foggy mornings

Back in college I would occasionally get up early and sit on a bench that was carved out of a massive tree trunk and smoke cigarettes with my friend Carrie. We used to sip coffee in our pajama pants, surrounded by redwoods and silence, watching the fog slowly disappear. Carrie introduced me to this practice of hers-- getting up before the world begins to stir. She has a delicate nature, it's part of her charm, and I think that she needed to prepare herself each day for whatever would transpire with these moments of reflection. Regardless of how early I got up I would inevitably get swept up in it-- the sunshiny exploits of the noisemakers. But Carrie always maintained that morning calm. Inside her is an endless foggy morning.

My sweet friend just got engaged this past week. I knew that she would eventually marry the fellow she's been dating, but I was still somehow surprised and-- I think the appropriate word here is "moved." I was reflecting on those mornings in Santa Cruz and thought that, perhaps, in her silence, Carrie was waiting. Her eternal calm reflected a vague knowledge of something to come, a destiny she would gracefully fall into like a warm embrace. She's not just a bride to be but a grown up woman. A grown up woman who wears fuzzy gray sweaters.

I'm sitting here wondering what will happen when the fog clears this time. Little blond kids, most likely. I continue to be amazed by my friends and the fact that they just keep on growing up. Off we go again into different phases of our lives. Thank goodness for these milestones-- marriages, graduations, birthdays and such. Otherwise when would I take the time out to notice how wonderful and heartbreakingly beautiful growing up has been?

The move to Alaska

Before flying out of Los Angeles to Alaska, the place I'd chosen to move, I sat on the blue carpet of the Airport terminal-- one of those big circular ends of the Airport with 5 different gates leading to 5 different planes leading to 5 different destinations across the globe-- and I learned how to play hearts. I've "learned how to play hearts" several times in my life, it must be said, because I can never remember the rules of that game so I just tell people I've never played before. This particular time I was being taught by a guy that would become my boyfriend and with whom I would eventually live with in a sad little basement apartment with an obstructed view of a broken down datsun. But that's a different blogpost. A little kid came to look at my cat. I waited with several other kids (yeah we were kids, at 24 or 25 years old) who were also moving to AK.

I don't remember much about the plane ride. Never take your cat out of it's cage on a plane, that's what I got out of that experience.

I met a stranger in the airport who was to be my first roommate in AK, and he took me to our little house on the opposite side of town. As I followed him to his car in the underground garage I kept waiting to confront the cold (it was January and I'd lived in California my whole life). It hit me in the garage, a refreshing, icy feeling. I was almost disappointed not to walk into a snowstorm. I expected a much more extreme reaction from my body, but I was okay with it. (I'd get my fill of extreme discomfort later on.) It was nighttime, and my first view of Alaska was driving out of the airport to empty streets, the sidewalks covered with piles of snow well over 5 feet, and massive pines with white covered boughs. It looked fake to me, not in a negative way, but it resembled the only things I'd seen before that were similar: fake snow scenes made of foam, plastic, and covered in glitter; ancient black and white movie scenes; etc.

The next important moment was the next morning, waking up and seeing the sun get up at 9am, just barely rising and lying low but shining bright below the treeline on a bright blue sky, and the view out of my window-- snow, sunlight, and the Chugach Mountains. The Chugach. Covered in snow, infinitely older than me, infinitely larger than me, holding onto parts of this world that I thought were lost to America-- real wilderness and all the secrets of land that has never been stepped on and animals that will never see a human. A secret part of my heart, a part of myself that is frightening to consider. It is not to be understood. You belong to it. You love it, and you fear it.

That was my first morning.

a simple, frugal heart

I can hear birds chirping but I can't see them, only imagine them in big leafy trees protecting little brown nests made of twigs. In my room, sitting on the unmade bed, propped up against the wall looking through the iron bedframe, through the wooden window shades, through their reflection on the glass and I can barely see outside, but I know cars are passing by on their way home from work. "Producers and commuters of steel civilization." Or more likely, men and women who sit behind a computer all day and stare at brightly lit screens. The room fills with light and darkens again as clouds are passing in front of the sun. It's a summer afternoon in early June-- in Los Angeles we're still pushing through the mists, walking through wet sprinkling mornings and driving home in the victorious sun and it's generous heat.

I'm glad to have a large bed to serve as my desk until the rest of the room gets cleaned up and I can move everything else in. All that's missing is the sound of the sea. (Don't focus on what's not there, don't try to change it but accept it, appreciate the slow afternoon, the commuter traffic, the obstructed view and the waning sunlight, she tells herself.)

It's a new goal, or rather an old goal made new again, to force myself into the moment and appreciate it for what it is. (to have a simple and frugal heart). And then to write down those little details that make this moment unlike any other. Right now I appreciate post-shower freshness, a combination of pillows, a book that smells good-- old pages smell sweet, bare feet, wet hair, and the promise of a chicken dinner.

"We stayed silent by the brazier until far into the night. I felt once more how simple and frugal a thing is happiness: a glass of wine, a roast chestnut, a wretched little brazier, the sound of the sea. Nothing else. And all that is required to feel that here and now is happiness is a simple and frugal heart."

Remember.

Audrey Hepburn

Some days I will meticulously set about composing an outfit. On other days, I'll throw on a tattered shirt, goodwill jeans, and some flip flops. I don't think that this shows inconsistency in style because I believe that it is more than choice of clothing. Style is displayed through a woman's compassion, her intelligence, her creativity, her love for the world. These are four things Audrey Hepburn never left home without. She lived with quiet dignity and humility. The same understated style that guided her choice of clothing also guided her daily actions. She maintained a clearly observable connection to her basic humanness, which allowed her to connect so wholeheartedly with the characters she played in film, remain close to her family and friends, and to empathize with the starving children that she aided later in life. She's a new role model of mine.



AH is remembered as a paragon of classic style, known for her simple and elegant ballet flats and button down oxford shirts, collar up, of course. (Above with Billy Wilder and William Wyler, directors of Sabrina.) She might have encouraged today's women to find their own style and stick with it, as opposed to becoming slaves to the latest trends.



She formed a lasting friendship with Humbert Givenchy after their first collaboration for the film, Sabrina. The two are photographed together above.



According to the biography written by her son, Audrey spent much of her developing childhood years in occupied Holland during World War II, and was severely malnourished, which had an impact on her figure later in life. (That's how come she's so skinny.) This experience also led her to become a spokesperson for UNICEF and visit places like Somalia... she could relate to these children whose basic needs went unmet. In the picture above she has recovered well and is about 16 years old.





Little interesting facts: Audrey carried messages for the Dutch resistance in her shoes; she dreamed of becoming a prima ballerina and managed to continue her study of ballet throughout her childhood; and when the occupation finally ended, malnourished and unhealthy, she was aided by UNICEF, the organization for which she later become a spokesperson and volunteer.











A charity has been founded in her name to benefit low income children. The link for more info, how to donate funds, and how to volunteer with UNICEF can be found here. For an interesting read, pick up Audrey Hepburn: An Elegant Spirit, by Sean Hepburn Ferrer. That's where I found these photos. He's not the best writer, but it reads like an interesting and heartfelt eulogy from a son to his Mom, and is worth a look-see if only for the pictures.

The little bullfighter is born!

I suppose this is how change happens...

One day you're sitting under a tree and you decide to do something, believe that you can accomplish it, and then go about making it happen. At the age of 16 I made a mental list of things to accomplish. After compiling this list I decided to take a break, which lasted about nine years... until my moment under the tree! I've decided to start actively checking things off, and currently am in the process of starting my own little business (number one on the list), which I have dubbed The Little Bullfighter. I'll be selling vintage clothing online via Etsy and my style blog: www.thelittlebullfighter.blogspot.com to kick things off. The first items will be up on the site around the 18th or 19th of August, I'm hoping. I need some time to take some photos and one of my lovely models won't be in town till next week. But hooray for grand inspiration and drive!

Speaking of inspiration, my love for classic style in clothing is surpassed only by my love for classic film and the people who made them. So for fun, and for inspiration for my latest business venture, I want to share a little bit of about some of my favorite men and women in black and white. And I'll throw in some other random bits of loveliness as I please. Whateva, whateva, I do what I want.



This is a picture of the tree I was sitting under. Anyone who knows where it is can understand why it brings me back to the age of 16, and why it inspires. :)

Los Angeles Blog #1

I stepped out of my car and onto a street in Los Angeles's South Central wearing my interview-best outfit. It was mid-day but the streets were still full of people. Cars were driving by slowly, little kids ditched school and wandered the neighborhood, a drunk homeless man walked without a destination. Behind an iron wrought gate a woman played with her daughter as a young man rode past the house on a bike that was much too small to be his own.

I felt dainty, and a bit ridiculous, in my fashionable skirt. A local man did appreciate it and was sure to let me know as he passed me by on the sidewalk. He said, "Hey bebe, garble garble drunk talk garble garble, yeaaaa-haa!" Still got it, I reflected.

South Central is different from the part of LA I grew up in. You can feel the difference in your attitude, thought, and even your body when moving from one place to the other. A dirty sidewalk makes you feel different than a clean one. And you can't forget about our country's poverty issues when you're constantly surrounded by it's symptoms. And you realize that some kids grow up with this feeling everyday, as opposed to you, who spent the 1992 riots in the comfort of her home watching the Sound of Music, blissfully unaware of the fact that the smoke in the air was coming from a violent mob only 10 miles away. Being in South Central is just different. So is being in Malibu, Westchester, Echo Park, or even... the valley.

This is one thing I love about Los Angeles-- it's incredible diversity. Social classes exist separately in their own little neighborhoods, but we're all right next to each other. We cross through, over, and in between each other's worlds to get to work or to a friend's house.

Sitting in bumper to bumper traffic yesterday, which I don't mind as long as I have good music, I noticed that to my left there was a Muslim woman wearing a head scarf who had prayer beads hanging from her rear-view mirror. To my right was a Latina woman who had a rosary hanging from her mirror. We all have our separate boxes that we live in: our cars, our cultures, our neighborhoods, our economic classes. While we often let these barriers separate us, sometimes we allow them to fade. And even when we do not let our barriers down on purpose, commonalities still exist that connect us, like those two sets of prayer beads on rear-view mirrors, that remind us again that our barriers are, in fact, permeable.

While I do miss Alaska, it's a pleasure to be back weaving through Los Angeles on the freeways. I hope to be writing about it much more in the future. I owe this post to AJ who asked me to write about my city for his newsletter, and who forced me to look at it through new eyes. THanks dood!

The Greatest Lessons of my Life (are still being learn't)

There comes a time in every person’s life when something horrible happens, something that shakes up your life so drastically, that it leaves you questioning your very understanding of good and evil, of how and why the world exist, of why you exist. At this moment, you may come to the conclusion that the universe is meaningless, or that its meaning is too great for our feeble, un-godlike minds to understand. Either way, the person has to accept that a satisfactory answer to the question, “WHYYYYYY!?!?!?” is not available.
It is at this crucial point, that a person begins a journey of thought and action to give meaning to his or her own life, despite the fact that shit happens, and ain’t nothing you can do about it. There are many strategies. Some achieve peace and meaning through spirituality, and I know others have chosen to try to live each day as if it were their last, without regret. In my moment, (I was in high school at the time) I chose the latter.

In Zorba the Greek, the character Zorba chose to live each day as if it were his last, also. I’m going to include one part of the story here:

"Look, one day I had gone to a little village. An old grandfather of ninety was busy planting an almond tree. 'What, grandad!' I exclaimed. 'Planting an almond tree?' And he, bent as he was, turned around and said: 'My son, I carry on as if I should never die.' I replied: 'And I carry on as if I was going to die any minute.' Which of us was right, boss?"

Living each day as if it were your last gives you permission to do a lot of things that have negative effects in the long term. For instance, if there’s a chance I could die tomorrow, I’m going to eat this entire can of bean dip with my fingers, I’m not going to class, and I think I might challenge someone to a knife fight and see if I can win. Etcetera, etcetera. I doubt I am the only one who has ever thought this way. And I’d bet that I’m not the only one who found herself living longer than expected, suffering the consequences of her choices, and finally asking herself, “What now?”

Well, now it’s time to plant some trees I suppose. It wasn’t as clear to me as it is now what my new path would be. I just knew that I was going to be less destructive… This idea is actually what brought about the title of this blog. My bro once wrote me a letter when I was still in high school that mentioned something about how I have a wildfire inside. While I am fairly sure he was referencing the intense mother-daughter fights I used to regale the family with, I felt it was an accurate description of my “insides,” so to speak. I felt very intensely that… I felt very intensely. My passion was misdirected and much like a wildfire, I caused havoc throughout the Californian West Coast. So I decided, hey—let’s keep the passion, just express it in a different way. Wildflowers. Yeah.

So at this point, I “followed my heart” to Thailand, then Alaska, and I took some chances. And who would have guessed, the meaningless universe threw me a bone. By being my goofy self I can do a lot of good things, make positive impressions on the lives of others. While I’m not prepared to write about it all just yet, I know things are happening. Far from figuring this all out, I do feel more confident that at the very least, my feet have tread the trailhead.

And by the way, I have never been in a knife fight.

Because many wonderful things have happened in my life besides that last post, and I didn't want to leave with a sad note, I thought I would write a second blog today and list some of the reasons my life is awesome.

1. I got a new key chain.

Yesterday at the end of the day, one of my veterans came into my office with a tote bag. He offered it up and inside was a green key chain and a little painted canvas. He wrote me a letter to say thanks "for talking to him." This guy was one of my "special" vets, who for one reason or another I felt especially attached to. I suppose part of it was that I know so assuredly that he is going to be okay, and that it's due to his own struggle to be a good man. He also has been going through a very difficult medical treatment that nearly killed him, and often times was barely able to get out of bed. Yet he would come in to work as often as possible, sometimes having to leave in the middle of the day and go to the hospital to recieve blood, he was so bad off. He would come into my office and I'd ask him about his meds, how he was doing, that sort of thing. I told him about my Dad and how he recovered from a very difficult treatment as well. I think we helped each other out. Anyways, I did my best not to get teary eyed with the gift. The end of his letter said, "I hope that someday, someone can do for you what you did for me." It meant a lot.

2. I made a new friend.

And she's awesome! This girl is making my last month here such a grand finale, and I'm having a harder time leaving as a result. It's nice to have a gal pal to talk to who I feel genuinely comfortable with.

3. I am making a positive lifestyle change...

...that has led to the loss of eight pounds!!

4. We are officially gaining sunlight in Alaska!

5. It's always sunny in Los Angeles!

6. I have AJ for one more month of love, love, love.

7. In one more month I can see my parents and bro again.

8. I own ice skates.

9. Tomorrow night is the board game/knee hockey tournament.

10. Tutto è veramente bello!

A Damn Shame

I wrote this note yesterday when I was at work. Every time one of my guys or girls relapses it does hurt a bit. So I write something down about it and then I let it go. Here's one from yesterday.

Today should have been one of the worst days of Mr. Veteran’s life. He had been discovered drinking the day before he was supposed to leave for his daughter’s wedding.

For a moment when I walked in to the room to get my morning coffee I felt that perhaps this would be a day of reckoning for him. His eyes were bloodshot and teary, and he expressed worry about what would happen next. A month before I had taken him, myself, to a homeless shelter to sit and listen to a reading of names of those who were living on the streets, who had died in the past year. He was obviously uncomfortable. He had never been on the streets, but said to me that he’d used up the last of his resources. If he failed this time he would end up here with the drunks who came up to me, one moment in tears, the next in a jovial mood to tell me how many fights they’d been in. He also told me that if he were ever on the streets, he would surely die. He would surely end it, himself.

Later on when he seemed fine, and got permission from his poor daughter whose wedding he will surely ruin to come visit anyways, I realized that this, his seventh relapse, would be erased from his consciousness like all the other important moments when he should have learned some kind of lesson from his pain. He’s going to depend on his daughter to house him and she won’t have the strength to say no, or otherwise he’ll be on the streets.

This week is a record breaking cold week in Anchorage. For the past seven days it hasn’t reached above zero temperatures.

That last entry came right before the onset of the flu. I was out of commission for awhile, and I guess I lost my momentum with the blog writing. But I have no excuse now-- I'm feeling better, the holidays have passed, and I am in Anchorage, spending my last few weeks of work tying up loose ends and applying for jobs online. In 2009, I will either begin to work as a Regional Recruiter for the Peace Corps, a Park Ranger in the Santa Monica Mountains, or perhaps a Special Events Assistant for the Museum of Latin American Art in Long Beach. Of course there is also the possibility that I will be unemployed for awhile and end up working at a Sizzler and living at my Mom's house. But for now I have high hopes that I will be hired on someplace where I can feel proud of myself.



Flying home for the break was a surreal experience. My flight left around 2:30 am. I popped two Tylenol PM after having a beer or two and tried without success to keep my eyes open until the plane took off. I woke up once when the stewardess was offering drinks and ordered a cup of tea. The woman in the seat next to me offered to pay for it since I was struggling to find my wallet. Later on I would repay her with a consecrated stick of gum. I fell asleep again and awoke when I reached my stop-over in Las Vegas. Out the window, the hills in the surrounding desert looked like topographical maps-- layers of dirt formed circular mounds with flat tops, piled one on top of the other. THe plane landed and the sun filtered in through the window. I closed my eyes and the light made the backs of my eyelids red. At that moment I remembered what it was like to soak up warmth from the sun, and also how much I missed it's bright existence in my life. I thought to myself, "this is the feeling of pure love."



It was an appropriate beginning to the week I spent with my family and catching up with friends. Returning home is like returning to myself again. I will be going back to los angeles very soon once my term here is up, and feel equal parts excitement to be with my parents and brother in los angeles's warm embrace, and reluctance to leave the person I love here in Anchorage, the first job that ever meant more to me than myself, the vets, the high peaks of white mountains and massive chunks of ice floating in a black ocean. Dramatic, eh?



And just for fun, look at this weird dog...

It's been a few days since I've written... the past week has been hectic, and fun. My time at work is winding down to an end, and when I leave our peer support tech will be taking over my day to day duties, so I'm spending a little bit of time training, still teaching my class, working on a marketing report, applying for jobs back home, and having some fun. Tuesday night we had our annual Thanksgiving dinner at work, when all of the current and former program participants come for a catered prime rib dinner. After eating we all played bingo for prizes like crock pots, fishing poles, gift certificates, DVDs, and more goodies. I can't take home prizes because I'm not a program graduate, but I still play. The glory of winning is enough for me.

Wednesday night I got free tickets to The Nutcracker ballet from my boss. The only catch was that I had to drive a car full of veterans there, which wasn't bad at all. Who else could say they had 8 dates to the ballet that night? We were in the very back row, but it was a small auditorium, and there were no bad seats. AJ came along and I think we enjoyed being able to dress up and look out over Anchorage from the large windows of the Performing Arts Center, as much as we enjoyed the ballet. We went from sitting in a somewhat bare apartment with a hole in the ceiling to a ballroom overlooking the park in one night.

Thursday I got up at 8:00 am. It would remain dark outside for another hour and a half. I began washing and preparing a 20 pound turkey for my first time. About four hours later, which was two hours too early, the bird was done. But everything turned out great despite the bad timing. I did leave the giblet bag in the turkey when I cooked it, but besides that, it was perfect! Aj made deviled eggs, and the other vistas came with mashed potatoes and gravy, vegetables and desserts, and I ended the night by having a couple drinks at a local bar named after a salmon (humpy's) and falling asleep four hours before everyone else.

Yesterday we were lazy and slept mostly, and spent the last couple hours of light walking to a movie theater where we could sit in the dark. We saw Four Christmases, then walked down to the local bookstore and spent a couple hours just wandering around.

Today I went snowshoeing with some friends up in Eklutna by a lake that has not yet frozen over. Turns out snowshoeing is just like hiking, only more intense. The snowshoes are made from a light metal and attach to my shoes with straps. They are meant to prevent my feet from sinking into the snow when it's five feet or deeper. It's a bit like climbing stairs because you have to lift your feet so high, and pluck them out of the snow when they get stuck. We walked while the snow fell and then stopped at a large tree, grabbed snow off of the branches and ate it. This zero calorie snack is a wonderful treat after a long hike. The best part of the trip were the moments spent in silence. When no one moved, there was no sound. Only slowly falling snowflakes everywhere and a million tall grey trees in all directions in the fog. In the distance the mountains could be seen through the snow. The forest was endless.
I still have one more day to relax! I'll try to upload some pictures tomorrow and will also try to not be as lazy about writing as I have in the past few days.

Loogie sandwich

Today one of the homeless vets lost his job. He works in a food service capacity and threatened to spit in someone's food, yada yada yada, he's waiting around in the hallway.
This young gentleman is a graduate of my job readiness course. While I do not expect to be able to solve a lifetime's worth of mental health issues with one five week group, it is disheartening to see this man so genuinely upset because he doesn't know what he did wrong. After some counseling with a coworker of mine, he was able to see his part in the conflict, but I worry for him. When will he be able to stop himself from acting like this? When will any of them?
I've adopted several rowdy, elderly sons.

It'll be okay. Change happens slowly, especially with this crowd. I have hope for this person, which is why it worries me to see his setbacks over and over again. What can I say? I'm glad I work here, but I'm relieved to be going home in 20 minutes, childless and free.

Finally... some pictures

Here's some pictures! The first three are from Resurrection Pass down in Girdwood, Alaska. The last two are from the coastal trail here in Anchorage, where I took a walk today while there was still some light.

You have earned the new puppy we're bringing with us to the white house.

I miss my old walks down West Cliff with Ms Carrie. Regina Spektor always reminds me of those days! I'm getting ready to leave work and go home then make the trek downtown to a little bar called Darwin's Theory and when I get drunk I get! But I won't get drunk becaue I don't have enough money and because my Mom reads this blog. But I will order a strong drink and eat some stale popcorn and walk home satisfied. I'll try to remember to take a picture or two at the bar and show ya next time. Last time we were there, a drunk elderly gentleman tried to sell us homemade christmas cards for 20 dollars a pack. Unfortunately for him, we had our meager funds set aside for drinking that night. As a friend says, "Vistas. That's French for poor." Anyways, it's a pretty laid back Alaska bar.

... I would continue this blog but my coworker is in my office talking about his internet dating adventures. Must go.

One man's trash is another man's abandoned teenager

Nebraskan parents are abandoning their teenage children in hospitals after the passing of a controversial law, as explained in this article. The law was meant to prevent parents from abandoning their unwanted babies.

You might be asking yourself, "Wait, a law that allows you to abandon your baby, to prevent you from abandoning your baby?" It's confusing but true.

The law is a protective measure that has worked in other states, to protect the lives of babies who would have otherwise been left in garbage bins and other equally depressing places. Many states have a law like this, but usually the law stipulates that the children must be under a year old. This Nebraskan law was expanded to include children up to 17 years old whose parents are unable to provide for their well-being. However, what Nebraskan lawmakers are now finding is that parents who are financially capable of caring for their children are now abandoning them for other reasons, and using this law to get away with it!

What I want to know is, why would any parent give away his or her child if they didn't have to? Surely the child is worth something. Teenagers may only bring in a few thousand dollars, but babies are going for millions of dollars on the black market. And these are white babies! Those things sell like hotcakes! In times of such economic uncertainty, why would any American turn away a lucrative financial opportunity? Not only are they refusing a chance to earn good money, but some Americans are even spending money to drive from nearby states into Nebraska to drop off their leftover kids!

Am I the only one who sees this obvious misstep?

"Write in recollection and amazement for yourself."

Standing at the bus stop outside of work I find myself gathering little piles of snow by scraping the side of my boot against the ice on the ground. When I get it about an inch high I smash it down and compact it back into the ice and begin again. It's 4:30 and the sun is almost gone. The sky is pink and yellow with a winding blue path, receding into the too-huge sky. I welcome thoughts of my old favorite writer, Jack, once again. It was the way he saw the world, and the way he went about exploring it that drew me in.

America, January nineteenth, two thousand and eight.
"...It occurs to me that I am America. I am talking to myself again."

That's not Jack, that's Allen. But they both liked to write about America. Allen started with his conscience. Jack came from the perspective of the land first and the road... and then the people, and he expanded from there. San Francisco was the "end of land sadness." His road west was filled with "verduous fields of prune and juice joy." Everything and everyone different. We've all got different experiences of America. Different ways of waiting for the bus.

The tone of this little piece is already wistful, and I feel like that's the mindset I have, looking around me and only now realizing-- Alaska... America. It's the dwindling nature of my time here, maybe, that's allowing me to appreciate it. Maybe it just took me awhile to see it and not resent it for being other than what I expected. In any case, wistful is the word. I've been crushed by the world's weight in beauty. It's a frustration I am happy to bear, having seen things that strike me with awe, that I had no part in creating and no control over... These things make me feel small, and my only relief is to share the feeling with someone else. I keep thinking of Lewis and Clark and their expedition out West, and what it was like to see all this America for the first time. Well, not Alaska, but you know what I mean. What an adventure this has been.

"We turned at a dozen paces, for love is a duel, and looked up at each other for the last time..."

I always end up writing that poem down (the one in the previous post). It's funny how certain things just stick with you. I didn't write it myself, but it's from a reading jack kerouac did. he's got a lot of good spoken word stuff... hearing his voice and the rhythm he assigns to the lines he wrote, it makes it easier to see and understand what it was he was writing about. and how rhythm plays a part in all of it. anyways. ANYWAYS.

I had a blister on the bottom of my foot from wearing my new sandals, but nothing will stop me from pretending my feet are warm. It's June and to me, that means flip flops are mandatory, despite the fact that I live in Alaska and it's raining. So we walked around all day-- it was Saturday downtown and tourists were filing out of large busses and into sandwich shops. Eventually we made our way down to park strip where the oceans festival was taking place. There were a few rows of booths underneath tents where craft stores had set up makeshift shops and environmental groups waited around for people to buy tshirts. One place was just selling bowls of macaroni and cheese. We wandered around and finally ended up in the beer garden, or really a section of the grass roped off by orange plastic fencing, where people and their dogs could drink locally brewed beer, sit on the grass, and listen to music. About five large rasberry wheat beers later it started to rain and most of my friends had left. AJ and I were at the foot of the stage where Sonvolt was playing. It started to pour but lots of people did not seem to mind, and in fact it sort of added to the whole wonderfulness of the whole thing, dancing around and jumping and spinning and getting all wet and not caring and feeling a little drunk. Some girl, extremely high or drunk or both, flirting with another guy equally gone, slammed her skull into my face while playing the air guitar with vehemence, and my lip began to bleed. I pushed her away and we stayed for awhile, until the band left and then we left too. It had stopped pouring and now the sky was breaking up... the grey was in pieces with strips of bright light slicing through. The sky, I keep saying, looks bigger here, more immense, and closer to the ground. It stretched out over the rest of park strip and I took a picture with AJ under a small tree with bright green leaves.

"I was traveling west one time
along the stateline of colorado-- it's arid western one
and the stateline of poor utah
when i saw huge and mast in the clouds
the great image of god
with forefinger pointed straight at me
through halos and rolls and gold folds
that were like the existence of a gleaming spirit
his right hand would sayeth
go though across the ground
go moan for man
go moan
go groan
go groan alone
go roll your bones
alone
go thou and be little beneath my sight
go thou and be my newest seed in the pod
go thou, go thou
die hence.
and may this world report you
well and truly.

Maybe I should write in this thing more often, and not be as concerned about writing something terribly prolific. It's just that when your day to day business no longer consists of wandering in and out of strange countries, you end up writing about what you ate for lunch or some crap like that, and I just want to write something worthwhile.
I could write about work, man I could tell you some stories about these guys, but I don't know if that would be violating people's personal stories. Basically I don't want to get sued. Maybe if I don't include names or tell people where I actually work, I could get away with it. Lawyers in the family have any input?

...I'm not sure that anyone even reads this blog besides Will Fischer.

I'll tell you something I'm thinking about today. A Salinger book that Carrie let me borrow, which I believe I kept, and which is now collecting dust back at my parents' house-- Raise High the Roofbeams, Carpenters and Seymour. (sorry carrie) It was not my favorite of all his books but it had some of my favorite pieces in it. Like little chunks or ideas that I remember when I'm supposed to be working, or when i'm in a meeting. One of these is a letter that Buddy (JD himself) gets from his older brother Seymour (genius who killed himself). Seymour tells Buddy that he saw him write down his profession on a form he was filling out. Buddy wrote "writer," under profession, and Seymour thought it was hilarious, because "writing has never been anything less than your religion," he told his bro. The letter was written in the middle of the night by seymour when he was reviewing his brother's latest story and providing notes on it. he was giving advice and considering his brother's religion, he found the story was not up to Buddy's usual work, and got carried away in the letter. He started getting caught up and even a little cheesy and told his brother...Write with all his stars out!!! Thinking of a black sky full of stars, when you look up and you see all those little lights twinkling at you, something rare to a city girl, something rare for the sky anywhere, like it's showing off, (and don't you know that god is pooh bear?) and I understood exactly what he was talking about. yeah. write with all your stars out. and live that way too.