How many freaking MT entry forms can I have open at the same time in the same browser actively writing? The answer: 3!
This is a photograph of me in a field of quartz crystals. I was hiking up a wash and I kept finding these huge chunks of shimmering white rocks. Sam was scouting ahead of me and called me to come up over a pile of rocks. What I saw, delighted me. A field of these sparkling delights.
For some reason, I always seem to lose or forget my standard sunglasses when I go out to the desert. But lucky for me, I have my burning man big oggle-eye ones stashed in the glove box. I feel kind of weird being all clubbed out in the middle of nowhere.
Since Gloria has been gone, I haven't been eating that much pasta. It's not that we eat a lot of pasta anyway, but usually Gloria is the one who wants pasta and makes some amazing authentic Italian sauce. I was poking around in the kitchen last night, trying to decide what to cook and realize it had been months (well since I moved in with Sam in January) since I had Ragu.
Ragu, I have come to learned, is a meat sauce. Gloria makes hers with ground beef, bacon or cubed prosciutto, spices, maybe a chili and tomato sauce. It's often tossed with penne or fuscilli or bowtie pasta. So last night, I pulled out the meat, put a pot of water on to boil, got out some sauce and fished the penne out of the cabinet and proceeded to make my own ragu. Moki took great interest (he always gets some Ragu - that fabulously spoiled doggie!) and stood by my side in the kitchen. Finally I drained the pasta, put it in the big green bowl and poured my ragu on it.
All the while I was making the ragu, I kept thinking about the stories Gloria told me about her grandmother - Nonna Tesoro. About her cook books, about the stories of visiting her. You, dear readers, have a treat, because when I opened up Gloria's blog today, she wrote all about Nonna Tesoro! I was thinking about many of these same stories last night as the ragu bubbled away. I was missing Gloria and our conversations. Cooking with and for each other. I miss the breaks in the day, walking Moki around the neighborhood and our discussions about our various projects.
I started feeling all nostalgic for Gloria and Nonna Tesoro. I never met her, but I feel something. I think Gloria feels some what of the same for my Grandmother - Grammy Grace - who died last year. Most of the furniture in our house, including the plates we eat off of, the glasses we drink out of and the silver ware - actually silver plated silverware were hers. We both refer to Grammy Grace as Grammy - as if she is both of our Grandmothers - and why not? If Grammy Grace had known Gloria, she would have liked her - and I'm sure would have shared some of her crazy traveling stories.
All these things are percolating around in my head and I'm in the kitchen. I pull down one of grammy's beautiful blown glass wine glasses - it's holds barely a drop of wine - and look for some wine. I fill the glass, take the bowl of tossed penne with ragu and sit down to eat. I raise the glass and make a toast - to Grandma Tesoro (and Grammy Grace). As I devour my ragu and pasta, Moki is licking his chops too - he's just finished his dinner - doggie kibble tossed with ragu.
We all try to eat well in the future!
Although a lot of people usually try to disagree with me on this, especially when I bring it up at parties, I am actually an introvert. Although I'll go to great effort and energy to put together parties and events, I usually prefer to step back into the "hostess" role, where I get to go hide in the kitchen and take care of making sure the scene looks prop perfect, rather than having just mingling with random people. Then again, when I'm throwing an event, I always want to close up doors, shut off lights and leave right before the event - and pretend like it was never going to happen. Somehow, I always stop myself from doing this.
That's probably also why I enjoy blogging. I can "talk" about all kinds of things about myself, my observations of the world all while having a conversation with myself. Yes, the reason I blog, is to remember myself. Remember who I am, who I was, how I have changed. It's the map of my life and it's easily accessible now because of the "Inter-net"!
If you're interested in reading more about introverts and care and feeding. This article from the Atlantic two years ago is interesting.
It's the morning tug of war. Coffee, Moki fed in his new bowls, the door to the upstairs deck open and the sunlight streaming into Gloria's office (where I have moved my office while she is gone). When Moki and I walk in the neighborhood, he has specific bushes and locations that he must sniff and re-mark. I was thinking about this and my various email accounts that are my favorites and I must check. I have over 20 email addresses, about 8 that I regularly check. Two that I generally respond with. Two that are big name web mail applications that I use for archiving or when my system goes down.
But I definitely have my favorite. When I took the heathervescent domain I wanted to go with one email address and no spam. That lasted about 2 years and the mailto:hbomb is retired and filtered away onto one of those online services. I think some people still use that as my primary mailto address, and it is by far my favorite one, but it's just too unwieldy to use. (I could actually use Spam software, but it doesn't seem to work well. And I do have spam filtering on the server.)
I've been working with two primary IDs for the past several years and one was definitely the primary, "inner circle" one. But there has been a shift in the force. And the "secondary" one that has been holding down the fort is becoming my favorite. It's the workhorse.
I'll talk more about my favorite email address in a bit. For now, it's time for Moki to visit his bushes.
His eyes light up at the mention of WordStar commands.
"Oh, you're the famous roommate."
It was a Hollywood party as one would imagine. I enjoyed myself more than I might have thought. The hosts were interesting and I enjoyed talking with them. I made new friends and ran into a few people I already knew. I arrived quietly and left even quieter.
If you're not following Gloria's challenge in healing her sister after she dropped on the street into a coma, which are pretty amazing, Marina just woke up. It's been just awesome watching this unfold and I continue to be impressed with the amazing things we can do in this life with determination, energy and abandon.
I'm happy to have friends like this in my life, and to support them as I can, whether I be near or far.
My recent trip to the desert was as soft and cushioned as a feather bed. We rolled in just as the sun had set and the desert was as quiet as I have ever not heard. Not a sound. Not one bird, not one bee buzzing. The only sound I heard, was one that I made myself.
I decided to check out the ancient petroglyph cave. The ground was covered with droppings again. The last time I was in the cave, I washed the floor with a bottle of Verve Cliquot champagne and a scrub brush. I stood in the cave, looking at the facing rock. The two holes that swallows usually fly in and out of. Completely silent. No sound. No movement.
Gradually I heard a buzzing. The sound reverberated in my ears and grew louder, taking on a heavy quality. It resonated in the cave. I couldn't tell where the sound was coming from and I could physically feel the vibration. As the sound got louder and reverberated more I re-cognized it as the sound of an airplane. But it had already done it's damage on my perception.
I collected dead cholla and other firewood. A pot of boiling water for hot tea. The ephedra bush that I once drank tea from. A straight stick for roasting marshmallows. Dinner consisted of tea and roasted marshmallows. I even shared the sticky white sweetness with the desert mice. We've got a great video of one carting off a marshmallow. I'll upload it shortly.
The sky gradually got darker and needles of light appeared. The cloud cover softened and the wind blew it away to show the galaxy of stars. I sat on rocks as the fire burned into embers and watched the Milky Way, catching a shooting star or two. I slept like a baby into the bright hours of morning, head buried in my sleeping bag.
Lazy morning awake. A walk about to the other side of the canyon and we found a great treasure sparkling in the bright sun. The blue sky was Hollywood unreal. Fluffy clouds for as far as the eye could see, sitting on the flat edge of atmosphere. It was surreal with the inclined desert plain.
Although it had been almost a year and a half since I returned to this location, it was in some ways, just a moment. An instant. Nothing had changed much. Although I have changed. Gained more power. I am more seasoned. The silence and quietude of the desert was much welcome to me. So quiet my ears didn't know what to do. So quiet that immediately my standard frame of reference was broken and I was acting from a totally different world view.
I've got four party invites for tonight and other event possibilities and I was supposed to be 30 miles or so off pavement in the Mojave already, but I'm still here in LA. Dick Dale goes on stage in less than an hour and there are still tickets. I've got invites to festivities in downtown LA, Beverly Hills and West Hollywood. When I'm overloaded with event possibilities I generally skip them all and play homebody at home. Too many options, plus I'm nursing myself after last night. B.la gathering started early and went well, but everything went to hell once I went to Miss Kitty's and ran into friends. Oh well, that's what living in LA is all about ne? There will be some day in the future that I'll wish for tonight's party choices... the only question I have now is... what to wear?
I was just posting a comment on my friend, colleague and co-conspirator Carmen de Jesus's blog about stepping out of the dojo. I share some of her fears about the plateau. Usually I take the current level I am at and just make it harder - more and increasingly difficult challenges and limiting parameters.
But I'm tired of practicing. I've been practicing for years on so many varied tracks. 2006 is the year of kicking ass. And you can't kick ass if you're pulling punches for your uke. Even when sword is in hand, it's the wooden one, clanking away at your opponent's sword, staff or hands. Nothing really on the table.
Well... that's all changed. Everything in my life has moved to a different level. One in which, yes, like Carmen I feel secure - but the security is my honed skillset. The world provides the actual challenges to use my skills. I can't necessarily create these opportunities, just be aware when one comes my way.
I wish I could write about one activity I recently did that really proved to me that I am far from the Dojo. That I'm out in the thick of life - doing what I do best - doing what I love - and that in doing the activity, I am energized. Manifesting a character of myself I always wanted to be. It was simple in some ways and used all the skills and items I had collected in my past years.
But I can't speak of it. Not now, and maybe never. But that's ok. Because I know what I did and I saw the results. And I gain confidence and power from the experience.
I've been driving about 4 different cars recently. With Gloria in Italy taking care of her sister, her car is left parked on the street. I would occasionally start it and take it down to the corner store - just to keep the oil moving. But then I finally cleaned my car and decided that it was easier to take Moki (the dog) certain places in Gloria's car, so I started using her car a bit more. Here's an important distinction:Gloria's car is automatic, all of my vehicles are manual transmission.
I always pay attention when I drive an automatic. Usually I flail my right hand and stomp my left leg, because they don't realize they are not needed. Driving a stick, I have mastered the art of driving, shifting, talking on the phone and eating M&Ms.
But back to the automatic driving. It's a completely different world. It's so easy to drive an automatic. I can't believe how relaxed I was. Too relaxed in fact. I kept thinking, if almost everyone drives an automatic, why is there so much road rage? It's no challenge. And maybe that is the key. Because you don't really need to focus your attention on driving your car, your attention needs more stimulus and you are distracted by the radio, CD player, cell phone, billboard, hot chick at the corner, the dog, whatever is on your mind...
So in a way, it's almost more dangerous to drive an automatic, because you can be distracted more, whereas if you drive a stick and are completely distracted by the world, you won't actually get anywhere - you'll stall. There's a correlation to living your life in there, but I'm too distracted to write about it. ;)
Last saturday I had a slumber party at my house. There were 10 of us girls over at the house and we traded clothes, watched Valley Girls, made lots of yummy food, made prank calls, painted our faces with mud and played truth or lie.
What was the most fun was the fire. I love candles and fire and burn them a lot. I had these 3 ft candles in my front yard burning. Apparently one of them burned very fast and the wax melted onto the earth and eventually caught on fire. We found this amazing spectacle of "burning earth" when a friend showed up and asked "Is that some cool kind of fire effect or is should that not be on fire?" We all rushed to the door to check it out. Yes, indeed, it was a cool fire effect but was NOT supposed to be on fire.
(Too add to the fire hazard, that's an extension cord running under the burning candle and over the burning earth.) But amazingly no plants were harmed in the "accident" nor was any damage to anything. Just good clean fun gone awry.
Like Dark Matter in the universe, that may appear as a void, yet when understood is not actually a void. So too this the seemingly lack of heathervescent writing not a void. The life has been full of exciting adventures and activities. Some, I hope to post about sooner than later.
xo. xo. xo.
"It's the time to discard what's worn out, give away what's unnecessary, and tend what you love." - Eudora Seyfer
I used to be interested in holding onto things as long as I could. Whether they were actual objects, current addresses or phone numbers or love letters. All these things in the past or object half-done, half-used still taking RAM space in my brain. Clothes I loved but could not dare to get rid of for fear that "I might want to wear that someday."
Then something changed. I was invited to a clothing swap by a good friend of mine in Berkeley. I loved the idea and went through my closet picking out things to bring. The first time was hard. I still was not sure that I wanted to remove these things from my life. I had enjoyed them and might enjoy them again. But I wanted room for new things, so I brought a bunch of stuff.
This was the beginning of the end of my need for keeping things.
Now I'm not quite obsessed, but I get much pleasure from finishing things. From the bottle of honey on the counter to the custom altered orange "couture" pants I put in the swap bag last night. There is pleasure in having things I actively enjoy, and when the active enjoyment is finished, pass them on to the next person. That opens up space in my life for something new.
It's been days and day of hand to hand combat in the trenches. My life often alternates from an eagle eye view of the landscape to bushwhacking through the underbrush. Last week I blasted, completed a couple big projects of 2006: party, tagging, a new game. Boom - right out the door of 2006 with three big shots hitting dead on.
This week has been scatter-shot. The plans, projects I planned are getting pushed back, taking longer. My feet drag through the quagmire of moving back to the future, continuing to take care of Moki and his three walks a day and keeping my own projects and dreams on track.
It's slow going. Where's the inspiration? I asked myself that today when I returned to the future with the first of many loads of stuff. I'm happy to be back. I love my house, the statues in the front yard. I enjoyed living in West Hollywood and loved my office there. It was also great to "practice" living with Sam without the full commitment. But I missed the magic in my house. I missed the solo time to myself. The space to think crazy thoughts. The space to get hyped up and drive the dark city alone with the top down, music blasting me through the city. When you have someone you love in the bed next to you, it's hard to coax yourself out in the morning.
So what's next?
Maybe when I whack through this bush, I'll be able to see.