this waking dream

my shoeless adventure

2010-04-08T08:35:00.000-07:00

On April 8, people around the world who ordinarily wear shoes go shoeless to raise awareness of the millions of people who never have the luxury of wearing shoes. This year I decided to participate while going about my day as usual, and record my thoughts throughout the adventure.

6:00AM: Evelyn awoke crying, soaked in pee. I grumpily rolled out of bed barefoot, searched for my slippers, remembered it was April 8, turned up the heater instead.

7:00AM: Cold feet on tile floor in bathroom. Ants on the floor ... now ants on my feet.

8:15AM: It is 43 degrees outside as I walk under the house to our laundry room to start a load. Tree droppings litter the wooden boardwalk (I should have swept, damn it) ... they hurt my soft, uncallused feet (the spiky oak leaves are the worst). When I reach the laundry room I wince as I walk across sharp ice-cold gravel to reach the washing machine.

9:00AM: Ahhh ... hot water in the shower feels SO good on my cold feet. Reminds me of days of yore when I would sink into a hot bath after playing outside barefoot in the grass. It feels like burning. Good burning.

10:30AM: Leaving the house. Have to remind myself at least seven times that I don't need shoes.

10:35AM: Slowly walking down the steps to the car (there are 85 of them). The mossy steps at the bottom feel nice and soft, and I'm not as scared of falling as I usually am because I can feel the ground much better. Get to the car and remember that it's all muddy along the driver's side. Doh.

10:40AM: Drive with muddy barefeet to the library. I have to park far away because for some reason the Fairfax public library is a very popular place to be on Thursday mornings. The parking lot cement is very ouchy. Before she outpaces me, an old woman says, "My, you must have very callused feet!" "Actually, I really don't," I reply. She looks puzzled.

10:45AM: Oooh, soft carpeting inside the library.

10:55AM: Ouch. Rough cement all the way back to the car. Perhaps made worse by carrying a 16-pound squirmy baby and four books.

11:15AM: Find the closest parking spot available at the farmer's market. Walk around farmer's market carrying baby and ever-growing load of vegetables. Samosa guy persuades me to buy samosas and cilantro salsa that I don't really need. I discover that the east end of the farmer's market pavement is much rougher than the west end.

12:45PM: Arrive at outdoor mall to meet mom and the grandparents for lunch. Walk into A.G. Ferrari's, order a sandwich; no one notices I am barefoot (or if they do, they don't say anything).

1:30PM: Walk around REI with the family. For the first time am content with walking as slowly as my 87-year-old grandparents. Go into bathroom and am momentarily disgusted that I am barefoot in a public restroom. Make a mental note to scrub my feet really well tonight. Wonder if people think I'm in the midst of trying on shoes.

2:15PM: Ambling out across the now blazing hot, ouchy parking lot to the car. My feet feel burnt and bruised. Really over this barefoot thing.

2:45PM: Up the mossy stairs to my house loaded like a pack mule with vegetables, baby, and books. This time it is decidedly less romantic.

2:50PM: Home. Smooth hardwood floor and rug. Aaaahhhhh.

4:00PM: Decide I am not leaving the house again today. Scrub the heck out of my feet.

4:45PM: The sun is getting lower, and my house is cooling off. I am looking forward to my slippers at midnight. This has been an interesting experiment, and I have learned that though I like being barefoot sometimes, shoes are very convenient for traversing terrain (DUH!). Even though most people probably think that this was a silly thing to do, I enjoyed it. It's such a great perspective shift to go without something that you see as essential to your life for a short time. It was hard, and painful at times. I thought all day about the people in our world who go shoeless. And tomorrow I am REALLY going to be loving my socks and sneakers :)

birth

2009-07-10T13:16:00.000-07:00

you are there
in that space beyond consciousness
on the cusp of life
and you do not know fear

so why do I
realizing with sudden urgency
the importance of now
the brevity of each passing day
recoil from the cliff's edge
my heart throbbing violently against its cage

what is this paralyzing ache
that seeps into my bones
when I stare into the worn and weary canvas of my grandfather's face
or when I am seized by the music of my youth
and I cannot breathe

you are there
in that space beyond consciousness
on the cusp of life
and you do not know fear

one day
many years from now
you will return to that space
just as we all circle back
to that from which we came

what choice do we have
but to journey home?

my mind is officially blown ...

2009-04-19T08:49:00.000-07:00

the Void

2009-04-15T09:33:00.000-07:00

A quote from Jack Kerouac's Desolation Angels:

"Hold together, Jack, pass through everything, and everything is one dream, one appearance, one flash, one sad eye, one crystal lucid mystery, one word -- Hold still, man, regain your love of life and go down from this mountain and simply be -- be-- be the infinite fertilities of the one mind of infinity, make no comments, complaints, criticisms, appraisals, avowals, sayings, shooting stars of thoughts, just flow, flow, be you all, be you what it is, it is only what it always is -- Hope is a word like a snow-drift -- This is the Great Knowing, this is the Awakening, this is the Voidness -- So shut up, live, travel, adventure, bless, and don't be sorry -- Prunes, prune, eat your prunes -- And you have been forever, and will be forever, and all the worrisome smashings of your foot on innocent cupboard doors it was only the Void pretending to be a man pretending not to know the Void --"

Parallax

2009-03-27T07:51:00.000-07:00

our need to measure
determine
define
is satisfied by these instruments we use
but is just as easily accomplished through awareness
of where we stand
in space
in time
in the context of the whole

I, too, measure my life by parallax
staring, unblinking, at the dawn star
which seems to fade as the blue blanket that surrounds it lightens
the star itself has not changed

just as when, finding myself
moved to shed the weight of something I held dear
my being has not changed

I am simply seeing
more of myself.

AIG isn't really the problem ...

2009-03-21T08:35:00.000-07:00

So yes, I too was very upset when news of the AIG bonuses came out in the news. It is utterly ridicilous that a group of already-wealthy people who SUCK at what they do and then take taxpayers' money should receive any more than the basest salaries. What the heck is the difference between a performance bonus and a "retention bonus"? And what about all of the workers who lost their jobs through no fault of their own??? Why isn't someone MAKING them give it back? Ever heard of garnishing wages? That's what happens to normal poor people when they don't pay back what they should (taxes, child support, etc.).

But come on people, get real! Here we are, living in a country that might as well have a dollar sign stamped on our national flag, and we are suddenly outraged at white collar crime. H-e-l-l-o. These kinds of shenanigans happen all of the time. The danger in this sudden, media-frenzied outrage is that the majority of people will assume this is a one-time mistake, ignoring the gross inequities that make this sort of thing possible. And that once we punish AIG, we can all go back to blissfully believing in "the free market" again. Because really, even if they hadn't gotten that bailout money, do you really think they would have foregone their bonuses? Really?

a note to supervisors

2009-03-18T21:21:00.000-07:00

During my short working life, I've managed to encounter my fair share of poor ... managers. (I've also been a manager, so perhaps the people I've bossed around will have some complaints of their own.) Regardless, I believe that managing is an incredibly underrated skill, and that most people who become managers never bother to learn the interpersonal skills needed for the job. Thus, without further ado, I present a brief list of managing "don'ts", inspired by personal experience as one being constantly -- poorly -- managed (written from the employee perspective).

1. Don't say "we" will do something when you mean "you" will do it.
2. Don't pretend to care what I think if you really don't.
3. Don't make up rules that cannot be justified or explained and expect me to respect your authoritay.
4. Don't give me your opinion constantly and act like I agree with you ... cause I probably don't.
5. Don't yell at me about something trivial, then when you realize what a dolt you are come back and play nice.
6. Don't act like something doesn't matter one day and scream about it the next.
7. Don't get flustered and defensive when I ask questions.
8. Don't be surprised or upset when employees discuss and compare pay and benefits.
9. Don't treat me like your daughter ... cause I'm not.
10. Don't expect me to be loyal to the point where I put my job above everything else in my life.

stupidest quote ... ever.

2009-03-09T21:18:00.000-07:00

"You cannot legislate the poor into freedom by legislating the wealthy out of freedom. What one person receives without working for, another person must work for without receiving. The government cannot give to anybody anything that the government does not first take from somebody else. When half of the people get the idea that they do not have to work because the other half is going to take care of them, and when the other half gets the idea that it does no good to work because somebody else is going to get what they work for, that my dear friend, is about the end of any nation. You cannot multiply wealth by dividing it."

~~~ Dr. Adrian Rogers , 1931 to 2005 ~~~

Okay, and now for the commentary: so, why the heck do people have this up everywhere? And why do I hate this quote? Let me count the ways:

1. First of all, it equates having money with freedom, which is a fallacy.

2. It assumes that people receiving government assistance are NOT WORKING. Which is a lie.

3. It assumes that people receiving government assistance will decide that "they do not have to work", which is complete bull****. People who receive government assistance hardly get anything, and they have to prove that they are working, in school, or applying for work.

4. It alludes to the idea that the government cannot make people more free. This is based again on the idea that money makes us free, that somehow holding on to more of our paychecks will make us free ... by going to the mall more often? The whole point of having a government is to do together what we cannot accomplish alone ... it is things that the government brings ALL of us, equally, such as the public library, public schools, etc. that creates opportunity and intellectual freedom. And if ALL people had health care, affordable housing, etc., then perhaps all people would have "freedom." For what good is freedom for some while others toil away in poverty?

This is the most self-righteous, elitist bull crap out there, and is only held dear by the wealthy who would have us all believe that if only we all "worked hard," we would all have wealth. Seriously, people. That is not real life. Do some research.

the tao of pencil sharpening

2009-02-28T14:32:00.000-08:00

There are many moments during my day that allow for quiet reflection. Standing on the playground watching the Kindergartners cross the monkey bars, preparing eight trays of graham crackers and yogurt, and, last week, meticulously sharpening 200 colored pencils by hand. These are the times when I tend to drift off and get lost in my imagination, imagining, for better or worse, the adults these children will become. Like in Annie Hall, as the children in the classroom stand up one by one and profess to what they are as adults: the drug dealer, the depressed housewife, the thief, etc.

The elfin, mousy brown girl with braids reading in the corner an introspective librarian; the blond rough-and-tumble five year old running with the football past the fifth graders a quarterback prom king; the skirted girl splayed out in the tanbark an actress on Broadway; the withdrawn girl with tousled hair a single mother always searching for the wrong man; the pudgy, tired, lonely pale boy a pudgy, tired, lonely, pale man.

Though it is likely not beneficial to typecast these young children when they have not yet begun to blossom into adults with all their frailties, I find it almost impossible to keep from doing it. I know, though, that life is a winding road, and I hope for those who seem to be on an unfortunate path that the road leads toward unexpected happy endings.

where i am

2009-02-26T08:59:00.000-08:00

There is something within me that I am constantly struggling against that makes it difficult for me to accept where I am at the current moment in time. My parents have told me that since birth I've been high energy, always working on something, running somewhere. This tendency can have its benefits, but in the last few years it has made it difficult to just ... be. I'll get a job, then after a few months be ready for something new. I can't help but think one, five, ten years down the road. I know all of the reasons, theories, meditative techniques to establish a state of moment-to-moment awareness, but for some reason I have a hard time putting it into practice.

Therefore, every day, I tell myself:

don't overthink
don't jump to conclusions
observe with non-attachment to the outcomes
don't think of where else you could be
appreciate those around you with new eyes
today, this moment, is all you have
be the mountain, unmoving

A Tranny Valentine's Day?

2009-02-15T09:00:00.000-08:00

Ah, the innocence of children.

Friday at work was a whirlwind of candy, paper hearts, screaming children, and ... tranny Valentines. That's right. What do you tell a Kindergartner, excitedly showcasing her Valentines from school, when one of said Valentines has a photograph of transvestites? The answer is: nothing.

The afternoon had been progressing normally, though a little amped up by sugar, when an angelic blond darling sauntered up to a fellow teacher begging her to read her her Valentine. Though I was across the room, I heard the sudden gasp of the teacher and turned to see the five-year-old looking up at teacher in confusion. Teacher then walked over to me, followed by the innocent, and said, "You've got to see her Valentine." The front seemed tame enough, reading, "This Valentine doesn't have any trans-fat, but there's another secret hidden inside." It opened to a large color photograph of two awkwardly dressed transvestites pushing shopping carts down the vegetable isle of a supermarket.

Normally, I try not to laugh at things the kids give me in seriousness, but this was one of those moments that I could not stop myself. I actually had to walk to the bathroom because I was laughing so hard and didn't want to have to explain the reason for my laughter to the poor little girl. The whole way to the door, I was trailed by, "Why are you laughing at my Valentine, Erin? Why?"

The Valentine was quickly put away, but the little innocent just could not seem to resist going and looking at it every half hour or so. When her mother came to pick her up, we quietly warned her of the card's content, and began to usher them out the door. As they walked outside into the night, I distinctly heard the little girl say, "But Mom, this one kinda looks like a boy ...".

I walked to my car laughing so hard I had to wipe tears from my eyes.

don't be afraid

2009-02-04T08:42:00.000-08:00

The cars in my neighborhood are covered with bumper stickers -- "Keep Fairfax Weird," "Fairfax: Mayberry on Acid," "Obama", etc. -- and usually my eyes glaze over reading them in their similitude, but I saw one recently that made me stop and take notice. It said simply, "Don't Be Afraid." This short phrase strikes me as very profound. It often seems as though the people all around me are filled with fear: the mother at the park screaming at her son to get down from that tree, the boyfriend who beats his girlfriend because he's afraid she'll leave him, the suburban housewife afraid to go walking at night, the angry masses who would deny marriage to people in love, the government that "detains" people endlessly, the crossbearers on their knees praying for salvation, the policeman walking down the street with his hand on his holster ... I could go on and on.

What if, instead of fear, we turned to love? Do people who are afraid live longer? Go to heaven? Spare themselves from horrible accidents? Or do they merely live anxious, hate-filled, isolated lives?

The National Rifle Association, an organization based completely on fear, has more than 4 million members in the United States. That is a huge number ... but it's still less than 2 in every 100 Americans. So I guess it's not as dire as it seems; 98% of the population is either too lazy to join the NRA, or are hoping for something better.

untitled poem before bed

2009-01-28T19:44:00.000-08:00

“Math is the language of the world,” you said after
I giggled to myself in wonder that I
the wordsmith
have a mathematician for a husband.

Thinking then of the wonder of
nonverbal communication
and always quick to doubt the significance of
numbers, quantities, lines, theorems,
I countered, “What about music? The swell of a symphony, the
quarter half whole notes
read by eager fingers and throats …”

But I had misunderstood
There I was thinking that math could bring
a world full of unhappy people
together in a sort of ecstatic harmony
but you had simply meant

That those doubted numbers, quantities, lines, theorems
control the wind, the arc of an arrow, the
flight of a bumblebee

that math rules the world.

the joy of doing nothing

2009-01-25T17:44:00.000-08:00

Usually I am not the type of person to sleep in, lounge around in my pajamas, swear off showering, and lie on the sofa until noon drinking coffee ... but this weekend I was. And it was fabulous! Perhaps it is due to my recently lowered stress levels, perhaps it is the weather ... regardless, the last couple of days I experienced the pure and simple joy of ... doing nothing. In an increasingly frenzied world, where the worth of one's life is judged by the hours she spends working, producing, accumulating, I am trying to learn to be content with doing nothing. Well ... maybe not completely nothing ... I did do yoga, finish Lolita, see The Wrestler (fantastic, by the way), and go walking in the rain. The result of this slow weekend? Clear white eyes, wrinkle-less brow, and a glance toward Monday with calm resignation (as opposed to the usual tense regret that comes with adulthood).

cycling is so fun, la di da

2009-01-18T11:16:00.000-08:00

I love being on a bike!

Even when it jumps out and viciously attacks me ...

Yesterday Mark and I went on an epic 30-mile ride through West Marin with our dear friends Nick and Carrie. Nick and Carrie are decidedly hardcore cyclists, while Mark and I ebb and flow from casual to semi-hardcore, depending on the season and where we are living. We started out in the quaint town of Tomales, and rode out amid the small farms, passing fuzzy baby cows along the way. It was so beautiful and relaxing, with rolling hills just steep enough to get your heart pumping and legs burning but not so steep as to make you swear off cycling forever. And we only got harassed by an angry motorist once!

The definite highlight was when I tried to unclip from my pedals, lost my balance, and fell while riding uphill. DOH! And though the knee and arm I landed on escaped from the incident relatively unscathed, my other leg, which was unclipped already and was flailing to reach the ground, was caught by my razor-sharp pedal and sliced up the calf. Blood everywhere, but I had to finish the last few miles ... I guess yesterday I fell into the semi-hardcore category!

Michael Pollan is NOT an elitist

2009-01-16T08:27:00.001-08:00

Contrary to my previous take on his persona. After breezing through The Botany of Desire, I have decided instead that this man is most definitely a genius, not simply for his beautiful prose but for his earth-shattering insights into our co-evolution with plants ... most specifically marijuana. HOLY COW. The book is divided neatly into four sections, each following a plant that human culture uses to gratify a specific desire. There's the apple, which we have cultivated and bred to satisfy our desire for sweetness; the tulip, which we have bred to satisfy our love (and sometimes mania) for beauty; the potato, which we have (disturbingly) chemicalized to satisfy our need for control. But the most astonishing chapter for me was that on marijuana and our desire for intoxication. Even if you have never indulged in marijuana's ability to elevate the self out of the drone of the everyday, even if you think that all the potheads should be shot, even if you think that marijuana is as bad as heroin, you should take an hour out of your misinformed life to read this chapter. No, it does not try to convert you, but merely offers an explanation for why millions of people choose to indulge in this particular drug. Most explanations for marijuana's attractiveness are weak. Pollan takes it so much further, by positing (in much more eloquent prose) that the primary reason people smoke pot is to quiet the noise of life and to truly live in the moment, as we did when we were young children. And, every once in a while, this is definitely a worthwhile activity, whether you experience it through yoga, meditation, or marijuana.

looking forward and back

2009-01-03T08:18:00.000-08:00

At first glance, it seems kinda silly that people get so worked up over the change in the year. But I love it -- mainly for the symbolism. And having a new year's resolution (or 10) sort of infuses January with purpose, which is good for me because January generally makes me want to curl up in a blanket and sleep til March.

All in all, 2008 was a challenging year of growth for me. Here are my highlights (thanks for the idea, valerie!):

10. Walking to work over the Marin Headlands
9. Visiting Amanda in Phoenix
8. Buying a sweet road bike and challenging myself to a 20-mile commute
7. Making new friends at work
6. Seeing a whale and its baby playing in an inlet at Rodeo Beach!
5. Embracing the idea of Mark having a motorcycle :)
4. Moving to Fairfax, into an actual HOUSE
3. Backpacking to Young Lakes with my amazing husband
2. Deciding that other than writing, I find the most joy in teaching
1. Hiking to the top of Half Dome

And, in 2009, I hope to:

10. Do more yoga
9. Bike-commute to work
8. Become a seamstress
7. Climb more
6. Hike Mt. Whitney (maybe?)
5. Help my sister move back to the Bay Area!!!
4. Go on a real vacation!
3. Write more
2. Worry less
1. Hike often

Here's to another trip around the sun :)

another reason not to drive

2008-12-27T09:19:00.000-08:00

For a few weeks now, I've noticed the tree squirrels in our neighborhood a bit more. And I've decided that this is because, as the air cools and winter begins, they are moving much slower. No longer do they leap between the oak trees in the canopy adjacent to the deck; we spot them, rather, loping along on the ground and lounging on the oak's branches.

Last week, I was walking up the narrow steep road to our house after a sunrise jog and I came across a squirrel who was so perfectly fuzzy and unmoving that he appeared at first to be sleeping in the road. As I approached I noticed a slight trickle of bright red blood on his mouth. I couldn't believe that this tiny creature could meet his fate without more fanfare than a trickle of blood. Naturally I felt responsible somehow for his untimely death, just by being part of the human race. And even though I was not driving the car that hit him, I began to think of all the close calls I'd had with squirrels in the past month as they slow into hibernation. I know that part of life is death, but I still think that both need to be given the utmost respect. So I quietly took a forked branch in my shaky hand, carefully rolled the still squirrel off of the road, and wrapped his fluffy tail up around his belly.

Facebook is sucking my soul

2008-12-22T19:43:00.000-08:00

Yup. The title pretty much says it all. I finally broke down yesterday and joined Facebook for some silly reason, and now I've forgotten the reason ... every time I open my email I have about 15 emails from people who've either "confirmed that they are my friend" or "requested that I confirm that we are friends." It is SO bizarre. But kinda cool at the same time. I'm learning all kinds of things about people I used to know ... and I guess I am still "friends" with them? But really, if we saw each other, would we instantly have a bond about anything other than Facebook? In any case, it's good preparation for my 10-year reunion (AH! Next year!). I think that I am exactly the same in so many ways as I was 10 years ago, but everyone else seems to look like different, more adult versions of themselves. The only thing that's different about my appearance are the baby wrinkles forming around my eyes :(

hello goodbye

2008-12-17T20:15:00.000-08:00

This week I started a new teaching job at an after school program. Usually when I'm the new adult, I am nearly suffocated by children wanting to be my best friend. But this time, it's different. Granted it's only been three days, but most of the kids hardly look at me. They're nice kids, but it's almost as if they don't know what to make of me -- like they're sizing me up. And a lot of them are just 5 years old ... I just couldn't figure it out.

Then today it all made sense. A few Kindergartners were drawing with colored pencils at a table, and I didn't recognize them so I walked up and knelt down to introduce myself. I told them my name, and said that I'd be there every day. "Every day?" a mousy brown-haired girl asked. Then she challenged, "You're not going to be here every day. Some day you'll leave." This took me aback. So this is why they have been so guarded. "Yeah," the boy with white-blond hair next to her chimed in,"and some days you'll be sick, and other days you won't come because you're on vacation." Damn! These kids had been through this before. "You're right," I said. "One day I will leave. But I hope I can be here for a long time." They didn't seem phased, and ducked their heads to continue coloring.

craft-challenged mother dotes on bunny children

2008-12-14T09:06:00.000-08:00

Well, no one can say I didn't try. We have a small apple tree in front of our new house, and ever since we moved in last September I've had the brilliant idea to fashion a ball out of its branches for the bunnies to munch on and roll around. It seemed like a simple task, but it took me months to actually walk down the stairs, perch myself on the slope, and trim a handful of young branches from the tree. I was so proud of myself, but that pride quickly turned to embarrassment when I realized that I have absolutely no idea how to transform a pile of apple branches into a ball. I struggled for what seemed like hours, and came up with this jumble. I placed a bell in the middle in a feeble attempt to make it look classy ...

I then presented my creation to the bunnies, who, let me say, are some harsh critics. They took one look and proceeded to destroy what I had worked so hard to create. Did they roll the "ball" around? No. Did they toss it back and forth to each other with glee? No. They just pulled the branches apart, ate a few, and then sat there grooming each other before the fireplace.

Was it worth all of this work and mental anguish only to see my art disassembled like so many apple branches? Of course it was. After all, that is the essence of bunny motherhood.

what makes this guy so special?

2008-12-07T08:28:00.000-08:00

I've always considered myself pretty well-read -- a requirement for anyone who wants to write for a living -- but I have yet to conquer the great Russian literature of the 19th Century ... or of any century, for that matter. So last week I was feeling ambitious, and picked up Crime and Punishment by Fyodor Dostoevsky at the library. Well, let me tell you people, it is nothing like I thought great Russian lit would be. Granted I'm only in about 100 pages, but it's boring! And the language is awkward! I've decided that the biggest stumbling block for me is that I don't read Russian, because something seems to be lost in the translation. The people in the story are supposed to be incredibly poor, yet they speak like aristocrats. That's what bothers me the most. But perhaps in the Russian text, the language style fits the culture better ... or maybe I'm just being ignorant ... it's possible. So far, though, it ain't no Dickens.

do they really think we care?

2008-12-04T11:37:00.000-08:00

Okay -- it's time for a long-repressed rant. Why, pray tell, do the automobile manufacturers in Detroit deserve taxpayer money? Tell me, please. Just one good reason!

It never ceases to amaze me how some people are all for capitalism when it works for them, and totally against it when the product they're selling ... say, gas guzzling, ugly death-machines, for example ... fail to succeed in a capitalist market! They were bailed out before, and may need it again in the future. Bottom line: in spite of what we are led to believe, it might NOT be a bad thing for our auto manufacturers to fail. In fact, they've already failed, and are asking to be a subsidized industry, much like corn.

And don't even get me started on that $1 a year business. Do they really think we believe that that is the amount they will be writing in on their tax forms? Many CEOs outside of that industry already work for $0 salary, and, thanks to stock holdings and other investments, they are still bizillionaires, or at least mizillionaires.

The only people who are losing in this whole mess are, as usual, the workers. But I'm sorry to say that even with the auto manufacturers in their towns, they haven't been getting such a sweet deal. So perhaps it's time to bite the bullet and work on creating some sustainable jobs in a variety of industries in these towns so that thousands of people won't have to go without bread every time the auto manufacturers loose touch with market demand.

I know I sound Marxist, but ... come on, people! Evolve already!

dream a little dream of ...

2008-12-03T09:57:00.000-08:00

my house on fire? Most of my dreams consist of flying or swimming with whales, but a few nights ago I had my first memorable dream of fire. It was a huge, hot, fire that engulfed our house and all of our possessions ... and Mark and I set it on purpose. We grabbed the most important things: our camera, our photo albums, and the bunnies, and the rest was completely destroyed. And we felt strangely liberated. I was confused when I woke up -- aren't fires supposed to be bad?

If dreams really are symbolic, then fire dreams signal "transformation, new beginnings arising from the ashes." Maybe not so bad after all.

out of the abyss

2008-12-02T11:34:00.000-08:00

I return once more! Wow. Almost two years since my last post. I suppose it is appropriate that I return now -- now that I am seriously investing myself in writing. So much has happened since my last post; I graduated with my masters, got married, got a new job, quit said job, moved to Marin, got another new job, quit said job ... and in two weeks I will once more reinvent myself, this time as a teacher at a child care center. That's right -- I've all but given up on that sinking ship that is journalism (for now). No more secretary spread and dry computer eyes for me! I'm going to be once again cycling to work and running my fanny off with the youngsters of the fine city of San Rafael. Should be fun ... that's the goal anyway! Fun? At work? That's right, people. I believe it is actually possible!

So the plan is that since this new job's hours are 11:30-6:30, I can spend my mornings writing, hiking, and maybe making some extra money to subsidize my *extravagant* Marin lifestyle ... or not. Hey, as long as I can pay the rent, I'm cool :)

I'm back ... for now

2007-03-27T10:35:00.000-07:00

This here's a pic of Mark and me that we're using for our wedding invites (October 6!) It's been nearly a year since I last posted, and I guess that it's because I've been busy? I spent the summer as an intern (re:slave) at Yoga Journal in the financial district, and have also been working part-time at a nonprofit in the Mission called Children's Council of San Francisco, where I do communications (newsletters, posters, etc.). And now, on the peak of graduation from my Master's program in Mass Communications at San Jose State University, I'm facing a career crisis ... where do I go from here?
I know that to some people my dilemma must sound silly. Here I am, living in one of the most fascinating places in the world, about to be married, about to receive a Master's degree, earning far above the minimum wage, and yet ... I feel so frustrated. I told myself when I entered SJSU that I wanted to be a writer. But I'm beginning to feel like the ways to make money at writing are pretty boring, and far away from the type of writing I enjoy. The constrictions and menial pay of newspaper journalism scares me, and the magazine world is run by vacant egotists. While there undoubtedly are intellectually stimulating magazines out there, they are few and far between, and every journalism grad with half a brain is just dying to work for them for free. So where does that leave me?
I'm beginning to think that I belong right where I am - in the nonprofit world. I enjoy being able to control (teehee, control freak :) many stages of the product, which is required at nonprofits, since they can't afford to hire many people. And although it's PR, at least it's not for profit, and I highly doubt that I'd ever have to lie to the press about embezzelment or wrongdoing (unless, of course, I worked at the Smithsonian ...).
And, in all that time I have outside of work, (haha), I can still write what I want. Even if no one wants to read it.

a change of scenery

2006-06-15T20:03:00.000-07:00

So, I've basically been MIA for about a month now because Mark and I were in the mind-numbing process of moving all of our possessions to San Francisco, where we now rent a "cozy" one-bedroom apartment for the gut-wrenching price of $1200/month. Mark is, as I write, scraping mold and grime off of the large windows next to our bed facing 47th avenue. Ah, mold, an allergic girl's best friend. Well, I don't know what else I expect when I insist on living at the beach! Behind Mark, the buildings are stricken by an urban sort of alpine glow due to the unusually warm and *clear* weather we had today. It's strange the comparisons that can be made between the urban and rural landscapes ... and often there are unexpected similarities.

mother's day?

2006-05-13T20:44:00.000-07:00

This evening I stepped out into the crisp Novato air to clear my mind, and prayed for a better year next year. Hiking up Miwok Hill in the end-of-day glow, I recognized that I have so much to be thankful for, and yet I can't help but think that this year the karmic moderators have really had it out for my family.
This Mother's Day, my mom will be lying in bed trying very hard not to vomit. Her art studio at Hamilton Field will be closed, and the Open Studios visitors will assume that she is out having joyous times with her children, when in reality she will be shrouded in blankets in a dark room. There will be no Sandy dog to kiss her cheeks, and the chocolate cake with fresh flowers that I bought her will remain in its box in the back of the refrigerator. Dad, Mark and I will tiptoe around the house, hoping that she falls asleep and dreams of better times.

Ruining my life

2006-05-10T10:49:00.000-07:00

Well, not really. But these two lovebirds are making it insanely difficult to find an apartment in the city... and why? Why are people so prejudiced against two fuzzy little snugglers (who happen to be disturbingly adept at destroying household items with their razor-sharp jaws)? I just don't understand it. So basically, the landlords in San Francisco, the city of smugness (and tolerance?), are encouraging me to lie about my furry little friends. I feel so dirty, throwing Ghandi's principle of satyagraha (firmness in truth) right out the window... I haven't even moved yet, and already the city is denigrating my value system.