Heart Shaped Compass

Fear and Uncertainty.
An interwoven, paradoxal pair of emotions that travel together, testing the fortitude of all that they infiltrate. Emotions capable of bringing forth the deepest rooted constitutions in all of us.

They patiently await our protests as they build their architectural colliseums of doubt...a personal prison of our own design.  Daring our bravery, they offer up the opportunity to hone our intuition, our metal, our listening ears, our willingness to risk...
They offer the chance to examine and deconstruct the questions that tangle our steps.
A chance to forget what we were afraid of to begin with...
They spin a cobwebbed maze so tightly, that the desire of the heart is our only path to truth.
The dance with these two can either be a beautiful story of triumph, freedom, and celebration....or, it can simply become one of paralyzing regret that runs like a ticker tape behind closed eyelids...
displaying your choices and consequences on an endless reel of tears. 
For some the chasm to cross seems deeper and wider than they can handle and they teeter unmoving on the edge, until finally all that awaited them on the other side has withered under the weight of heartbreak.
Others build a bridge made of hope and faith, and follow a compass whose true north bleeds red with passion...and offer their heart to those whom cannot see.


May we all be blessed with the courage to leap, the strength to carry those whom cannot, and the wisdom to know when to walk away.

Cabin Makeover...so far :)

I'm taking a couple days off but in the meantime, enjoy the random photos of cabin transformation over the last 4 weeks. Some of the pics are self explanatory, others might prove challenging to decipher...feel free to ask for clarification on what you're looking at :)

Bloody knuckles, hairy legs, and cabin remodeling 101

I haven't shaved my legs in almost 4 weeks.  I've also worn the same pair of jeans.  It's true.  And I don't care. (I have shaved my armpits however, and maintained other grooming necessities just to clear up any concerns).  My days have been completely consumed by undertaking the task of turning this shabby chic little cabin into something a bit more cozy and warm.  Other than leaving the house to do some communtiy volunteering and Alpine Search and Rescue class, my days and nights are spent with a hammer, nails, my drill, drywall mud, paint, and wood of some sort.  (I do shower and change clothes for social occasions in which public interaction is inevitable...but I still don't shave my legs).  I'm almost curious as to how long leg hair really gets when left to run willy nilly. It's 10:20pm...I quit my tim the toolman routine early tonight.  A productive day was had, however.  So far, this month of chest pounding accomplishments has covered a range of skill sets.  Some of these talents I was aware I posessed, others were a pleasant surprise, like being able to use my head, shelves, and strategically placed cinder blocks to hold an 8' sheet of plywood to the beams in the ceiling....literally.  This could quite possibly be the source of my headache or the odd feeling of being shorter this evening.  Either way, using my noggin paid off.  Nothing is more true than the old adage "necessity is the mother of invention".  When you're a wee 63" from the ground, weilding power tools, and materials larger than yourself, creative problem solving rules the day.  I've got splinters, scabbed up knuckles, random cuts and bruises and paint that refuses to come off,  all as progress souvenirs.  Tomorrow my day begins again with my lucky jeans, my hoodie, a cup of tea, and trusy Pandora to jolt me into super hero action.  Before and after pics will be coming soon...to include the hairy legs ;)

Happy Birthday Roe!

May 24th, 2004. It was a sunny, Florida morning when we met for the first time. Six and a half years later, you're even more beautiful and timeless than ever, both inside and out.  We have shared a life, a home, laughter, tears, smiles, love, and heartbreak throughout this journey together.  You have been my rock, my cheerleader, my partner, my confidante, my everything...  Regardless of where our seperate roads lead us now, there will never be another more perfect, more beautiful you. There will never be another Roe. I am a better person for having you in my life and I am grateful for knowing you everyday.  So, today I celebrate your birthday for selfish reasons.  I can't imagine my world without you in it.  Happy, Beautiful, Birthday to an amazing woman, amazing human being, an amazing friend.  I love you. 

Morning Rant and Snowflake Reflections

Snow flurries are dancing outside my window this morning.  Little swirly patterns move weightlessly through the air like a feathery ice capades performance and I've got a front row seat with a hot cup of tea.  The moment they touch the earth, Mother absorbs the little dancers into her bosom with warm applause and readies them for another show.  This looking glass of mine has revealed many a wonderous scene in the short time that I've been here.  Just yesterday, a chance glance revealed a lone coyote in his glorious gold and gray coat sauntering by with a mission only he was aware of.  I tried to grab my camera to capture the proof, but he disappeared as quickly as he had come.  What is it about human nature that implores us to "capture" things we find beautiful...whether it be in pictures, paintings, on tethers or in horrific cages..or even other people.  We are creatures obsessed with posessing and I do not hold myself guiltless of such.  Even now, I am mezmorized by these tiny white miracles flitting about outside my window and I am compelled to "catch" one and hold it as if it were a willing participant in my need for a closer look. Perhaps this sense of entitlement boils up from our own personal void as a species unable to resist the beauty in the free, unowned, unbridled and in our sadism we kill that which we struggle to become ourselves.  Beautiful. Free. Unowned. Unbridled.  We fumble in our own irony...as we perpetuate our obsession to hold beauty, become beauty, the chains around us grow ever tighter, our spaces more confined, and our freedom a distant mirage. 
Today, I will bask merely in the presence of my surroundings, these dancing snowflakes, the coyotes in the forest, and the Mother who envelopes us all...and I will find peace in owning my breath, my health, and my gratitude for her perfection.

Homies, Vertical Vomit, and Breakdancing 50 year olds.

10:30 came early this morning. Withold judgement at my Sunday slumber, please.  One does not need to be present at any religious establishment that wreaks of little old ladies recklessly doused with Ode 'de Tafetta and singing hymns off key for Jesus to be present.  I'm quite certain he and I were communicating directly this morning when "God! It's freaking cold in here!" fumbled from my chapped lips. Before my squinted eyes had opened to survey the view from underneath Mt. Blanket that I crawled into at 4 a.m., I had already dialed in a prayer request for the pellet stove to spontaneously light itself.  I'm also sure that my gratitutde for having been the designated driver last night (resulting in non-hangoverism) succesfully navigated the heavenly lines of communication.  Jesus and I are alright on this blustery day of rest here in my little cabin.  We're homies for sure.  Speaking of homies... last night was an incredibly entertaining evening complete with spontaneous, vertical vomiting, hearing impairment and mis-interpretations, word associations and upper lip smiling.  Ahh yes, a night on the town with my friends both new and old...

After a fabulous dinner the four of us headed to a small, local establishment in which the displays of dance to the dj's turntables could only be deemed as "art" (thanks to my closest 'homey' for appropriately dubbing it as such).  I do believe the 50's something, mohawk wearing, misguidedly confident woman in the canary yellow t-shirt doing something that was meant to resemble break dancing had jaws dropping left and right...most likely out of concern as opposed to envy over her 'sweet moves'.  I know at least half a dozen people had their phones poised for the 911 call we were certain would be needed.  One of my newest friends of the evening, made sure the shots and beer kept flowing at a steady pace for everyone (myself excluded).  Yeager Bombs, Kamikazi's, Guiness, etc., etc., ...mix that with the champagne from dinner and you've got the perfect recipe for spontaneous spewage. Yep.  It all happened so quickly.  No warning.  One minute he was conversating and then in mid sentence he was unsuccesfully covering his mouth, I was pushing Kate out of the way, and a running blur of a vomiting, gay man whisked past all of us toward the restroom.  We stood in silence for a moment and looked at one another with non-verbal confirmation of what just took place.  Much self restraint was employed in order to not follow suit simply by way of weird gutteral reciprocation. Kindof like a yawn only way more gross.  I held it together though and our lovely host returned glossy eyed but all signs of puke removed.  Another shot? Of course they did, lol.  We decided some fresh air on the patio was just what the doctor ordered and it was here that I entertained my friends with the art of smiling only with your upper lip.  Aghast at my freakish talent, they were overtaken by laughter and sincere frustration at not being able to mimmick my upper lip's contortionist abilities.  Much like you and your frustration right now at trying to figure out what the hell I'm talking about while making bizarre facial gestures.  If you're going to try it though, you have to do it in front of a mirror.  Let me know how it works out for ya. 

Having grown tired of this particular watering hole, we agreed it was time to make our presence known at a larger more 'clubby', sophisticated establishment in which our own sweet dance moves would have ample onlookers and an audience worthy of our own onlooking.  The steady thump of the speakers promised an array of visual displays set to its tribal beat. Like the rest of the lemmings in search of a 'good time' we funneled through the doors, eagerly extended our hand for the stamp, and sauntered in with eyes agape in order to take it all in.  Skinny boys in speedos and shirtless men with god-like physiques mingled through the crowd and displayed their rhythmic prowess atop boxes specifically designated for them to entertain us. Gorgeous women filled the dance floors and those too shy to join in hugged the side lines like they were at the 50 yard line of a championship football game.  It was enough to have made my mother blush. God bless her.  (See, there He is again.)  I love you Dolores! I do. I really mean that, mom. So much so that I have a special ringtone on my phone for you that yells "Dolores is calling" in the most obnoxious Jersey accent I could muster.  It makes me giggle when you call. :)  I digress....

It took all but 5 minutes before another round of shots were had and we hit the dance floor.  The syncopated techno tracks were the ideal platform to bust out moves like 'the robot' and 'the sprinkler'. I was a hit.  I'm not shy about it.  I grew tired of the attention however, and I regrouped with my crew at the bar.  It was then that the dj brought the 'goods' through the speakers and the house started jumping and gyrating to a mix of both old and new hip hop and rock and roll.  The perfect scenario for me to turn my innocent water bottle into a virtual, roaming microphone for the girls doing bad karaoke versions of club classics like " I love rock and roll" and Usher's OMG.  I was like Dick Clark, before the stroke.  They loved me.  

Ahhh... good times, good times.  I could go on and on about the evening and the need to communicate via hand signals due to the loss of hearing in the club.  All I can say is word associations is a fantastic way to get to know even your closest friends better. And if someone says "would it bother her?" and you hear "Did you win the lotto?" and "Did you date a model?", if some strange valet attendant touches your hair, and crazy=socks in your mailbox...you know it's going to be a fabulous evening.
Cheers to my friends both new and old :)

What's In Youuuuuur Cabin Cupboard?

Good morning world :) A chipper 41 degrees here in my office on this fine mountain day has put some pep in my step.  I do believe it might precipitate in some fashion judging by the ominous clouds.  It's been a minute since my last post.  I was dangling somewhere between bronchitis/smoke inhalation/pneumonia for a few days but I think I'm on the mend.  A steady medicine-martini of Thera-Flu, Nyquil, Mucinex, Excedrin, beer, hot tea, and Halls cough drops has either created a stupor of false well being or it has truly given my coughing, sneezing, stuffy head a one-two punch.  A genuine shout-out of endless thanks must be given to my good and faithful family and friends for bestowing upon me care packages that resembled a Walmart/Trader Joe's explosion in my living room. It was an early Christmas of survival-esque like items that truly reflected the imaginations of my caring loved ones.  I chuckled out loud as I rumaged through my gifts that revealed how dire they imagine my living situation to be.  Flannel sheets, toothpaste, rice-a-roni, ramen noodles, coffee, tea, more ramen noodles, chocolate, and boxes of pasta painted my floor in an array of colors and thoughtfullness. A few items however stand out as winning "most creative" in regards to the in depth thought that was given to what it must be like living alone, unemployed, in a somewhat desolate, freezing area of Colorado, in a cabin of questionable structural soundness, where either losing my mind, being snowed-in indefinitely, or becoming the foraging snack of a roaming bear or mountain lion is a very likely possibility.  I adore their forward thinking on these matters.  Anybody else might have just sent the norms, like peanut butter and toilet paper.  I, however, am blessed with geniuses in the mountain care package assemblers department.  As can be seen in the attached picture, I am fully equipped with coloring books and crayons should I feel the need for artistic expression. Don't let the elementary appearance fool you.  Coloring pictures of puppies is very stimulating.  In fact, I was even provided with scissors and tape should I decide to cut my fine artwork out and display it proudly.  Either that or I can put myself out of my own mind jilted misery with this orange handled weapon of mercy.  Should I change my mind afterwards, the tape will suffice in sealing any self inflicted wounds.  A brand new pack of gel roller pens should I be in need of scribing a letter or farewell note is proudly sitting in my pen holder. In addition, (one of my favorites) I received a small rectangular box precisely the right size for a single serving cup of one of those Motts applesauces, although I think it was the generic brand, coupled with a bag of bagels and a loving note that only a mother could write. Also included in my aresenal of mental exercises is a 500 piece jigsaw puzzle and my all time personal favorite.... a bag of mints lest I should offend myself with cabin induced death breath while flitting around my abode hanging my above mentioned artwork and muttering nonsense brought on by... 'the fever'. 

These well thought out essentials were bestowed upon me by the two most important women in my life whom know me better than perhaps even myself...my mom and Sue.  For as much as one could interpret my rants about these items as sarcastic, nothing could be further from the truth.  Were it not for them knowing the intricacies of my brain, I perhaps would be longing for these items.  Because, in fact, I have already perused my coloring books in search of my imminent Picasso, I have examined my puzzle and decided where it will hang, and I have leisurely consumed a mint or two throughout my day (as well as the two Hershey's kisses that were hiding amongst them).  In addition, I have been oversupplied with foodstuffs by not only Sue and my mom, but also my dear friends Cally and Abby. 

As the picture depicts, one can see that I am fully stocked with enough Ramen, pasta, beans, oatmeal, coffee, tea, hot chocolate, peanut butter and jelly for a full winter hibernation should I indeed find myself snowed-in or incapable of societal interaction.  Were it not for these wonderful women in my life, I surely might just succumb to a wintery withering of unrecognizabe proportions.  My deepest thanks, ladies.  My heart, stomach, and artistic nature are all overflowing with gratitude.  :)

Bulbous Eggplant. Near Explosions. Thera-FLiquor.

A cozy, quiet area, with a fireplace and big comfy chairs.  Yet another reason why my heart belongs to Colorado...even the libraries accomodate the inner yearnings of this mountain dweller.  There's the most adorable little old man in a chair that dwarfs his frail, bundled up physique, but he seems to be sleeping soundly in spite of his body's ongoing conversation with Parkinsons. He looks peaceful.  He makes me ponder what his life was before he found himself being warmed by the fire here at the Jefferson County Library.  I believe I will keep him company here for awhile, even if he is unaware.  It's day four here in my new hometown of Evergreen.  At some point in the night, my trusty little space heater decided she too was tired and shut down for the evening.  My sleep position of choice was that of me stuffed into my sleeping bag like the filling of a twinkie, revealing only my eyes so that I might watch the dvd's I rented.  The small, pink, 70's style living room chair held my frame easily enough as became apparent this morning when I awoke in ball formation at the very bottom of my comfy, purple REI bag. To an outsider observing the scene, I might have looked like an oddly shaped eggplant sporting a bulbous shape at the end.  Clearly my internal thermostat must have dialed my subconscious due to the space heater's revolt and demanded I form some kind of spherical shape in order to preserve vital organs from the bitter cold.  All the windows in the house are still open in an attempt to exorcise the demon smoke caused by the pellet stove debacle on Monday night.  The remnant smell of charred air still burns my throat a bit and I wonder how long it will linger. A tipped over, empty mason jar that provided me with the bitter cinnamon flavored Thera-Flu last night was conveniently located at my feet and was more than willing to offer the same service again this morning.  A near encounter with an exploding raspberry muffin in the microwave helped to sober me from my fuzzy state of sleepy.  I saved it just in time. After a mere fifteen minutes it stopped smoking and reached an edible temp to nicely accompany my medicianl elixer posing as cinnamon tea.  I'm a bit feverish, a bit cough-ish, and the mirror has seen me look better, but I'm happy none-the-less.  Even fighting off flu-like/pellet stove symptoms is better in Colorado.  Today I will explore, look for employment, and revel in the yellow and greens of the Aspens.  Maybe I'll see some more Moose today.  I think I'll stop at the liquor store on my way home...perhaps Thera-Fliquor will be just the potion to rid me of these body aches.

Fireplace Imposters and an Evening in Hotel Honda

It’s the first snowfall this morning in my magical Colorado…at least here at approximately 9,200 feet, anyway.   The snow capped mountains in the distance speak of a winter wonderland having taken her leisurely time at sharing the white gold with those of us at more humble altitudes.  The snowflakes are big and plump from feasting on the buffet of moisture on their way down to the aspens standing on their tiptoes in anticipation.  It’s a chilly 38 degrees.  Just cold enough to inspire a sincere appreciation for fleece in multiple layers regardless of the restricted articulation of multiple joints and the necessity for adequate time allotment to disrobe when nature calls.  The pitter patter on the glass and the jolting trickle of frigid rain down my face was a fitting wake-up call this morning to bring last night’s events crashing into my fuzzy, smoke filled consciousness.   In the truest sense of ‘this is all a test’, Monday night falls perfectly in-line with the humorous and ironic series of happenings over the last few months of my existence.

Pellet stoves are a unique little invention in the world of mountain home heating.  Instead of the traditional, cave man style of burning logs for warmth, these plug in, temperature controlled contraptions are fed helpings of ‘pellets’ that truly resemble rabbit food.  In theory, this method provides a more efficient and less labor intensive method of heating homes purposely located in regions where freezing to death is possible.  Excited to fill my new place with the quintessential mountain ambiance, I carefully followed the instructions of pellet feeding and the use of a starter log to initiate the ‘roughing it’ experience.  With disproportionate pride over my success at making artificial fire, and being entranced at the orange, blue and green flames that only modern chemicals can produce, I mentally pounded my chest and sauntered off to unpack my overstuffed suitcases.  I believe the shriek of the smoke detector and my sudden inability to breathe coincided perfectly with my realization that regardless of living at this elevation, dark clouds should form outside the home, not in it.  In hindsight, I probably should have employed the lessons learned in all those annoying elementary fire drills.  I instead, however, donned my proverbial suit of frantic action and most likely resembled a Charlie Chaplin-esque character as I ran to and fro in no particular direction with hands flailing.  Muttering expletives in between inhalations of the smoke now billowing from the belly of this pellet eating beast, I managed to open every window and door before returning to the stove with absolutely no idea what to do next.  Realizing that I must put the fire out, I opened the door of the stove and was frozen in horror as the burning starter log rolled out onto the wood floor.  Smoke quickly became the primary content of my lungs while I jumped up and down on flames as if I were the tribal chief of fire walkers with a minor in salsa dancing.  The Charlie Chaplin routine commenced yet again as I frantically searched for my water jug only to return finding that the open door of the stove provided a new found source of oxygen for flames to join the billowing smoke.  Thanks to the graceful exit of the starter log when all this began, the door couldn’t be shut due to pieces stuck in the door jamb.  In MacGuyver like fashion, I realized that only a Chinese Wok could solve this mounting emergency.  Armed with the smallest shovel ever invented and said Wok, I scooped the evil starter log into the metal bowl, cleared the door jamb, shut the door of this asshole posing as a fireplace, and doused it all with my water jug.   Having far exceeded the allowable consumption of pellet stove smoke, I retreated to the cold, pitch black, night air with my Wok carrying the evil dead log.  After several minutes of breathing in clean air, I made several trips in and out setting up fans, donning multiple layers of socks, pants, and shirts, and grabbing my sleeping bag and blankets for an evening in Hotel Honda.  There is much to be said about the versatility of a 1990 Honda Civic and I am grateful for her ability to serve as a place to slumber offering protection from the elements and mishaps.  Even if the door doesn’t quite seal tight enough to have kept out the rain this morning, I still love her.  And even more, I love where I am… both mentally and geographically.  I can’t imagine any other place I’d rather almost die of third degree smoke inhalation, be teeth chattering cold, and wake up to the most beautiful snow fall ever.  So with no source of heat other than a 9x9 space heater for awhile, I will love my life no less…just a bit chillier. Good Morning, Colorado.  It’s a beautiful day J

Rocky Mountain High

This morning I am dancing on the inside...ok and maybe a little on the outside. It's like this little bubbly song that blew in with the dawn rain causes involuntary smiles and a lighthearted step. The chilly mountain air is a fresh breath of 'welcome home' that I've been waiting for longer than I realized and I do believe I've embraced the realization with a death grip that will be hard pressed to come undone.  I'm even excited about going to the DMV as if a driver's license will solidify my place here and no one can tell me I have a return flight to catch.  She's an addiction, this Colorado of mine.  One of both tangible and intangible perfections, my mistress and perhaps my muse, she is my home on levels much deeper than brick, mortar, and driveway.  She is my safe harbor and my peace of mind. Breathing never felt so easy. 

We Now Return To Our Regularly Scheduled Programming

My apologies for the obnoxiously long dawdle in my own tide pool of indecision and heartache.  Rest assured however, all is well.  In fact, things are beyond well.  My current state of affairs are pleasantly residing somewhere between incredibly opitimal and categorically perfect.  There are only a few things that could catapult things beyond this euphoric state into mind blowing status.  In truth, I'm merely biding the time for them coming to pass.  Call it over confidence, call it dangerously optimistic, call it what you will, but I'll call it like I see it...and I see it just beautifully.    I'll spare you the details of the past few months that painted a whirlwind of events onto a jagged canvas resembling my life. Quite frankly the details and all the bruises that they left are rather unimportant. There's a reason life is full of 'growing pains' and I'm grateful in spite of the emotional stretch marks.  Stepping outside of any narcissistic notions that I experienced any of these emotions alone, I can't even begin to express adequate gratitude for the people in my life that held me up when I was falling, dried my eyes when the tears were blinding, and held my heart in their hands as I stumbled through the maze of mirrors.  And for those whom I may have inadvertently hurt along the way...I'm sorry.  Truly. 
May I remember the lessons learned and be a greater servant to those I love and to those I have yet to meet as a result.

Technical Difficulties...

Many apologies for the inconvenience, however the author is experiencing incapacitating heart ache as if there were a large elephant standing precisely on her upper left anterior torso.  We hope to return to our normal schedule of creativity and humor tomorrow...

The Dugout Method: Sping, Cujo, and other hygenic attrocities that can kill the UHAUL. A series.

Yet another impending date for yet another really good friend. Not a blind date however.  This one has been 'rehearsed' a few times.  Never the less, she expressed exhaustion at the hassles of  date preparation such as shaving, tweezing, etc., due to still being within the confines of newness and behind the 3 month threshold.  This led to an interesting discussion in which the Top 5 hygenic areas (above the belt) were identified and strategically termed the The Dugout.  I'll explain later.  Moving forward...thorough grooming and self awareness is of the utmost importance during this fresh phase of impressive facades and sizing up whether you plan on taking it to more serious levels within the relationship.  You know what I'm talking about...the levels where you can be completely gross with each other and it have no impact on the relationship.  An 'open door policy' if you will.  For those of you that have seen Going the Distance with Drew Barrymore, you know what I'm talking about.  Ehemmm...until this status is reached however, there are aspects of personal hygeine that under no circumstances can be neglected during this incredibly important dance of seduction in which you lure your object of desire into even wanting to entertain such intimacy with you in the future.  We shall begin the first part of this series with Lips...the gateway to conversation, laughter, and hopefully other recreational activities. Lips can be incredibly inviting, seductive,....or completely crippling. There are two evilities that effect the lips. Let's discuss Sping. Sping can be the death of ALL progress no matter how well things are going.  Sping = that tiny string of spit that has somehow glued itself between the top and bottom lip, usually smack dab in the center, and has elastic properties that would make even spider man envious.  Unless there is a need for a vertical escape route via those fleshy flaps on the face, Sping is NEVER a good thing. Soon, no conversation is heard as all concentration is magically sucked into the Sping vortex like a bad infomercial.  For me, this is just a breaking point I can't move past.  I either offer her a drink, make hand gestures that will hopefully prompt her subconscious to examine the area in question, or I simply have to stop looking at her. Call me shallow but it's better than throwing up on my date.  The second chunk churner is Cujo Corners. It's that incredible 'how do you not notice the thick white spit making a nest in the corners of your mouth' kind of gross that might just trump Sping depending on the severity.  It's like a double whammy, becasue it never just happens on one side...and it usually gets worse. I don't care how attracted I am to my date, if she starts turning into Cujo, all bets are off. I can't help it. Now thus far, I have addressed these issues as though it's your date experiencing these unfortunate, physiological anomolies.  However, this must not give you a false sense of security that you are immune to such deal breakers.  This brings me back to The Dugout method. The areas we will be discussing in the next few days are all conveniently located on the head/face.  The lips, teeth, nose, eyes, and ears.  With the close proximity of the aforementioned, a bit of practice can make even a less than coordinated Don Juan get through The Dugout Method with a well seasoned third base coach's subtleties.  It's all in the head tilt, the laugh, and the casual movements.  A Dugout Pro can manage a 'clean sweep' in well under 15 seconds.  With a mirror or a close friend who can manageably control their laughter, you can create your very own Dugout routine and be confident in your immunity to UHAUL killers like Sping and Cujo Corners. That is all for now kids.  Tune in again tomorrow for a titilating discussion on Furry Enamel and Garlic Nots.

Tall Women. Tall Personalities. Blind Dates. Nipple Piercings.

Height is a funny thing.  There's no way to shrink 'tallness' unlike the capability of shorter women that can wear heels of varying lengths to falsely advertise vertical prowess. I however, am not a partaker in wearing  sticks strategically and uncomfortably placed under my feet in order to dwell at higher altitudes.  It simply has never suited me even before I cut my hair and embraced my boyishly cute persona.  Which leads me to recall a hilarious conversation with one of my closest friends this morning.  Tall women vs. tall personalities. Blind dates and body piercings.  While both she and I are conveniently housed in small-ish frames (5'2-5'5), we undoubtedly have rather tall personalities.  I'd say at least in the 6 foot realm.  We're both confident (but not cocky), capable of controling a conversation if necessary or comfortably listening and observing, charming, funny, and in mutual opinions of one another, devestatingly cute.  All of which somehow magically adds inches to our frames...and maybe even our egos and self awareness.  Both of us have dated taller women but interestingly enough, my friend is struggling with an impending 'blind date' with a woman several inches taller than her, boastful of her 13 tattoos, pierced nipples and of an unknown height/weight proportion.  Given that no face to face introductions have yet taken place, this woman's English accent has my friend drooling all over her cell phone even when mystery woman speaks of needing a cigarette and cup of coffee....neither of these vices attractive in the least for my dear friend (well at least not the smoking part).  However, something about her pronunciations helps to slightly filter and soften the reality of potentially kissing an ash tray in a few weeks.  Depending on their height difference, those piercings could prove to be dangerous for my dear friend.  No accent is worth losing an eye over.  And even though she and I have 6' tall personalities, dating taller, mystery women of various size and piercing placement can be dangerous business.  Words of caution to ponder on this fine evening here in California.

Pancake Coma and Winter Preparation

It's a Bloody Mary kind of Sunday morning.  The kind with just a tad too much horseradish that makes you squint your eyes and sip it a bit slower.  No celery stalk though. I'm not a fan of useless decoration in my drink. Especially decorations that either poke me in the eye or obnoxiously go straight up my nose if I'm not paying attention. However, my hankering will go unfulfilled due to my cabinets being empty of the needed ingredients. This isn't total devestation though.  I love my coffee.  It too can have mind tingling properties depending on the number of cups I deem appropriate for my mood.
Today's forecast: Slow moving clouds of pancake coma followed by a sunny afternoon of hiking up the challenging trails on 'Firgit Abowter' Peak. Crisp winds of change from the east will likely bring another cold front but with it the need for my favorite attire and snow filled weekend getaways. Hoodies, fuzzy hats, vests, favorite jeans and good old fashioned cuddling up by the fire with a hot cup of  Single Tea.  Sounds like a winter I can weather.

Pocahontas sightings and the fine art of Beersby

Thanks to a good neighbor/friend of mine, tonight I was introduced to the fine art of Beersby.  It's a simple game.  Two 5' poles spread approximately 25 feet apart with a lone beer perched atop each.  Players earn points by accurately flinging a frisbee to knock the other teams said beer off of said pole while the opponents must catch both said frisbee and beer, while simultaneously holding their own bottle of beer in one hand.  It was mindless fun which couldn't have been more precisely what I needed for my swirling noggin of contemplations.  The best part of this party was that it was outside on one of the most beautiful plots of farmland I have ever had the pleasure of setting foot.  The serene glow of the golden, rolling hillsides, the hum and laughter of the party goers, the melodic rhythm of conversation mingling with the evening crickets... the beautiful girl who looked like Pocohantas...kindof...but in a much more modern, sexy, I drive a pick-up truck and I camp in a tent, not a tee-p, kind of way.  We locked eyes a few times in the awkward way flirtatious tension tends to provoke.  She looked at me, I gave a crooked smile and glanced away. I looked at her again, she spilled her drink. It was a good time.  My friend left early while her daughter and I finished up the semi-finals of this new found pleasant past time. We secured our victorious last place honors and headed home.  Something about the air tonight feels different.  Maybe it's a feeling of slowly belonging. Maybe it's a feeling of letting go. Or perhaps it's just the night air turning cooler that's making me smile as I pull up my driveway, happy for a hot cup of tea and contentment.  Either way, Beersby and Pocohantas have given me hope for something more in this town.

One Sided Conversations

A friend recently remarked that blogging was rather something to scoff at, assimilating it to nothing more than a one-sided conversation.  Perhaps even something 'we might have to break up' over in her account of my present ambitions as a writer.  An insinuation that implies value can only be derived from two people sharing thoughts and deliberations versus an individual's thoughts conveying substance to contemplate.  While she perhaps has a one-sided point, I can't help but to chuckle regarding her knee jerk reaction missing the mark when it comes to the value that many a one-sided conversation has brought upon our existence.  Take for example the musings of  Plato, Aristotle, Ghandi, Rachel Maddow, and Eminem...icons of the human expression of thoughts, opinion, and instigators of both controversy and insight.  I mean, really? Had it not been for generations of individual thought and one-sided expression, things such as books (conveyors of information as she pointed out) would not be in existence.  I don't hold this particular viewpoint of my dear friend in contempt, however.  Given her present existence in the life sucking undertow that is grad school, I can almost understand her ridicule of any thoughts that live outside the realm of exploding brain cells wired to receive information that is to be regurgitated.  I admire her ability to thrive without emotional and tangible watering of her right sided lobe.  She is nothing short of my antithesis when it comes to the wiring of our 'noodles'.  I navigate with charm, prose, passion, and humor while she charts her course with hard facts, sharp edges, paper cuts and a tenacity that manifests miracles out of cyclic bonds and chemical reactions.  She compartmentalizes, I color outside the lines. She sees the facts, I see the possibilities. Both of us have our place in contributing to conversation, whether one sided or not.  Without our differences, there would be a crippling truth to her opinion of my decision to share the musings of my little deviant noodle ;)