was I looking for, and what did I find?

I was looking fir a new team to be part of. Also for a way to give of myself to the world, and to help some people suffer less, and last but not least to suffer less myself. This last was the reason I studied Reiki. I needed to heal myself.

And so, I became a Reiki Master. I healed. I helped others to heal. It gives me so much peace to have this way of serving others. But that was long ago, and now is a different time. I found a way to serve through healing, but it was never appealing to me as a primary means of serving. It's just too quiet. I like some action too.

So I also found PJALS. So that was the end of having too much time on my hands. I'm learning to keep it manageable.

And here I am. Overweight, stoned on medical marijuana, fascinated with world affairs and politics, outraged at them who run things for letting it get fubar like this.

So I'm back to Blogging. This can only be a good thing. The energy is shifting and the focus turning inward. Sometimes that's the scariest place to go. But as I get older, I find less upset within, and I very much like that development.

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Link to October 2nd Peace Rally article

2010-11-11T14:37:00.000-08:00

Nice article in The Fig Tree. http://www.thefigtree.org/nov10/110110pjalspeacerally.html

Visit from Westboro Church

2010-10-13T11:22:00.000-07:00

When Fred Phelps and his crew of haters from the Westboro Church get to Spokane next week, I plan to meet them with my sign:

I LOVE MY GAY SON AND MY GAY SON-IN-LAW

I hope lots of people will stand with me and stand up for love and acceptance as hallmarks of our community. This group of hateful people from Kansas will be exercising their First Amendment right to intimidate and verbally attack our gay population and the people who love them. We can exercise our own First Amendment rights by standing up for our LGBT community on October 21st.

New Jail? No Deal!

2010-10-13T11:20:00.000-07:00

A new jail will not make you safer. But it will make you poorer. It will cost every resident of the county nearly $3,000 over the course of the project. I don't know about you, but I can't afford an increase in my taxes unless it's absolutely essential.

What would make a new jail absolutely essential? Would it be an overflow of dangerous violent offenders, so many we would be renting beds in other jails because we had no room for them in our existing jail? Even if this was the case, and it is NOT, we could still explore more cost-effective options, like remodelling existing buildings. If the state can do that, why can't the county?

The joint state/federal work release in downtown Spokane occupies an older building, a remodelled hotel. So does the women's work release on the lower South Hill, where incidentally female county inmates are also housed. That facility started as two victorian houses.

There are lots of vacant buildings all over town. Remodelling one of them would eliminate the need to continuously transport inmates into and out of town from the west plains for court appearances. Promoters of the new jail say we are already doing that. And how much is that costing? How much could we save if we stopped doing that? If it is true that we will likely lose the Geiger sight in 2013, why not simply move into an existing building or buildings in town?

The plan being presented includes a community corrections jail facility, which is supposed to support re-entry into the community. Really? Then why not decentralize it into the neighborhoods? Use some of the empty buildings standing vacant all over town, and convert them into halfway houses. A centralized facility seems like more of a barrier to re-entry than a support.

And a wing just for mentally-ill inmates? Why not address the problem of having to use jails and prisons to deal with mental illness. These people should be re-directed away from custody settings and into foster care settings. Casting the management of mental illness as the role of the jail system is more than one step backward. It's medieval.

If current laws need to change to allow for retracking of mentally ill offenders into more appropriate settings, then let's get our legislators involved in writing that legislation. We all know those people do not belong in jail. More often than not, if they had medication monitoring they wouldn't be involved with the criminal justice system to begin with.

The current dog and pony show orchestrated by Hatley & Co. misrepresents the project, by confusing what is actually budgeted, i.e. the bricks and mortar, with a noble wish list of programming that isn't budgeted for. Not one penny is slated for all those much-needed interventions. Where is that money going to come from?

Finding yet more money for an ambitious slate of education, employment and treatment programs for the new jail is as likely to happen in this decade as full employment or the restoration of Kaiser pensions. It isn't going to happen. Presenting the new jail project as if all that programming is included is dishonest.

Jail population has declined in recent years, as has violent crime. Are these numbers beginning to rise in response to high unemployment? That is what jail manager Anderton says. And if that is true, wouldn't our half a billion dollars be better spent attracting jobs to our community? That would at least be dealing with the root problem.

Studies show that the best investment we can make in corrections is education. Getting a GED has proven to cut re-offending in half. Why not invest in that? You don't need to build a new jail to do it.

It is well known in the corrections industry that incarceration is the most expensive way to protect the community. And it only works as long as the offender is in custody. It's a temporary solution at best. What we need is a way for offenders to become productive members of the community. That revolving door isn't the way to get there.

$120.00 a day for a temporary interruption in a life of crime is a waste of money. We should ONLY spend it when we have no other choice, i.e. when a person is an immediate threat to themself or someone else.

We can't afford to use incarceration as punishment. Right now, the U.S. incarcerates more of its citizens than any other country. If you must use incarceration, then short-term incarceration is far more effective both as punishment and as a deterrent than lengthier incarceration.

As a society, we already waste enormous amounts of money warehousing people who ought to be working to support themselves and their families. Work-releases operated out of halfway houses could be established locally at far less cost than this elaborate monument to an outmoded and ineffective correctional model.

Alternatives to incarceration cost a fraction, typically in the range of $15.00 per day per offender. And they are far more effective at turning offenders into productive citizens. Incarceration has a negative effect. Jails and prisons are known as schools for crime for good reasons.

It's clear to me this jail is going to make a big profit for some people, mainly bankers and contractors and some investors who know how to profit from your tax money. Yes, construction jobs would be wonderful to have. But there are all sorts of ways to create those jobs. Building something we don't need that is not a more effective model makes no sense at all. Unless the only thing you care about is making a profit, and you happen to be one of those people who stands to profit from this boondoggle.

I'm not buying.

2010-10-08T11:48:00.001-07:00

Tre's first poem

2010-10-08T11:47:00.000-07:00

I Love Wolves

By Tre Johnson-Deridder

Wild dogs

Proud and free

Trying to stay alive

Trying to get food to eat

Always trying to help each other

Some are grey with brown noses

Some are brown with grey noses

Some are just grey

Some are just black

Some are silver with a little bit of white

I love to hear them howling at the moon

I'm a blogging fool

2010-10-08T11:04:00.000-07:00

Besides writing and producing my radio program, Serenity's Kitchen, which I promise will be available as a podcast soon, I've started blogging beyond this blog, on Urban Politico and Reader Supported News. I figure if I want to reach people I need a bigger microphone than my google blog. Yes, I want to awaken some minds. I want peace, I want a healthy environment, I want universal healthcare. I want the world to be safe for children. I want, I want, I want....yeah.

I'll try to either link to my other blog posts or archive them here, just to keep track in a central location.

My current blogs are:

"The Corporate Coup of America" aka "Clean Elections A Must"
"The Paradox of 'Don't Ask Don't Tell'"
"Defaulting on the Default World" - about the "gift economy" at Burning Man

Counting points?

2010-09-28T21:08:00.000-07:00

So hard to believe. Me, counting points? When I was a teen, it was a constant battle to keep me over 100 pounds. I ate everything and anything I could get my hands on, including shakes and malts and egg nog, but I kept slipping below 100 pounds.

During my 20's, my metabolism started slipping. Simultaneously, I was eating better, or at least eating out more. More money leads to more food, not necessarily lean cuisine. By the time I turned 30, I'd shot up to 123. But my 30's were merciless. I gained 60 pounds while I was pregnant with my daughter, Erin. I lost all but 15 pounds of it overnight, but although I exercised regularly I never lost any of that last 15 pounds.

Next came back surgery, and all those casseroles from the church ladies, not to mention the cookies and cakes. Six weeks of that and I was up to 145. Here's the funny part: I thought I was fat.

Over the next two decades, another 10-15 pounds crept on slowly. I went up and down, but most of the time I was still under 160. I didn't think it could get much worse. And then I got sick and had to stop working. I gained 20 pounds in six months. At 180, I really thought there was no way I could gain any more weight. But over the next four years, another 20 pounds crept on, and two weeks ago when I checked in at the doctor's office, I weighed in at 206.

Wait! This can't be right. I'm the girl who had to drink malts to keep the weight on.

There is a day of reckoning, and with respect to weight, that day at the doctor's office was mine. So yes, I am counting points. It's an alternative to eating spontaneously, which I think is the point of the points. You have to count everything that goes in your mouth. This requires thought, attention, detail, looking things up, calculations, recording. So much for spontaneous.

I find myself looking forward to a big meal, but then when I try to eat it I find it is really too much food. Sometimes I get hungry during the day, but a couple of small plums, or a tomato and a string of cheese takes care of that, or maybe 23 almonds.

The best thing is that fat free milk is only 2 points for a whole 8 ounce glass. Ahhh. Life's little pleasures.

2010-09-28T14:42:00.000-07:00

2010-09-28T14:33:00.000-07:00

The Paradox of "Don't Ask Don't Tell": It Creates The Problems It Is Supposed To Prevent

2010-09-28T14:29:00.000-07:00

The ban on gays serving in the military is the law, and it's been deemed constitutional by our highest court. The "Don't Ask Don't Tell" policy, however has been found to be unconstitutional. But repealing DADT won't solve the problem of discrimination against gays in our military. Only repealing the law will do that.

DADT came into being as a compromise solution the last time a sitting president (Clinton) moved for a repeal of the ban, in 1993. Last week Congress once again refused to consider changing the law, which essentially states that 1. Gays are unsuitable for military service, and 2. Their presence in the military would undermine operational efficiency, including morale, discipline, unit cohesion, etc.

These assumptions have been challenged. I would argue that there is prima facie evidence that the basis for the ban is invalid. Beyond that, enforcement of the ban creates the operational problems it is supposed to prevent.

Over 13,000 GLBT service members have been discharged under DADT, regardless of their service records and ongoing performance at or above established standards. There are undoubtedly many more GLBT service members who have not been identified, and who continue to serve with undisputed honor.

Elizabeth Witt's case clearly illustrates the disconnect between the current law and the reality on the ground. The court found that Witt's discharge, not her service, resulted in operational disruptions, including morale, discipline and unit cohesion, all negatively impacted by her dismissal. While she served, Witt had a positive impact in all of these areas.

It would appear the ban is based on concerns that are not borne out by actual experience. Given the military's stated purpose to preserve and enhance operational efficiency, experience demonstrates clearly that enforcement of the ban is counter-productive. The logic behind the ban is flawed. Worse yet, the ban amounts to unjustified discrimination against people purely on the basis of sexual orientation.

One key facet in the rationale for the ban is that heterosexual service members will be uncomfortable knowing there are GLBT members in their own units. The possibility of being seen naked by a GLBT service member, who might find you sexually desirable is given as an example.

The fact that there are GLBT members in all branches of our military service is well-established. What this means is that there are already persons of various sexual orientations sharing the military life together, including incidentally some nudity. Despite this fact, the current forces seem to be functioning without difficulty. To what extent would knowing (that a fellow soldier is GLBT) vs. not knowing change what is an already well-established ease and ability to function together among our military personnel? There is one way to find out.

It appears our populace is ready for the undertaking. Surveys and polling of both the general population and the military yield almost identical results, indicating that about three-fourths of all Americans support allowing GLBT people to serve openly in the military.

There is an old proverb that says, "If it's not broken, don't fix it." The ban on gays serving in the military is a perfect example of what happens when this proverb is ignored. It's time to recognize that sexual orientation just is not related to successful performance in the military. Thinking it was, well that was just a mistake. It's time to cut our losses, and put this law in our past, where it belongs.

PPS Flare-ups Suck!

2010-09-23T16:42:00.000-07:00

According to the statistics I've found, post-polio nerve loss and accompanying functional decline progresses at an average rate of 3% per year. If it was gradual, this might not be too big a deal. But it's not gradual. On the contrary, in my experience nerve loss occurs in periodic spikes, separated by significant periods of stasis. This pattern is consistent over 15 years.

Periods of stasis can be a year or longer...long enough for you to get comfortable with your current neuro-muscular system. Then, for no apparent reason there is a flare-up. Of course, you could induce a flare-up through overuse abuse, which is PPS talk for pushing your compromised neuro-muscular system beyond its capacity. When that happens, you get the really big flare-ups, and your average nerve loss will be about 10% per year.

But even in the absence of overuse abuse, flare-ups happen. And even a 3% nerve loss in your polio-affected body parts is going to hurt. Not only does nerve loss hurt in and of itself, but the muscles those nerves were serving are being abandoned. Even moderate muscle loss puts a strain on the remaining functional muscle tissue. This results in strained muscles and strained muscles hurt too. Never mind the stress on joints, which is cumulative.

I can get pretty bummed when I'm having a PPS flare-up. The most important thing to remember is that it will end. When it ends, you still have to figure out where your neuro-muscular system has landed and adjust your lifestyle once again to avoid overuse abuse. But it does end.

finally found what I've been looking for

2010-09-22T17:09:00.000-07:00

As a writer, I have struggled with writing groups and classes where only positive feedback is given. If I wanted nothing more than positive strokes, I would show my work to friends and family. I wouldn't even bother with other writers or writing teachers. It's taken several years, but finally I've found both a writers group and a writing workshop where constructive criticism is the main course, and I can't get enough.

Intelligent responses from a variety of perspectives is the most helpful contribution that can be made to a writer. That is, if that writer is committed to producing the highest quality of work they are capable of; if what's at stake is the work, and not the writer's ego.

I'm very happy today to occupy a seat in a room of writer's who tell you what they really think.

Defaulting on the "Default World"

2010-09-22T16:59:00.001-07:00

"That's just the way it is." I've heard this many times, mainly when the narrator has no answer to that pesky question, "Why?" When I hear this, I don't stop inquiring. Rather, my inquiry takes on new dimension. I hear the angels calling. The skies open and the air is fresher than it was a moment before.

Because when I hear resignation, when we reach a limit in our understanding, when there is no other option apparent, for me there's an invitation, an opening to look outside the box, if you will, of the taken-for-granted "default" world. I get excited.

If we can agree that the "world as we know it" is just one possibility, then we can look beyond the way things are now to see what could be. It's a ticket for a ride on the luck dragon.

Imagination is exploration, to which we bring all that we are and all that we hope. It also helps to have like-minded friends to journey with.

A few weeks ago, I gathered with fellow explorers in the desert of northwest Nevada, a state I normally avoid on principle, for an annual celebration of original thought, risk-taking and freedom of expression known as Burning Man.

If you're not familiar with Burning Man, it's an annual gathering of artists and free spirits that transforms a dry lake bed in Nevada into Black Rock City for eight days each August.

It is almost universally agreed that Burning Man can't be explained, defies description and must be experienced first hand. I tend to agree, as much as I agree with anything. Burning Man happens outside the box of the default world. By "default" I mean the world as it occurs to us the rest of the time, the world you see on TV and walk about in when you step outside your door, probably the same world you take for granted inside your home and inside your own head. The "real" world. It's the world we all agree on.

And then, there's Burning Man: 50,000 people camping out for 8 days in a dust storm, in tents, in 100 degree heat, without water, power, internet, deodorant, TV or newspapers. Plagued by "playa hair" and "playa feet," lining up for outhouses. Sounds like something that sheriff in Arizona would design as a punishment for law-breakers. But these people paid dearly for the privilege, and you can see by the smiles on their faces that they're getting their money's worth.

And what are they getting? In the most basic and rudimentary sense, they are getting a much-needed break from the default world. In fact, the more inconsistent things on the playa are with the "real" world, the better burners like it.

There are funny clothes, or no clothes, upside-down flags and countless ways to play. There is music and fire art, and art cars and a party that doesn't stop until people drop. But more-importantly, there's no money: no wampum, no bartering, no exchanges of any kind. There is no profit on the playa. There is no scarcity on the playa. No hunger. No thirst.

But there is giving, and there is sharing. And there is abundance.
And it is in the "Gift Economy" that Burning Man truly departs from the "real" world and strikes out into new territory.

Burners take gifting seriously. They plan for it, wondering not what will I get at Burning Man, but rather what will I give? The best gifts are personal and consist of giving yourself to others, although alcohol and food are highly prized.

I give Reiki treatments. After your treatment, I help you select a stone from my bowl of stones, and then I wire wrap it and make you a necklace. Some of my camp mates give foot baths, deep-tissue massage, morning prayers and giggle therapy. People come to our camp for healing and tender loving care. We have it and we give it. At night, we dress in our playa finery and go out on the town, the temporary town that is Burning Man.

Just down the street from our camp is one of our favorite bars. Free bars are one of the most popular types of camps on the playa. We drink, we dance, we hug the bartender and we wander out onto the playa. We stop at the quesadilla stand. We hop on the bus. It's how we have always dreamed a bus should be, plush with disco lights and loud music. We dance on the bus.

We wander through Black Rock City, getting lost on purpose, in the lights and the music and the art. Nobody cares what time it is. Nobody carries a wallet, money, I.D. or keys. We carry goggles and water and some t.p. and we light ourselves up with glow and LEDs. Sometime or other, we sleep some.

And at the end, we pack up our dusty belongings, our dish water, our shower water, our trash and we go back to the default world. And at that moment, as we line up eight across to leave the playa, we begin to count the days until the next burn, until we can come home again.

For us, for burners new and old, for burners who have never been to the playa, for all those who can't take "that's just the way it is" for an answer, the box is too small and one way or another, we will find a way out.

But what about the other 357 days of the year. Our default world is broken. We see this clearly as we return home from Burning Man. What is to be our gift to this world? Once our eyes are open, we have a duty I think, to keep them open, to share what we see and to offer whatever gifts we may contrive for the betterment of all.

Most of all, I think it's our job to ask the question "What if?" What if we took profit out of the economic equation? What if we chose our jobs, rather than being chosen for them? What if we stopped assuming there isn't enough to go around, and just tried acting as if there is plenty for everyone?

"Impossible!" shouts the default voice inside your head. I'm just saying, "what if?"

Soul Visions has taken over

2010-02-24T15:02:00.000-08:00

Yup. It has. I hardly ever post here anymore. I guess that's okay. It's the spiritual quest that has always taken most of my attention in life.

There's so much bullshit going down under the name of religion and spirituality. Jeez, sometimes I think I must be a dimwit to even walk that path. But honesty's the best policy, and that's the road that calls me to it. So there I go.

I just signed up for a domain. Pretty soon when it's ready to go, I'll post a link. And I believe that will be that.

100 words

2009-10-25T21:25:00.000-07:00

Wow. I have to stop doing my 100 words entries. I have found myself venting like mad in those entries, and quite frankly I don't want them published. And then also, maybe I'm just ready for a break. Yeah, baby.

School For Scandal Collection: Below

2009-10-18T23:43:00.000-07:00

Okay, this is a pretty weird situation. The photos appear here in reverse order. Because I started at the beginning...never mind.

So we begin with everyone taking their bows. If you want to see them BIG, just click on the picture and it will open full screen. And yes, you can right click on them and save them to your own computer.

Have fun.

Last But Not Least: The Producer

2009-10-18T23:34:00.000-07:00

Oh dear, I never did get a picture of the Director!!!!

Take a Bow!

2009-10-18T23:32:00.000-07:00

2009-10-18T23:29:00.000-07:00

The body gets older, but the kid inside is alive and well, and wants to play.

2009-10-18T23:26:00.000-07:00

Retired people either blossom creatively or wither. This group is a bouquet!

2009-10-18T23:23:00.000-07:00

Most of the actors are my buddies from seniors classes!

2009-10-18T23:21:00.000-07:00

2009-10-18T23:19:00.000-07:00

With Readers Theatre the trick is to catch them looking up

2009-10-18T23:18:00.000-07:00

2009-10-18T23:16:00.000-07:00

2009-10-18T23:14:00.000-07:00

Colorful and Funny, Silly and Insightful

2009-10-18T23:12:00.000-07:00

2009-10-18T23:11:00.000-07:00

2009-10-18T23:10:00.000-07:00

2009-10-18T23:02:00.000-07:00

2009-10-18T23:00:00.000-07:00

2009-10-18T22:53:00.000-07:00

This year's Sage Players production, Manito United Methodist Church, Spokane, WA.

2009-09-25T15:59:00.000-07:00

Why I Invited The Dalai Lama To Spokane

2009-09-25T15:44:00.000-07:00

When the buildings fell on 9/11, I was at a conference about how to work with female inmates in Boise, Idaho. A few thousand people from all over the English-speaking world, sharing a lot of high ideals, hopes and possibilities. The previous day, we were given a tour of the old Idaho State Penitentiary. We were all feeling pretty horrified by what we saw there. Even the New Yorkers were revolted. But this one woman from Mississippi told me it looked all too familiar. But that was yesterday, before everything changed.

It was early in the morning, and I was still rubbing my eyes and looking for that first cup of coffee to help me wake up. I wandered into the conference center half asleep and absent-mindedly looked around for the Canadians or the New Yorkers, two groups where I had some acquaintances. I saw the New Yorkers and headed over that way.

But there was something wrong. I stopped and looked more closely. At first I thought there was something going on under the table, because they were all bent way over looking down at the floor. But that wasn’t it. Then I glanced up at the big TV screens that hung around the room above our heads. What I saw on the screens woke me up.

A plane flew into one of the World Trade Center towers and exploded. There was a huge ball of fire on the view screen. I stood there transfixed, got my eyes all the way open and perked up my ears. What the hell? Was this real, I wondered?

As I listened in horror, the tape was replayed, and I understood what was happening at the New York table in Boise.

Instantly awake, I shifted into work mode. At once, I realized what needed to be done and I knew it was an emergency. I looked around the room until I found my Regional Administrator. She was surrounded, but I pushed through and got her attention.

“We have to pull the Islamic inmates out of population,” I said.

“I agree,” she said. “And I’ve already called. But guess what? They’re not coded, so we have no way to pull a list. We have no way to get them out quickly.”

“Oh my God,” was all I could manage. “That is really bad.”

“It is,” she said. “They’re going unit by unit and file by file right now.”

I needed that cup of coffee. “I’ll keep you posted,” she said. “Let me know if you think of anything else.”

I walked to the coffee service area and poured myself a cup. They had good coffee, I’ll give them that. Strong and nutty. Even the smell was comforting. I had no desire to talk to anybody, so I sat down at an empty table in the center of the big room and watched the news unfolding on the screens.

“…worst attack ever on American citizens,” the news anchor was saying. A voice behind me at an adjacent table had a comment.

“I don’t really care for New Yorkers,” he said, “but I guess they are Americans.”

As a transplanted New Yorker living in the Northwest, regional animosity toward people from New York was a sore subject with me, and I bristled. How many times had I been speaking to someone at length, only to have them turn to someone else and say, “She still has the accent, doesn’t she?” I often wondered if people here even heard what I said. My New York style had even come up on an evaluation at work, identified as a communication problem. I gritted my teeth.

Speaking of being from New York, one of my best friends worked in the towers, at the State Attorney General’s Office. I dialed her cell phone. She answered.

“Thank God you’re alright,” I said.

“I had Court in Brooklyn this morning,” she said. “So I’m sitting in a bar in Brooklyn, drinking and looking at the smoke. They won’t let us back in the city.”

A native New Yorker myself, I was in High School when the World Trade Center was built. That made it personal to me. When you watch something being built, and it’s something that big, you can’t help but identify with it. It’s a part of you, or maybe you’re a part of it. Either way, it’s yours.

About then, I started to get angry, and I wanted to go home. At least it was energy. I finished my coffee and searched for the administrator. She was at the back of the room, looking stricken. But then, so were we all. When I got to her, she took me aside.

“We didn’t make it,” she said.

“What?”

“Apparently, one of the inmates cheered when he saw the news.“

“Idiot,” I said.

“Right,” she said. “By the time the staff got to him, it was too late.”

“What?” I said, for a minute not understanding. Then I caught her meaning. “Oh shit,” I said. “That’s what I was afraid of. So the other inmates…?”

“They kicked his head in. The staff tried to get to him. I really believe that,” she said.

She was looking at me like she really wanted me to believe that, too. Some part of me was too jaded to go there. My gut told me the staff stayed on their side of the door and looked the other way until it was over. I was immediately ashamed for thinking it.

“So, what are we going to do…here, I mean. Is this conference over?” I asked, changing the subject.

“What do you think?”

“I want to go home.”

“That’s what I’m thinking too,” she said. “Okay, that’s it. I’ve made my decision. We’re going home. Get everybody over here. I have some things to say.”

It didn’t take long to round us all up. It seemed everybody was milling around in the general area already.

“Okay people,” she said. “We’re going home.” Then to me, “You have a car, don’t you?”

“I do.”

“Well, get as many people as you can in it and get started. There aren’t any flights out of here.”

“Right,” I said.

“I’m with Rose!” I heard Sarah’s voice from inside the crowd of Washingtonians. “Me too,” Tim called out. In a matter of seconds my car was full.

As we grouped together, I called the car rental company and was promptly informed that none of their rentals could be taken out of town under any conditions. I informed the administrator. “That’s what they all say,” she said. “We’ll deal with that when we get home.” I looked around and noticed one of our staff members who was in a wheel chair. “What about…?”

“A van is already on the way,” she said.

“Okay then,” I said. “See you at home.”

We headed out of Boise in what could technically be considered a stolen car. For a while, it was pretty somber, but somebody in the car had alcohol. It wasn’t long before the back seat was howling drunk, which only made the trip seem longer and duller to me personally. It also pissed me off, and I ended up doing all the driving. But despite being exhausted by the time we got to Spokane, I was glad it was me driving after all.

When everybody was finally dropped off at their homes, it was the middle of the night. I drove home in the unauthorized rental car, crying quietly. Outside it was a beautiful star-studded Eastern Washington night. I opened my window and took a deep breath of fresh Northwest air.

When I got up in the morning, the news was still replaying the videos. But the new topic of discussion was what the United States would do now. “Light it up,” I said, my anger white hot in the morning.

“No baby,” Richard said. “You know better than that.”

“Do I?”

Richard’s disappointment in me started to bring me to my senses. Oh wait a minute, I thought, I’m a lifelong pacifist. What am I saying? My thoughts and emotions were at war in my head, and at the moment my emotions were winning. But Richard never wavered. Richard remained steady. It is one of the most impressive displays of moral fiber I have ever seen.

But as for me, I needed help. So I went to my bookshelf and grabbed my copy of The Open Heart, by the Dalai Lama. I opened it to the chapter on dealing with our enemies, and started reading. At first, it made no sense to me whatever.

Talk to them, he said. How do you talk to people who blow up your buildings? Develop understanding, he said. Ha! I thought. This guy is plain crazy.

But somehow I kept thinking. I’ve always been a pacifist, I thought. Have I been pretending? Even though I couldn’t grasp what he was saying, I kept reading. And over the next few days, I kept looking around inside myself until I found my center again. In the end, I was a little ashamed that it took me a couple of days.
Today, the Dalai Lama is speaking in Long Beach, California. I know because my little brother told me. When I told him that I would love to be there, he suggested I call him up and invite His Holiness to Spokane. So I went to the Dalai Lama’s website and got the email address for his office in Daremsala. And then I sent him an email, complete with pictures of Spokane and my promise to help coordinate his visit. I’m thinking he and Richard would really hit it off.

Burning Man 2009

2009-09-10T22:14:00.000-07:00

I chronicled one hundred words a day about my experience at Burning Man. It can be read at 100words.com. The brevity forces you to pick basically one thing to talk about and then be brief. So a lot of things happened at Burning Man that did not get mentioned in the daily 100 word entries. I guess that is what this blog is for.

Burning Man. Jeez. I read about it. I talked to people about it. I tried to be prepared for it. I had no fucking idea what I was getting into until I got there. Because you can't tell anybody what Burning Man is. It's like telling somebody about the Grand Canyon when they've never seen it. They simply do not have a context for the Grand Canyon to fit in. It's the same with Burning Man. You leave the cars and money parked and put away. You give things to people. People give things to you. People express themselves without restraint. You express yourself without restraint. You and them are surprised at who you are for yourself. You're surprised at who you are for others.

The energy builds every afternoon as the sun starts to go down. It builds to a crescendo, and then another, and another And then it is quiet from 5:00 - 6:00 a.m. There is no electricity or water, but 45,000 people build a city of lights on the playa for 8 days.

Black Rock City is freedom, freedom to be just exactly who you want to be, hopefully who you truly are. In Black Rock City, people believe what you say about who you are. There is a lot of risk-taking. There is not a lot of skepticism. There is a lot of love. There is almost no conflict. There are a lot of smiles and there is a lot of laughter. There is not a lot of worrying, and not a lot of loneliness.

The first thing I did was put my bra and my wallet away. My bra represents the rules about how to look, and how to look if you are a woman. The wallet represents the money economy we live in. In a clothing optional environment, it was easy to give up the bra. In a gift economy, there was no need for money.

I came here to be delighted. I was delighted. I came here to be myself. I was more myself than i have been in decades. Maybe more than I have ever been. I came here to connect with other people in a meaningful way. i connected in every way, meaningful and otherwise.

When you arrive at Burning Man, the greeters leap up to your car and welcome you home. I was home.

2009-09-10T22:13:00.000-07:00

2009-09-10T22:12:00.000-07:00

2009-09-10T22:10:00.000-07:00

Views of The Man

2009-09-10T22:00:00.000-07:00

This was a spontaneous jam session down the street at the Norwegian Camp. They did a real nice job of saucing us up, and feeding us hors d'oeuvres. But the best part of the party was the music. Here they got into a good groove and took it to the end. They asked me to put it on You Tube. I'll have to figure out how to do that.

At our camp we had Reiki. At their camp they had Reggae. They're both religions.

2009-09-10T21:59:00.000-07:00

The Man

2009-09-10T21:46:00.000-07:00

The Temple, or heart of Burning Man. You can't see it in this picture because they had not opened yet, but every inch of the wood is eventually covered with memorial words and pictures. To enter the temple is to be overcome with love. The normal reaction is to start crying. The Temple is burned on Sunday night.

2009-09-10T21:45:00.000-07:00

The Rabbit was just too cool.

2009-09-10T21:42:00.000-07:00

My camera batteries died just a few seconds into this video, so all you get here is a brief hint of the ballet. This is called "performance art" and it happens anywhere and anytime on the playa.

2009-09-10T21:41:00.000-07:00

Paul and Carol and the three-wheeled Conestoga wagon.

2009-09-10T21:38:00.000-07:00

Burning Man is a pyrotechnic wonderland. There are numerous different types of lighting schemes in use on the playa, but the most dramatic and crowd-pleasing is the propane cannon. On this particular display, all of the lights are small or large fires, and the colors are given by different chemical additives.

2009-09-10T21:06:00.000-07:00

This was such a great display.

2009-09-10T21:00:00.000-07:00

There was a deep philosophical discussion about the meaning of burning the man. Is it a slam at authority in all its forms, or it is symbolic of a new beginning, or of putting the past in its proper place, the past. For me, burning the man touched my soul. I was the man, setting myself on fire, standing with my arms up to the sky, calling my life to come fully awake, fully alike, on fire in this moment. With life so short and confusing, there is something very compelling about lighting oneself up with living. Burn me up in the flames of life. Burn me at the stake. Let me feel life to the fullest. Burn, baby, burn.

2009-09-10T20:55:00.000-07:00

This light show was truly mesmerizing. Take a look.

2009-09-10T20:53:00.000-07:00

Bee King and Queen, The Temple at Night and The Rubik's Cube. Yeah they solved it!

2009-09-10T20:37:00.000-07:00

It doesn't get much prettier than this. The massage tent and the kitchen are both in the back. Beyond that is the shower and then the tents, and then lastly the RVs. But mostly everybody hangs under the big shade tent that Richard built. "If you build it they will come, Richard."

Oh give me a home where the bicycles roam, where a mask and some goggles are worn. Where the glow is the light, and the night is so bright, and the fires call everyone home. Yes home home on the playa. Where the freaks and the dust devils play. Where often is heard an encouraging word. And the sky's full of dust storms all day.

2009-09-10T20:36:00.002-07:00

The Man

2009-09-10T20:36:00.001-07:00

Jack and Richard. Love your underwear, Jacko!

2009-09-10T20:27:00.000-07:00

The Man

2009-09-10T20:18:00.000-07:00

Richard the camp architect and breakfast chef extraordinaire.

2009-09-10T20:17:00.002-07:00

Thomas "Tower" Hall. My new brother.

2009-09-10T20:17:00.001-07:00

Trailer Trash Man and his Poet Shirt. Viva creativity!

2009-09-10T20:16:00.000-07:00

Aaron covered in playa dust. still smiling. Yeah, baby.

2009-09-10T20:14:00.001-07:00

Richard and Coco. Love those smiles.

2009-09-10T20:13:00.000-07:00

Keith, Christina and Andy. Only the best people under the big flags.

2009-09-10T20:12:00.000-07:00

Tribe Of Elders baby. We have the flags!

2009-09-10T20:11:00.000-07:00

The prettiest camp on the playa baby! But we need a fucking sign!

2009-09-10T20:10:00.000-07:00

So Paul, let's breate a little dust together, what do you say?

2009-09-10T20:09:00.002-07:00

Dreadlocks and playa dust. A winning combination.

2009-09-10T20:09:00.001-07:00

Nuno. Honey is sweet but Nuno is sweeter.

2009-09-10T20:08:00.000-07:00

Noel. Looking more rested at the end than she did at the beginning.

2009-09-10T20:07:00.000-07:00

Tower and CoCo. How sweet it is.

2009-09-10T20:06:00.000-07:00

Tower and me. Would you know you were looking at two Reiki Masters?

2009-09-10T20:05:00.000-07:00

Aaron. Pretty in paisley baby!

Burning Man

2009-09-10T20:03:00.001-07:00

He really is an angel. And he got married at Burning Man.

Home Again

2009-07-25T11:21:00.000-07:00

I just got home from New York, where I met my new grand nephew, Michael, played in the woods and played in the city. Saw a lot of people, both family and friends, walked until my feet swelled, spent my purse empty and had a terrific time.

First off, I snugged in at my sister's house in Valley Stream and played with the baby. We also went to the beach, where I got a bit of a sunburn and toured an old mansion on the North Shore of Long Island. I even went to my sister's cancer support group with her. Then into the city to meet up with my High School buddies, which is always hugely entertaining. We went to a comedy club, where one of my friends did a stand-up routine. What a hoot. Then out to dinner, and stayed with Christine at her apartment in midtown. Spent a day playing in the city, saw a Broadway show, ate more fabulous food. Then upstate to visit Astrid at her little retreat in the woods. Saw 14 white tail deer on the way there. Then that night, the fire flies came out and that about blew my mind. They were everywhere. I hadn't seen one since I was a kid. Spent some time with Christina, visited the Roosevelt home in New Hyde Park and the Presidential Library there, went shopping, ate dinner at a truly funky restaurant, wandered around Woodstock. Then back to the city for one more night with Christine. Had dinner with Vicki, drank a little too much and had a fantastic time. Stumbled back to Christine's apartment half drunk and happy as could be. Last stop saw a photography exhibit, which was illuminating to say the least, had pizza at Fresco and got on the bus for the airport.

Kind of a whirlwind ten days. There wasn't a dull moment, and everybody was gracious and loving. It was simply great.

Got off the plane in Seattle and Richard was there waiting for me. Stepped outside and took a deep breath of the Northwest air and about fell over. It is so clean and fresh, I couldn't get enough of it. Drove through town with the windows down. Wandering around town yesterday, I couldn't get over how lovely Spokane is. I am glad to be home and glad that I live here.

My garden is completely overgrown with weeds, but the tomatoes are on and it looks like everything is growing nicely. My dog was leaping out of her fur with excitement to see me. The cat was more demure. And Tre lost his other front tooth while I was gone.

whew

2009-07-02T20:33:00.000-07:00

I'm glad they're all not like this one. I've had a rough day from start to finish. All day I've been irritated, not at anything in particular, just irritated. With myself, with life, with whatever. Whew. It's damn tiring being in a funk.

Hoopfest

2009-06-28T21:28:00.000-07:00

For the first time in our 20 years in Spokane, Richard and I went to Hoopfest this weekend. In the past, we have always avoided it because of the crowds. We were wacky. This year we went, and we had a great time. In fact, we had so much fun, we went both days. The best part of all wasn't watching the pro's compete. The best thing of all was watching the kids. Here is my photo.

OMG

2009-06-23T17:28:00.000-07:00

I went to the doctor's office today to get a referral to the Ortho for my knees. They made me get on the scale. OMG I weighed in at 198 lbs. That's 11 pounds heavier than Richard. I have NEVER been heavier than Richard before. I never thought I would actually get up in the 200 lb. range. Shit Shit Shit Shitshitshitshitshit!!!!!

This will never do.

The only diet that has ever worked for me is the Adkins. It's miserable to get started. You just starve and suffer the first two weeks. But then your body kicks over and starts to burn the stored fat, and you feel great and you lose the weight. So be it.

Writing "The Diary Of A Child Molester"

2009-06-15T17:12:00.000-07:00

They say you should write what you know. Well I guess I know pretty well what it's like to be an abused child. But it's not easy to write about it. Yet it is a subject that needs to be written about. A subject that hides in the shadows and needs to be taken out into the light and looked at. Looked squarely at, without turning away. And decisions need to be made.

So the story unfolds. And writing it takes something out of me.

Don't Use Proflowers

2009-06-08T13:16:00.000-07:00

Recently I ordered flowers for my Mom through Proflowers.com. The flowers were delivered and my Mom reported they were lovely. However, somewhere in the process of ordering them online, I inadvertently agreed to join a service called "Easy Savers." I had no idea I had agreed to anything, and no idea what Easy Savers was. But on the first of June, a charge appeared on my debit card for $14.95, the monthly fee for membership in Easy Savers.

To get rid of this, I had to have my bank cancel my card and issue me a new one. There is some fine print somewhere in the ordering process at Proflowers that commits you to this membership, and they are adamant that you agreed to it.

Avoid this scam. Don't order from Proflowers!

A Day Of Rest

2009-05-18T19:34:00.001-07:00

Yesterday I simply could NOT stay awake. Richard says he kept track. He thinks I was up for a total of six hours the whole day. When you consider I fell asleep in the car, in the movie theater, and went to bed as soon as we got home, I guess I wasn't awake very much. I totally missed our visit with Tre. It was a very strange day. I did manage to do the crossword puzzle, between naps. Maybe that was what put me to sleep to begin with. And I caught up on my 100 words entries. Hey, it wasn't a total loss.

When we got to the theater in Cheney, we found out we were a few minutes late, and they were sold out. But for a few minutes we were just standing in the darkened hallway, waiting to see if we could get into the show. And the walls were moving, in and out, in sections, as if they were breathing, but not as one. Each section, doorframe or whatever, was moving as an individual breathing unit. It was so beautiful I was mesmerized. I could have stayed standing there for a long time, watching, but of course the theater staff showed up and told us all to go on our way.

So we went downtown to see Paris 36, but I fell asleep over and over again. I just couldn't pay attention to it. All I can remember from it is a woman with deep red lipstick. I hope I didn't snore. That would have embarrassed Richard. Maybe it was just boring.

Read This Book

2009-05-14T01:55:00.001-07:00

I just finished reading a great book. It's called "You Don't Have To Die When Your Doctor Says." It's written by David Elliott, a New Zealander who has been given a terminal diagnosis of cancer, but is living in the belief that nothing is inevitable, the future is unwritten and the statistical data on his condition is really all about the past, and doesn't necessarily apply to him.

This book should be required reading for anyone who has a life-threatening illness, certainly. But I think it should be recommended reading for everyone, and especially anyone who wants to grow spiritually. David builds his arguments around some basic beliefs, among them the belief that we are responsible for our own lives, that we create our reality. He is particularly interested in how our beliefs about ourselves can create health or illness, and the distinct possibility that belief is decisive in healing. I personally find this to be a very encouraging notion. There is no place for a victim mindset in David's concept of recovery. On the contrary, what is needed is to take responsibility for your own condition and your own healing.

The principles and ideas David explores are relevant for anyone who wants to have more power and freedom in their life. Even many healthy people live as though they haven't got a choice about many aspects of their lives. Whether you have a short time to live or many healthy years ahead of you, that is no way to live them.

Why wait until you are facing the likelihood of imminent death to discover your personal power? Read this book now, and enjoy living more for the rest of your life, however long that may be.

A Happy Day

2009-05-13T20:55:00.001-07:00

Today was such a happy day for me. Allyson was happy to know who I was and wants to be in touch with her Dad and the rest of her family that she hasn't had contact with for so long. I've spent quite a while today searching out photos to send her of the family, so she can see us and get an idea of who we are, at least what we look like. She wrote back that she was in tears from how full of joy she was to see us all.

What an incredibly wonderful day. Needless to say, my brother is thrilled. He is getting his baby back. It's like the karma of the whole family shifted today.

2009-05-11T22:38:00.000-07:00

Allyson Pesce, my niece

Lost And Found

2009-05-11T22:31:00.000-07:00

I found my niece today. Her name is Allyson and she's my brother's daughter. She's 24 years old and I haven't seen her since she was about three years old. I looked for her on Facebook and found her there. As soon as I saw her picture, I knew I had found the right Allyson. She's a beautiful young woman now.

I asked to be her friend on FB and she said yes. So today, I got to look at her photos. It was really exciting, and I have my hopes up that she will still want to be my friend when she figures out who I am.

When her parents broke up, she was a little girl. The separation was not pretty, and she's had almost no contact with our side of the family as she was growing up. Not that we didn't want to have her in our lives. WE DID. But sometimes there are walls built up between people, and the rest of you can't find a way around them.

Anyway, it's been a long time, and right now I am just so happy to have found Allyson again.

I think she and Erin would be good friends, so I'm hoping they will meet each other soon...even if it's only on FB.

I have to decide how to tell her that I am her aunt. I'm not sure how to go about it. I want her to be happy about it, but I guess I have no control over that. I just don't want to lose her from my life again.

And Scott Died

2009-05-10T22:13:00.000-07:00

Scott Lasater died in February. He was younger than me, a lot younger than me. He had diabetes and Parkinson's, and his mother says he died from complications of his illnesses and the medications he was taking. In my heart of hearts, I feel he wanted to die. We had heard he was depressed. He was living in a nursing home and felt all alone. He was separated from his wife. I wonder if he took his own life. It wouldn't surprise me.

2009-05-10T10:28:00.000-07:00

BREASTS

Comic Monologue: BREASTS

2009-05-10T10:23:00.000-07:00

I was reading the news the other day, and I read where an underwire bra actually saved a woman's life. A bullet hit the wire and bounced off. No getting around it, having breasts saved her life. But I'll bet her tit was sore later on that night.

Anyway, it got me to thinking. Are there other advantages to having breasts? Because frankly I can think of lots of disadvantages to having breasts.

Like being sick and tired of strapping myself into a bra every morning. The damn thing is always too tight. And breasts are definitely in the way when you lay on your stomach. And you have to check them constantly for lumps. Not to mention the annual mammogram, which is just plain nasty.

They have you lay your breast on a plank, and then they stretch it out until it’s as flat as they can get it, and then they lay another plank over the top, and then they squeeze the whole thing with a vise, until they get it down to the thickness of a pancake.

And no matter how diligent you may be about checking, breast cancer is an ever-present threat, which incidentally gets worse with age. The entire reproductive system is this way. When you stop using it to make babies, it turns against you.

And after all, what are they? They are mammary glands. Considering you have to put up with them for your entire adult life, their functionality is really quite limited.

I remember being a young mother with a baby at my breast. Frankly, it was painful. When the baby was suckling it burned like fire, and the rest of the time I was engorged. Being engorged was not fun. You have to be careful not to touch them. I mean if you so much as brushed against one of them, it would start leaking. Talk about a milk-bath!

Mammary glands. Other than that, they're pretty much useless, bulky and they consist almost entirely of body fat.

Guys, of course, love them.

I remember being a skinny 16 year old in a t-shirt. I wanted to get a training bra, but I had nowhere to put it. I felt inadequate, unattractive and deficient because I didn't yet have breasts. I looked like a boy, without the muscles. I felt cursed, left out, deprived. And you can bet the boys wanted nothing to do with me.

When I finally did get breasts, the guys noticed immediately. Sometimes, it seemed like they were so busy noticing my breasts, they didn't have time to notice the rest of me. Even when I was talking to them. Or when they were talking to me.

During the sixties, when I was in my twenties, I had perky little breasts. They were perfect 32 B's. In the spirit of the times, I threw away my bras. I wore peasant blouses and pocket t-shirts, and tried to ignore that the men were mesmerized.

But being liberated wasn't all it was cracked up to be. I couldn't help but wonder if all those breast-fixated guys respected me as a person. If I could get them to look me in the eyes, maybe I could ask them. But even in the bedroom, there wasn't a lot of eye contact. I mean, one day I realized I was making love to the tops of their heads. What the hell were they doing down there, anyway?

But the years passed and eventually, I started wearing bras again. Like magic, men everywhere began to hear what I was saying. I could tell because they were answering me again. Just like in the old days when I was flat chested. Well, almost. Unless it was cold out, in which case my nipples would get hard and then all bets were off.

But the world has a way of evening things out. After all, men do have breasts. They are called "pecks." And yes, they do sag.

And speaking of men…did you ever wonder why so many women are willing to increase their cancer risk by taking hormones? It's not because they just can't handle the hot flashes, though that's what everybody talks about. Oh the horrors of night sweats! As irritating as that may be, that’s not it. The reason women take hormones is that we miss having a libido. They say you don't miss you water 'til your well runs dry. Well you don't miss your hormones 'til your ovaries shut down.

We take libido for granted. We've been horny so long we can't imagine life without a little lust in it. Men on the other hand, still have a healthy level of testosterone dripping into their veins long after women have become hormone-free zones.

Oh yeah, he still wants sex.

He wants to touch and snuggle. She wants to be left alone to deal with her hot flashes in peace. He wants to kiss and say "I love you." She’d be satisfied with a pat on the shoulder and "Hey, see you tomorrow." He wants to watch her tits giggle when she dries her hair after a shower. She wants him to close the door and quit letting cold air into the bathroom. He wants to play footsie in bed. She wants him to stay on his own side and stop bugging her. He wants to hold hands. The list goes on.

Romance just isn't as interesting without the chemicals.

But is it fair to expect a guy to just give it up? Like that’s gonna happen. So now we know why men leave their post-menopausal wives for younger women. It’s not because younger women are thinner than you, or cuter than you. Turns out it’s much simpler than that. Those younger women are hormonal, and unlike you they still want to have sex.

Spamalot in Spokane

2009-05-09T23:41:00.000-07:00

Spamalot is on stage in Spokane, and it's a delightful addition to the local scene. I personally think the musical is funnier and way more entertaining overall than the movie was. Although now that I have seen the musical on the live stage, I will enjoy the movie more. The tickets were pricy for the Spokane market, but worth the expense. We had a great time.

Going Where No Star Trek Has Gone Before

2009-05-09T23:37:00.001-07:00

The new Star Trek is a new beginning for the original crew, a parallel time/space continuum, where things are similar but distinctly not the same. I mean, Spock and Ahura are in love, and if that isn't enough they destroyed Vulcan and Romulan just in the first movie. But as far as getting the young versions of the original cast right, they absolutely did it. The characters are great. And in spite of the oddities, like Spock being more human, it is most definitely STAR TREK. It is the real thing. And for that, I am or course grateful and happy. After all, there can never be too much Trek.

Dirty Words

2009-05-03T22:48:00.000-07:00

I found out today that there are people in my writing class who are offended by my "colorful" use of language. It's not my intention or interest, not even remotely, to offend anybody. However, I am not even a tiny bit interested in pandering to narrow-mindedness. Or as they say in New York, "Fuck 'em if they can't take a joke."

But really, that's not even the point. The point is that when I am being fully self-expressed and creative, I sometimes use colorful language. Making other people comfortable just isn't the goal of artistic expression. In fact, I think the art is in jeopardy the minute you start worrying about whether somebody else might be offended.

To be sure, there are things that offend me. Like the "N" word. I was told today that the "N" word (I can't even bring myself to type it!) is more acceptable around here than the word "tits" or the word "fuck" or the word "shit." Now that strikes me as weird.

Although I can't remember all of them, the other forbidden words included "cocksucker," "motherfucker" and "cunt," all of which I find vulgar. Wheras, I do not find "shit," "fuck" or "tits" particularly offensive.

Sometimes, to be sure, my goal as a writer is explicitly to make people uncomfortable, in fact. Sometimes, I go out of my way to push the envelope, to show people something they either don't see or don't want to. Generally, I do this in service to a good cause, and not merely to shock people.

Other times, my goal is to honestly and accurately reflect the truth about life. Along these lines, when I write dialogue, I try to make it realistic. Real people use colorful language. At least they do where I come from.

My husband grew up in South Texas, in a Southern Baptist family. He does not "cuss." In fact, he fusses at me when I cuss, which really pisses me off. Just like it is pissing me off right now to be criticized by these milk-toast white people from Spokane. These people who are relatively more comfortable with the "N" word than "tits."

Almost Six

2009-05-03T00:06:00.000-07:00

This morning Richard and Tre were up early. I was still mostly asleep when Tre came into the room.

"I want to go home. I'm bored," he said.

Next thing I knew, they were out the door. I turned over and hugged my pillow. A minute later, Tre was back. I heard him come through the door and up the stairs. At the top of the stairs, he called out to me.

"I came back to say goodbye."

"Oh," I said. "Goodbye sweetheart."

"Mom Mom?"

"Yes, honey?"

"Do I have to kiss you?"

"No, honey, you don't have to."

"Okay. Goodbye."

With that, he was down the stairs and gone.

2009-05-02T23:57:00.000-07:00

Oh hell, 100 words is down again. I hate when that happens. I just fall behind, and it is not easy to write 100 words every day, never mind having to catch up. And I do it....why?

Good question. I guess the idea was to develop a daily practice related to writing, build a muscle, a writing muscle. Not sure if that has happened.

Meanwhile, Facebook is becoming a bore. I have more fun at the political news sites. Facebook is like an online cocktail party.

At least the political blogs are spirited. And nobody seems to give a shit about being polite. Which I like.

People seem determined to be shallow on Facebook. Twitter is even worse. I mean, fuck sake they're not even funny.

2009-05-02T12:15:00.000-07:00

Ready For Radio?

Expletive Deleted

2009-05-02T12:04:00.000-07:00

Oh my God, I have been BLEEPED!

My piece "Abby & Bert" had to be revised to make it ready for radio. All the colorful language had to be replaced with more "palatable" choices.

So "For Christ's sake" became "For cryin' out loud." "Shit!" became "Ugh!" and so forth.

I find I have real feelings about this. I can see that the script will still have impact, even with the less colorful language. But there is a part of me that rebels against censorship, just on general principle. Somewhere along the line, we have to take a stand. We have to say, this is Art.

Or do we?

I'm a little disturbed by my own ambivalence. I mean, I don't want to be "precious" about every word I write either. "This is Art" could be a bunch of bullshit too.

So anyway, I changed the language, but not permanently. In the original, he says "Gourmet my ass!" not "Gourmet my eye." And I do think it makes a difference. "Gourmet my ass!" is better, damn it.

Jeez. I didn't realize Spokane listeners had such sensitive ears.

2009-05-02T00:15:00.000-07:00

My Grandson Tre - growing up.

2009-05-02T00:05:00.000-07:00

Tre is sleeping across the bottom of my bed. Richard is tucked in on his usual side of the bed. I'm sitting on top of the blankets with my computer in my lap and the Tonight Show on TV. Working together we got the house clean enough to have company. Luis and Sandy are coming over for Italian food tomorrow. I still need to shop for Ricotta cheese, lettuce and Italian bread. We also need some wine. and we have to have a nice pie for dessert.

So I have shopping to do, as well as several hours of cooking and preparing. I need a good night's rest tonight.

It's black of night, but the Tonight Show is still on, and I look forward to my daily dose of Leno.

The cat is laying between Richard's feet and the dog is over here next to me. We're all together. I will remember this night.

KYRS Seasoned Players Debut

2009-05-01T15:26:00.000-07:00

Wow. Allen pulled it off. We are going on the air Sunday afternoon at 5:00 with the first broadcast of the Seasoned Players on KYRS Spokane - Thin Air Radio, 92.3 FM.

I have to pick something five minutes long to read on the air. I'm thinking I'd rather do a script than read a story or poetry. So I've asked Paul if he's willing to read "Abby and Bert" with me. Somehow, reading a script feels safer, less threatening. There's a big part of me that doesn't want to be too serious, or heaven-forbid "heavy." Especially not in our debut. Richard will read poetry for his five minute slot. Not sure what Vicki will do, but wouldn't be surprised if she also reads poetry. Not sure what Joan will do.

In addition to picking what piece to read on the air, we have to provide a bio for the host to use to introduce us, and also to engage us in conversation. I'm tempted to talk about my ministry of Reiki/Energy Healing. Talk about putting it out there!

What would that be like?

2009-04-30T20:33:00.000-07:00

BREASTS

Having Breasts

2009-04-30T19:27:00.000-07:00

The other day an underwire bra saved a woman's life. A bullet hit the wire and bounced off. No getting around it, having breasts saved her life. But I'll bet her tit was sore later on that night. Other than that one instance, though, I can't think of a single advantage to having breasts.

For one thing, I am sick and tired of strapping myself into a bra every morning. The damn thing is tight and uncomfortable. And breasts are definitely in the way when you lay on your stomach. You have to check constantly for lumps, and the annual mammography is just plain nasty. And no matter how diligent you may be about checking, breast cancer is an ever-present threat, which incidentally gets worse with age. The entire reproductive system is this way. When you stop using it to produce babies, it turns against you.

And after all, what are they? They are mammary glands. Considering you have to put up with them for your entire adult life, their functionality is really quite limited. I remember being a young mother with a baby at my breast. Frankly, it was painful when the baby was suckling, and being engorged was decidedly uncomfortable the rest of the time when she was not. Other than that, they're useless, bulky and consist almost entirely of fat.

Guys, of course, love them. I remember being a skinny 16 year old in a t-shirt. I felt inadequate, unattractive, deficient because I didn't yet have breasts. I looked like a boy. I felt cursed, left out, deprived. And you can bet, the boys wanted nothing to do with me. And when I finally got breasts, the guys noticed immediately. Sometimes, it seemed like they were so busy noticing my breasts, they didn't have time to notice the rest of me. Even when I was talking to them. Or when they were talking to me.

During the sixties, when I was in my twenties, I had perky little breasts. They were perfect 32 B's. In the spirit of the times, I threw away my bras. I wore peasant blouses and pocket t's, and tried to ignore that the men were mesmerized. But being liberated wasn't all it was cracked up to be. I couldn't help but wonder if all these breast-fixated guys respected me as a person. If I could get them to look me in the eyes, maybe I could ask them. But even in the bedroom, there wasn't a lot of eye contact. I mean, one day I realized I was making love to the tops of their heads. What the hell were they doing down there, anyway?

Eventually, I got tired of that particular kind of attention, and I bought myself some bras again. Like magic, men everywhere began to hear what I was saying. I could tell because they were answering me again. Just like in the old days when I was flat-chested. Well, almost. Unless it was cold out, in which case my nipples would get hard and then all bets were off.

But hey. The world has a way of evening things out. After all, men do have breasts. They are called "pecks." And yes, they too sag.

100 Days

2009-04-29T15:46:00.000-07:00

Personally, I wasn't counting. But the media has made it impossible not to notice that Barack Obama has been President for 100 days. I guess it gives them something to talk about. A way to justify their existence. So I may as well chime in.

I am proud of my country for electing a black man President. It took imagination and guts. The bigots are still reeling. They may never get over it. And I for one am getting tired of listening to their carrying on about everything Obama does. The way the right wing tells it, this man never does anything right. Every single thing he does is wrong, un-American, un-Godly, and probably part of a larger conspiracy to undermine the American way of life.

Personally, I can't wait for all Americans to have health care. I like the stimulus program. And Obama's overtures to hostile world leaders give me reason to hope for world peace. I'm delighted with every one of Bush's executive orders that he has reversed, and I couldn't be happier that we won't be torturing prisoners or detaining them unlawfully anymore.

I'm not particularly happy about Afghanistan, but I don't know what is to be done about the Taliban and Al-Qaida. The thought of those fanatics having a nuclear weapon is chilling to say the least.

I'm also dismayed by the bailouts, though I don't understand the problem well enough to say for certain what the alternative would be.

But the latest ranting about the good old USA becoming just like Europe, as if that would be such a terrible thing, just strikes me as laughable. And if I find something to laugh about, well then it's a pretty good day.

2009-04-28T16:31:00.000-07:00

A Columbia Ground Squirrel

How People Think

2009-04-28T16:14:00.000-07:00

Just the other day, Spokane slaughtered an untold number of ground squirrels, who had the audacity to live in the Finch Arboretum. Apparently, somebody tripped and fell. The paper covered the story of the mass extermination as if it was a great victory for the community. People were pleased that the "vermin" were eliminated from their parkland.

But here's the way I see it, which apparently is not mainstream...like that's a surprise! To me, the squirrels have first rights. They live there. And if we value life, we value the life of ground squirrels.

So why not try to come up with a solution that provides for the ground squirrels to live and at the same time, provides access for people to view and enjoy the arboretum? For instance, we could build a boardwalk. That way, we could all enjoy the squirrels. They would become one of the attractions of the park. We could all enjoy observing them.

If that would be more expensive than just killing them all, so what? If we value life, then we value life. Put up or shut up.