Comfort Food

Some leftover chicken and rice soup that Fred made was the inspiration for tonight's chicken and dumplings.
Thank goodness for that guy!

I was pleasantly surprised to learn that if you are low on flour and butter, but have pancake mix and some dairy- you can make the best ever dumplings anyway! I mixed plain yogurt and a drizzle of milk into a couple cups of mix and voila~

Yes, of course I seasoned them! This time, I did not over-do-it, HUSZAA! Salt, pepper, paprika and some smoky mustard. I also added parsley, basil, dried onion, garlic and pepper flakes to the broth which I added to the very rice-y soup. Something that really makes a soup a goood soup (other than dumplings), in my opinion, is the addition of greens such as spinach, kale, chard, cabbage or mustard greens. Also, slow cooking and using slow roasted meat and a wide variety of hearty vegetables helps create a masterpiece of a soup.

The weather outside has been scary loud- wind and rain at the windows like a stubborn old haunt. The darkness out doors and uninspiring wait for spring time ahead of us, has inspired a bout of lethargy which reaches into my appetite. But just look at those dumplings! I can't say no.

The Twilight Snowne

Thursday morning was covered in a thick blanket of frozen, white wet. Friday morning smells like that cold sweat armpit smell, warm then cold and now damp.
Though Wednesday's flower bed clearing was far from finished, I decided to busy myself indoors and start restoring the wood coffee table and end table which I industriously picked out of the junk pile of one kind soul. The smelly, dry but dark evil laboratory workshop of a garage was much more inviting to me than the snow.
Sure, I could bundle up and murder ivy in the snow, burn that huge pile of debris, there are plenty of things I could have done perfectly comfortably, to prepare the flower beds and clean up the yard in the snow. Among other kinds of hermit, lately, I am a snow hermit. I want to make snow illegal in Pacific County, but the damn politicians are against me. They probably LIKE snow. I want to live on the coast for it's mild weather, darn it!
For some, snow is pretty. Snow somehow conjures up nostalgic feelings in some. Inhabitants of this wet, dark corner of the galaxy tend to see it as a depressing setback in our journey to the days of warmth and sunlight. I'm sure not all of them see snow this way.
Maggie sure likes putting it in her mouth. Terrorist.


Mean while, indoors where the snow don't go, my tomato plants have exploded from little seedling trees, into flower studded angry hulk sized plants! I have been reading some interesting literature about pollinating these buggars with vibrating devices. Apparently they can't get there by themselves.
The squash are developing their fifth set of true leaves and the broccoli are moving along swimmingly.
Something wonderful happened with one of the squash seedlings!
Back when I was impatiently (not) waiting for germination, I dug up a seed and broke it in half to see if the darn thing was rotten, it wasn't, but instead of throwing the seed away and replanting the pot, I shoved the seed halves back into the soil- like the slob that I am, deep down. Well, this seed sprouted, and though it only had one very malformed seed leaf, it didn't die. This little thingy is putting on tiny true leaves to compensate, and because the plant doesn't have the seed leaves to supplement it's nutrition, I've been lightly fertilizing it. The entire thing is not much bigger than my thumb, while it's seedling mates are larger than my entire hand, I am just astounded that the thing is growing.
I'm contemplating starting fresh seeds, because I am not sure these plants will transfer into the garden.
If this snow bs continues like snowy years in the past, the true warm weather will come on late and a few early warm patches of false Spring will lure my plants out doors, then freeze them- ZAP!
However, if the peninsula can keep it's self out of the freezer, my early planting will not have been in vain, the plants will take to the garden and I will have extended our short growing season by a good couple of months!

I really want my lights back, too. While the Veggies are hogging it, I have plans for sprouting entire envelopes of snapdragons, zinnias and sweet peas to plant around the house. This lady has an undying lust for flowers, but a stubborn checking account, not pleased with the price tag of posies at the nursery, if you know what I mean!

I am not far from the child I was when I sang to the cows and picked the wild flowers around the Ranch. I am fascinated and delighted by bright green sprouting, blooming, climbing things.
The kind smiles of bright blooms, and lofty glances of leafy twigs inspire topics of conversation and boost my aliveness more than most of my daily human interactions. There's an imaginary world not so far from earth, under the rhododendrons. Ivy and black berry vines team up with holly trees and wild sorrel to over take this garden of primrose and crocus, and over there, a circle outlined by huge, wise, ancient redwood!
What would it say if trees spoke? What are the inner workings of a bok choy, as it's stem and first leaves break into the light?
Do peonies gossip? Are Lilacs like children until they reach thirty?

There was a huge Lilac tree (Tree, not bush) at the ranch where I grew up. It was situated quite close to the bedroom window, and I remember climbing out of that window to get tangled up in it's branches and have long talks with Fred. I don't remember a lot of details from my childhood, but I remember naming that tree, and feeling it's oldness. I remember a sweet boy from my all boy (except me) kindergarten class helping me bring an old tractor tire to the base of the tree so we could sit under it together. I don't remember what we use to talk about, but Jamie and I spent a lot of time under Fred that summer, I remember that!
I don't remember snow at the ranch being so horribly kill-joy.
Perhaps that was because it was fun to play "lost orphan in a snow storm" when it was snowing, thoug that entire plot line happens to be depressing as hell. There was also a fair amount of eighty degree plus weather in eastern Oregon, the weather of warmth and sunshine adequately put a thaw on orphan ali, turning her into butter cup tracker and wind whisperer.

I was a weird mix of imaginative, intelligent, mature, sensitive, curious, creative and impatient as a child.
Time passes, and I am an impatient,  curious, creative child, trying to navigate the life of an intelligent, sensitive, mature, imaginative adult. Still wearing the ripped flower girl dress of pointless emotionality.
Fighting the need to leave my house of imagination and comfort, to go out in the world of the known and unimagined and put money into the bank so I can pay that damn bill.

I vacuumed the memory chip for the camera and Fred (not the lilac) has requested that I have his supervision when handling his nice things since I break and/or accidentally throw away so many of them...
But soon I will have pictures of the garden and seedlings, and Maggie's horrible healing burn! WEEEE.

Mother's Milk

My last post was filled with N words, and I'm still not done with them!

Reading cookbooks and glancing over nutritional content/benefits of the baked items in question has left me with my ears ringing. Mental telephone calls echoing through my skull- "oh yay! MORE saturated fat in this one!" and 1 1/2 lb butter block!?" "Processed sugar, wheat flour, saturated fat, Espresso and sugar syrup are going to invade my life!!!!!"
But it will be fun, and I won't be taste testing alone! There are many opportunities to introduce healthy and delicious coffee goodies full of Omega 3s, slowly released sources of energy and that sugary zip, to please the palette (and mind)!

For at least the past twenty years, the scientific world has conducted some very useful research between the relationship of nutrition and our mind/emotional state. We now know that the chemicals in our brains which effect many of our most intimate functions can be manipulated with the use of synthetic compounds, and  certain combination of natural substances found in plants. Recently, more attention has been paid to the effects of our food choices in combination with physical activity on our mental state.
Food allergies or sensitivity also show a clear indication of altered function in the central nervous system.

I think it is important to keep an eye on these studies and educate ourselves about our bodies. Those of us fortunate enough to have had particularly nurturing and conscientious parenting also have a great wealth to draw from. The knowledge and habits we acquire as we grow, like mother's milk, are tailor made nutrition guides. My mom always kept an eye on how often I ate, knowing I am vulnerable to low blood sugar freak outs, and whether I was hydrated properly, knowing I will neglect that necessity and become listless, moody. She gave those tools to me through her constant drilling as soon as I was able to talk(back)! ;)
Mommy gave me the common sense to look inside and ask, "are you being shitty because you didn't feed yourself yet today, or is it really because you 'have to do yaddayadda'...?" I know that a lot of the things we tell ourselves before we get out of bed in the morning, and later during that down swing in the day come from regular dehydration and lower blood sugar, and are important enough to pay attention to- for everyone, some more than others!

It has taken me halfway through my twenty second year of life to put down the meds and accept the un-pleasantries accompanying the good harvest each year. For me, the use of medication for my irregularities never completely made sense, but seemed like a responsible thing to do at the time... all those times.

Some folks truly have a wide ranging, low functioning sort of chemistry and rely on medications, and that is an important commitment to make- but balanced nutrition is still required to maximize the effects of the treatment.
I think the medications I've taken don't quite do the trick, or leave me with bizarre side effects like nausea (when I already don't want to eat), or sleepiness (when I tend to sleep too much anyway), because I haven't been making enough of an effort to utilize the tools I was given growing up to nurture my self nutritionally!

I've been without medication for seven months, the first time in six years and I have noticed a much more acceptable experience of life when I think of the food I eat as my medicine. My choices have changed, my tastes have changed. Fred and I have gained an appreciation for whole grains, plates full of fresh vegetables, and simple home made goods.

2 to 4 ounces of  the right kind of snack or small meal can modify mental behavior within 30 to 45 minutes!
The amino acid tyrosine is directly related to levels of dopamine and norepinephrine (brain chemicals that facilitate faster thinking, alertness and motivation), and a snack of  low fat (fatty foods cause blood to leave the brain and surround the stomach to aid digestion for longer periods, causing lethargy) fish, chicken, tofu, low fat or non fat diary products and dried lentils or any other protein rich, low fat food can get you ready to go!
Tryptophan is the principal amino acid from which seretonin (brain chemical which increases sensations of calmness, less distraction and and an easing of the negative feelings of stress and anxiety) is made. Foods rich in carbohydrates eaten without protien (as tyrosine trumps tryptophan every time), like cooked whole grains, breads, pasta and low protein muffins are good foods which increase our bodies' access to tryptophan.
Both of these amino acids are considered essential, which means our bodies can not synthesize them independently!

Interesting!

To nourish, to nurture

Today I met with the owner of Adelaide's and her pal, a baker.
The baker has admitted to being not so excited about baking coffee shop snacks, as she likes to focus the use of her professional kitchen for leavened breads and rustic strudel. The meeting was to discuss the possibility of me utilizing the kitchen to provide Adelaide's with goods when it is not in use, and to be a sort of apprentice to the Baker.
It's exciting to have a project like this.
Of course my mind is stretching this little ball of information into a membrane thin sheet, spanning the "oh hell, I hope not" and the "young baker takes world by storm with amazing crumble!" and I am sort of at a loss.
Both ladies, wonderful in their attempt to nurture the community by teaching and walking with the up and coming generation, are sincere in their hopes for the future, but left me a little floaty as I was not given any figures for cost, or any sort of idea as to how/when this all will take place.

These things take time to blossom, I suppose.
Fun!

Crab Man Metamorphosis

The local crabbing industry is a curiously constructed fleet of boats of all shapes and sizes, some owned by local rough necks, others by rich dudes in different time zones. They are loosely regulated from within by collective strikes, when they all impatiently wait to run their gear for an increase in price from the market. Other regulations are imposed by governmental laws and restrictions.
Some crews will run others' gear (harvest crab from another boat's pots, and bait!), and break the strike to harvest what crab are out in the water, whatever the quality or price. It's a pirate ship fleet, in the waters around here from December to Spring!

The three man crew aboard the Joyce Marie had a short season this time around.
The starting date was pushed some twenty days back and last Thursday, February the 10th was the date when the boat owner decided that the season was over for them. The income from the boat wasn't generating enough to fund the insurance.
A usually lucrative time for Fred, this year crabbing was a disappointment, to be put simply.
The few days on their small boat when the tides and weather allowed the guys to do their thing offered few crab, long hours and tons and tons of boobing.

We are glad it is over. Fred took a couple of days in the cocoon of Jack Daniels and computer Risk to change from Crab Man to Fred.
Fred has regular hours of operation, usually from five am to nine pm.
He no longer smells like the lingering aroma of fish guts bait, and he is rested and out going. Making friends with the locals is very easy and he will quickly have a schedule full of "jobs" to synchronize.  Today he is working at Bradley's. Bradley has a home and landscape design firm in Seattle, but purchased a home in Oysterville to restore. While the home renovations click along, he has been expertly developing the most beautiful garden I have ever seen. I will have pictures later on because I can do little to describe all that is going on round the home of Bradley in text.

Fred stays busy hauling and spreading mulch over the grounds, building all kinds of fences and structures, paving walkways, tilling new flower patches and always planting, always, ALWAYS!
Usually I would tag along with Fred and MJ (yes, he is glued to his man-buddy's side again!) to Bradley's to help with projects, but Friday night's crab cooking mishap keeps me home with a sick child.

Nine crab, a year's supply of Cod, three functioning burners (60 year old effing stove...$90 to replace!), chatting guests in the living room with Jack Daniels, and I am juggling.
Literally juggling boiling pots of water and oil, crab, batter, collander, oven and conversation.
And a cocktail. Why do I never give the booze it's proper respect?!
And Maggie is tripping me at every step. NO DOGS IN THE KITCHEN!

I tend to duck out of the whole entertaining bit in favor of hiding in the kitchen to selectively listen to the conversation, and have my own with my self in my head about the things I can understand, like mixing and heat adjustments. I avoid the tight rope of socialization by sipping attention altering elixir in my kitchen cave.
I make trips out to the living room as people try to include me in the conversation, which is only polite, and become dizzy and more and more scatterbrained, trying to perform a translation of the situation so as to not take things the wrong way, which I do too much, and keep from not interrupting people when they speak while also not providing input at the appropriate times, which I also do too much.
I'm swimming in my head, juggling, spinning the plates. I am busy, I am dancing between hiding and engaging and I am accomplishing the task of cooking a snack, and crab before they get not-fresh. I convinced that I am doing it right. Convinced that it is all necessary, and that I need to do it all right now.

I think I have written on this blog about the importance of fessing up to your responsibilities. I forgot about the spinning plates that always spin. I forgot about the person I am when no one is looking. I put the performance of what I think I should be before the person I am and I forgot to be the Dog's Buddy.

So Maggie gets scalded when I trip over her with a crab on it's way to the sink after his twenty minute sauna, and I have just enough booze in me to make it the absolute worst thing anyone could fathom happening. I scream and cry and scare everyone off while applying cold water to my dog in the bathroom. I wish someone would whip me and leave me out side for the night for not seeing this coming. Since no one else thinks this logic is correct, I just become more hysterical and not fun to live with.

Maggie is freaked the heck out, but she is drinking water and eating and being a very good pup.
Her burns will be painful and long to heal. The trauma is real, and trails behind like exhaust fumes. I am so sorry, Maggie-wag. Her tail still wiggles, she will get better.

Life experience tells me that I often bite off way more than I can chew. It feels good to surround myself with spinning plates full of activity, creativity, movement but it never seems to get less mortifying when the plates fall.
I feel like I am really doing something when I have piles of  different things to show for myself when I am done. But so often, I fail to bring my idea of what it should be into the world and call myself bad names. Or I give up when the speed and precision of a thing cannot last for long, I invariably lose interest, also that good feeling of accomplishing anything.
It is interesting the way it looks from an analytical perspective, as oppose to the emotional one I habitually use.

I see this in the garden path, and clearing project from last summer. I would focus on the garden path with Fred and the work would move along rapidly, and it was my favorite project. Then, as Fred began to work on other things and was confident in my ability to finish the path and clearing, the finished work came slower to me, and I quickly lost interest and fought myself everyday I was out there.
I see this also in my past modes of employment. I get the job and learning the job is exciting and interesting, but the longer I am there, seeing the flaws and difficulties in the system, feeling when the praise wears off and doing an impeccable job goes from appreciated to expected, the gas comes out of the  balloon and suddenly the damn thing is worthless.

Nobody was making me wiz around the kitchen, tipsy and halfway horrified of a social faux pas which had not yet happened, or that had happened years ago.
Fred would have been happy to have fish fry for dinner and drinks with friends, then help me cook the crab when things calmed down.
I could have surrendered to the social atmosphere, to the slow relaxed gathering. I chose to avoid what was going on, and retreat into my own world, where a pile of accomplishments are calling urgently.
  
The days go by and I try to keep the animal house moderately dustbunny less, I cook the meals and try to keep up on the dishes. There is definitely a rhythm and plenty of things to do to keep busy. Life is different from the way I assumed it would be, the demands I'm faced with are not necessarily ones I would ever imagine they would be, but why should that keep me from loosening up and enjoying the ebb and flow of the now?
If I look at my life with the critical eye of my younger hysterical self, I see a clumsy failure.
If I look at my life with the accepting eye of my wise, ageless self, I see a person quite different from the one I expect and that is acceptable.

La Que Sabe, the one who knows, Old Wild Woman, does not judge her heart with hate, or trauma. She knows these things burn through good canvas.
I may not have fulfilled the immature and uneducated notions of the imaginary future I've spend my adolescence preparing for myself, but I'm doing life now. It's different.

There is a Star Trek marathon playing this afternoon. Maggie and I will be watching it together.
I will clean the house and try to start re programing my thought patterns by watching them closely.
I think I will make a potato salad and stuff a cod fillet with crab, shallot and dill.
I will definitely be grateful for my dog, and all of the little things that make it possible for me to do what it is that I do, one thing at a time from now on, let's hope.

Adho Mukha Svanasana

Downward facing dog.
Grrrrr... My nemesis!


Yeah, good idea Leesh, go do some public physical meditation and music up the place. Here's what gazing at your navel sounds like, folks.

 We've all heard of Brain Farts. Yoga farts happen too. They are pretty similar sometimes, as far as embarrassment factor, but the mental/emotional ones can become mortifying for one with a powerful/bored enough imagination!
I shall never, ever turn misunderstandings, mistakes or bumps in the road, into emotional farts, anymore.
My morning meditation will be the way it felt to not die in that moment, when I tooted in a room full of focusing, silent strangers. Well not strangers, I see a lot of them at the grocery store.

All That Glitters

So, there will be financial ups and downs no matter when or where you live. Finance is what they stick on the headline, but it's not what counts.

The financial breakdown of late is painted on new suburbs, and in new morals than it was in the twenties. Maybe the huge debt is in proportion to the increased population, the expansion of technology, and the decisions or patterns of the whole are just natural fluctuations- nothing to get a chapped ass over. Maybe independent debt is acquired through sickness, through loss, through trying and trying and just not making it. Maybe people reach that high rung on the latter of finance for reasons that have nothing to do with finance, or maybe it is to stuff the void with, well, stuff.
I can't know the hearts of others.
I can't convince myself that I am my net worth, either.
No matter how I try to not obsess and worry, I just hate money.

It's good for us to be busy, to be a part of a team, to be around our peers, or help others to work for a similar goal. It's important to those who depend on us (selves included) that we earn enough.
But how much is enough?
There are as many answers to that as there are people. No judgment or further circling. 

I can say, and be proud to, that I was raised to stuff the void with the love of a supportive and patient family, with healthy hobbies and with consciousness. When I wrote the financial shitter dive blog, I wasn't recognizing the fact that I live in a society of possibilities. I live a wonderful life, and I have many opportunities. Though I may not be this or that, I am free to be what I am.

There are plenty of people whom have money and don't ride the MORE MORE MORE snowball, so I need to maybe back off a bunch. If I look a little more locally than at the publicized world around me, I see my up-bringing, and I feel not so much as a flinch of sorrow for myself, and my parents weren't always driving shiny rims. In fact, I was raised to honor the cash value of products and services. I was raised in the understanding that people, whether shiny, dirty, rich, poor, or earning $200,000 per year and spending $350,000 per year, productive, under productive, or just plain creepy, are worth far far more than anything that ever did glitter. Period.

What can I say? I like flowers with narcotic properties!

During a walk through one of his land scape masterpieces, Fred told me that the poppies in the garden we were walking through are the same thing some might use to make opium, and in fact the still green pods contained an unrefined narcotic sap. I though he was full of poo doo. How can it be legal to grow opium bushes in your front yard?

I ate a pod right then and there. Ha-ha Fred, yeah I'm gullible, but I'm not buying it, SEE?

I took a really long nap that afternoon.
ahem.

narcotic (drug), drug that produces analgesia (pain relief), narcosis (state of stupor or sleep), and addiction (physical dependence on the drug)

I stumbled upon a blog, leslieland.com before I had a chance to watch TV or read the news and get cranky. Thanks to this lovely webspace my mind has been swimming in foliage, fruit and blossom all day long!

Pictures of Leslie's squash made me cringe. It's not that I don't want my squash to succeed and be all that they can be,  I just think I underestimated them, which is never fun to admit to anyone. I have eight squash seedlings showing now, and about four by five feet of  the garden for them to frolic, and the pictures on the site show patches as large as my entire garden overflowing with only a few winter squash.

Maybe I shall have to add a bit of squash to my house borders this year? I quickly looked at other things...

Guess what I found??
POPPIES.

Oh the things that come to mind when laying eyes upon the Papaver Somniferum!

Elegant
Friendly
Mysterious
Opium, if you're so inclined,
and
...Promiscuous?

I learned that poppies are very promiscuous flowers and reproduce easily with other poppies, creating new traits and features, but ever the papaver.

Last autumn a new garden friend graced me with a bucket full of papaver pods upturned so as to save the seeds. I am so curious to find out whether they will germinate that I sprinkled some on a pot of damp soil mix in my vegetable sprouting space. I shall keep you updated.

If they sprout, they might not make it- I'm reading that they aren't wild about the process of transplanting.
What I need to do is bite the bullet and just start chucking them around. They'll take all the time they can get to germinate. A period of darkness is important to germinating poppy seeds, and cool weather gives them time to swell and develop slowly. This is how that tiny seed becomes that showy, tall, colorful performer! But to just go willy nilly, tossing my seedsies into the cold and wet?
Remember Ali- Seeds aren't people too.

The coolest part is that these seeds didn't come from a store. These poppies will be from the sister of a sister, friend to friend! As my own lovely sister would say, "EEEEE!"

When I spend all my time day dreaming about plants, I generally have one response to the "what's for dinner?" question, and it is "Pizza".
Pizza isn't going to cut it tonight, darling?
So, what do you do after racking your brain, taking your tummy into the hall and asking it in a non pressured sort of way what it wants, listening for an answer- listening?
You call your garden friend and ask her what she wants you to cook for her at your house!

Off I go to begin frying chicken, and warming "string beans".

Lesson- Mom's always right!
Look into the now, plant the seeds of encouragement in your mind for the future, and don't make negative assumptions about your life based on the ungerminated seedlings of your past.

Loving you all, from
Ali, Fred,
M.J., Maggie,
Dr. Bones, Tiberius, Gretchen and Trixy, even though she is under the bed, growling like mad at you for trying to give her some love back!

These guys weren't stoners, too pacified to get off the couch and get a job.
Their empty cupboards were not situated in four thousand square foot homes with central air and thermostats, and Martha Stewart line furnishings.  Things change so much so fast.
If I were to post images of the inside of my house, of my car, or if I shared the number of dollars it takes for me to live comfortably for a month, I think different people would feel different things. I know that people like my stepmother would be disappointed, and would tell me to get a life.

Is this what I am suppose to be going for? I look around at the world around me at the people I'm suppose to look up to, and I see them scrambling to hold on to their four bedroom homes/ designer/ convenient lives in the face of more debt than they will ever pay off in their lifetime.
Everywhere I turn, I see ads for how it is important that a person knows and works on his credit score. WHY?
Because you always need more, and someone can sure as shit front you the resources to fan the flame of your shiny life. Resources no longer represent sustenance. Resources represent a contract.
Sign on the dotted line and feel the "warm, glowing glow" of owning more shit and paying for it, the rest of your life! Now there's something to wake up in the morning for!


It may be incredibly ignorant of me, but here's what I see.
The rich stay rich. The poor and the rich whom are in debt are going to stay in their place. unless something miraculous happens and poor in debt guy gets a really really good job, or wins the lottery, or inherits a chunk of change from an ancestor whom had a life.
Make sure everyone is in debt up to their eyeballs, and you will always have a set of valuable hands in the workplace. The rich employ the indebted, so that the indebted can sustain their spending habit, can avoid that bad credit score.
You want to get a good job in America? Get a loan.
You want to buy a home in America? You really need to work a steady (yet shitty job that has nothing to do with the degree you're paying off) to pay off that loan fast, so your credit score is high and you don't have  more debt than you can afford, since you don't have that really good job yet.
You find that you have health issues in America? Well, heck- you're in America! Take that extra loan payment down and pay two hundred dollars for a health paln starting now, and continue paying more and more until forever!
You're an American! You should have a shiny car, expensive hobbies, tons of friends, and a hoard of children! You still don't have that four bed room home with a garden staff and home owner's insurance? Your children don't have cars? You don't go on exciting, expensive vacations?
You need to get a life. You need to try harder.
You don't have enough.

We are in the midst of a governmental financial shitter dive. Our acquiring of wealth on a National scope has gone to a whole new level, where not only can't the Fed back up it's indebted citizens- it's banks, but it can't back up it's states, it's army, it's peace keeping, it's research. Yet cars still sell like gangbusters for "starting under $19,000!"
WOW.
EEEEW.
Whats so wrong with that?

It chaps my ass is what.

I'm going to get a job because at this juncture in my life, I need something to do which earns money enough to sustain my livelihood. I also need the job because I need to do SOMETHING- I need to interact with people, and without a job I just don't jump at the opportunity to do that.
I would like a few more dollars to feel secure about, but I have to keep my thoughts below grandeur. What I think I need to be going for is to be in my place, to for right now, concentrate on the space around myself in the middle-lower class. Adelaide's is a small business, the owner is sustained separately from the business, so the business is there for people like me who need a little something to do for money, a little something to do with their time. This job will probably never make me more than an extra couple grand per year. Not enough for the American Suburb face lift. Not even enough to buy a car on financing, not enough to buy and sustain a health plan, not enough to buy all new furniture- my needs do not allow for it.
My needs are simple but there are plenty of them. My life is boring but it's plenty expensive.
I am not the exciting fire dancer.
I am not the socialite, the group mother, the doctor, or a master of a craft.
I am not the life of the party, or the leader of the pack.
When I was little, I thought I would be.
I see now that I am just someone.
I am the listener, the wanderer, the watcher of the fire dancer. I am Aliesha. The barista from noon to closing makes a good drink, is polite, maybe sometimes is a little chatty. I am the introverted, unproductive, highly evolved member of an extroverted society.
I am just here. I am just starting out.
But I'm sure it won't stay that way forever.

Nothing but New Growth

Four week old Roma in front, Early Girl back there.

If everything could be short periods of growth followed by uninterrupted perfect fruition, would we be that much better off? 

 

We seek the result in a thing like the life garden. We sow the seeds of education, professional experience and exposure in hopes that the money we can generate, can sustain life in such a way that is comfortable, in a way that is fulfilling. The times when the seeds don't show for weeks, and upon giving up and mushing the whole damn thing, you see them starting to turn green with veins and first leaves, don't get pinned up on the refrigerator as a loving reminder of your capabilities.

My garden, the real one, and my life garden is at this point, invisible. 

Oh yeah, it's there. If you had gnome senses you would know that there are seeds and tiny rootlets saying yes to spring time wake up call. The tomatoes are a bit older and will remain inside pets unless we get some really bitchin weather this summer, but even they will be immature much longer than they will be fruitful. and I will miss them when they bear yummy fruit and die. The winter squash which are springing up after a long prelude in peat moss will be a labor of patience and attention all season long, until they ripen, which hopefully will happen before they turn to slime. My job is going to happen SOON! I will be generating an income which will meet the rent and utility needs to live in this lovely abode! It will probably be boring, I will probably get my feelings hurt, there will be an entirely huge new portion of my time being spent on someone else s clock,  during which times I will probably have strong urges to scream and run out of there, into the sunshine and ocean. I will fight these urges while staying in the moment, in the nickel generating moment. That's right I'm gonna do it. I'm going to do it because I do enjoy my life, and I want to sustain it.
Just be patient, I'm still growing my first set of leaves. 

Today M.J. and his man buddy went to the vet. clinic to show off Boy Dog's strong tail wag!
We don't know what it was, but he's back for a while.
Sometimes the plant falls over, you stake it up. It keeps growing.
His eyes shine bright again, and he recognizes his family and we are grateful. 

I can't wait to bring home money from a regular, accountable job again- I realize how vital that cash responsibility is to a person as a parent, or keeper of fine pets, or a gardener. I should have had a wad of money to contribute to Fred's wallet so he wouldn't feel that empty spot so well. If I want to take on these life choices, and count on them for the fulfillment of my days, it is my responsibility to be able to sustain them to the end. I will need to buy planting medium, medicines, animal food, ingredients to make spirit lifting foods,  fuel and insurance for the car which will take me to new places to spend time in togetherness with the crops of  my conscious life.

Bastard Namesake

Just about anyone who knows Fred knows M.J. You know how people who refer to Marcie, as So and So's dog? Well, people around here know Fred as M.J.'s keeper.


Today Fred noticed that M.J. was flinching when anyone raised a hand to give the big lug a pat. Weird.
Later in the morning, M.J. vomited. Gross, but dogishly normal.
Around three o'clock, he couldn't regulate his balance, or even hold a steady gaze.
Max Junior, Bu Bu, Boo Boo, Baby Boy Dog, Kid-o are some of many names for this critter. He's a very good boy.
The vet did blood work and said that his organs are healthy and functioning and no toxic substances can be detected. Vitals are all good. His red blood cell count is low. Bleeding.
His disoriented stumble and fall attempts at walking, and his flinching reaction to stimuli in the area around his head makes the vet think the problem is neurological.  But there was no MRI or further investigative testing done today. Fred's wallet just can't. As he sobbed.
Why is your brain bleeding, boy dog?

Life Rule #42: Don't fuck with a guy's dog.
Fred is an extremely independent. Friendly, sociable- just independent. This dog has been Fred's angel for six years and that peanut butter shaded wuppy has mushed into every crack and corner of their life together.
Sometimes there is only time.

No sleep for this red house. Fred is going through emotional surges dependent upon M.J.'s condition.
Talk about considering the moment.

 

Because the Sun Never Shines on Closed Doors

It's time I'll take before I begin
Three sheets to the wind, three sheets to the wind.

Sometimes I wake up in a drunken rage. No booze involved.
Sometimes it's a belligerent sadness without cause or purpose. Something harmless happens in the early hours or during a time when I am particularly distracted, when I am admittedly rationality-compromised, I take it as some abstract version of a personal assault or threat and go bonkers. When I come to my senses it's as if I've awakened to find I'm in some alley in the sketchy part of my mind, wearing a french tutu and a wrestling singlet. My mustache askew, false eyelashes everywhere. A mess! There goes the neighborhood.   

Isn't it incredible the way that being conscious of our actions adds such quality to them? Mom taught us to do unto others as you would have them do unto you.
That means taking a second- a psychic hiccup- to take notice of the situation, the context, the subtleties of the moment. For some reason, maybe it's the tedious nature of the practice in contrast to our seriously important tin-toy lives, we all sometimes leave it in the car or forget it at the office.
This wee small thing combined with the practice of also becoming conscious of our placement in this one moment, on this planet; in life, is perhaps the first step to all things good. The Better Path.
Personally, I notice my "footsteps" become less awkwardly-wandering and more seemingly choreographed when I focus on the face value of things, start taking things in without judging or categorizing. Sometimes it's not easy.

The little simple things make the most of life when we practice like a discipline or protocol for life the constant small act of consciousness.
I know I need to edit more blips of reexamination into my brain.
The unconscious 'dome' is a petri dish for nasty things. Our inner reactions and judgments create our actions, or lack there of. Simple enough- yeah right.

Our inner reactions are like the environment of the petri dish- the warmth, the light, the moisture- which make it ideal for new growth. They are things we take with us from childhood, sometimes they aren't the most sensible things to have lugged around with you all these years, looking back, but eh, what do you do?
Will the values, morals, love, fears, defensive complexes, hypocritical patterns, and ingrained/learned but shadowed parts of our minds create helpful Penicillin- smiles, acceptance, tough truth, patience, or will our unchecked minds create a dangerous, explosive funny colored mold?

Here's some stuff I do to get back to being less destructive:

Having cuddle time with Dr. Bones, Gretchen and Tiberious

Grow broccoli and Thyme and Squashes

Grow Onions

Go look at the sunset into the Ocean!