Sunday, June 29, 2014

Lighthouses and Lewis and Clark

We climbed to the top of this:

We watched surfers and seals and long lines of pelicans and we talked to the nice Coast Guard person who was inside this:

The Long Beach peninsula is miraculous. We hiked all over. We read books. We listened to music.

As for Lewis and Clark. They were only successful because the people who were already here ie the Natives, fed them and sheltered them and showed them how to get their sorry asses across raging bodies of water. The hubris. Clark brought his slave, York, the first Black man to cross the continent. 

White guys, always taking all the credit. 

The katz think the entire house belongs to them. And they can leave clumps of hair and barf wherever they please. Dried barf is especially lovely when you've been gone a few days. 

Saturday, June 28, 2014

People-I'm at the beach and sitting in the office, the only place with wifi. And no phone.


Wednesday, June 25, 2014

We had a beautiful birth yesterday and as we were leaving the building, we ran into another client who admits to struggles with an enormous sweet tooth. She told us she dreams about giant bowls of whipped cream. Giant bowls of creamy goodness. We reminded her she could go indulge and grow a nice belly and a massive butt. She prefers to dream about swimming through frothy sweet dairy products with her mouth open rather than the alternative.

We all want our mommas when we're pregnant, hence the sweet creamy dessert situation. Even if our mothers were kinda crappy.

I wanted tapioca pudding when I was pregnant. And occasionally I made some. And ate the entire bowl in one sitting.

Today I stood on the roof of my house with a nice man named Rob, Jim's cohort and design person. He showed me the awesome view of the lake and the mountains and the trees. But permits and more $$ and so forth. Maybe he'll build me a loft bed in the back so I can sleep in the stars. As long as I don't break my neck getting up and down. When I'm too geriatric, I'll use the space for storage. And if Milo comes to visit, he can sleep high in the rafters.

Rob is an idea man, a dream big man. It's really gonna start around here. Hot diggety dog.

Tuesday, June 24, 2014

Hey Betsy-

Right back at you:

Monday, June 23, 2014

You know how I feel about Benedict Cumberbatch but Jeremy Brett is quite excellent. Um, then there's Basil Rathbone and Nigel Bruce (as Watson) in the old black and whites.

I'll take any of their Sherlocks.

And that's it for tonight. 

Saturday, June 21, 2014

Holly and I (and Felix) are going to the ocean next week for two days. We're gonna eat in our room even tho we're not supposed to and we're gonna walk on the beach forever while the dog runs back and forth with a ball.

Last year I went to the beach with an (ex)girlfriend. We were sitting on the sand watching the waves and the dog and she said, 'I'm bored'. That's when I knew it was over. Really over. Bored? At the ocean?

My friends came for dinner tonight and we barbecued salmon and corm and I made chocolate dipped strawberries and shortbread with pecans and cold veggie soba noodles with roasted sesame seed oil and five spice. And ginger beer. And wine.

After, we did dishes and danced to Prince and the Temptations and Peter Gabriel. Pushed the couch out of the way. Threw dog toys out the back door for Felix so he could feel part of the merriment.

This morning, a guy came over and loaded up my old kayak on top of his car. The end of an era. I paddled in Glacier Bay in that boat. And in the Gulf Islands. I saw icebergs and bears and seals and sea lions and eagles and tidewater glaciers hundreds of feet tall. At night, in the freezing cold, I stood under the Northern lights and marveled at my life so far. Thank you, Sam, for taking me there.

Tomorrow is dance day and then writing day. I get to spend the afternoon with Betsy, who is funny and wise and apparently, an ariel yogini. She does flying yoga or some shit.

Friday, June 20, 2014

I mostly demo-ed the bathroom and now the firefighter-electrician woman (sigh) is up in the rafters doing things with the wiring. It is SO cathartic to throw bad shit down the back stairs. And build up a pile. My future husband Jim (kidding, I'm a homo) is coming over next week with Ron, a guy who can draw, to discuss what exactly we're talking about.

Tra la. And la la. 

The worst problem is impatience. Very impatient for people to come over here and beautify. 

Weird yard pavers-GONE

Ugly bathroom and 'bedroom'-GONE

I can see it all except for the um, execution. No, not a guillotine, silly.

Wainscoting, don't forget the wainscoting.

Wednesday, June 18, 2014

Watch this!!!!

That's my child in the middle

Sunday, June 15, 2014


Felix went twice as far as we did yesterday because he ran back and forth the entire time.
Holly and I hiked Mount Washington yesterday. It was about 1540 miles, steep, rocky and socked in so we didn't even have a view at the top. We did have Rainier cherries and chocolate chip cookies however so it was worth it. Just so you know, hiking great distances over rugged terrain and killing your thighs is so you can eat whatever the fuck you want afterwards. Holly had pizza. I ate a bowl of broccoli and a slice of homemade bread. Hey, it's what was in the house.

Holly told me we couldn't dance this morning because we're supposed to rest our muscles. Last night I thought that was hooey but this morning when I staggered out of bed and limped to the bathroom, her advice made perfect sense. And then she texted me to say she WAS going dancing. Sheesh.

Of course I went too. Then I went to the hot tub place and soaked my poor body.

Tomorrow {{{{{{{{}}}}}} is the day the bank gives me massive amounts of $$$ so I can give it back to them. Hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha. Buying and selling, the world of high finance. That's me.

My CPA won't 'manage' my retirement account because it's too small. Hahahahahahahahahaha.

My mortgage lender sent me a bamboo pizza plate and a pizza cutter. Um, because I'm a college student who eats pizza??? I don't even know who to give to to.

I finally met the rooster who lives across the street. He's very pretty with black tail feathers. He's a little guy too but don't even look funny at his hens.

Friday, June 13, 2014

Walked through the beautiful rainy woods today with the dog. There is nothing more extravagant than a rain wet NW woods. O there I would gladly die. So I could become a Douglas fir or a patch of nettles.

The back yard is wild with trees.

Thursday, June 12, 2014

Tonight I'm trying a new dharma group. It's a people of color and allies group. I've heard about it for years but you need to be invited. Which I have. Over these last 20-odd years of sitting practice (and now dancing practice),Ii've studied with Zen, Tibetan and Vipassana teachers. I've met remarkable people. And I've been through many sitting groups. Still looking for my 'home' group. So maybe this one will be the one. We'll see. It always helps to sit with others, inspiring and encouraging. Mostly we help each other to be good people. to remember certain values of generosity and kindness and patience. And that we meet boddhisatvas in our daily lives. I know several boddhisatva trees.

I signed my closing documents on my old house yesterday. An alarming amount of $$ will be dropped into my bank account on Monday. Then it will magically disappear again ((poof)).

I discovered that a birth worker friend is living somewhere in my new neighborhood as an urban farmer. She has chickens and raised beds and a green house. I wrote to her to see if I can be a 'farmworker' person and help her with her projects. I'm so frustrated right now, having no garden to tend beyond watering the roses and pruning them. O, and mowing the grass.

I'm having a piece of homemade bread for breakfast. Bread is sooo easy to make and so delicious.  I think I'll have another piece.

Tuesday, June 10, 2014

Cannot STAND artificial scents.and got a whole box of them in the mail. Cleaning supplies for the new house, complete with cheery coupons for products I would never use, ever.

Sun dried sheets and stiff towels on my shelves. Sun warmth is free.

The final rose bush is starting to bloom. None of the roses smell like, well, roses. Hybrids don't carry their scent with them, apparently.

Final week of dual home ownership. Not that I'm counting the days, hours, minutes, etc.

The doc said I have plantar fasciitis and she kindly gave me stretches to do. I am beginning to feel like my hypochondria is getting serious. While I was there I mentioned the insomnia and baby aspirin for stroke prevention, which she said I wasn't at risk for. And she showed me the ratios and percentages with my cholesterol levels which, again, puts me in a low risk category.

Regardless, I was feeling a mite nutty and pathetic when I was there.

Felix has absolutely no concerns beyond worrying about walking by the Hugo, the big cat, who will promptly bop him on the nose. He was so excited to get in the door at daycare this morning, he pushed open the door and caught his foot with yelps of surprise. Foolish hound.

Off to be pulverized by Noel, the aerobics person down the hill at the Community Center. I know, I'm supposed to rest my foot. Well, ok, tomorrow I will.

Saturday, June 07, 2014

Hugo has murdered again, a sparrow chick and what's left of a mouse. No, not a rat baby, a mouse. I refuse to have rats in this here neighborhood.

Then he proceeded to barf up bits and pieces of rodent/bird.


Felix is having a sleep over at Randy's because I worked too many hours today.

Betsy and I spent time in Ace Hardware. Gas grills, crowbars, extension cords and a veggie grater. It didn't feel like a real hardware store. It was too clean and organized. And there were art supplies. I don't think hardware stores are supposed to have art supplies. Cans of paint, yes. ladders and chainsaws, sure. but glitter and a wood burning kit and wee paint pots with wee brushes, nope.

I didn't feel like I could drywall my bathroom when I left. Confidence, that's what was missing. Jude and I did dismantle the giant killer mirror however. We cantilevered the pieces out over the outlets without breaking too much glass or fatally cutting ourselves. Behind the mirror was a truly hideous wall but you already knew there would be. No dead body or treasure, alas.

Next, out comes the countertop with the red ring of tile around the perimeter. I know, you think I should keep it. I can't, it's too dreadful. After that, the floor.

Unless I'm whisked outa here during the rapture. Although we couldn't figure out if we didn't have a sun roof, how we'd rapture out of the car. Leave all the windows down? Betsy says she's staying here. Along with all the people at Third Place Books. I'd rather stay here too with all my friends.

Hugo is definitely not floating off. He's taken too many lives, the bastard.

Thursday, June 05, 2014

Oh god oh god there was a shooting at Seattle Pacific University. One kid is dead, there are three others who are injured. I was going to go see a new baby but the roads are all effed up.

Oh lord why o why o why?

My new house has roses. Aw, you might say, roses. Perfect for a white-haired lady. Well, but. Roses bite you, I mean, really bite you. They have nasty wicked thorns and as I always go out there without gloves, I suffer.

I have at least 15 rose bushes. And the plant part isn't so pretty. And these roses are all hybrids so they have no scent.

Complain, complain. I am dismantling the bathroom, very satisfying. The giant mirror over the sink has a huge crack in it so now I'm afraid it'll fall on me and slice my jugular and I won't be found for two weeks after the katz have eaten off my fingers and licked up all the blood. I'd like to think Felix would go for help but Lassie wasn't a real dog, come on. And Felix has way too much self-esteem to do Lassie type things.

My crew fed homeless kids last Friday. We mixed salad with our (gloved) hands, served corn bread and vegan chocolate coconut bars and offered baked yams mixed with orange juice and olive oil. It felt SO GOOD to be doing a little bit.

One boy asked us to heat up his whole plate of food because his teeth are cold sensitive. He haunts me. A child with dental problems is so wrong. And heartbreaking. I figured out how to get dental care for my children. I was on medicaid for so many years, making minimum wage. But I knew the university dental school had free clinics and I could take my kids. I think it's harder now. I was so pushy as a mom, so driven. You have to be in this country when you don't have the resources. But a child who is homeless, who is advocating for him?

This is making me too upset.

Our next  teen feed gig is in August. I can't wait. I wish I could do more.

Wednesday, June 04, 2014

So my old house closes next week. This means I will get an alarming amount of money dropped into my wee bank account and immediately thereafter, the BIG BANK will come and take most of it. To pay off mortgages and painters and floor finishers and so forth.

Then Jim works his magic and a cement foundation guy will come (after a permit is granted, of course) and pour a foundation so Jim can make a few rooms where there is ugly dankness at the moment.

I began removing the gigantic mirror in the bathroom and it cracked in half. The former owners believed mightily in plastic wood and double stick tape to affix glass, wood, walls, what have you, to any and all surfaces. And if it doesn't quite fit, well, shore it up with a lot of spackle.

Tricia Lockwood, fine and wonderful poet, made it to the magazine section of my beloved NYT. Holy smokes.

Here she is, after the brouhaha about the questionable humor of rape jokes in comedy circles.

Rape Joke
The rape joke is that you were 19 years old.
The rape joke is that he was your boyfriend.
The rape joke it wore a goatee. A goatee.
Imagine the rape joke looking in the mirror, perfectly reflecting back itself, and grooming itself to look more like a rape joke. “Ahhhh,” it thinks. “Yes. A goatee.”
No offense.
The rape joke is that he was seven years older. The rape joke is that you had known him for years, since you were too young to be interesting to him. You liked that use of the word interesting, as if you were a piece of knowledge that someone could be desperate to acquire, to assimilate, and to spit back out in different form through his goateed mouth.
Then suddenly you were older, but not very old at all.
The rape joke is that you had been drinking wine coolers. Wine coolers! Who drinks wine coolers? People who get raped, according to the rape joke.
The rape joke is he was a bouncer, and kept people out for a living.
Not you!
The rape joke is that he carried a knife, and would show it to you, and would turn it over and over in his hands as if it were a book.
He wasn’t threatening you, you understood. He just really liked his knife.
The rape joke is he once almost murdered a dude by throwing him through a plate-glass window. The next day he told you and he was trembling, which you took as evidence of his sensitivity.
How can a piece of knowledge be stupid? But of course you were so stupid.
The rape joke is that sometimes he would tell you you were going on a date and then take you over to his best friend Peewee’s house and make you watch wrestling while they all got high.
The rape joke is that his best friend was named Peewee.
OK, the rape joke is that he worshiped The Rock.
Like the dude was completely in love with The Rock. He thought it was so great what he could do with his eyebrow.
The rape joke is he called wrestling “a soap opera for men.” Men love drama too, he assured you.
The rape joke is that his bookshelf was just a row of paperbacks about serial killers. You mistook this for an interest in history, and laboring under this misapprehension you once gave him a copy of G√ľnter Grass’s My Century, which he never even tried to read.
It gets funnier.
The rape joke is that he kept a diary. I wonder if he wrote about the rape in it.
The rape joke is that you read it once, and he talked about another girl. He called her Miss Geography, and said “he didn’t have those urges when he looked at her anymore,” not since he met you. Close call, Miss Geography!
The rape joke is that he was your father’s high-school student—your father taught World Religion. You helped him clean out his classroom at the end of the year, and he let you take home the most beat-up textbooks.
The rape joke is that he knew you when you were 12 years old. He once helped your family move two states over, and you drove from Cincinnati to St. Louis with him, all by yourselves, and he was kind to you, and you talked the whole way. He had chaw in his mouth the entire time, and you told him he was disgusting and he laughed, and spat the juice through his goatee into a Mountain Dew bottle.
The rape joke is that come on, you should have seen it coming. This rape joke is practically writing itself.
The rape joke is that you were facedown. The rape joke is you were wearing a pretty green necklace that your sister had made for you. Later you cut that necklace up. The mattress felt a specific way, and your mouth felt a specific way open against it, as if you were speaking, but you know you were not. As if your mouth were open ten years into the future, reciting a poem called Rape Joke.
The rape joke is that time is different, becomes more horrible and more habitable, and accommodates your need to go deeper into it.
Just like the body, which more than a concrete form is a capacity.
You know the body of time is elastic, can take almost anything you give it, and heals quickly.
The rape joke is that of course there was blood, which in human beings is so close to the surface.
The rape joke is you went home like nothing happened, and laughed about it the next day and the day after that, and when you told people you laughed, and that was the rape joke.
It was a year before you told your parents, because he was like a son to them. The rape joke is that when you told your father, he made the sign of the cross over you and said, “I absolve you of your sins, in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit,” which even in its total wrongheadedness, was so completely sweet.
The rape joke is that you were crazy for the next five years, and had to move cities, and had to move states, and whole days went down into the sinkhole of thinking about why it happened. Like you went to look at your backyard and suddenly it wasn’t there, and you were looking down into the center of the earth, which played the same red event perpetually.
The rape joke is that after a while you weren’t crazy anymore, but close call, Miss Geography.
The rape joke is that for the next five years all you did was write, and never about yourself, about anything else, about apples on the tree, about islands, dead poets and the worms that aerated them, and there was no warm body in what you wrote, it was elsewhere.
The rape joke is that this is finally artless. The rape joke is that you do not write artlessly.
The rape joke is if you write a poem called Rape Joke, you’re asking for it to become the only thing people remember about you.
The rape joke is that you asked why he did it. The rape joke is he said he didn’t know, like what else would a rape joke say? The rape joke said YOU were the one who was drunk, and the rape joke said you remembered it wrong, which made you laugh out loud for one long split-open second. The wine coolers weren’t Bartles & Jaymes, but it would be funnier for the rape joke if they were. It was some pussy flavor, like Passionate Mango or Destroyed Strawberry, which you drank down without question and trustingly in the heart of Cincinnati Ohio.
Can rape jokes be funny at all, is the question.
Can any part of the rape joke be funny. The part where it ends—haha, just kidding! Though you did dream of killing the rape joke for years, spilling all of its blood out, and telling it that way.
The rape joke cries out for the right to be told.
The rape joke is that this is just how it happened.
The rape joke is that the next day he gave you Pet Sounds. No really. Pet Sounds. He said he was sorry and then he gave you Pet Sounds. Come on, that’s a little bit funny.
Admit it.

Sunday, June 01, 2014

I'm sorry but Angelina Jolie can't act. Even with pointy cheekbones, glittery eyes and giant wings. I wouldn't mind a pair of giant wings. And the ability to conjure up dragons and thorny hedges and fire. Still. I went to the new movie and ate popcorn and red vines and put my feet on the bar in front of me. There were a lot of kids and their parents.

Angelina looked good. Really, she did. Just not fierce.

Felix and I hiked Tiger yesterday and we went farther than ever. I think I was almost to the top of a little used trail when I turned around. And staggered back to the car. Who cares about a view when you might have to crawl all four miles back. In the dark. And bears and cougars are watching, contemplating eating you and your dog and scattering your bones so you're never found but become a true life mystery on the mystery channel. She disappeared without a trace and there would be speculation for years.

Next time.

It was, as usual, gorgeous. The forest never has a bad day. Streams, light shafting through the trees, a few old grown Doug firs among the second growth cedars. Ferns and the remnants of trillium. I wish I were back there now.

Today I'm still in my jammies. Felix wants a walk and I have to go get the NYT before it's gone.

The end.