Another Wednesday, another year...

...and I've got Italy on my mind - it's already 2009 there.  But I'm here, so let this last day be one spent in joy, in contemplative bliss, in....utter frustration!

My plans were to spend the day reading, journaling, blog writing and maybe sending off a few work related correspondences, which I had every intention of doing.  Until the problems started -- again. 

Trojans, viruses and tracking cookies, and some sort of something that my new best friend, David, of D and D Services  warned me might bad mojo.  David, as it turns out, is a really calm, thoughtful, patient guy.  Unlike me, a tower of wires and silicon chips don't scare him one bit.  I need Rolaids, Tums, or a mild sedative after dealing with these issues and fearing it's going to force me into having a child, just to give up my first born to pay for repairs - and catch up with work.  This isn't how I planned to spend my day.  

I have been blocked from working, or doing any real work due to these viruses and my computer acting all squirrely.  I'm at a loss.  

David installed some antivirus and adware protection, yesterday, and it seemed the problem was fixed, so to speak.  He mentioned one thing he saw, a Root something or other, that he was hoping wouldn't cause more problems.  Well, hope don't get you much these days.  The problem is back today and it's eaten up quite a bit of my time.  

After he left, I was curious about the deal with viruses and did some searching (bad move). I found that all these viruses and stuff are on the rise - the worst they've ever been, and getting worse.  I started noticing problems just before Christmas Eve.  No doubt hackers skulking for credit card information.    

My computer is being hijacked - there is something on there that allows my browser to keep taking me to ghost pages - probably in the hopes of this bozo hacker/scum/thief that someone will fill out the information necessary for him to steal important, lucrative information. 

I feel trapped.  There's a lot I can't do.  I search out stories, links, etc., for my other blog - the one that earns me money - and I'm stuck.  There's much I can do, but still. I'm nervous about the things I can do - because I never know when I'm gonna get 'tagged' again - the bug is in my system and it rears its ugly head when I least expect it.  It seems to be under control for now - David switched me to a different browser.  We're hoping this will hold out until mid January when I can hand over my computer to him for a few days of repairing and restoring.  

But, I won't allow these scum buckets to take much more of my energy.  I've blogged about them long enough.  

The rest of my New Year's eve will be spent as I had planned - working on my pantoum poem I've been wanting to write, that' s been floating around my head (obessively, hence the pantoum form) since the beginning of this year.  And I will read.  And I will drink some cinnamon tea.  And I will drink some wine - maybe even order a pizza and listen to some classical or opera - it feels like that to me.  What the hell - it's New Year's Eve.

Oh, Yeah....definitely opera....I'm missing Italy.  

I was happy to have not ruined my time listening to KCRW this morning, to the re-broadcast of McCabe's Guitar Shop at 50 - what an amazing program.  I love that guitar shop even though I'm not a guitar player - not even air - but it's one of the best places I've ever listened to live music.  Many, many years ago I got to catch Doc Watson perform there.  That place, once you've been there, stays in your blood.  It's a place for people who really enjoy the contemplative side of live music - you can see the process of the performer up there because it's a sort of workshop - a place where musicians go to just be themselves and work things out in their music.  Pure, straigh-ahead music for music's sake.  I love it.  

One of my resolutions is to spend more time at McCabes - I could use good, live music again without flair, lights and loud audiences. 

Here's to keeping more moments our own, doing what our hearts crave, and spending less time with that viruses, trojans and monsters, like Self-Doubt.  Happy New Year everyone! 

Now, back to thinking about Italy...

Mexican Tupperware

I love my family. I really do. I may not see them as often as I would like to, or even as often as I should, because, after all, there's a lot of 'should's' when it comes to family - and I should be doing more of them. (I should stop using should so much - it's such a place holder for 'do nothing.')

For instance, I should visit more often, all eleven brothers and sisters.  I should spend more time with the kids (no reason not to since I ain't got none of my own), I should call more just to say 'hi.' You get my point, rigth?

So, when I get gems like this, it's the next best thing to being in my family's presence - it's so Us.  I also have to document gems like this quickly, in a sort of if a tree falling in the woods sort of way.   Because in my family, we deny things a lot. If I don't memorialize it, it didn't happen.  I know if I don't get this down, my sis will deny it, insist it's just not true.  But here's the proof. I've got the pictures to prove it happened. 

Okay, so short story long, my sister B planned on making our mom's recipe of champurrado for Christmas Eve. My other sister, F, was part of that plan - they were going to make it together.  I was invited, but I stayed home and work on material for my other blog - the blog I get paid to write for.

Short story longer, after a few hours, I'm thinking I should have gone too.  I was getting tired and melancholy.  I should have (see, there's that Should again) so that I could get some of that delicious champurrado - moms recipe is the best I've ever had, and now I'll probably have to wait another year before one of us make it again.  It also would have been nice to catch up with my sisters, to remember mom and dad and, simply, just do anything else than work - but I stayed home instead, like the good little blogger I'm becoming.

Anyway, so F finally gets home really late with a few goodies from the evening.  My neck and arms are aching from spending, literally, the day at the computer (when you're on a roll, you have to stick with it - that's my philosophy and I'm sticking to it) not realizing the day had slipped into night.  My fingers were freezing even though I was bundled in layer, upon layer, upon layer of clothes (because my blogging and writing ain't good 'nuff to make the big bucks that would allow me the free-lancer's luxury of heat).  I'm tired achy and hungry and I'm thinking I could have had some champurrado if I'd gone, when F tells me suddenly, "oh, B sent you some champurrado," and holds out a white plastic bag.

Where ever Cockles are located on the body, mine began to warm at the mere sound of that.

Freezing and shaking I reach for the bag F is handing over to me like.  With one hand, and still shaking, I pull a pot from the cabinet in my best Dickens flair, holding the white plastic bag with champurrado in the other, and place the pot on the stove, still shaking but now anxious to warm up this bad boy so I can have a cup - I reach into the bag, pull out the container...and fall out laughing.  laughing.  F looked at me with suspicion, certain I'd really lost it this time.  

Bless my sister B. I needed this laugh more than anything else.  I instantly knew two things: B cares, and B wanted to make sure this champurrado made it home, to me, and not a single drop be lost, so she pulled out the big guns as far as containers go -- the Mexican Tupperware.

As God, and now you all, is my witnesses, B, you can't deny this one.

And the champurrado - it was delicious, every single last bit of it.  As I polished off the last drop, all I could think of was poor old Ebeneezer Scrooge being warmed right back into humanity, connecting with his truest, deepest self.  (Could this be the cockles?)

That champurrado in Mexican tupperware touched that deepest, truest self place in me - but I think that the only thing there is this funny bone, the other trait in my family: laughter at someone else's expense (maybe this is what led to the denying stuff in the first place?)  

I was moved to laughter so deep - I felt human again.  I think it might have touched my cockles.    
Mexican Tupperware - the container of champions, not for the feint of heart - to be used only for the most serious storage jobs.

Buon Natale a Tutti

So, it's Christmas Eve, and the only people up at this hour are me, the gardener with the ridiculous leaf blower (I thought those things were outlawed. What ever happened to raking?), and the birds. I haven't heard any of my neighbors out for the day. The trash truck did go by - I forget about them; probably the most important men in my life, how could I forget them?

I've been neglecting my bird feeding responsibilities. What with rain and cold, all incentives to go outside are lost. Plus, I don't want to disturb the heat I've managed to gather up in my house by sheer determination - opening the door is out of the question. Bird feeding will have to wait for a sunnier morning.

Well, I have to write about last Wednesday's 'Warm up your Wednesday' recommendation - Cabbage and Potato Casserole. It was FANTASTIC. I ran out to get some pancetta. Not in the mood for driving to a good Italian market, but not wanting to shop at Ralphs or Bristol Farms, I opted for Trader Joe's, which usually has what I need, but of course, not this time. There must have been an early morning run on pancetta, because there was not a single pancetta roll to be found, so I picked up a package of applewood, cured bacon instead.

The dish was easy and quick. I don't have a working oven, so I had to make it on the stove top. This changed how I cooked it a little, and of course, the time: I had to double the time because I kept the heat low to make sure I didn't burn the bottom of the pan. Even with the time doubled, it was still an easy fix.

The long and short - the dish is a fantastic tasting, comfort light meal - even though it does contain some cream and cheese. The amount of these ingredients is negligible in my book.

It was so good, I picked up another head of cabbage from the farmer's market and plan on making it again tonight - hey, what can I say, it's Wednesday.

On another Wednesday note, I found the sweetest blog, and yet another argument for my theory of Wednesday, called The Wednesday Chef, hosted by Luisa Weiss, who cooks the recipes she finds in the NY Times and LA Times, and then writes about what worked, what didn't. I think this might be the central core of the blog, but she also has some entries about time spent with a friend, sipping elderberry syrup and all the memories that brought up for her. It's got some great recipes, like this simple recipe for Irish Brown Bread other great cooking blog links, and some amazing writing - not to mention the pictures.

This find was a great Wednesday find, something (else) to warm my Wednesday with. I was so motivated by Luisa's writings, that I ran to my refrigerator to see what I could create. What luck! It just so happened that I went to my friend's house for a Latke and Draedle bash. I was dispatched at the end of super fun evening with a plateful of Latke's to take home.

Well, I decided to create something all my own - I took the latke's, a slices of the leftover applewood bacon, onion (lots of onion), about 1/2 milk and 4 eggs. And here's what I got:

I browned the bacon, about 7 minutes on a medium heat, then added the onion. I cooked this mixture for about 8 more minutes, until the onions were softened to an almost transparent stage, just as the sugars start releasing, still on medium heat. I salted this mixture just a bit. Then I broke up the latke's (about 5 - some were sweet potato, some were traditional, and others were carrot and yam latke's) and folded them into the onion mixture, blended well - all the while the heat is still on medium then to low. In a bowl, I mixed together the 4 eggs and milk, salt and fresh pepper. I added this mixture to the latke mixture, blend together well. To this I did add a few pieces of thinly cut Monterey Jack cheese.

Then, I took an aluminum foil tray (mine was small enough to fit in my counter-top/toaster oven), oiled it just a bit, added some more thinly cut pieces of Monterey Jack cheese to the bottom of the tray, just enough for flavor, not to be sloppy, poured the mixture into the aluminum tray, placed a few more pieces of the cheese to the top, covered with more aluminum. Set my timer for 45 minutes. Voila! I had a fantastic applewood-latke-quiche-type-thing.

My house smelled delicious for about an hour after -- what a nice little breakfast.

So, my Christmas Eve, you ask? I have a handful of dvd's I rented, a casserole I want to make, and some poetry I hope to create. I'll spend this holiday eve in reflection, which may or may not be a good idea. I'll tell you next Wednesday.

Oh, and I'm tracking Santa - it's a tough job, but somebody's gotta do it.

Wishing everyone I know and love good tidings, health and lots and lots of blessings.

Warm up you Wednesdays

And so I'll try.

It's been a while since I've been here, but I was reading a listed on my 'Blogs I follow' (being Wednesday and all I thought I'd check out my blog - hoping for the motivation it would take to lay one finger on a key and press, then another and another) and came across "Local Food" a blog by Molly Watson in the Bay Area. It had a delicious nudge of a suggestion to warm up my Wednesday.

This got me thinking about my favorite dishes. Many of them, I have to say, have potatoes and cabbage somewhere in there. How lovely that Molly's recipe today, Wednesday, is a cabbage AND potato casserole - how perfect.

I have all the fixings, sans the pancetta. Since this dish has a vegetarian option, I suppose I could have made this dish today. Except I'd just had dinner an hour before I laid eyes on this recipe (don't ask what I'm doing looking at recipes one hour after eating). Besides, I have issues. Kitchen issues. I don't have an oven and my DeLonghi counter-top oven is too small to make anything of real substance. So I just stood there, letting images of cabbage and potatoes dance through my head.

Kitchen issues and all, this recipe fortified my belief about Wednesday, it's a recipe I can rest my case on: tell me when was the last time you were told you should Warm up your Thursday, or Warm up your Monday. No. I'll bet you haven't. Wednesday is much more poetic, the week's pocket to nestle time for comfort and reflection. And a bowl of cabbage potato casserole is perfectly suited for a Wednesday in my book.

I will stop by the Italian deli tomorrow (I really need to find a good one in my neck of the woods) for some pancetta - I'm going to see what warming up my Thursday feels like. So, if you warm up a Thursday, and there's no one there to share it with, does it mean it didn't happen? Hmmm, I wonder.

I'm not giving up on Wednesday - Wednesday is still my IT day. I'm sure it will make me stronger in my belief. Mostly I'm just cajoling myself into trying this recipe - and I can't wait until next Week. I've got to know. It just sounds so good.

So, now I have my topic for next Wednesday -- my hunt for pancetta and a new recipe.

Cool.

Look Ma!: The Sequel

I've been playing with this toy on Dr. Wicked.

If you're someone who likes to write, but feel you need the motivation of challenge in order to write, then you might like this tool: Dr. Wicked, a tool to help ease yourself into writing - everyday if you please.

So easy, even a procrastinator can do it. You set your word goal, set the timer, and start writing. It's that easy.

I played with it twice and each time, maybe one line was worth anything. But that's how it is with writing no? I mean, sometimes it's just words - a mess of them and not a single one behaving the decent, well educated words should, because the clock was ticking! and you were too freaked out - stuck.

Other times, a block of ten minutes worth of words might yield a single gem, a single line maybe. Other times it isn't so bad, considering it was a mad dash to beat the clock.

The important thing is that you wrote; the cool thing is that you met your set goal. Today I played with it and entered a goal of 500 words in 15 minutes. I typed over 6oo words! (okay, 15 minutes was a bit generous.) I was impressed - the clock isn't stressing me out as much anymore. Not bad for a free write - a kamakaze-just-start-typing-balls-out-see-what- happens exercise. Go on, give it a try - you know you want to. Here's what I mean - at the risk of embarrassment, I'm sharing my most recent:

I've been contemplating an ear piercing. I was in a shop, decided to go and do it and stop thinking about it, so I went. I was immediately confronted with a room full of teen-agers. young women who were there to get more daring, less exposed, parts of their bodies. From the room behind the curtain, I could hear a young girl admit to her fears. But she wanted that part pierce worse than she was afraid. Minutes later I could hear 'you did it?' "oh, yay...I'm so happy! I didn't think i was going to be able to do it.' I wondered where the new pierce was. I thought I should have been more observant and noticed what her face looked like before she went in. She had a prong thing stinking out of her nose. It didn't look red or irritated so I have a feeling it wasn't a new cowbell thing through her nose. Next to the wall was a young, beautiful black girl with the most extraordinary eyes. I note her skin color because it's important to give you an idea of her beauty; light black skin, green eyes with beautiful eyes lashes and her eyebrows framed her eyes beautifully. She was in for a nose piercing. She was going to look stunning. I contemplated a nose piercing. put that idea aside - because only some people can make nose piercings work. You have to be stunning like this young woman, or else, it just looks like metal or shiny object on your nose. I walked out without doing anything after a gaggle of about 5 girls walked in. All were going to pierce something. I'm nearly 50. Why do I want to pierce, I mean, really? What is my motivation. I did it twice before and it seems to not work. My ears are not happy when I do it. I've actually been told 'oh, your ear isn't happy.' I can actually say my ears have been royally pissed off for poking them, then soaking them in sea salt twice a day to help the healing process. The last time I went in for a piercing and walked out was, what if my ear gets pissed off again? What do I do then? The last thing you want is a pissed off ear. This time my reason for walking out without piercing was that I remembered that in reflexology, the ear is important for issues with sciatica. I'm almost 50. What if I piss the thing off that can deal with any sciatic issues that arise? Or worse, what if I trigger some sciatic episode for having poked at my ear and pissed it off? What then? Then I also saw a sign that said 'piercing happy hour - back by popular demand. Mondays and Wednesdays. Today is Sunday. I said to the young woman, 'hey, I just noticed this happy hour sign, I'll be back Monday (today is Sunday) and save some money on this.' Sure, she said. I'm sorry that you had to wait. I think what she meant was 'I'm sorry I left you alone too long to think about whether you wanted to make your own statement and gave you enough time to chicken out.' I walked out with a smile on my face, $50 still in my pocket and a timeline to decide - do it or not. And which ear? left or right. And tattoo instead of piercing or not? Before I leave for San Francisco or when I return. I think this is all just me saying, I may not do this afterall and just accept that I'm a traditional kinda girl.

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© 2008 Jeff Printy/Dr Wicked.com

Gracias, Grazie, Merci, Thanks...

It's a beautiful morning here in Long Beach. The sun is out, but its not sunny. It's quiet, as if everyone were inside, contemplating the things they are thankful for.

My African Mallow (Tara's Pink) is dancing; I got rid of the problem that was keeping them from thriving: ants. Ants had moved into the root system. I flooded them out, then sprayed them with Sevin as they came up to the surface with all their silly little eggs. There were so many ants, it's as if the brim of the planter had legs - it was crawling. I had no mercy - I sprayed them all.

I'm thankful for my dancing Tara's Pink.
I'm thankful for my blooming Moroccan daisy (it's starting to bloom!)
I'm thankful for my Santa Barbara daisy (for not dying and trying to find a reason to keep going), and the other daisy - the yellow one.
I'm thankful for this morning, and the fact that I find quiet and beauty outside my window, instead of horrors and fear.

I'm thankful for my family, with all our neurosis, and that we will be together later this afternoon and remember that we are a family.

I'm thankful for the beautiful, huge red, meaty yams and the farmer who was able to grow them and bring them to me at the Farmer's Market. Thankful that someone is still able to make a living growing food - not an easy, or necessarily profitable, life but they do it anyway. I'm thankful for that.

Thankful for the beautiful music that I'm listening to this morning - thankful for radio, especially public radio.

Thankful for the roof over my head to contemplate my blessings.

Ooh, except, I'm not thankful for that little dog, Lucky, who just decided to take care of his business outside my window, smack dab in the middle of my reverie, as if he knew I was looking out.

Gotta go talk to Lucky's people - yet again, about this Lucky problem. Why my yard, why my window? I should buy them a leash for Christmas and put it on their doorstep.

Maybe they'll get the hint?

Happy Thanksgiving everyone.

Skatalicious

My morning started early. Four thirty in the morning early. I had two little kittens, so cute that I couldn't be angry. I was taking them to the veterinarian this morning for their little kitty tubaligations. My brother hasn't been up to dealing with a lot since his divorce, so I offered to take care of this for him.

okay, can we say sticker shock! Before I went to this animal hospital for their Wednesday Low Cost Spay and Neuter Clinic, I got a quote for the reduced clinic price - special on Wednesday, right? It was reasonable.

But just like a car, or any other big ticket item, you have an option to do that, add this, be humane and give them that. Thirty minutes later, I'm looking at an inhumane bill of close to $500 for two kitties - and they aren't even getting something in return - it's being taken! God giveth, vets taketh away - from the wallet too.

But it had to be done. It was the right thing to do. These kitties are loved by my niece, who is going throw her own trials as she adjusts to mom being out of the picture. If it isn't done, I know they'll get the Chicago Ride - one way ticket to a field somewhere if they end up pregnant. I couldn't bear not doing this, but I didn't want to stress my brother out with an exhorbitant cost either. The receptionist was more than kind and patient while I worked this out, and she helped me bring down the price by getting shear necessitities.

It all worked out - a deal was brokered and the two little cuties are there now under medical supervision. I pick them up tomorrow. But enough of that. That was just the start.

Later, I was back home, thinking about the Skatalites - a wickedly fantastic Ska band. I was turned on to them on Sunday when I stopped at the new Mexican restaurant, Lola's on 4th Street (across from the Art Theater). This section of Long Beach is becoming the 'It' place to be in Long Beach. Take my word for it.

Anyway, I was thinking about it because I had such a good experience there on Sunday. On Sunday I was in need of a nice place to relax, good ambiance, good food to nourish myself while I read a couple of pages of my new favorite magazine, the Art of Eating.

Here's the deal. The restaurant immediately makes you feel embraced. The music was initially a little loud, but that was okay because it was good stuff, and before you know it, you settle into it. I was alone. I needed a comfortable space - I don't like to be seated in a small corner table, or the counter just because i'm alone. I was ready for a fight if my aloneness became an issue.

It didn't. The young man, who took a bit too long to acknowledge me, made me wait until he was ready to look up at me, was very gracious and let me sit where ever I wanted. Even though it was the dinner hour and more people could pop in at any minute. He made up immediately for having not noticed me.

The colors were familiar to me, which only added to my level of comfort. The prints were not too loud or obvious, but there are definitely a few pieces to catch the eye. Then there's the music. For most of the time that I was there, there was this music that settled well into my bones. What was it?

Now, I love corn. I love corn tortillas, corn meal, corn on the cob - I love corn. The tortilla chips were brougt out almost immediatly, with two small sides of red sauce and a green tomatillo sauce, but with some texture to it. The tortilla chips were fresh! The tomatillo sauce was excellent - right amount of salt too. I don't care what anybody says, a salsa, to cut muster with me, needs to be salted properly while in prep, not at the table. The salt does not get enough time to incorporate if not blended in previously. Things were salted nicely here.

I love this place, already. I know it's going to be a place I visit often because it fits in its own skin, perfectly with what, I believe, this restaurant is after: savory familiarity - interpreted. And I think they've almost got it.

But more about the food later. The first piece that caught my attention was a Beatles tune, I should have known better. I don't normally care for covers - unless it so different that it is rendered better. And this was. Shortly after that, I caught a familiar favorite standard of mine Begin the Beguine -- a la Ska! Who are these guys?

I called the waitress over because I had to know what it was.

"Ska," she said when I asked her about the music - it's my husband's favorite - it's the Skatalites.

The familiarity: Ska has elements that one would easily recognize in Mexican music. This is what I mean about interpretation. The menu is pretty straight-forward Mexican, and some things are done, again, interpreted like the green mole with chicken breast I ordere, "hands down our best dish" the waitress assured me. There are four things I test in a Mexican restaurant to authenticity: Mole, the house salsa, Chiles Rellenos, beans and rice. Those are the benchmarks. In this case I was swayed into trying the green mole.

It was flavorful, a nice blend of tomatillos, seasoned beautifully - just enough to let the tomatillos dance on your tongue for a while. I like that. But at some point, the tomatillo should blend with the rest of the dish, to complete the dance if you will. Unfortunately, in this case the chicken breast stood out like a wall flower that no one asks to dance.

I asked my waitress about this. I told her, frankly, I was expecting my dish to be blended together, like a mole dish should be. She told me that they had been experimenting with this dish. That they had found that aesthetics were lacking - they couldn't serve the dish that way, because traditionally, the chicken is shredded into the mole and served.

Okay, but you're sacrificing flavor and richness for aesthetics. I'm not so sure I buy that. In any regard, the mole was so nice, and it complemented my tortillas so nicely that I forgave that.

The beans - oh god, the beans. Not pinto. I love pinto. Lola's unabashedly did not serve pintos. Each dish is accompanied by Frijoles Peruanos - beans not traditionally served in a Mexican restaurant, but you're getting my point, right? It's traditional here at Lola's, but not typical.

The Sangria was served in the wrong glass. In order to drink it, you need a straw. I'm sorry, I don't care to drink my sangria out of a straw. There were no juicy echoes, more on a dry than anything. I also couldn't pick up a trace of Brandy. It was a bit flat. But it drinkable.

The rice. Well, it was rice - nice and fluffy without being dry or too clumpy - it was very light, yet moist. But, ah, it didn't bowl me over. I would have loved to have seen it done white with strong essence of onion and traces of tomato for coloring - they way our grandma's would have done it.

Then on to dessert. I had two choices - pumpkin pie or flan. Are you kidding? I'm having pumpkin pie tomorrow with my family, of course silly rabbit! I took the flan. It was cool, nice texture and a fair amount of caramelization.

Then the music again. All in all, it was a lovely evening. Good food, good music and good reading - there's a wonderful critique by John Irving in this months issue.

Now, you know I'm going to be going back to try the red mole and chile rellenos - you know that, right?

And now, because I've been thinking about Sunday so much, I've spent my Wednesday trying to get some work done - to no avail. Maybe now that i have this posting out of my system, I can get back to earning my keep.

Lola's ....Skatalites.......skatalicious!

It's all I wanted, really...

For four months it's all I wanted and at last, it's mine.

My Mexican Sage Bush (Salvia Leucantha) has bloomed! Can we say Excited?

I was about ready to give up and put the plant curbside for Wednesday morning pick-up after seeing this plant in full bloom everywhere except in my garden. I admit to Sage Bush envy - why not my garden?

I thought the problem was location. Maybe it wasn't getting enough full sunlight, so, it got prime spot in the front yard. Waited. Nothing.

I thought maybe I'm not giving it enough water, so, I increased the number of times I find myself outdoors watering my plants (okay, so the others were a bit under hydrated - now they're doing great!), but for my Sage Bush - nothing.

I called in reinforcements. I called in a gardener/landscape expert, Kathy Alford, to consult on my yard and garden, see how to spruce it up. Kathy took one look at my Salvia and said 'that needs to be cut back, it's too leggy. You haven't been able to get blooms, have you?' Ah! the answer.

So, after our consultation, and recommendation that I do little more than containers since the house isn't mine, I cut back the Sage Bush - quite low as she recommended. Watered it. Cleared anything that might obstruct full sunlight. Waited. Nothing.

Watered. Waited, watered. Watered, waited. Waited. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. My ego bruised, I was done. I had seen Sage Bushes bloom beautifully in the worst conditions; in the shallowest pots, in brindled shade, in dry sidewalk spots. I gave it a little condo compared to some of the pots and containers I saw other Sage growing in - and blossoming!

So I decided its failure wasn't due to anything I did, or didn't do. It didn't like my garden space, or my skill, maybe my aesthetics - who knows. I was done. My Wednesday entry was going to be about my time spent putting out curbside. Done. Fin. Finitto. Basta. The morning of my return from my businees trip, I walked down to Bernie's where I get my morning fix of caffeine in the neighborhood. On the way, I ran into no fewer than five large Sage Bushes - in full bloom, as if to mock me. Frankly, I take stuff like that personally. I resolved to get rid of my frustrations. I started thinking of other plants to put in its place. Cacti. I started thinking of all the succulents that would do well, and even give color to my front yard - and I wouldn't have to give them all the attention the Sage had been getting.

I got home after one a.m. last night from an eight hour drive. As I walked up the walkway, I glanced over where the Sage Bush sits. In my peripheral view, I thought I caught a glimpse of color - could it be? Too exhausted, and hands too full of 'stuff' from work, and the night (or early morning) much too dark to inspect, I came in and straight to bed. Eight hours of late night driving can be brutal. Maybe it was just a hallucination.

But this morning, I poured my first cup of coffee (Finca Morena from Honduras, from beans brought home from Ritual, a favorite of mine in the Mission District in San Francisco - awesome, awesome coffee) and headed outside to take a look. Yes. Yes, indeed, a beautiful thing indeed. Two beautiful, deep lavender colored blooms. Concrete proof of my efforts - in both patience and perseverance. And I guess, procrastination because I meant to throw it before I left on my business trip, meant to throw out my frustrations, put them out on the curb last month, but things got in the way. I'm glad they did.

For good measure, I'm going out just as soon as I finish this - to give it a little bit of care and attention, some water - to thank it for making me happy. It's the least I could do for even thinking of tossing it out.

This is all I wanted - a Sage Bush that blooms, by the steps, first thing I see when I come home. Our deal is complete. How good is that!

Look Ma!

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lab.drwicked.com

Kids for Obama

I've been working from home all day. I don't have a television, so I'm saved from all the Monday (or Wednesday) morning quarter-backing. I haven't turned on the radio today because I'm upset about the No on Prop 8 loss - absent a Hail Mary from absentee ballots, for all intents and purposes, it's lost - and I don't want to hear anything for a while about it.

But I'm working from home and outside my window, the neighborhood kids are gathering. I happen to live next door to the leader of this circle neighborhood friends, or maybe he's more like the Sargent at arms of the group - either way, they listen to him.

This is a curious group of kids. They range in ages from about 9 to 13 - and they're talking about the election: who would vote for whom and why - "If I was able to vote."

Although I couldn't make out their arguments because they were excitedly talking over one another, they were well thought out responses to each others questions. It became clear to me that these kids were following, to some degree, the news. They grasped the importance of this election.

I did hear one say "I have reasons why I would vote for each one." It's the girls voice, the only girl in the group, and probably the oldest. She's a very thought out young lady. I've heard her chastise the boys on other occasions for being thoughtless, rude or disrespectful. She's clearly thought about this.

The outcome? Of the six friends, five voted for Obama.

I live on a good street.

but it's dark, and I've been working for 9 hours. I'm done.
I'll have a tea and think about how lovely this day has been.

That's how I'll spend my evening - with the sounds of hope, of change, of a new generation.

"...Because they believed that this time, it would be different..."

My god.

Barack Obama's acceptance speech is still weaving through my mind. That was one of the most powerful, on point, emotional speeches I have heard in a long time. That speech warmed me and assured me that I was not wrong about him - about my vote, about my hope in what he can start to do.

I've walked around quietly this morning, still taking in what happened last night.

What we did last night. What Barack did.

For as long as I can remember, I've had a constant, low grade fear that I would never see this day, but I never let it leave my lips because I didn't want to put that energy out there. I thought hope was more important.

I'm so glad I held on more strongly to hope than to despair.

What a sweeping change! This is a mandate - no more can anyone say that we, the people, are alright with business as usual.

I was alone in my house listening to all the analysis, commentators and pundits throughout the day. Was glued to the radio when the numbers started coming in. And I ran out of my house when CNN called the presidency for Obama - I had to be with people, to celebrate the moment - to listen to his acceptance speech with others.

I spent that moment at Hot Java cafe here in Long Beach - what a fantastic moment. There were tears, some were mine. Happy, because this marks a time in our history when we begin to change the face of this country - the change we always wanted. I can't speak for others (though others spoke loud and clear last night), but it's the change I've waited for. The day we elect a black to the Whitehouse.

How powerful the moment when Barack talked about the 106 year old black woman who cast her vote - recalling all the changes she has seen in her lifetime - the racism she lived through, the oppression - as a woman, and as a black in our - and to have lived long enough to cast her vote for a black man.

This is the country I love - the country with tolerance, a bigger heart and vision than we sometimes forget we're capable of.

There is much work to do, much to still change. I wait now for the results of the Prop 8 initiative - this conservative led anachronous punt for bigotry and hate - and hope California does the right thing. I was naive to think the California Supreme Court decision was enough to have put the issue to bed. The numbers are still coming in. It's not looking good, but I'm holding on to hope.

But for now, I am more ready for the day, - and I know now it can happen in my lifetime, that we elect a woman to the presidency.

The speech reached out to everyone and essentially laid out his plan for his term - and I am so excited for all its possibilities.

This is the moment, our moment - the moment this country began to change.

November 4th...

Armed, caffeined, book in hand ready for the long lines at my polling place, I head out this morning to my polling place to cast my vote.

Even though I'm only one mile from my voting site, I drove my car because they predicted rain for the morning. I don't have a television so I heard this somewhere, anyway, I drove because like any self respecting Southern Californian, I don't own an umbrella, a water-resistent jacket, and like any self respecting couch potato, my sneakers are somewhere, keeping their location a secret from me.

Anyway, I get there expecting to be in lines for hours and I am pleasantly surprised. It's the first time I've had to wait more than, say, five to ten minutes to vote, but the line isn't bad at all.

I arrive at 7:34 a.m - no one at the entrance. I get a bit excited thinking I might be one of the first, if not the first, to vote. Wrong. A few feet more, into the National Guard building, down a short hall - I see it, the line. But it looks as if I might be the 30th person in line.

Calculating the rate of movement, maybe 30 to 40 people have already voted.

Though I didn't take a formal count, it appeared that the location had six to eight voting booths. There were a number of young female students from Long Beach State University working the polls.

And so here's what I saw: a number of young parents with children, even babies in carriages, young adult children with elderly latino parents, people nervous about not being on the roster because they never show up on the roster for some reason. The only problem I can report on was the loud young man, talking on his phone - loudly - on one call, letting his co-workers know he'd be in later, that he'd been to the wrong voting precinct earlier, on another call, to chastise a friend for voting 'wrong on that one, my brother. You're so fat headed that you don't listen to explanation and you don't read the fine print. You voted wrong on that one - and you're Daddy's a Deacon - we're gonna see him this weekend, you and me. I can't wait to get together with you and the guys this weekend - you're gonna hear about voting wrong on 'that one."

Clearly, he was talking about Proposition 8 - his friend, who had so obviously voted No on 8, but mean to vote Yes; maybe he meant to vote no - was only telling his friends, like this studly-rama friend of his in line, he would vote yes, but intended to vote No all along. Whatever it is, I know that there was one more vote against Prop. 8.

After all that constant loud talking, he finally got the attention of one of the polling staff, turns out is was a friend, and they determined that he was again, in the wrong polling precint.

This young man, lover of phones and constantly using it, seems his time would have been more wisely spent had he used his phone for purpose and called the registrars office to find out where his correct polling place was.

I couldn't really read my book because the line moved too quickly, and that gentleman with the phone was too distracting - we were all sorry to see him leave after talking in line for 40 minutes - I could tell by the sighs, the chortles and under breath giggles when he turned out to find, maybe, his correct voting site.

But this young man was going to vote. He did not seem to be the type to be detered...he was going to cast his vote, and I know he was voting for Obama. And I suspect he was also going to be voting Yes on 8.

On the exit informal polling of prop. 8 - mostly everyone coming out of location reported voting NO on prop. 8.

I have hope. it's only 11:11 am. - and people are out there walking like I've never seen, getting to their polling places. There's an excitement in the air. I feel good.

I have to keep myself entirely involved in work - and wait for the numbers to start coming in. I feel like that kid in the commercial - the night before a big family trip to Disneyworld - everyone, especially that cute little boy, too excited to go to sleep. Well, I'm like that little boy, Too Excited to do anything else. Hope I can work through at least 5 p.m. I hope. Maybe.

Geeeeessshhhh.....this is tough.

Sunday Before Change

This morning, time was changed.

Daylight savings happened this this morning - while we slept.

It's sprinkling. It stops, it starts, the sun takes a peek and retreats. It sprinkles. And it stops.

And despite the ground being wet, the skies ambiguous, the kids on the block are outside, talking about men they admire (an interesting conversation for 10 year old kids), throwing in bits of Spanish they know (they're Caucasian English speakers) - and they're laying on the grass.

This is a sign. A good sign.

Things have been uncertain, at times ambiguous and downright frightening, but it's all gonna be good - I breathe - I have hope that next Wednesday will be a Wednesday very well spent.

The universe is screaming Change. This year is about more than us - it's about the planet that sustains us, and we can only do right by it if we change. And this year is the beginning. This is the beginning of fundamental changes; if we are going to be the country we were meant to be, we have to start now. I feel like the last two hundred plus years have been dress rehearsal - Tuesday will tell us, and the rest of the world, what we are really made of, our truest self, our view of humanity. I believe that Wednesday there will be a collective sigh of relief.

Right now I'm thinking about kids, years from now, when those of us here today will be gone, little boys and girls sitting on someones lawn, talking about men and women they admire - about all the people who stepped up, who were part of the revolution for humanity. While the Republicans slept, rested on their laurels and hubris, this quiet revolution took shape. People saying enough. And its day has come.

I'm imagining that they will have cleaner air, a nicer planet and they will utter Barack Obama's name as someone they admire - talk about that time in history when things started changing for the better.

I like this image.

The sun is out, and birds just started singing. This is good.

Oh right, I'm supposed to write...

Well, that didn't quite work out did it? It will never work out when I spend my Wednesday on the road, trying to make my way back home from having spent over a week in Northern California - working.

Northern California has lost it's shine for me because it's so connected to work. No more leisurely drives - those are now spent worrying that I might have miscalculated the time and I'm not going to get to my destination on time; I didn't account for road closures, damning all road closures to hell - and anxious about getting to my destination. And so, the ride back is always sweeter - even if it is on the 5 highway. I even find myself being okay with the poor, miserable, smelly cows at Coalinga. Does anyone know anyone who lives in Coalinga - and don't count the inmates at the prison, or the cows.

I mean seriously - who in bloody hell lives in Coalinga? Still, I enjoy passing that god-forsaken agribusiness because it tells me I'm that much closer to home.

The ride was uneventful. To add excitement, I decided that I would not stop at my usual pit stops - I'd play this trip a lot riskier and stop at unfamiliar stations, push myself as far as I could go before my legs begged to be stretched - and I'd eat funkier food (this is almost a necessity to stay away on the 5) .

Seven hours, two Jack-in-the-Box ninety nine cent tacos, one zucchini muffin and one large Jamba Peanut Butter Chocolate Moo'd shake later (I don't need no stinkin' health) - I was home sweet home. My bed never looked so good.

For some reason this trip was tougher. I couldn't find my 'zone,' couldn't find good things to think about, or creative threads to ponder, my CD's need to be refreshed - I've even learned the words to most of my Italian songs, the melodies to my Latvanian Kokle folk songs - I scare myself - and the lyrics to Tracy Chapman's Fast Car ('...city lights laid out before us and your arms and legs wrapped roung my shoulders') - years it took for me to get this. All this driving is turning me into a true renaissance woman.

Home now, I notice my plants survived my sisters lack of watering. She swore up and down that she watered them, but a green bush doesn't go from plush to droopy fading yellow in the time frame she had to water my plants - here's another cost I'll have to incur - plant sitting because she won't work with me...

The upshot, because I always try to find the upshot in all my driving and each trip: I didn't eat as much as I thought I was going to eat, and my back held up despite my stupid 'thrill seeking' behavior to push how long I could go before taking a pee or stretch break - next thing you know I'll be doing either Jack Ass stunts on national television, or Extreme sky jumping or some other extreme sport to get my high - that's how wild I felt.

But right now, the couch is looking real good.

My theory of Wednesday

I have a confession to make: I don't have something clever, or even remotely interesting, to write about everyday. There. I said it. Now you know.

Actually, that's not entirely true. I've had to split myself, and my writing efforts, in several schizophrenic directions, that it has not been possible to give time to this blog everyday - or anything remotely close - as I originally planned.

And yet, when it comes to this blog, no amount of reading of our economic Armageddon, no amount of traipsing in my little back yard garden, no amount of watching hummingbirds dash from blossom to blossom, like the rest of us, in search of life giving nectar's, nor digging up grubs or worms that leech off the the roots of plants that are just trying to survive - Not even having to pick up the crap left on my yard by the scavenging, trolling dogs on my street, not unlike the 'you know who's up on wall street, basking in the righteousness of our God-bless-America free market, while leaving their crap for the rest of us to pick up -- none of this has moved me to a story. It's all being said said already. And I'm not one to shout over someone else in a conversation.

So I got to thinking about my theory of Wednesday.

My theory? It goes like this: with the exception of a good lazy Sundays, Wednesday is the best day. It's as if the universe relaxes on Wednesday, and gives me these nice little morsels and tidbits of life, space to look back, while at the same time giving me an opportunity to look forward to what is possible. It's an ideal moment in time. And because it's an ideal moment, I'm really tuned in to all the good stuff, mine own and others, that Wednesday has to offer. It's a pattern that shows up over and over again.

We all have patterns that keep showing up in our lives. Whether it's a number, a month, a season, a type of lover - good or not so good, how and when we tend to find said lover, when we start or end something - when loved ones depart. Sometimes we don't notice the pattern. But our intuition does and starts nudging us. Sometimes we don't pay attention. But the patterns are there. My pattern is Wednesdays - and April and Decembers and seven, but I won't go into that right now.

Like the other day - yes, it was on a Wednesday in San Francisco. I had just shared my theory of Wednesday with my friend Marie. The next night at dinner with a mutual friend, Lee, we started sharing food stories. Lee wanted to tell us about his most treasured childhood memory - in his former life Lee was a librarian, so of course, he's a good story-teller. We were all his, but he really had me at "Every Wednesday after school..."

There it was. Marie and I looked at each other and she smiled. It's like that for me. Wednesdays keep showing up - all the good stuff, whether my own or somebody Else's, has a Wednesday connected to it.

So, I've decided to give in to it - Wednesday is the day I will park myself, open myself up to whatever presents itself and write about it - instead of finding something to write about. Who knows what will show up. I can't think of a better way to spend a Wednesday.

So none of that Armageddon stuff for me - none of it inspires me.

And I don't care that the behavioral scientists say that during times of uncertainty, at times when we have no control over the things that gravely impact our lives, when we feel most impotent, that is the time we are most likely to resort to magical thinking, to finding patterns where there are none - because it's the only thing we can make sense of.

It's so subtle, maybe almost a silly thing, but it's there - impossible to ignore. That's my theory, and I'm sticking to it.

Working (not so) harder to prove herself: or letting the boys fight your battles

I watched a portion of an interview the other day where Palin , one of the two member panel, was talking about how, if a woman is an elected official and in the public eye, therefore under scrutiny, and if this position is particularly unique, like the first woman candidate with a real honest-to-god-shot at the presidency, said woman should not be able to cry 'foul' when vigorously questioned, shouldn't expect to be treated with kid-gloves or any differently than any other politician in that position. Male or female - period. She went on to say that it pained her to hear women politicians ask for special treatment. Instead, she believed it was the responsibility of said woman to work harder - said woman should prove herself and work twice as hard. Hillary, I'm sure learned a lot from these useful 'tips.'

Guess who isn't playing by her same rules? Guess it all changed when she and the party realized that it was going to take more than lipstick, a hunting rifle and a husband who is like akin to a one man band (pilot, union member, fisherman) and rehearsed quips for the debates. Now it's all about Protectin' Palin.

In case no one has noticed, she uses her husband, Todd, like her E-ticket (remember the ticket books at Disneyland -- the best rides required the E tickets) "Todd loves his Piper," and "He's a proud union member," and "He's a four-time snow-mobile champion," He's a fisherman," and 'loves his hockey,' and "He's still my guy." Maybe he should be in the running instead of Sarah? Track (who names their son Track?) being waved like a banner for 'enlisting to serve his country and fight in Iraq and confront 9/11 terrorists. No he's not. He's going to Iraq. Iraq had nothing to do with 9/11. Still she waves Track like a flag. And her son Trig. Sweet enough child. Now she's a friend to the many families, mine included, who have had to wrestle the bureaucracies and systems just to meet the basic needs of their special needs children. What she doesn't tell everybody is that she cut funding to special needs before she gave birth to her own son with special needs. All of a sudden, she gets it! She is now a friend to all those families who existed before she cut the funding. Hey, give me a high five, new buddy!

But she says little about her girls. Other than Bristol, the daughters are not waved - girls are just girls. What do they contribute but headache and heartache - cute and sweet enought, but the boys, the boys. If this was a family in any other time in history, she'd be encouraging the girls to just stay home, why bother with anything else? "Ya know, you're just gonna get married and pregnant anyway. Some guy with money will come along, you're pretty girls, and take care of ya." It's subtle, but recognizable. I recognize that woman -- that mom who puts sons first 'the boys.' It's subtle, but it's there.

So, the kid-gloves are on. Her team of Good Ol' Boys is protecting her by limiting the nature and questions that can be asked in the debates, her exposure to media because they want her to extol the presidential candidate, McCain, not stand out. They claim she is not being treated respectfully - hmmm.....isn't that par for the course? But then, I'm not so shocked. Not when the second in command in this party, has the either stupidly or audacity to claim that the vice president is not part of the executive cabinet and therefor the rules of preservation of records from his office do not apply to him. Rule benders, cheats and opportunists.

All this makes me think of a case I had to brief for a school assignment - a case of the Japanese Auto Manufactures: to get around U.S. rules, their cars were, on paper, what it needed to be to be at any given moment, it was a car, then it wasn't, then it was, then it wasn't. All in the name of profit and getting around the rules. Who cares, right? It mattered. It mattered because everyone else trying to get their automobiles, or any product for that matter, into the U.S. have strict laws they have to abide by, and our government has to enforce these rules to protect our economy and the health and safety of U.S. consumers. Lately I've been thinking about that case; our own representatives have been hard at work looking for ways to screw us, while keeping their hands clean, for ways to take the benefits of office - all to gain the benefit - without the responsibilities, cost or consequences. It feels more like a game of He loves me, he loves me not. Whatever happened to For the people?

I guess the only folks who know her already, from their days in Alaska, will get to see their governor making a name for herself outside of their home state. The rest of us won't get to see the real Palin, or any form of Palin - if her boys have their way. American's are just supposed pick up that pencil an vote yes, because she's one of the boys, knows how to skin a moose, knows hockey and has sent a son to Iraq. I am so looking forward to the debates. The GOP can only protect her so long.

If she were honest with herself and an person of character, interested in the right thing, she'd tell all those boys 'Back off' - she'd be that 'woman' she sketched in that interview, face the music and expect no special treatment and put herself out there in the public eye for everyone to make an educated decision about her. she'd do exactly what she accused Hillary Clinton of not doing - she was very interested in that standard when she could hide in some obscurity, at some 'tea time' sort of interview. She'd stop already with letting the big boys protect. What self respecting high ranking official, male or female, hides behind the pants or skirts of someone else, waiting to be protected or shielded? (I know what you're thinking, but that's my point - many do, and aren't they the ones who have something to hide, who you hold in low regard - people of suspect character?)

I'm disappointed, but not shocked, that Palin isn't playing by her own rules. She would expect that other women play by them, but not her. The funny thing is that I agreed with what she was saying at the time of the interview. If you are going to be a politician especially, in any position of responsibility, expect to get drilled. You are dealing with many more lives than just your own - questions are going to be tough and they ought to be. But, sadly, I'm not shocked because this is the woman who voted against the Violence Against Women Act, who would just as soon turn over Roe v. Wade and the right to birth control for women - and a woman's right to choose. I say this is a woman with some serious issues against her own gender.

She's a lipstick wearing pit-bull who's all bark and no bite, a barracuda more akin to a manatee (no offense to manatees).

I wonder if she thought, (nah, the GOP doesn't seem to do much of that lately) about the how a barracuda is defined before she allowed the song to be played as background for her (from wikipedia:

They are voracious predators and hunt using a classic example of lie-in-wait or ambush. They rely on surprise and short bursts of speed to overrun their prey, sacrificing maneuverability.

The larger barracudas are more or less solitary in their habits. Barracudas do not stick around to care for their young. Large barracudas, when gorged, may attempt to herd a shoal of prey fish in shallow water, where they guard over them until they are ready for another meal. Large barracudas have been known to eat young barracudas.

What a difference an administration makes....

Twenty four little hours ago, it looked grim. But the government is stepping up to the plate and hitting it out of the ball park for wall street.

I'm reading the headlines this morning and this one stopped me cold

"America's economy is facing unprecedented challenges. We're responding with unprecedented measures," Bush declared, standing in the White House Rose Garden with Treasury Secretary Henry Paulson, Federal Reserve Chairman Ben Bernanke and Christopher Cox, chairman of the Securities and Exchange Commission.

"This is a pivotal moment for America's economy," Bush said. He said that a financial contagion that began with low-quality home mortgages had "spread throughout our financial system."

Indeed. This is a pivotal moment indeed - and we need to do our part to ensure this doesn't happen again.

I'm sitting at my computer reading this and I remember that when Clinton's term was up, I was driving down the 10 freeway, feeling free, listening to NPR on my way out for a weekend drive, or maybe for a middle of the week getaway, I don't remember now, but I remember the news report about the surplus Clinton had succeeded in creating. As he was leaving office, we were left with an incredible surplus and it felt good.

One administration later, I'm at my computer, working from home (thank god because I don't know how I would afford the fuel to and from work everyday, much less road trips 'just because' anywhere anymore). I'm going cabin crazy because I don't get out much anymore -- can't afford it. And our economy is tanking, our markets are in crisis, I can't afford fuel - I cringed yesterday at Ralph's supermarket when my bill was totaled -- oh, well, there goes any ideas of an outing this weekend.

This administration has mismanaged the country like no other administration has ever done. Hubris. And who pays the price in this case? We do. The Government is having to step in and bail everything out...I'm not opposed to this. The alternatives were too calamitous to even imagine. But here are the republicans agreeing that the government is right in this case to step in. When all along they think there should be less governmental involvement, socializing the debt, privatizing the benefits.

This is what happens. I don't know much about the markets, in fact, I know nothing, about the financial world and world markets, not really. But even I could see where this was heading. If you listen to the news, or read the news and you're a responsible person, you couldn't help but see where this was heading. Why couldn't they? This is what happens when there is no oversight.

All these big boys playing with big toys, making up their own rules, bullying the smaller boys and girls, wiping out anything 'mom and pops' in their greedy little games - adoring administration encouraging this irresponsible conduct -all for the sake of 'creating more jobs,' more wealth in the pockets of every American - not just wall street. Ask any unemployed person if that has actually happened - if they are in a better position since the benefits of the markets have been soaring for wall street

Now that the shit hits the fan, yeah, now it's okay for government to step in - its no risk, it's a good thing for us if we're gonna save anything from totally tanking:

"This has led to an erosion of confidence that has frozen many financial transactions including loans to consumers and to businesses seeking to expand and create jobs," Bush said.

"As a result we must act now to protect our nation's economic health from serious risk. There will be ample opportunity to debate the origins of this problem. Now is the time to solve it."

Yes, indeed. An erosion of confidence, and erosion of family an erosion of dreams of future for an entire generation.

I'm sorry for all the hard work Clinton did, despite being under the gun with investigations and obstacle at every turn by republicans out to make him an ineffective president, tirelessly trying to stain his presidency (with some help by Mr. Clinton himself!) - in spite of all this, he left the American people in a good economic place. A record surplus that had never been seen before.

And what does he come out looking like? A sandwich - stuffed between to bumbling Bush administrations.

yes, please, give us less government involvement and oversight so you all can screw us over again, until all you big boys get outta hand and the government needs to bail you out - again. No thank you very much, Mr. president.

But I do hope that the public heeds his words "This has led to an erosion of confidence..." and "There will be ample opportunity to debate the origins of this problem. Now is the time to solve it."

Yes, let's debate later, and fix the problem now. Everybody, put a big red circle around November 4th - we need a responsible, populous administration, not one for the privileged, for the few - that runs and leaves us holding the bag.

A Woman Knows...

You hear that a lot.

Women, for eons, have been trusting their gut, following their senses for their own survival, for their children's and family. Now we seem to have forgotten what's in our best interest. We seem to have lost our ability to be trusted with making the most fundamental decisions - decisions that concern our bodies.

At least, that's what the right conservatives would have you believe.

I know I said I wouldn't use my website for making political comments - but I lied. A woman's right to make decisions over her own body is something I cannot be silent about.

This republican presidential ticket can do more harm to woman. At a point in our history, we find ourselves once again in a precarious political position. I am ashamed to know that a woman can, bring down the proverbial hammer and nail on a womans right to choose, Roe v. Wade - on hard fought progress - Palin, the pentacostal feminist proud to call herself a Pit-Bull with lipstick, Barracuda -the first Republican woman nominee for vice president. That a woman can take women as a whole back to the hell before choice, before contraception - because she speaks for all women, since she is a woman afterall. The conservative members of our society would have women trapped, without a say as to what happens to us, reducing us to nothing more than vessels, incubators. They say they're for a culture of life - whose life?

We should think long and hard to what was won by the many women who came before us. The many women who lost their lives in an attempt to have some control over their bodies - women exercising defense of their bodies.

I would urge women to read Audre Lorde's Zami: a new spelling of my name. There's so much in literature addressing the history of female choice and reproduction. Women today are very disconnected from our struggles - of our mother's and grandmothers. If you come from money, or anything resembling lack of struggle, you can't know what it is to not have a voice over your body - even in 2008. If you are thinking of supporting the republican conservative ticket, I implore anyone who reads this, to think long and hard, read on the issue of women's reproductive rights, oppression and the many forms it take, the effects of poverty on women, before casting a vote.

Rapes, incest, depression, poverty, oppression, mental illness, male privilege - when these things are eradicated, maybe only then can there be anything that resembles dialogue where a woman's right to choose is concerned. Until then, everyone needs to leave choice alone - leave it between a woman and her god, her conscience. No one but a woman knows what is best for her own self.

This woman, Palin, one heart-beat away from being president should this party win, doesn't believe in abortion even in cases of rape or incest, would consider it maybe in cases where a mother's life is in danger. It's so good of her. Pandering to mothers of children with special needs 'you'll have a friend in the White House.' Hypocrites. Ask families with children with special needs how friendly this administrations policies have been to them. Parent's having to choose whether to keep the label of disability on their children - for the sake of keeping coverage and benefits. How dare they put parent's up to a decision like that. How dare they present an autistic child's one point improvement in diagnostic tests - one point. One point is not going to give an autistic child the ability to have gainful employment, the life skills necessary to make it on entirely on their own - how dare they. One point. That's what the rules say. one point improvement and benefits have to be cut. With friends like that...

Years I've dedicated to helping women in abusive relationships - in situations, in this day and age, in the United States of America, where they had no control over their lives - under the threat of harm, even death. Women raising children with Down Syndrome, Cerebral Palsy, Autism, - and probably the most destructive and often invisible destryoyer of life - rage and self hatred. Where's the help? where are the father's? Gone. Had they had a choice, they cry when they tell me, they would not have had their children. But they were raped by their husband's, by their partners, forbidden birth control, forbidden to see doctors in many instances to receive care for fear the abuse would be discovered. This is the life of many women. Throw in poverty. It's a hell of a recipe. And this woman is going to be, potentially, in power - with an ability to tell all women prevention and health safety is not an option? Culture of life? Whose life?

This position that the conservative republican party takes, isn't a far stretch from that. Try sitting for twenty plus years listening to, helping, talking with women whose lives were affected by lack of choice. Then tell me you still feel the same. And not women with access to resources. To woman who are more like you, like me.

Even if non of the challenges and obstacles existed in a woman's life - if she merely didn't want to have children and took steps to prevent or terminate, because she chooses to, that is between herself and her god. It is no one elses business.

Ms. Palin said that she would consider termination if the mother's life were in danger, otherwise, she is pro-life. She will always choose life. I wonder what her daughter would say if asked what she wanted. Truly. If pro-life is so important, her daughter's life should matter more to her, the quality of her daughter's life and she should have allowed her to use contraception - because even in Alaska, teen pregnancy is a problema and clearly abstinence doesn't work - not even for a pentacostal, god fearing former pastor's daughter.

Not a man. Not a political party - not even the first woman vice presidential candidate, democrate or republican, not anyone elses beliefs has a right to interfere. This is something between each woman, her body, her conscience, her belief. Her god.

Game On!

I couldn't believe it! "oh, no! You didn't just go there," I almost screamed as I looked out my kitchen window while rinsing my empty morning coffee cup.

A second later, and now I did scream, throwing the sopping sponge in the sink, "Oh, it is so on! Hell no, you didn't just go there!"as I ran toward the door, grabbed the key, unlocked the safety screen and ran outside to stop the offenders from doing any more damage to my tomatoes. I finally had the smoking gun, flat-out busted the culprits - mystery and paranoia laid, at last, to rest.

For a few weeks now, when my tomatoes ripened, I'd go out to harvest them for a nice salad, sandwich or guidsado, or whatever, only to find that the beautiful, perfectly ripened tomato I saw from my kitchen window, was entirely demolished and picked over on the opposite side.

For a while I suspected my neighbors. Since I'd fallen out of favor with some of them for insisting that more care be taken with their pets on my portion of the shared yard; I suspected retribution was at hand; going to the heart of me by attacking my tomatoes - when my back was turned!

I decided to work on the virtue of patience and pay more attention. I watched as I wrote at the dining room window, started taking a few extra breaks from my desk, whether writing or working, to check on the tomatoes, or while enjoying my coffee - just checking for any clues or signs of the offenders. Nothing.

All through the green phase, nothing. Perfectly content little verdent tomatoes - untouched. When I saw that they were ripe, good enough to bring in, I'd leave them a little bit longer to taste the true meaning of 'vine ripened' tomatoes. That's when I'd discover the horror! It was in that moments on the vine - just a moment too long, when the tragedy strikes.

This morning, I'm washing my coffee cup and look outside and notice the content birds who've come down in search for seeds. There's this new bird - larger than a sparrow and more solid - resting on my tomato plant. He looks like a Chickadee and is always off somewhere in the yard by himself, often on the patio chair near my tomato plant. He comes nearly every morning lately "aaaah, how sweet, he's using my plant as reprieve," I thought, happy that I've been able to create a bit of a refuge of sorts for the birds. I'm thinking all this just a second before he took a hearty peck into the tomato.

Then a mockingbird joined in! Ahrghhhh... the damn door is jammed again. Normally the jiggling of the door scares away the birds feeding on the seeds, not these two. They were so into my tomato that they didn't care how close I might be to actually opening the damn thing! Maybe they knew it would take me long enough for them to get a couple of good chunks out. Kind of like a criminal who knows just how long he can hang around the scene of a crime before the cops arrive.

I finally open it up and shoo them away. My tomato was nearly ruined. Bastards! How can you do this. After I've been so good to you (until the pigeons). I'd been holding back on everyday feedings because of the pigeon uprising -numbers were increasing from 2 to 5 on some days...that's a few short of a revolution when it comes to pigeons - and my small yard - and some days I'd forget to put it out - plus, I mixed in seed for finches. The majority seems to be poo pooing this mix, so I figured, stupidly, when you're hungry enough, 'you'll eat the mixture and be you'll be happy to get it. The birds, they had other ideas.

Too proud, and too determined, to let my tomatoes get ransacked by these little invaders, I harvest them anyway. I cut away the pecked side - they clearly had been at it for a while - and enjoyed them chopped, folded into browned onions and scrambled eggs - a simple and especially pleasing breakfast.

My birds have good taste. Now I now what I'm up against and what I have to do to protect my right to eat what plant and grow. I'll get back on my schedule of feeding the birds their seeds - pigeons be damned - and harvest a little earlier than I had been. Birds, I've found out, are not color blind. They knew when my tomatoes where at their reddest, at their most ripened. They're no fools, and they have impeccable taste. I feel kinda proud of that, in a geeky sort of way.

Remembering Padua, Italy

I was out feeding my birds this morning (yes, my birds now...even though I don't have them caged, the relationship has become special, exclusive - I feed them, they entertain and make me happy - a fair relationship) and the cloud cover made me think of Italy, of Padua.

The picture on my blog was taken in an open air market the morning I arrived in Padua. It wasn't necessarily the nicest market I'd been to, but it absolutely was the most exciting. That day was similar to today. I stopped at a fruit stand first. I remembered being struck by the gloss of the skin of the berries. I'd never seen such deep, intense colors on berries like that - and glossy. Beautiful, untreated and organic. I was stunned too, by the variety. I'm not used to this. I'm used to seeing the usual two suspects at my supermarket. I was stupified. I found myself taking picture after picture of these beautiful berries...in the heart of Padua.

I was in Italy to study the language -at this point, my vocabulary was still limited. I had a million questions crashing into each other in my head, but I couldn't get them to leave my lips - so I took pictures instead. The vendor and I could only smile at each other after "buon giorno." He'd smile, I'd smile back. In the early part of my stay in Italy, I had plenty of smiles - they work wonders in a pinch. But he knew. After enough pictures, and I was done, I couldn't wait to say it: "arrivederci!" After several 'arrivederci's and ciao's - I was off. I'm not usually very good with good-bye's, but in Italian, a good-bye can sound so sweet.

The cheese shop was also amazing; small and quaint with character and personality busting out of every nook and cranny. The cheese monger inviting me in, tantalizing me with a piece of cheese (looked to me like Fontina) at the end of a cheese fork. Being on a budget I was afraid I'd get myself in trouble if I set one foot in there - buying more than I needed, all that my eyes were taking in, and more than my stomach could handle. So I waved at him from the door...'buon giorno' and dreamed of Fontina with bread and vino for lunch. And that was exactly what I had - cheese, bread and vino, followed by coffee and the sound of lilting Italian conversations all around me.

I was so excited by the slower pace - but I like slow! (it was after all August, when many Italians themselves are on holiday), the aromas, the sounds. I felt like I had the place to myself - at least it's what it felt like, Like Italy was there just for me...silly, blissfully contented me.

After spending most of the day in the market, it was on to find music. I was on a mission - which is always part of my travels: finding food ideas and music to bring back. I bring back music from every place I've ever visited, in CD's or in my memory. The music gives me a sound-track, helps me create places I can escape to, and replay them when I need to once I'm back home.

I also take music with me to leave behind. When I befriend the locals, and once I'm being invited to houses for dinner and celebrations (I'm so fortunate that this invariably happens, with the exception of London - not my best holiday - but there was a bright spot in Stratford Upon Avon, but that's another story) I share music and leave what my hosts enjoyed - I like leaving memories as well as bringing some back.

But back to Padua. Padua has one of the oldest universities in existence, the first law school to award a dottore di giurizprudenza - juris doctor degree – to a woman, and the first, and still operating, coffee house - of course it was smartly placed within walking distance of the several other universities in the central part of the city. Padua was also the home of Francesco Petrarch, inventor of the Italian Sonnet form and Mr. Shakespeare's counterpart. If you’ve ever read romantic Italian literature, or sonnets of unattainable love, then you no doubt know Petrarch. These things say a lot about Padua – a city ages ahead of the curve.

On the one hand, I'm happy that Padua wasn't infested with tourists like, say Venice or Verona - even in August. Padua was, and is, a cultural center. Unless you’re due for your annual pilgrims visit to la Basilica di Sant' Antonio, or checking out historic universities, law schools, old coffee houses, art (collection of works by Giotto) is your idea of getting your world rocked, your not likely to make your way to this Veneto gem. On the other hand, I wish more people could enjoy what Padua does have to offer - which is a lot.

It just occurred to me that I've been in the birth place of both Petrarch and Shakespeare - have probably walked on paths they walked, touched buildings they touched, picked up stones they tossed (okay, okay, highly improbable, but this is my daydream) stood in the very spot they stood in when each looked to the heavens and prayed, 'please, just one good line, one true sentence...it doesn't even have to be a beginning, or even an end - just one good line...'

Feeding my birds this morning, enjoying the quiet of the day, brought all this back. I think this is what that guy, the one who said the thing about '...two birds with one stone' really meant.