fogstorm

linguistics of photography

2008-11-23T20:36:00.003-07:00

A flickr friend of mine, Jeff Lamb, posed an interesting idea earlier today in mentioning an unknown language that exists within a photograph. As I so often do, I found a strange inspiration in someone else's idea and ran with it. This is a first draft of what I assume will be several.

you and i understand dust
in our own stuttered dialects.
black and white, i before e except
when sunlight scurries under a log
fetching an article unseen
and unseemly elemental.

the linguistics of photography
framed by the structure of what
i don't want known to the world.
secrets and sunlight are different
in the same way t and k wear
their stripes.

Oyster Crackers Save the Day!

2008-11-17T23:34:00.001-07:00

So I've spent the last 10 days in a bad, bad place. I've got the icky-sickies. Just to my right, there are six new prescriptions that I've picked up in the last six days, running the gamut from anti-sober narcotic to anti-cough pill to anti-anthrax medication. I don't have anthrax, but what my doctor actually called "severe" laryngitis plus a couple ear infections thrown in for good measure. I suppose a glance at the proverbial bright side reveals this thought: good thing I don't have four ears! (And can you imagine me, not being able to talk, for several multiple plural days in a row?!?!)

I took to a melodramatic interlude this evening, brought about by a coughing fit that has toned my abs better than 12 fad exercise machines ever could. That's right, I've been emotionally thinking again...oh, the horror! I've been drafting that death-bed list of things that I should do, which I guess is akin to bargaining with some bellowing voice from the heavens, which I guess is akin to hoping that because I'm fearing death's hand nearby that it's just melodramatic goo dripping out of my noggin.

This illness (which has also included the diagnoses bronchitis, viral cold, asthma attack and dehydration) inspired within me a handful of things that I want to do. Not the cheesy "spend more time with friends and family" things that obviously are important and lead everybody's such melodramatic rubbish list. (But for the record, my friends & fam rock the hizzouz and while we spend a lot of time together, more is always better!)

So here are a few things from my list, dried out of steamy shower water:

See Fishtank Ensemble live
See Tom Walbank & the Ambassadors live
Read many more books...like many, many, many more
Read more lips and ASL signs
Make yearly trips to the beach, any of them
Make more things at home
Make more kooky scarves
Read some more books, and some magazines too
See more movies
Sing more often
Sing much louder
Sing Fishtank Ensemble's Tchavo at someone's wedding
Sing Fishtank Ensemble's Tchavo at my wedding
Give more of my time
Learn everything
Learn why
Make my friends smile
Make my students think
Make enough money to live on but not to be trapped by
Dream aloud
Take cookies to new neighbors
Write more poetry
Write more thank you notes
Write more letters
Watch far less TV
Write even more poetry
Take better pictures
Make more art
Buy more art
Hang the art I already bought
Make payments to billholders on time
Laugh heartily and often
Be a better dog-mom
Be me, every single time.

I think there were about a thousand more things. This will suffice for now.

This is my second card catalog reference tonight

2008-11-17T23:30:00.001-07:00

Sina Lynn Evans's Dewey Decimal Section:

787 Stringed instruments

Sina Lynn Evans = 9941254452149 = 994+125+445+214+9 = 1787

Class:
700 Arts & Recreation

Contains:
Architecture, drawing, painting, music, sports.

What it says about you:
You're creative and fun, and you're good at motivating the people around you. You're attracted to things that are visually interesting. Other people might not always understand your taste or style, but it's yours.

Find your Dewey Decimal Section at Spacefem.com

sinabobina's Dewey Decimal Section:

414 Phonology & phonetics

sinabobina = 9941252941 = 994+125+294+1 = 1414

Class:
400 Language

Contains:
Linguistics and language books.

What it says about you:
You value communication, even with people who are different from you. You like trying new things don't mind being exposed to unfamiliar territory. You get bored with routines that never change.

Find your Dewey Decimal Section at Spacefem.com

gracieshoots's Dewey Decimal Section:

670 Manufacturing

gracieshoots = 781395985509 = 781+395+985+509 = 2670

Class:
600 Technology

Contains:
Health, agriculture, management, public relations, buildings.

What it says about you:
You are creative and inspired to make the world a better place. You can work hard on something when it catches your interest. Your friends have unique interests in common with you.

Find your Dewey Decimal Section at Spacefem.com

Slurpy Soupy Soup

2008-11-07T21:34:00.003-07:00

It's that time of year, at least in the desert, when I wonder how long I can put off calling the handyman and having him disassemble the swamp cooler and power up my terribly inefficient wall-hugging gas heater. I think I can put it off for a couple more days, maybe a week.

In the meantime, I'm cranking back through my soup recipes, tinkering with old faves and playing with some hopeful new ones. Tonight's slurpiness is easy enough, based on Heidi Swanson's Ten Minute Couscous Soup. Heidi, if you're not familiar, writes a fabulous blog that I've been following for a couple years now, 101 Cookbooks. She also wrote her first (second?) cookbook last year. She's cool and groovy in the best possible ways.

So using her recipe as a template, but halving it being the single fabulous girl that I am, I am halfway through a pot of what is easily my fastest and tastiest soup yet this season. My version goes something like this:

4 cups low-sodium chicken broth
1/2 cup whole wheat couscous
1/2 leek, sliced thinly on the diagonal
handful of shredded carrots
6 or so frozen artichoke hearts
generous tablespoon of shrimp-slosh spices (below)
scant tablespoon butter, softened

Smoosh together spices and butter into a beautiful ruddy paste. Bring broth, leek, carrots & arty hearts to boil. Turn off heat, stir in spicy butter, add couscous and cover for 4 minutes. Enjoy with a few oyster crackers or a drizzle of olive oil or a few pieces oil-soaked sun-dried tomato.

** Shrimp-slosh spices: A couple decades ago, a family who is very close to mine first served us this lovely New Orleansesque shrimpy dish. The actual recipe card they gave my mom long since evaporated into the ether, but about a decade ago I sort of figured out my own version of the spices. Since there's no clear guideline, use the herbs and spices you like. Here's how mine looks mostly:

3 tablespoons paprika
1 tablespoon dried thyme
2+ teaspoons cumin
generous pinch or two dried red pepper flakes
3-4 grinds black pepper
pinch of cayenne
pinch of sea salt

Mix all spices & herbs in a glass jar. You could also include a few bay leaves in the jar, keeping in mind that if they make their way into the pot, you'll need to dredge them out before serving it.

It's slurpilicious!

11042008.364

2008-11-04T22:12:00.011-07:00

Numbers of significance
numbers that may or may
not mean something to
anyone else.

Young people, beautiful in their diversity
in their quest to be
a part of something
anything
this thing,

pulsing and hopeful.
In the unlikely story that is America
a staggered breath rattles with disbelief.

This is our chance to answer that call.

I'm clapping wildly in my living room
awash in words
just words
just words.

I'm crying ecstatically in my living room
awash in hope
just hope
just hope.

This moment, a history unfolding with each
of those staggered breaths,
this moment is unbelievably moving.

haiku du jour

2008-10-28T12:22:00.000-07:00

Polysyllabic.
It means more than one sylla-
Bull. It ain't no cow.

Autumnal Sweeps

2008-10-26T20:37:00.001-07:00

Don't mind me...I'm just cleaning house a bit. A bit of a new look here at Fogstorm, new writing will follow soon. Cross my heart, hope to die, stick a needle in my...

I hope you're well.

Beetles Invade!

2008-08-25T09:06:00.000-07:00

44 years 5 months and 16 days later
another invasion lands,
not the British sort
but beetles nonetheless.
I find them in
strange and unstrange places
clicking across kitchen tile,
and doing the backstroke
in my dog’s water dish,
and tunneling through
various rugs,
and freefalling out
of my wet laundry.
Hello goodbye indeed.

Hunger

2008-08-25T09:05:00.000-07:00

by any other name
would smell as sweet
as nonsense.

The rumbling within,
the rumbling without
are too different from
actual hunger.

I don’t even know
what that feels like,
hunger.

Post-Katrina Hobby: Staring

2008-08-25T09:04:00.001-07:00

Houses stilted
not quite towering

or teetering, quite
high, but not high enough.

Image of inspiration.

untitled

2008-08-25T08:59:00.000-07:00

angry stomping overhead
sky peels itself apart.
if it were a tree, i would say
limb from limb
but it isn’t. it’s bigger, vast
and blue except during night
when it is only vast.

tidal

2008-08-25T08:58:00.000-07:00

tide washes in
eddies around an anemic faith
and skitters seaward.

tide washes in
pools in the shadow of doubt
and drifts seaward.

tide washes in
dizzies the muse
and races seaward.

tide washes in
eddies around a swollen faith
and floats seaward.

Kitchen morning

2008-08-25T08:56:00.004-07:00

he looks at her
he sighs
he says "it's over"
he looks down at his feet
which have turned to anchors
and moored him

same kitchen, different morning
she clears her throat
she looks away
she mumbles "i know"
she remembers a time
before her kitchen
became a shipyard

* poets note: for some reason, blogspot does not seem to allow for multiple spacing (for formatting purposes) in text. the appearance here is not true to the way in which it was written. my apologies for that.

Post-Katrina Hobby: Jazz

2008-08-07T00:52:00.001-07:00

words in color
on signs, painted.

half east, full faith
dream friends and
smile, smile.

grow strong blue stars
red hearts bleed love.

peace now saints, dance
warm hands,
rise well worn soul, yes.

orange, be, jazz.

Image of Inspiration

Post-Katrina Hobby: Pointing

2008-08-07T00:51:00.001-07:00

After three years
here's a shovel
for your bullshit dribble
or the rubble of
splintered houses and drowned bones
in my front yard.

Don't you
think it’s time
to get off your ass?

Image of Inspiration.

Let Me Comment On Something

2008-07-30T07:08:00.003-07:00

Wow, for the first time ever I feel like a successful writer. You might ask why, and I might be compelled to say that I've received my first piece of hate-mail--yay!

I awoke to find a very angry, seething really, comment on my last post. Anger is okay by me, but I'd much prefer to deal with it if it's attached to a name, or even some kind of handle. Smearing or otherwise vomiting publicly on my work, or something that may one day resemble my work, and then hiding behind the veil of anonymity, on the other hand, is not okay by me. How can we have a dialogue about anything if I have no idea who you are? This strikes me as both a fearful and underhanded "technique" for dealing with some inner turmoil that you have no idea how to cope with*. This strikes me as something that the infamous Fred Radtke might have inspired.

Seriously folks, comments are good but I would rather it if you signed your work somehow. Don't make me turn this blog around and change the settings. Thanks!

* Here, the author used personal preference for employing the illegal preposition-at-the-end-of-a-sentence "technique."

Post-Katrina Hobby: Sitting

2008-07-24T23:10:00.003-07:00

The porch sags in the middle there. Has for years. Meant to fix it once upon a time. It doesn't seem to matter now. Like that fence over there. Broke away from the post. See that? It just, I don't know, shifted. I should have one of the neighborhood men come over and mend it, so to speak. Fix some supper, beans maybe, rice. Offer him somethin' cold to drink. Instead I think I'll just sit here a while longer. There's no rush. Damn near everyone's gone, but not the big gone folks're always scared I might talk of. Just on to work and such. Gone. You know. Out. Mostly. Mmm, I'll just sit here for a bit. Have myself some tea. It's not quite spring yet, but you can't tell these weeds nothin'.

Image of Inspiration.

Post-Katrina Hobby: Surveys

2008-07-24T23:09:00.004-07:00

I don’t trust myself
to stand
on the levee,

Because really, why would I?

They don’t trust me either,
the deciders, as if something
might go wrong.
As if.

So I stand near it, close
enough to spot
I don’t know what, a hole?

Day’s last light
threads itself between
me and the other shadows.
I glance back
towards the river,
close my eyes
and don’t pray.

Image of Inspiration.

Post-Katrina Hobby: Reflecting

2008-07-24T23:06:00.003-07:00

He remembers laughing
at the thought,
at the timing of the thought
two months later.

Deserted and no longer
swollen, the city felt
stained with betrayal,
breathing and swimming still
felt like the same ragged thing.

Image of Inspiration.

Post-Katrina Hobby: Corners

2008-07-24T23:03:00.003-07:00

we collect our corners
keeping ourselves busy
this way.
scattered as we are
by wind and by water
busy we stay
pinning our pasts to the map
and wondering
exactly where
we went wrong.

Image of Inspiration.

Updates, and a New Project

2008-07-22T16:15:00.003-07:00

May 13th? Really? That was my last post? Hmph.

In the intervening nine weeks, so much has happened. I got married, had triplets and retired, and now I'm living in France part-time. Or...

None of that's true. Except for the parts that are.

I was fired from that job, the one with Desert Survivors, in late May. It felt like the end of the world, mostly because I'd never been fired (and my friends & family tell me I was actually laid off, but really what's the difference besides the spelling?). I had mostly decided to leave there anyways and was dropping apps all around town. But since it wasn't on my terms, it was kind of icky feeling.

Right up until I accepted a position as an art teacher with a local charter school. I started last week and man oh man did I find the job I was born to do?! I LOVE it...and what's terribly surprising is that I find my kindergartners so fun to work with. I never would have chosen to work with that age, but I'm the art teacher for K-5th grade and so I jumped right in with both feet and no paddles. And I'm not drowning, not even a little bit.

I'm also still plugging away with Prescott College and found myself in a poetry class of all places. It feels good, writing and working with other writers. To that end, I'm going to begin posting some of my work from that class, specifically from a project entitled Post-Katrina Hobbies, a collaboration with a good friend of mine in New Orleans, and likely there will be some other folks joining in. I'm offering some supposed words and/or stories to accompany photography that NewOrleansLady has been shooting, but the whole thing really got its first big push from another flickr-flock-friend, Jeff Lamb, a photographer extraordinaire among other things. He and I had a petit dialog on one of his flickr pictures where he mentioned he was "collecting corners" in a project he's undertaken (New Orleans Architectural History Survey, contrasting pre- and post-Katrina architecture). I loved the concept of collecting corners--at once it's both completely abstract but very real. I told him he'd better hop on using the concept or else I was going to hijack it away from him. He generously told me to run with the idea and I did.

Though the project is still very, very new, it feels like we're moving in a good direction. I have big plans, or maybe just big hopes for it, but for now it's going to occupy some space here. I'd love to hear your thoughts. I'll get some of it posted by week's end.

In the meantime, tell me what's new with you. Let me guess, you got married AND divorced, had QUADruplets and you're spending part of your time on the space station...? Keeping up with the Joneses never felt so good!

...gasoline for another 100 miles...

2008-05-13T21:38:00.002-07:00

My soundtrack lately has largely included tracks from The Refreshments' indie-release Wheelie from, like, 1994. Tonight's title is culled from Wheelie's "Nada" and I have, in turns, felt it was depressing, inspiring, soulful, truthful, filled with noise, and I've more or less settled on considering it one of my fave songs of all time. I have Joe D. to thank for my love of all things Refreshments and I should probably email him this missive, too.

I have two things to say. No, three. I have three things to say. No, four. I have fifteen things fabstractly yummy things to tell you! Sometimes I exaggerate.

Sorry that I've turned into a mute mutant where fogstorm is concerned. It's not that I don't love it, and by extension you, anymore. Photography is still occupying a good chunk of my time, but now school is starting up again and I won't have much time for much else. I stupidly took a term off and now am looking at (the earliest) a December graduation, but more likely it'll be next March. I've made my peace with that. Mostly. (Dumb me.)

Hmmm. I did have things to say. Oh yes! So I have a new haircut. If pressed to describe it in three words or less, I would answer thusly: sassy, swingy and brown. I LOVE it.

Oh, and, I saw birds (doves) having (extremely) clumsy sex today. It was weird.

An Incomplete Inventory of Things, Continued: S

2008-04-12T23:46:00.002-07:00

Salt: not so much for snowy mornings or for popcorn, mostly for rubbing in wounds

Sandpaper: fine-grit, wrapped in a plastic bag

Scalloped pie plate: supposedly antique, for Gramma's Minted Dreams pie

Shallots: in place of the garlic which he can no longer taste

Spoon, wooden: standing tall on the counter in an old milk jug

Spoon, plastic: marinara-stained

Surgery face masks: to be worn each time I set foot outside.

Channeling a Stranger's Stream of Consciousness

2008-03-22T19:58:00.005-07:00

The porch sags in the middle there. Has for years. Meant to fix it once upon a time. It doesn't seem to matter now. Like that fence over there. Broke away from the post. See that? It just, I don't know, shifted. I should have one of the neighborhood men come over and mend it, so to speak. [She laughs.] Fix some supper, beans maybe, rice. Offer him somethin' cold to drink. Instead I think I'll just sit here a while longer. There's no rush. Damn near everyone's gone, but not the big gone folks're always scared I might talk of. Just on to work and such. Gone. You know. Out. Mostly. Mmm, I'll just sit here for a bit. Have myself some tea. It's not quite spring yet, but you can't tell these weeds nothin'.

(inspiration)

Assorted Asides (title in progress)

2008-03-20T22:34:00.002-07:00

It's different from stalking,
somehow. It has to be
better. It's how regular people do it,
how they love each other.

He pledged her his love
and fifteen dollars to the local PBS affiliate.
In her name. Of course. He knew
if he saw the bumper sticker
on her car,
she had made her declaration.
"I love you right back!"

Three week's worth of tuna surprise later,
still no bumper sticker.
Two plus two didn't equal four.

The Crack Spider's Bitch

2008-03-15T21:27:00.003-07:00

All you have to do is click, and sit back, and watch.

Things, Hmph

2008-03-12T22:22:00.002-07:00

You know, for all my dalliances in our famed, illustrious, nay spectacular legal system, I just experienced a first: reading through an actual indictment. It is in reference to Cause Number CR20080733 and counts seven and eight refer to the crimes committed against me. Hmph, go figure. It was fairly interesting reading, all things considered.

For those of you not in the know, I was burglarized (on what I believe was likely multiple occasions) at my last apartment. The burglar turned out to be an asshole neighbor who, thankfully, is still being held. He snuck in through my doggie door and took at least three boxes that I had already packed. He also got away with my snazzy Nikon SLR with a zoom lens. The three boxes contained my entire collection of DVDs, but luckily I got back one box worth immediately...and it turned out that box was where all my Homicide and The Wire box sets were being housed. A handful more (17 of more than 40 I'm still missing) were later recovered at a pawn shop. I'll get those back sometime I suppose.

The camera will likely never show up. I was very angry about that for a good couple of weeks. I've more or less settled into disappointment. I should break out the Holga and go the toy route for awhile. And at least he didn't snag the digcam, so I'm still playing with that. All things considered, I was lucky. He stole car and mailbox keys of some of my old neighbors and he bore a hole through the wall of his next door neighbor. Like I said, he's an asshole.

In all, there are eight counts of varied burglaries covering the timeframe of December 1, 2007 through February 15, 2008. There were other charges, too, ones to which I am not privy since I was not a victim. I suppose seven counts of 2nd Degree Burglary (class three felonies) and a count of Theft by Controlling Stolen Property (a class six felony) isn't too shabby a sheet to rack up in ten weeks.

Asshole bastard.

(I'm done swearing now.)

wig

2008-03-08T22:56:00.003-07:00

I have this sort of mumbling
somewhere, deep
at the back of my mind.

words gathered near each other
words that belong
next to each other,
but only once in a while.

bare light bulb,
exposed brick.

the turbulent blond.

Rustic Zucchini Tart

2008-03-08T18:45:00.004-07:00

I can't believe I haven't yet posted this recipe, largely because I've been making it for several years now. But wait no more, loyal reader (plural if Cecily is still alive, kicking and sharing cerebral space with the likes of me), here is a fabulous way to impress friends and enemies alike.

This is yet another Sina-original, so I think that brings me up to TWO original recipes posted on this here blog. Note that the measurements are rough estimates. Use more or less depending on your personal taste.

Rustic Zucchini "Tart"

3 medium zucchini, sliced lengthwise
3-5 Roma tomatoes, sliced lengthwise
2-4 onions (I use a mix of Panoche and reds), sliced
2 shallots, thinly sliced
handful shredded cheese, something stinky or tangy (I use Trader Joe's "Quatro Formaggio")
1 tablespoon grated parmesan (optional)
pinch of dried thyme or Fines Herbes
bread crumbs (see note)

Preheat oven to 375 degrees.

Warm a small amount olive oil (add a teaspoon of butter if you like, it adds a nice roundness) in a large saute pan. Add onions and shallots and let them soften over low-medium heat. Toss a few times to distribute heat, but let a few carmelize on the bottom of the pan.

Sprinkle bread crumbs and dried herbs in the bottom of a 4X8 loaf pan or pan of your choosing. Layer the cooked onion/shallot mixture over the crumbs. Lay the first slice of zucchini on top of the onion mixture and add a row of tomatoes. Alternate rows between zucchini and tomatoes to cover the onion mixture completely. (I've arranged my pan anywhere from completely vertical to nearly horizontal depending on how many slices I have or have available in my fridge.) Top the rows with the handful of cheese and sprinkle of parmesan.

Bake until cheese is melted (feel free to broil for the last few minutes), about 30 minutes. I've taken to making the whole thing in one large, ovenproof 12" saute pan. I've also arranged the zucchini and tomatoes in thin, round slices and instead of cheese all over the top, I've cut a piece or two of string-style mozzarella cheese into rounds and dropped them all over the vegetables. And of course, you can top your "tart" with additional breadcrumbs.

If you're using mushrooms, add them to the sauteeing onions and cool until just before they turn mushy. If you go that far, be sure to drain off any extra liquid before assembling the whole thing or else you'll end up with a watery (though still delicious) mess.

Note: I use Trader Joe's brand of seasoned croutons, hammered into crumbs, at the bottom of the "tart."

Serve with a spring salad (and make your own dressing--it's so much better that way!) or a light light broth, perhaps something lemony or herby. Don't forget to have some jazz on in the background and friends to feast with!

A New Place to Call Home

2008-02-18T19:26:00.004-07:00

I've just about moved into a great little, no BIG apartment, and I thought I may as well share a couple pictures of it with my friends and the other 6,000,000,000 (mostly strangers) in the world. Chez Sina will be home to a spring gazpacho party on March 1st. Details to follow!

Bunches of crap, old apartment.
I'll miss the yellow paint but not much else.

Bunches of crap, some of it the same, new apartment.
This is the first time I have FIVE rooms in my abode!
This is the den. I plan to turn it into my art studio.

View through the palo verde branches draped over my backyard.

Some of my plants.

Some more of my plants.
This is the wall I share with my new uber-cool neighbor.
I'm going to like the new place a LOT.
No, strike that...I'm already in love with the new place!

Cinco Cosas o/ou Cinq Choses

2008-02-13T21:40:00.004-07:00

Urged on by Alanna, of Painted Cats fame...

1) I am actually a HUGE fan of Valentine's Day. It's hard to piece that together from my wholly sarcastic self, but that's just my woolly armadilloesque scruffy exterior playing devil's advocate. I'm all about cherubs and chocolate and pink hearts. Okay, maybe not so much on the cherubs.

2) Though I know it's socially (and likely economically) irresponsible, I really love to shop online. My current favorite "shops" include Dirty Coast, Le Creuset and 20x200.

3) It's hard to sit here and list things about me which I think YOU might find interesting. I think I'm just about 97% interesting 94% of the time. I think that might make me a tad narcissistic. (that's a hard word to spell, but I got it right on the first stab) (in the 5th grade, I didn't have to take spelling tests; instead the teacher had me grade those of the rest of the students) (damn, that's an annoying thing to reveal)

4) I'm thinking about entering a photo contest. The picture I'm thinking of using is below.

5) I consider myself an artist based on my musings and pursuits in photography, language arts and crocheting. I don't know if any of those pursuits is singly enough to "qualify" me to use the title, and yet I feel personally compelled to do so.

Special BONUS tidbit de moi:
6) I consider social service a calling, and a personal responsibility. Helping those who can't help themselves, spreading joy through art, sharing the world through books and ideas, putting my hands in dirt. These are things that I pursue every single day and on those days when I can't, I feel off-centered, like the world may crumble before my eyes and all around me. I do these things because I have to. I do these things because I can. I do these things because I should. I do these things.

ReX, CW, Cool Martha and any other bloggers should hop on the bandwagon! Also, Fig and Comma Girl and Mamacita and Lolo should all email their FIVE THINGS list to me post-haste.

Simple is Better

2008-02-02T18:13:00.001-07:00

January third was a long time ago. I've let a month elapse since last injecting my thoughts into the pulsing world. It's not that I'm out of things to say, although I don't really know what it is. New hobbies, new obsessions, cold weather, tired fingers.

As with most of what I have to say in the very public world, this post has a bit of a hidden agenda. I suppose now that it's not quite so hidden. I've talked before about a movement going on in New Orleans, an art movement, centered on bettering not just the neighborhoods but folkses lives by creating and displaying public art. You know me well enough to know that I believe in artwork and in its power to transform lives, and that's what ReX is making happen with his organization NoLARising.

ReX has a bit of a challenge on his hands. There's a naysayer in New Orleans who insists on being an asshole and instead of just being mean-spirited in thought and voice, he's also being mean-spirited in action. But ReX has also been getting much more attention lately in terms of media, and I wanted to share a couple things with you.

Here is a great interview he gave on 99.5FM on January 30th.

Here is an article in New Orleans City Business from January 21st.

And of course, catch up on everything NoLARising at his blog.

I encourage you to share this with all your friends and reading public. I also think you should get out there and do some art. You know it'll make you feel better.

One last little tidbit...I got a new apartment! It's bigger, better and the perfect spot for a spring gazpacho party! I also have a den which it turns out might make the perfect little darkroom, so you can imagine how giddy I am! In the meantime, and perhaps even before the gazpacho party, once I get all settled in (later this month), let's have our own art party, cool? Cool!

reeds, water. Shot 1.12.08 near Willcox, AZ.

Hushed Beauty

2008-01-03T21:41:00.000-07:00

The trails, roads, people and waterways of Sabino Canyon
January 1, 2008

Just a scant seventy hours into the new year and already rain is falling. I'll take that as a good sign.

I welcomed 2008 with an amble through Sabino. Those who know me best are not surprised by this news. Or maybe you are. I've been less than predictable lately. Moreso than usual. What's that about two negatives make a positive? Huh?

So three days in and already I'm talking about the weather. This totally doesn't surprise anyone who's even chatted idly with me once or thrice.

I've been in a bit of a slump lately, writing-wise. I don't think there's a reason for it. I have a gajillion ideas, just no real driving force to sketch them out and arrange them just so. I hate to call it a block. It's not so much that I agree with The Wonder Boys' sympathetically pathetic hero Grady in that I don't believe in it, writer's block such as it is. It's just different somehow.

If you're wondering about the weather and since I alluded to it, in the last two weeks we've seen: 25 degrees, 72 degrees, rain, 45mph gusts of arctic wind, frozen ponds, thready sunlight and deep dark night, and everything in between. There's a possible snowflake in the metro forecast for this weekend. It's been wild and it's left me feeling very much alive and energized.

Fig and I had an engaging chat tonight centering on philosophy in general and on perception versus reality in specific. So far, 2008 rocks!

The major muscles of my lower body may not so readily agree. My gastrocs are still on strike after Tuesday's switchback abuse and my IT bands are just about ready to twang right off my knees and unfurl into my armpits. Sore mooscles aside, life is good.

What's on tap in your world? I don't want to hear your resolutions (resolutions are for sissies), rather share with me your declarations, your perceptions, your intentions, your inclinations.

In the meantime, I'm going to fall asleep tonight lulled to the land of nod by the slightest rainfall you'll ever hear.

Icelines; or the Topography of Winter

To the Tune of "Happy Birthday"

2008-01-01T08:20:00.000-07:00

...and in the general direction of Claudine:

Bon anniversaire,
bon anniversaire,
bon anniversaire,
bon anniversaire.

Tu n'es pas un singe,
tu n'es pas un singe,
tu n'es pas un singe,
tu es mon amie!

Accidental Haiku

2007-12-10T21:31:00.000-07:00

I was describing a picture I took tonight. I ended up with a haiku. I thought I'd share.

palms blurry driving
thundersnow warning tonight
not here, but nearby

Ho Ho Ho is Out of Season

2007-12-06T21:42:00.000-07:00

That's too bad. All this political correctness swirling around bothers me sometimes. A lot. "Santa didn't used to do anything," thank you Mr. Sedaris, and nor does he say "ha ha ha."

Grumbles aside, I'm feeling like the spirit has caught up with me a bit. I even found a lovely little (very fake) tree tonight. My apartment is not user-friendly and I had all but decided to forgo anything resembling holiday decor this year because, well, there aren't enough outlets and I have a space heater and it's hard to drill into brick and yada blah blah.

C.W., when he reads this post, will shake his head and mumble something grumbly. He won't be able to wrap his head around why I ventured into Borders tonight and bought a Paperchase sideline. It's okay, Chuck, I'm not an annoying former employee-shopper. I was respectful. I didn't leave books laying about. I put away the mags I looked at, in their proper places no less! Truth be told, I miss it just a bit. It might be that I miss working with smart people and books and ideas and words moreso than working a retail season during the holidays in America.

I let my fingers trail across old friends and found handfuls of new treasures. The Good Good Pig. The Power of Kindness. Water for Elephants. Books. Words. Happiness. Love.

I spent my afternoon in a different sort of pursuit. I had a wonderful talk with a newspaper salesman on the side of the road. Actually, it was in the middle of the road, on a traffic island. You can see it over at my flickr page.

But I leave you with this picture...stop by for some hot tea soon and we'll catch up!

An Odd Spurring On Towards Activism

2007-12-04T17:33:00.000-07:00

Some trash

There's really no preamble which will do this post any justice. Except to say that I now feel charged with the earthly, and possibly celestial, protection of all things art.

I'll be mailing this tomorrow.

Dear Crazy Landlady Number 1:

I have just had the most unsettling interaction with Dave, your appointed property manager/caretaker, and I felt compelled to bring it to your attention.

I’m an amateur photographer and in a typical week, I can shoot anywhere up to about 700 pictures. In the past, I have photographed some of the natural elements located on your property on Fontana Avenue, i.e. my home. When I returned home from work today, there were some interesting items discarded near the dumpster and I felt like taking some pictures of them. There was no malice on my part—there were interesting shapes and great afternoon sunlight. During my impromptu “photo shoot,” Georgie came up to me and we had a lovely conversation before I finished up and came home.

After seeing my images, I decided to try a couple different angles. It’s a rare opportunity to be able to reshoot a subject under such similar conditions. Almost as soon as I made it outside, Dave literally came running up to me yelling “why are you taking pictures?!” Because I’ve had nothing but pleasant exchanges with him in the past, I thought he was kidding. I told him I was just taking some pictures. By this time, he was standing very close to me and now screamed at me “why the hell are you taking pictures?! Stop that!” It was now apparent that he was extremely angry. I was taken aback and have no problem admitting I was a little intimidated by him.

I told him that I’m a photographer and that I often shoot objects I find laying around. He yelled at me again, “not of the trash you don’t! Stop that RIGHT NOW!” I told him I thought the subject matter (an old oven, an old washer and some discarded engine parts) was cool and that I create art of the photographs. He continued to direct his unreasonable anger at me, yelling, “NOT OF THE TRASH YOU DON’T! IT’S NOT COOL! STOP TAKING PICTURES RIGHT NOW!!!” I told him I didn’t think there was anything he could do to stop me and he told me that if I didn’t follow the rules, I could be evicted. My response to him was probably something obscene and he said, “if you have a problem with that, take it up with Diana.” I told him I thought he was insane and that I planned to do just that.

I have scoured my lease and can find no mention whatsoever that tenants will face eviction for taking pictures on the property. In fact, I found no mention whatsoever of photography or any other art. I certainly understand that he may have questioned my intent, but he could have handled the situation much more effectively by conducting himself in a civilized manner, and without yelling at me and threatening to evict me. Perhaps he would benefit from instruction in conflict resolution or anger management.

I will add that I have witnessed, on at least two occasions, similar exchanges between Dave and another tenant. Dave is now friendly with that tenant and I can only assume he’s looking for a new victim upon whom to bestow his crazy and inappropriate rage.

I will not be treated that way by anyone, especially someone who is in a position of power over me as he is as the resident property manager. I have been a model tenant and not just during my time at this residence. I have been nothing but respectful towards him in the course of our interactions, even when his lack of attention towards my requests has resulted in lengthy delays of service. There is absolutely no valid reason for his verbal assault on me and his behavior today was completely unacceptable.

Thank you,
End quote.

Mes Amis, J'ai Besoin Aider des Vous!

2007-12-01T22:49:00.000-07:00

If you've been even half-following my impulses lately, you know all about my friend the artist-activist ReX of New Orleans and how he is moving that city back towards a spirit of love, jazz and soulful creation. This movement which swirls around him faces stifling opposition from one measly broken spirit of a man who today was very mean to ReX and the whole of NolaRising.

I think we should do something. I'm not sure what exactly. One thing you can (and should absolutely) do is act locally--brighten up your own environment with some little piece of you. I'm also thinking we should send greetings from afar to help brighten up his environment, too. Are ya game?

Need some inspiration? Head over to NoLARising's blog and check out the art that is already happening.

Red Blurry Mood

2007-11-30T20:43:00.000-07:00

I have committed the worst of all blogger sins, I have forsaken my blog for my photoblog. Je m'excuse! Je suis desole! Je suis une mal blogger!

In trying to fit everything into my day, I have given a small preference to making photography a priority. Not because of anything you did, but because it seems new once again. I've played with photography for nearly a decade now but the middle chunk of that decade I was largely not photographing anything with conviction. I would just occasionally break out the point & shoot and catch a snapshot.

Remember that class I'm taking/I'm finishing, the one corresponding with the Have You Seen My Dog blog? In looking for signs for that class, I fell in love with looking for connections in the world and I began seeing framed stories once again. My camera started tagging along with me anytime I hopped in the car and begged to be used. Over and over. Narcissistic* little bastard!

I don't want to pull focus, ha ha, and command that you follow my photographic pursuits. And I am certainly not trading words for pictures. (In fact, I'm all a-tremble amidst a frenzied whirlwind of words which I'll be sharing very soon.)

Our first winter storm tiptoed across the desert yesterday and lingers as I type. I snuck out earlier tonight and caught some of it on digital "film" and I wanted to share a couple glimpses with you. And I promise, I'll keep dribbling words on digital "paper" for your reading pleasure (not to mention my writing pleasure).

* I'll have you know that I spelled that word correctly on my very first attempt!

red blurry mood

blur

drops, lights

And Fig Makes 5

2007-11-23T02:58:00.000-07:00

Bon anniversaire, le Fig!

Happy
Birthday
to
YOU!

(strange that the 4 won't blush!)

Moments

2007-11-22T18:26:00.000-07:00

I have been known to get caught up in documenting moments in frame rather than living them out in all their amoeba-esque glory, so I don't always drag my camera around with me. It's a decision I waffle on a bit because, well, there are moments like tonight at 5:52pm when I was driving home from the parents' compound. Imagine a crisp desert evening, a holiday evening at that. Nearly full moon to the east and a western sky that will snatch your last, living breath...ink-stained cardboard cutouts of the Tucson mountain range leaning against a watered-down blue-comma-yellow horizon. By all accounts, a perfect evening. To the east, on the powerlines which I both curse and capture, a large horned owl watches the moon. If you were me, you'd yank the Eggmobile off the road and throw it into park, leap out and frame the owl so that it's silhouetted in the moon. Gorgeous, gorgeous. Beautiful in a way that is unbelievable.

If only I had my camera...

Post Script

2007-11-15T06:50:00.000-07:00

Happy Birthday Pops!

Falling

2007-11-15T06:45:00.000-07:00

I'm 35 now and feeling pretty good. Mamacita and I drove around on Sunday, celebrating my birthday a smidge early and singing songs from School House Rocks. It was a lovely little trip down memory lane.

I've been waking up a bit earlier than usual. I guess that's old age kicking in. But this morning I am so grateful it happened because it was raining! It only lasted for about 2 minutes and in my earlier years, I still would have been asleep. There's no way I would have caught it.

Boring entry, eh? No shit.

So There

2007-11-09T03:03:00.000-07:00

Happy
Birthday
Rex!!!

Happy
Birthday
Rex!!!

Happy
Birthday
Rex!!!

Happy
Birthday
Rex!!!

Happy
Birthday
Rex!!!

It's Maplicious!

2007-11-06T17:00:00.000-07:00

Fall Foliage in the Desert

Let's see just how many of my obsessions we can pack into today's missive.

Well there's a feeling in the air
just like a Friday afternoon...

Why am I so in tune with certain songs? The lyrics aligned to the right here are from Better Than Ezra's "This Time of Year," which has seen heavy rotation on my iPod lately. There's actually a whole grouping of BTE tracks that feel well-worn and comfortable to me. BTE hails from New Orleans, both longtime and recent obsessions of mine. I've had two friendships with gentlemen from New Orleans and both approved of my BTE affections. I haven't yet polled my new NOLAfolk friends, but I would guess it's like anything else...some like it, some don't, and all have their own obsessions and affections and varied other -tions.

Well there's a football in the air
across a leaf-blown field...

Autumn in the desert is an interesting phenomenon. Days with a 30+ degree swing aren't unusual. On Saturday, I woke up to 53 (chilly!) degrees, but by noon it was 89 outside. The sunlight is tarnished a bit and falling from so very far south of here. Once we hit about 3pm, even if the mercury is high the air is cool. Brisk, almost. We have our own version of fall foliage and while it certainly isn't quite akin to being in, say, Maine, it does have its own charm.

So go on with yourself
If there's a feeling that there's something else...

This time of year, two things happen. Well no, a mess o'things happen, but two things that I'm going to tell you about here. But first I want to apologize for my relative and recent muteness. Let's blame it on the proverbial new crop of Christmas toys, only it's not Christmas and it's not really a toy. But I have, for some strange reason, turned into a total photofreak and have gone hog wild with my digcam shooting everything in sight, and a few things which are somewhat out of sight. In any case, I have rediscovered a love of photography and that's gobbled up the bulk of my attention. (if you're interested in seeing what I'm "producing," please note the new Flickr addy in my links below.)

Well I know there's a reason to change
well I know there's a time for us...

Back to those two things, then. First, I always read Thoreau's Autumnal Tints. It's a tradition I started when I spent a week in Maine one fall several years ago. It's a good way to connect with something old and distant and important. If you haven't read it, I'd recommend at the very least just thumbing through it and letting some phrases fall over you, crumbling if they must. In the opening paragraphs, he compares not thee to a summer's day but fruit to leaf saying "I think that the change to some higher color in a leaf is an evidence that it has arrived at a late and perfect maturity, answering to the maturity of fruits." If you felt tortured by high school or college assignments to read the crotchety old dude, give this a go. There's a different tone here. Really.

You can feel it in the air Feeling right this time of year...

And finally, I am on a mission for maple sugar candy. I'm not sure why, but fall makes me hungry for a flavor to which I typically turn up my nose. For those of you in Arizona, you are probably familiar with AJs and it's the only market here where I know I can find maple candy. I bought a tiny package last night and all I can say is mmm, confection perfection.

Football games, chilly nights, the first snow falling out of a deep dark night, family and holidays, maple candy and a few birthdays, digging your favorite jacket out of the back of the closet, hope seemingly pinned to children's coats, early to bed and a begrudged early to rise, and words, words, words...

So go on, let it be
If there's a feeling coming over me
Seems like it's always understood this time of year...

Abridged

2007-10-29T00:14:00.000-07:00

For my loyal fans who enjoy my fun writing but think my academic writing is not so fun, here is but a snippet of my final paper with my mentor MaryHelen. I think it's great that out of every three hundred sentences or so, I land one with some punch. At this rate, I'll only need three or four lifetimes to create some kind of kick-ass literary masterpiece.

Self-image, by definition, must begin in utero as the self’s earliest cells begin communicating with one another and gaining proprioceptive knowledge, it amplifies at birth with the introduction to and immersion within an external world, and it continues right up until death.

Do As Denny Does

2007-10-27T20:12:00.000-07:00

I am still somewhat fanatical over Gone Baby Gone. Moody stories are a scorpio's favorite kind. I was visiting the "official" movie site and stumbled across a bio clip for Dennis Lehane who penned the novel that spawned the film. Now, I'm a fan of Dennis because he's done some writing for The Wire, my other favorite obsession, and when I read over his microbio, I couldn't help but giggle. Maybe one day, after I write myself into famosity, I will take his lead and run with it:

Before becoming a full-time writer, Mr. Lehane worked as a counselor for mentally handicapped and abused children, waited tables, parked cars, drove limos, worked in bookstores and loaded tractor-trailers. His one regret is that no one ever gave him a chance to tend bar.

Mine might go like this:

Before becoming a full-time writer, Ms. Evans worked with adults with disabilities, taught kids how to be artists and teenagers how to be drivers, worked in bookstores, arranged flowers, waitressed for a couple days and served as a telephone actress. Her one regret is that she never turned in a letter of resignation.

tonight poetry of a different sort

2007-10-25T21:35:00.000-07:00

This evening, I found myself a little inspiration to, well, contemplate. A photographer friend of mine set the mood this afternoon by posting a gorgeous image. Of course I dug out my own copy of Kind of Blue, too, and let tarnished moonlight spill in through the back door, the cool night murmuring its own kind of jazz...

A Snippet, but Not For the Kids

2007-10-25T21:09:00.000-07:00

Palms pressed together, desperation pressed against longing.
Or it is lust? I can never quite remember.
Warm skin, quivering.
Wrists wrapped not too tightly in plain white cotton rope,
once, twice, three loops and then it disappears, out of focus, out of frame.
He wants to know what it means.

Overread

2007-10-23T21:06:00.000-07:00

I follow some interesting journals. That's not to say you don't. Really, you're unique in your own way. But do the things you read include passages like:

I also like to make a hot dish of hopniss, grated wild parsnip, onions, and wild rice. To be perfect, you should make this with squirrel broth, but if you don’t have that you can use something else.
--muttered by Sam Thayer, wild-edibles expert to Tamara Dean, author, in the current issue of Orion Magazine.

Casey Done Growed Up

2007-10-22T17:45:00.000-07:00

After struggling through a windy, windy day outside spent with grumpy clients, I decided to catch the matinee showing of Gone Baby Gone, my most recent cinematic obsession. Go. See It. Now.

Casey is more than impressive and in my book, this blows Mystic River away. (Yes, Fig, I'll even rank it ahead of The Departed.)

Kudos to big brother Ben for making a film he needed to, to repair his goofy reputation. I always knew there was something more to him than Gigli. This is, just wow.

Secret Pleasure #472, or #12

2007-10-21T20:34:00.000-07:00

Here's my fave iPod play list du jour:

Hear Me in the Harmony by Harry Connick, Jr.
The Other End of the Telescope by Aimee Mann
WWOZ by Better Than Ezra
Do You Remember by Jack Johnson
Folsom Prison Blues by Johnny Cash
Get Your Way by Jamie Cullum
Landed by Ben Folds
Only the Good Die Young by Billy Joel
Red House by Jimi Hendrix
Ragged Company by Grace Potter & the Nocturnals

Something I enjoy tremendously is driving with my window down and singing at the top of my lungs. I do roll the window up at intersections, good taste and the fear of retribution being strong motivators. But this playlist works really quite well with my two-note range. I don't actually sing along with Jimi for longer than a hemidemisemiquaver. That's my break and then I return for my moody encore a la Ms. Potter et al.

If I'm feeling truly adventurous, I pretend to be Regina Spektor and belt/cough out Musicbox.

Some Older Words

2007-10-12T22:48:00.000-07:00

Little more than a year ago, a writer's board I played with posted a third-person dialogue story challenge. I just came across my entry in cleaning up some files. It's funny, I think, that my own words could startle me. I'm sharing them here because, well, because.
***
She shuffled her feet again, rocking back and forth. Left. Right. Left. Right. He cleared his throat as he reached out and pushed the button for the eighth time, glancing towards her. He felt stupid.

"Has this ever happened to you before?"

He was startled by her voice. It was softer than he thought it would be, honeyed and warm. "It's just that I'm late for an appointment." His voice was barely above a whisper.

She smiled. "My fourth time. In this building, no less. You'd think I would learn to take the stairs."

He wanted her to think he was normal, that he could carry on a conversation in an elevator with a strange woman. He was pretty sure he was going to fail.

He wondered how many times they could make eye contact and trade nervous smiles before she would start to shrink into the corner.

"So do we yell or something? Do they know we're here? Is there an escape hatch like in the movies?" Sure, he thought to himself, that sounds normal and perfectly in control. If there's an escape hatch, she's going to run for it.

She shrugged. "The last couple times, I was alone. One time I played solitaire and one time I took a nap. It only took a couple hours before they got me out." As she talked, her body slid floorward, graceful and comfortable as if she was in her living room. Or bedroom. He was mesmerized.

She folded her right leg underneath her and stretched her left leg out as she leaned against the wall of the elevator. He thought she looked strangely at ease in this predicament.

"It could be awhile, you should sit down, relax." She was inviting him to share the floor with her. He wanted to jump up and down. She was actually being nice to him.

He shrugged off his jacket and fumbled with the top button of his shirt, pulled his tie down and sucked in a breath.

"Where were you headed?"

He was confused. "I'm just taking a seat…"

"No, you said you were late for an appointment. Where were you headed?"

"Of course, I'm sorry," he stuttered. "Doctor. I'm headed, I have a doctor's appointment at 11:00."

She glanced at her wrist and muffled a laugh. "You're not going to make it," she offered as she leaned out towards him, watch-encircled wrist extended so he could see. It was 10:52.

He allowed a small smile to move slowly across his lips. "It won't be the first time I miss an appointment."

Postponement

2007-10-12T20:16:00.000-07:00

It's Friday night. 8:17pm, local time which I think translates to 5:17am France time. I'm okay with being home on a Friday night and if you know me at all, you remain unsurprised with this piece of information. I'm avoiding doing some things that need doing. You're still not surprised. I doubt there's anything I'll reveal here tonight that will make your heart skip a beat or cause you to let loose a small gasp, from either end.

My art arrived in the mail today. I was thrilled to receive it and it's beautiful. I found it at the 20x200 site I mentioned in an earlier post. I found an extra $20 this week (courtesy of mi mamacita) and splurged on this. It's going to look gorgeous on my yellow wall and I will send a photographic representation of it as soon as it's wall-locked.

Have you noticed that quality television programming doesn't really exist anymore? It saddens me a bit, but in theory that realization would make it possible to do all the things on my Ta Da list (it's fancier that way, no?). It's too bad that theory and reality don't coexist more often in the same plane.

I've had several ribbons of thought lately. Work, art, ethics, meaning, relationships, poetry, family, "the wild," they've all factored heavily. I don't know if I've arrived at any sort of breakthrough on any front, but it's been more or less good thinking. A good way to spend some time. Thinking.

I guess what has occupied the primest real estate in the field of my thoughts has been how artists describe themselves and their work. The artist whose painting I purchased investigates "the way the physical self experiences the world." Younga Park says she's "interested in how sequences of color, lines, light, and human interaction create texture and pattern within the frame of an image." Jennifer Sanchez says that her work "explores the idea that space, while having no positive existence of its own, allows everything else to exist." (Park and Sanchez are both artists represented at 20x200 and I am intrigued by the selected pieces.)

These are thoughts that easily could be my own, if only I'd thought them first. Color and light have certainly occupied grand stretches of my conscious time for years on end. The idea of space being nothing in and of itself and yet allowing everything else both baffles me and makes sense of all the questions I have about physics. And of course I'm studying the impact on the self of all those things we experience in our every waking moments.

These words strung together, I hope I'll look back someday and realize they played my proverbial carrot, teasing me towards stringing together words which some other poet/artist/thinker/friend will scribble in an exploratory musing posted for the world to see.

Words Batted Forth & Back

2007-09-30T21:20:00.000-07:00

"Come back to the shores of what you are." -R. Duncan
Seen here and, of course, sourced just because...

Since July, I've been on some kind of personal quest. The quest, without doubt, goes back much further than that, but July seemed to have a special kind of angst attached to it. I've no idea what that anchor might look like.

I do know that I've been thinking a lot about self-identity and how to go about sculpting, rediscovering or otherwise uncovering the me that is the real me. My writing class, probably more than any other single cause, has had me in my head brushing away the dust to get at that morsel.

I've been thinking about the knowledge we acquire, how we acquire it, how it becomes personal truth even if it may not be actual truth. Simple things like how I believe bats are the sole pollinators of the saguaro cactus...I don't know how I came to have that knowledge, but I have faith in its truth and that truth is woven into the real me, the girl the woman the wisened old hag who I will become later, much later. Simple things like watching a swooping bird and knowing it's called a falcon, but having no memory of learning that falcons swoop through Tucson from time to time.

One weekend 13 years ago, I came home to visit my family for a weekend. I was living in San Diego at the time and cutting trail in the East County. The mornings were overcast, the afternoons were warm and I had a true taste of camaraderie. Each day at noon, we'd dig out our mess hall-boxed lunches and take a dirty seat. On the better days, a pair of hawks traced lazy circles down the mountain below us. I waxed poetic about this to my brother during that trip home and he later muttered "hey nature girl, go call your hawks!"

There are worse nicknames to earn. I know because I have a few of them tucked away. But that's another story.

"Nature girl." Maybe that is who I'm turning into, who I'm becoming once again. Twenty-five years after first falling in love with the desert, fourteen years after leaving it, seven years after returning to it, three months after wandering down a dry streambed as if for the first time. I'm certainly not the picture the masses see in their heads when they think of hippie or environmentalist or tree hugger.

I made it out to the canyon last night just in time to catch the last gasp of daylight and I watched as pink secrets drained right out of the sky. I walked slowly, my glance falling left, right, left again and felt a groundedness sinking deep into my bones. A calm settled itself around me, and invited me in to sit for awhile.

Thanks to Heidi for This Find

2007-09-27T19:25:00.000-07:00

One of my favorite blogs is Heidi Swanson's 101 Cookbooks. I've been reading it for a couple years now and she just published her first cookbook of original recipes. Some of her recipes look oh so good, but she changes things up pretty often, blog-wise. With each of the changing seasons, she typically offers up a favorites list and one of her "early fall" finds has completely blown me away, as well.

It's called the 20x200 project. The gist of it is this: for $20, you can get one of 200 pieces of quality art work twice a week at Jen Bekman's website. Bekman's talent seems to be finding emerging artists and getting them out there to the masses. Already, I've discovered a couple artists that I'll be keeping my eye on, their work just seems to jive with what I do and think about. She also seems to have some pretty great ideas. I'm pretty far removed from any kind of art world that can be remotely considered as snootily academic, so take my recommendation with a grain or twelve of salt. But take those grains with you, and go visit 20x200. I think you'll like it!

Ramble, a Bramble, Over There

2007-09-24T19:56:00.000-07:00

I have some thoughts. They are not altogether organized.

If you haven't yet stumbled upon ReX and his NoLA Rising movement, I suggest you go check it out. Now. Go now, seriously. I won't be offended. Besides, I'll still be here a-ramblin' when you come back.

I've been thinking about something. ReX and I batted an idea back and forth about, sort of, the ownership of something like a river. Obviously a human being, even one who is obnoxiously well-resourced, can't own a river. It's a thing that moves and ebbs and murmurs. It's not subject to the bounds we so like to impose on every last little detail in our world. It changes course because it's at the whim of forces it cannot, and more importantly does not want to control. It is, it flows. ReX has an interesting photo-essay of life on a river, the Mississippi in particular (and yes, I sang the song in my head as I typed that out), and it's his portrayal of his river that got me thinking. About ownership, but not of the stuff that clutters a life. Ownership of connection, of place, of experience. He mentioned dunking his feet in a part of the river far away from his home and how the river felt not like his but rather just like a river.

I feel this sense of ownership about certain things that in no way can be misconstrued as actual ownership. Take, for instance, my butterflies at work. Each morning I walk up to my ramada and am greeted by 20 or 37 sets of fluttering wings, orangeblackorangeblack. Occasionally a yellowwhite creeps in as well. They spend the 7 o'clock hour afeast on the low butterfly bush near the pavement, the one with lacy leaves and lavender flowers. As I walk by, they take flight en masse and encircle me, anxious for me to move on so they can get back to breakfast. I say a hushed goodmorning to them everyday and I don't even think I'm weird for doing that.

I'm weird for other reasons, sure, but not because I talk to my butterflies.

This web of ownership is cast across some of my other experiences, too. My time in Sabino Canyon has bolstered a strong sense of belonging I'm developing with the desert. In this case, however, there is a hairline border between terra cognita and foreign soils. I put left foot in front of right foot on the Bear Canyon side of the mountain, but I fear, no I know the dirt would feel different on the Sabino side. I'm at home with my rock-bed wash, snake-friendly though it may be. I've grown to anticipate the willow's rustling as I run my fingertips underneath the pointy leaves, thin clouds stretched across a blue sky, the way warm sunlight is caught on the hill in green stands of mesquite.

It would be wrong to say that this all belongs to me, but not because it isn't right. It does belong to me in the same way that I own each of my breaths. It's mine because every molecule of my soul gravitates to it.

The attraction between matter and the ephemera of the soul is undeniably strong.

Pique Nique

2007-09-22T20:24:00.000-07:00

We went a-wanderin' today along the creek at Sabino...me and Fig and her two boys. It was lots of fun and the desert showed up in a big way, too.

We saw that damn snake again (and because we were very near the same spot as our last sighting, I think it's likely the very same snake), but this time I managed to keep the camera out and took three pictures of it (though I'll only torture you with one). I had Lars posing on a rock for me when all of the sudden he yelled, "GIANT SNAKE!" and the thing literally took flight off the rocks where he was and landed on the rocks were I was. We noticed then that it was eating something and then it sluggishly slithered up the rock wall.

There were more tracks and they're easy to spot these days, now that I know what I'm looking for. One intriguing set was a smaller bobcat trail that snuck out of a bamboo hollow, a place I've never given much consideration and one which I'll probably avoid from here on out. Lots more tadpoles and frogs, including one frog that was easily twice the size of the rest.

Having access to some willing participants, I worked on my portrait skills a bit and will post a few more once I get permission from the subjects. In the meantime, I leave you with this 3/4-Family portrait.

Way to Advertise

2007-09-21T22:51:00.000-07:00

When I went through my jobless period earlier this year, I threw my name in all sorts of job rings. I joined resume clubs and created personalized job searches that still, to this very day, send me crap. I should really take my name off these lists. Because sometimes they send me an email which begins thusly:

We anticipating needing quite a few tutors for our after school tutoring programs at several local middle schools and elementary schools. The tutors will be working 2 students at a time, in the subject areas of reading, writing, and math. One of the opportunities involves working with small groups of not more than 5 middle school students. All curriculum materials will be provided.

In case you didn't figure it out, this is for tutors...mainly English and math "experts" to help students crunch for the illustrious AIMS testing cycle. I suppose I'm overqualified since I can actually write sentences that make sense.

Stinky, Stripy, Skunky

2007-09-17T22:34:00.000-07:00

I meant to post this last night...

I found a mostly decomposed skunk on my wandering today along Sabino creek. I didn't even see it at first, and then I had a difficult time figuring out what it was. I know it seems fairly obvious here, in frame, but in the sand most of the fur blended into the background and it looked a little like some random bones and leafy detritus, maybe a leftover kill. I was completely entranced by it, as was my hiking companion. I went about identifying as many bones as possible, referring to the human counterparts more often than not. In the detail shot, below, several ribs and vertebrae are apparent as is the skunk equivalent of a femur. The outer aspect of what looks like a human pelvis is the broad, squarish area near the center of the frame.

Please feel free to correct any wayward assumptions...

Overheard

2007-09-16T22:44:00.000-07:00

My absolute favorite moment of today was not the big ass snake, was not the dead skunk, was not even scaring tadpoles. My favorite moment was when Fig and I were walking and talking up north of the dam. It went like this (right before I doubled over in laughter):

Me: I think I need to learn how to better express myself verbally.
Fig: What do you mean?

More Tracks, More Animals

2007-09-16T20:24:00.001-07:00

Fig and I spent the whole morning scrambling up and down Sabino creek, looking at tracks and playing with tadpoles. It was the perfect day. We also found some very, very cool things. Maybe the coolest was a coachwhip snake which I did not manage to catch on film. After yelling "big ass snake!" over my shoulder at Fig, we both hopped one or two boulders away. By the time we got turned around, Mr. Sneaky Snake had absolutely vanished. We could find no trace of him whatsoever. We tiptoed away, wondering if we'd actually seen it or just somehow co-imagined it.

We did glimpse several cat tracks, and I'm thinking they were left by a bobcat, most likely in the early morning hours. There were more javelina tracks and lots of raccoon tracks again, including a beautiful set of hind-feet tracks left in some mud.

The coolest thing was not the coachwhip, that was just adrenaline talking. The coolest thing was a mostly decomposed skunk. At first, I had no idea what we were looking at--matted fur, bones. I thought perhaps it was the leftover parts of a kill. Then Fig spotted the telltale white and black fur.

Then tonight I caught a couple pictures of the sunset on my drive home. So with that not quite poetic preamble out of the way, here is today's photographic installation.

Tadpoles and Tracks

2007-09-15T19:50:00.001-07:00

In less than three months, I've transitioned from being voluntarily sequestered indoors and fairly sedentary to spending upwards of six hours a day outside, and most of that time I'm on the move. It's been a great experience and there is so much going on internally that it's hard to keep up with my own thoughts sometimes.

Perhaps the biggest change to reveal itself in my newfound active life is how I am learning that quite literally I need to spend time outside everyday. It doesn't necessarily need to be for several hours, but I need to feel the sun on my face, or if not the sun than certainly air that submits itself to the whims of the weather and the drumming of pounding wings be they butterfly or bird, air that's heavy with the scent of rain and secrets.

Of course, part of this new need is woven into my new job at the nursery. I so enjoy getting my hands dirty and having an almost infinite opportunity to stare at trees or mountains or rocks. It's difficult to believe I'm paid to have my soul so well-fed.

The other part of this need is because of the writing course in which I enrolled. The requirement to spend a minimum of 3-5 hours in commune with the natural world each week has proven itself to be a rather large turning point in my life. Over the years, I've had what I have typically thought of as a "good" connection with nature. While living in Phoenix, I often hiked in the Superstitions and in L.A., I ran in the neighborhood park. In San Diego, I skipped back and forth between land and water at the tideline and bounded over boulders in East County. I have no doubt that I was forging something akin to relationship with the natural world. In retrospect, those early flirtations were just that--silly and fleeting, disconnected moments of flushed cheeks and happy moments.

My weekly outings to Sabino have proven to be quite the courtship. During my first timid outings, the canyon and I, we were cordial with one another, smiling politely and not wanting to invest too much, too soon. In the weeks since, I've fallen completely and unabashedly in love. I think, too, I'm getting better at reading the canyon's expressions and subtle habits from cloud-shadowed cliff walls to the sandswept riverbed, from the 4:00p.m. hush hour to the 8:00am twitter.

The plants which once seemed both exotic and disarming are now old friends. The desert hackberry bushes, since my last visit six days ago, have exploded in tiny orange berries. The sennas have gone from buds through yellow flowers to seed in that same time. The creosote seeds remain on the branch, tiny and furred. Most of the cactus blossoms have long since morphed into fallen fruit.

The canyon's fauna remains just a little bit mysterious to me, but I am seeing more animals more often. Today's sightings largely consisted of witnessing proof of animals rather than the animals themselves. I found javelina tracks from just near the parking area to the lowest wash where the water is still running above-ground. Actually, in the last three weeks I've seen a set of javelina tracks on the trails I typically favor and the tracks are almost always on top of human tracks. Not that I can even pretend to be a tracker in any sense of the word, but I think it's usually a single set of tracks.

The sandy trails were gutted with tracks today, many of them too vague for me to distinguish into different species, however a saunter near the creek brought an unexpected find, what I think are raccoon tracks! I know that there are raccoons living at higher elevations, but they're occasionally spotted in suburban neighborhoods. These tracks were very close to the javelina tracks, but I haven't yet learned how to discern the age of tracks left behind.

I did manage to see some actual animals, including a pair of hawks, a rabbit, a dozen or so assorted lizards, a large horned toad and a handful of tadpoles, each no longer than two inches.

The monsoon season, my favorite time in the desert, has dried up and blown away. The creek is still running and hasn't yet subsided to isolated pools, but that will probably happen almost any day now. Earlier this evening, rain scattered itself across the valley but I'm not sure I'll see the result of any accumulation when I'm back in the canyon in ten hours.

The thing that is so wonderful about falling in love is the feeling of hope that permeates every staggered breath. Every day, it seems, there is news of how the world is being torn apart at its seams. But in this one little corner of the world, life pulses under sun and stars.

Outside All Day

2007-09-09T20:24:00.000-07:00

I spent just about my whole day outside today. It was heaven, except for the heat around mid-day. Some of my readers will think me crazy for saying this, but fall is so settling in around here. The nights are cool enough to crack the door open and shut the cooler off for a few hours, the sunlight has moved so far south that my dining room now gets direct light for most of the day and sunset happens before 7:00pm. The pic above happened not much before then as the last little wispy clouds exploded in pink. The saguaro is in my parents' front yard and is one of the coolest sags I've ever seen.

I'll let the rest of the pictures speak for themselves tonight, save a title or two. It's not that I have nothing to say, but sometimes it's better to let the voyeurs among you have a chance to create a narrative.

Some kind of strange web with larvae inside.

Detail of larvae.

Moss in between rocks.

Detail of a standing saguaro snag.

Vampy

2007-09-08T23:38:00.000-07:00

Running errands late in the day today, I had a chance to catch one of our famed sunsets and thought I had the beginning paragraph of a journal entry scripted in my head as colors danced high above me. I was going to compare our ribbon-like and pink-streaked clouds with the aurora borealis, a phenomenon I haven't yet been lucky enough to marvel under, one which I hope to see sometime soon.

As I drove to my last destination of the day, I played with my phrasing, an activity that has easily been years, if not decades in the making. Pink, was that really the color? No, it was more of a blush. No, let's be truthful...it was Grandfather's favorite color, skybluepink. A western horizon stained with the day's lingering effort. Clouds wrung of their color, gray ashes left behind.

Walking out of Trader Joe's with my weekly larder of carrots, I caught sight of a lone bat, circling a nearby palm tree in that haphazard, flippy-flappy way that bats stay aloft. I'm surprised that they can stay airborne at all. I watched the bat dart, swoop and dive beneath harsh orange light thrown from a nearby street lamp. All the while, I tried hard to come up with any and every fact I'd ever learned about bats and their nocturnal world. I came up with exactly one thing I'd learned in childhood and I don't even know if it's actually true. I thought about researching it before writing this up, but instead I'll share it and page through the resources later. I seem to recall, for some vague reason, that bats are the sole pollinators of the mighty saguaro cactus, that sentry standing tall, proud, perhaps lonely and always watchful over the Sonoran desert. I hope it's true.

Twenty or so steps later, I saw them, the rest of the bats. Hundreds of them, no thousands of them made their nightly exodus from underneath the Campbell bridge over the Rillito. Black columns of bats snaked low and westward along the dry riverbed, smudging what was left of a burnished horizon.

I stood entranced for a good fifteen minutes watching them pour out of the darkness. There were a few other people watching, some along the banks with me and some down on the sand, looking up at so many of them. I was high enough atop the southern bank that the lost and wayward flew uneasily beneath me. It was an unexpected perspective. A few even flapped close enough so that I could hear them. A couple in the wash had a dog with them and each time it barked, a new dark mass of bats swirled out from under the overpass.

The sky fell dark long before the bats finished up their fluttered and skyward flight toward the heavens. I sauntered back towards my car and chatted with a guy who was packing up his car with his own weekly larder. He asked me what was going on, why were there so many people watching the river. "Is it flooding again?" he wanted to know. I told him the bats had just left and he seemed disappointed to have missed it. He said he has watched that particular spectacle before and looking out at the nothingness, he added, "it's really something, isn't it?!"

It really was. In fact, I think I'll make sure to catch it again on Monday.

Speaking of Photographs

2007-09-07T20:54:00.000-07:00

I started a new class today and I need your help!

Don't worry, this isn't like other times when I've asked you to think and write! No, this is totally different!

I want you to help me find cool fliers and posters in your hometown. In fact, I have a whole new blog set up just for this one course!

Here, go take a sneak peak! Tell all your friends! I'm serious! I'm hoping to accumulate bunches and bunches of these things! Go, go now, go!

Nature Photographer (not quite yet) Extraordinaire

2007-09-03T18:38:00.000-07:00

I am not planning on changing careers anytime soon, so tuck your Sina-worries back into your handbag or wherever it is you keep them. I wasn't feeling quite Sabino-worthy today, but I remembered seeing this great field of sunflowers a few days ago just north of the Rillito River. I set out to capture the yellow abundance around 2pm with warm, strong sunlight falling from slightly west of straight up.

The soil quality here is poor at best where silt meets sand meets gravel meets bleached-out, parched, ancient earth. The picture below shows a great glimpse of the dirt from which this spectacular field sprang forth. Notice, too, how the leaves are drooping towards wilted--the last rainfall here was almost exactly 48 hours ago.

The plants lucky enough to have gone to seed under a mesquite grove fare much better, in terms of our typical idea of what beautiful looks like--strong stalks support full flowers. Of course, there's no reason I can't agree this is beautiful.

After about an hour of stumbling through the sand (due only to my inclination to klutziness), I decided to pack it up. I hopped into the car and started to vroom-vroom my way back to mi casa when I happened upon a big puddle that, were it not for the fact that it was filled with birds, begged to be splashed through, at least once. But like I said, it was filled to the rim with things that go flapflap in the night.

Now, my friend Claude has a thing for birds (or at least for painting them, and with a significant amount of talent might I add) and I've taken to watching them lately, the birds. Not wanting to spook them, I stopped a good distance back and parked so that I wouldn't have to get out of the car. I watched them splash around this impromptu birdbath until another car sped by and scared them off. I took the opportunity to improve my position and test out what it might feel like to be a well-known nature photographer. I hopped out of the Eggmobile and took cover, such as it was, under a nearby mesquite, hence some of the soft-focus foreground below.

Something else that I've been thinking about a lot lately is this border between the natural world and the fabricated one. I've spent a fairly good chunk of time watching for the line between us and them, watching for the line that is much more of a fuzzy blur than an actual line. And today I spent a good chunk of time watching the intersection at Allen and Edith where the line altogether disappeared and became, simply, this moment in time.

Then I snapped a pretty great shot, at least from a things-Sina-thinks-are-cool sort of perspective. You know that I have long been unbelievably fascinated with light (and therefore shadow, reflection, refraction and any number of other light-related topics), and I happened to do my click/whirr thing at just the right moment to grab the shadow and puddle-reflection of a bird about to splashdown in this urban oasis. The bird itself blends in a bit with the fence and sand behind it, but I'm very happy with this lucky catch!

Some Words I Love

2007-09-01T22:53:00.000-07:00

For the last couple days, words have been on my mind, specific words arranged by some writers I admire. I realized on Thursday night that I seek out the same stories again and again and I guess it's probably safe to say I use these stories in the way that church-goin' folks use stories they come across in the bible. I got to thinking about what I might include in my own version of that good book and since I've meandered this far down The Wayward Path of Blasphemy, there's no reason to stop myself from sharing some of the selections you might find in my personalized bible.

"Shed His Grace On Me," by Time Cahill
Originally appeared as Outside Magazine's "Out There" column, September 1998

"This Teeming Ark," by Tim Cahill
Originally appeared as Outside Magazine's "Out There" column, June 1999

"A Hook Will Sometimes Keep You," by Christine Lincoln
Appears in Sap Rising, published by Vintage Books, 2001

"Like Dove Wings," by Christine Lincoln
Appears in Sap Rising, published by Vintage Books, 2001

"High Tide in Tucson," by Barbara Kingsolver
From High Tide in Tucson: Essays From Now or Never, published by Harper Collins, 1995

Autumnal Tints, by Henry David Thoreau
Originally appeared in Atlantic Monthly, October 1862

"how to tell a story in a dead language," by Kristy Bowen
Appears in the fever almanac, published by Ghost Road Press, 2006

"The Wig," by Barry Udall
Appears in Letting Loose the Hounds, published by W.W. Norton, 1997

"Repeat After Me," by David Sedaris
Appears in Me Talk Pretty One Day, published by Back Bay Books, 2001

"The Maclaren River," by Kathleen Dean Moore
Appears in Riverwalking: Reflections on Moving Water, published by Harvest, 1995

This seems like a good start. There are other works which will make the list. I can tell you here and now there's a Sam Shepard play I will include, but I've forgotten the name of it and I no longer have the collection in which it appears, Sam Shepard: Seven Plays.

If you were to make a similar collection, what titles might I find?

Be Careful What You Wish For

2007-09-01T17:37:00.000-07:00

In my many cyber-jaunts, I often come across some charming websites. One that I forget about with some regularity is called Found (which I think I may even reference in my links section down below) and it is a collaborative collection of notes and pictures found all over the place that folks like you and me send in. I found this one as the post of the day and it is beyond charming. I thought you might enjoy the note itself as well as the discussion it inspired.

I spent my morning in training for a new, part-time job teaching science to elementary school kids and let me just say that if you didn't realize I was a geek before, well go ahead and slap that classification on my rolodex card right now! I got to build and launch a rocket and then we played with dry ice and it was by far the best morning I've had in a long, long time!

Other than that, there's not much excitement in my world at the moment. I am absolutely in love with my "real" job and I'm having a pretty great time with my current courses. The writing course, of course, stands out for me as perhaps the one that'll be my favorite when I look back over how much I've accomplished thus far in my academic trajectory. It probably rings truest to the sound of Sina and I would venture to guess that it will be the thing I keep doing long after I've stopped harassing my friends and blogfans with weird surveys.

As I finish up this entry, I am nodding my head in agreement with your inner dialogue that my tone today, even while briefly permeated with excitement, is a little more blase than most of my entries tend to be. A storm just rolled through and though it didn't dampen my spirit, I am a little reserved today. I promise a return to my more spazzy self in my next mutterings.

I will leave you with this thought: I am very nearly drooling as I eye a nearby bowl of crazy-person tuna salad. I need to go find a fork!

Identification

2007-08-30T19:44:00.000-07:00

I think these are both Zinnia Acerosa, obviously one in white and one in yellow.
Good times! (both were seen at Sabino, and I think they're both zinnias based on some plants I found at work...woohoo!)

Rainscrubbed

2007-08-29T20:41:00.001-07:00

Wet rocks, wet skin
a handful of stars tossed
through a break
in the clouds.

The first hint of rain
came with
the last gasp of daylight,
the sky and my clothes
both soaked.

Have you ever felt
the pinprick of
cold raindrops
against your palms?

For twenty minutes
after the storm
(after standing in the storm)
raindrops cling to my arms,
to my shoulders
bare and barely.

Sabino, Sort Of

2007-08-26T21:43:00.000-07:00

I didn't quite make it on a hike today. Some sort of bug, or almost bug, has moved into my lungs and I wasn't up to hoofin' it around, so instead I chilled on that nature trail and half-stared, half-gazed at the mountains and just took some time this morning to sit and think about nature, do some cloudbursting, and close my eyes under a warm sun.

I wish I could share with you some revealing mutterance, something profound, something meaty about the meaning of life. Instead, I have very little verbiage worth sharing. That's not to say the words are worthless, but more the sharing is the thing that may not mean much. I could whisper to you how with my eyes closed, I finally had a fleeting glimpse of a life (my life, no less) filled with beauty and meaning. I could tell you how it feels to grab a handful of dirt off the desert floor (dusty and echoing of childhood) and let it stream out between your fingers. I could scribble advice about how you, too, should sit in the morning sun with your face tilted skyward and daydream. Maybe my words would motivate you. But they shouldn't.

Instead, you should find a reason--your own reason--to sit or saunter or even sleep smack-dab in the middle of someplace decidedly wilder than your usual haunts.

I am including a picture yet another barrel cactus in bloom. It's not canyon cactus, but from the garden behind my new favorite farmer's market, where I dropped some serious money yesterday on Ugli tomatoes, lemon cucumbers and homemade salsa. I recommend clicking on the picture so that you can see the tiny buds towards the center of the crown. I've always liked the barrel cactus and it might be in part because of something I learned when I was in the Girl Scouts eons ago...in the wild (and, I should add, in the northern hemisphere), the barrel cactus orients itself facing southward. I'm not sure why it has so captured my attention this year, but I am absolutely enraptured with them. I like this picture because it's not quite on par with any sort of technical beauty, and yet there are a number of dueling ideas I think I captured: beauty and ugliness, birth and death, inviting and intimidating, delicate and tough.

Sabino IV, Alternative Narrative; or, The Perfume of My Youth

2007-08-18T23:36:00.000-07:00

The canyon was on fire today, figuratively speaking, with so many colors from across the spectrum. I seemed to be obsessed with the barrel cactus in my documentation of my most recent hike. Part of the reason is probably because they're in bloom at the moment and the colors of just these flowers are incredible! Reds meet yellows and crash into corals, right here in this dusty place.

I have an inkling that we've seen the monsoon season through, though I have no science in my back pocket to bolster the claim. It's just a feeling. I'd like to think that I'm somehow improving my ability to read what's going on in the natural world.

I do think to a small degree that very thing is happening, my ability to tune into a sense that's beyond the ones which help me see and smell and touch, et cetera. Earlier today, I took a drive out to Vail, southeast of Tucson, and hit a farmer's market whose reputation I discovered is well-deserved. I noticed the land, and more specifically the vegetation, was not well-treed but it was more a scrubland populated with more creosote than I've ever seen. I'm sure this first-grade reading accomplishment I made was due to the fact that the creosotes are also in bloom at the moment, so the entire Vail valley was awash in tiny yellow flowers. But the green that has invaded the rest of "my" desert was largely absent here.

In speaking of my senses, it's important to note that I intentionally did not write "the senses I was born with" in referring to our special sensory mechanisms--sight, sound, smell, taste and touch--because I think we're each born with the sense of place as well, that genetics and entanglement theory and forces largely unseen instill in us a kernel of knowledge about the wild nature just beyond our birth. But as we grow up, especially if we're disconnected from nature, this ability to sense connections between living things goes somewhat dormant. What's worse is that I think we're beginning to see a larger disconnect as each successive generation plugs into technology thereby weakening any threads, whether genetic or cultural, it has to the natural world.

Fig joined me on my last outing and we decided to make "Sabino Sunday" an ongoing engagement. We were both rather chatty and I was wondering if I somehow was underserving myself in this course by not just allowing a distraction, but engaging in it whilst on walkabout. But I noticed as we got further into the canyon, our chatter calmed down and transitioned from the banter of girlfriends to something deeper which centered on the here/now. By the end of the hike, our conversation had turned into an exchange of deeply personal moments and the lesson was clear to me--by shedding the noisy heft of the trappings of our everyday world, we got to experience a truer version of ourselves and of our friendship. And our immediate environment played an integral role in that experience.

I'm happy to say that together we hiked in further than I've yet ventured on my own.

Today's hike was quite impromptu on my part. I decided around 3:30 that I should get out there and suddenly there was nowhere else I wanted to be. That realization was a delight to discover, that I have actually changed, or perhaps reconnected with something that had long since been dormant in my soul. I am honestly enjoying smearing that delineation between self and natural world.

Because of so many factors (the late hour, the fact that I was alone, the possibility of rain beyond my line of sight and my still relative amateur "technical" skills), I opted to stick to the shallow trails not far from the interpretive center. My decision was also based on an odd moment, one of those chills-down-the-spine sensations after wandering down a wash. There are a number of signs posted throughout the canyon warning visitors about increased mountain lion activity. I honestly don't think there were any cats or other dangerous creatures nearby, but because of an almost-encounter I experienced with a big cat in San Diego, I tend to be a little shy of a second encounter, almost or actual.

The access to the "real" trails is a large swathy path, at its narrowest six or seven feet across and often more than ten feet wide, with little nature along its edges, which is to say any trees or large cactus are typically a good twenty feet away leaving no shade on this part of the trail. Not that shade was a concern on today's hike, but I opted for a narrower trail that more or less paralleled this main access.

What struck me immediately today was the stillness of the desert. No insects, no birds, no wind. No humans, either, for the most part. I think I only spotted seven other souls awalk in Sabino. Since my first hike, I've learned how to be a tad quieter (no more zippers clanging and my thoughts have become less squakish). I took my time, stopping often to listen to nothing and to everything. My trail was crooked, marked with character and it laced itself in and out of a creosote bramble. Without warning, I was engulfed in the memory of my younger self, a girl of eight or nine running through the wash in the backyard of my childhood home. I had no idea that I managed to somehow capture the smell of the desert so perfectly in my mind, but the heady scent of creosotes in bloom sent me right back to my youth.

I ended my outing with the Bajada Nature Trail, a self-guided trail with a number of native plants and animals marked by low-profile signage. It was there where I found the glorious Cristate Saguaro (pictured below). According to an information sheet found in the visitor's center, it's unknown why the tissue of the Cristate forms a large fan. When I was a kid, we always assumed it was some kind of cactus cancer. Cancer, genetic mutation, viral infection, whatever the reason, I think Cristates are beautiful. (an interesting note here is that the height of the Cristate formation and the height of the arms on its neighbor are at the same level--leading me to wonder what might have happened at that time to cause such a healthy growth in one and an oddity in the other...)

And that brings me to my last thought of this musing. I decided to leave the business world behind me about a year ago. I was working for this awful company and headaches had become a literal part of my everyday world. I also had an in-office nemesis. To this day, I have a hard time thinking nice thoughts about her. I decided that the price I was paying to work there was too great. One of our more civil conversations stands out in my mind, she showed me a picture of a Cristate saguaro. She made an awful face and asked me if I thought it looked disgusting, too. I was amazed that she could be judgmental about a plant. Clearly, I've thought a lot about that moment. I, of course, disagreed with her (which caused yet another fight between us) and walked away shaking my head.

Walking away from this gorgeous specimen tonight, there was no shaking my head or anger or headache. Instead, I was filled with a sense that I finally have found a place where I belong.

Sabino IV

2007-08-18T21:20:00.000-07:00

The canyon was on fire today, so many colors from across the spectrum. I seemed to be obsessed with the barrel cactus in my documentation of my most recent hike. Part of the reason is probably because they're in bloom at the moment and the colors of just these flowers are incredible! Reds meet yellows meet corals, right here in this dusty place. I have an inkling that we've seen the monsoon season through, though I have no science in my back pocket to bolster the claim. It's just a feeling. I'd like to think that I'm somehow improving my ability to read what's going on in the natural world.

I do think to a small degree that very thing is happening, my ability to tune into a sense that's beyond the ones which help me see and smell and touch, et cetera. Earlier today, I took a drive out to Vail, southeast of Tucson, and hit a farmer's market whose reputation I discovered is well-deserved. I noticed the land, and more specifically, was not well-treed but it was more a scrubland populated with more creosote than I've ever seen. I'm sure this first-grade reading accomplishment I made was due to the fact that the creosotes are also in bloom at the moment, so the entire Vail valley was awash in tiny yellow flowers. But the green that has invaded the rest of "my" desert was largely absent here.

The time between market and hiking was marked thusly: nap, unearned sweat, smelly dishes, errant impulse to get outside, drive drive drive. I'll (more or less) let the pictures below speak for themselves.

Not Your Typical Job

2007-08-14T19:40:00.000-07:00

My new job is the sort of place where I get to (or have to, it's a fine line sometimes) wear both socks and sneakers on a daily basis. I don't have to mess with high heels or pantyhose (those are like tights, Fig). It astounds me, on a daily basis, to find actual dirt all over my toes when I finally get to yank my feet outta both sneakers and socks. It's as if I've spent my day performing my tasks barefoot and en pointe. Eww.

For those of you who have received more details than you know what to do with about my new job, you'll enjoy this next part. For those of you who aren't quite as cursed, the next part will be funny in the way that most of my abstract writing is funny.

I've had to adopt a mantra to make it through my day. It goes like this:

Don't cough, don't sneeze and for god's sake, don't yodel...
Don't cough, don't sneeze and for god's sake, don't yodel...
Don't cough, don't sneeze and for god's sake, don't yodel...
Et cetera, ad infinitum, carpe diem, cota.

I wrote the mantra myself and customized it to suit one particular individual. If we're not in close proximity, I can shelve the mantra for the time being. But today we worked at the same station, so you can imagine the noises in my head...

Don't cough, don't sneeze and for god's sake, don't yodel...

In the final hour of our workday, you will never guess what happened. No, I did not accidentally or purposefully yodel. No, instead I completely involuntarily sneezed.

Ohmigawd, I thought the world might end abruptly.
But it didn't. Not even an hour later when this other person said "hey sina remember when you sneezed? You sneezed loud!"

I assumed the 1000 Yard Stare and somehow managed to stutter "mm-hmm" before assigning a new task, far far away from me.

Sabino, III

2007-08-12T21:10:00.000-07:00

Fig joined me in the canyon this morning, and other than the ovenesque heat, it was a wonderful marchant. It seems to be like the word "marchant" should be francais for hike or little walk or something like that. Perhaps Ian can indulge me by providing the proper word, merci mon ami.

So the heat, ugh. It sucked. Me dry. Faint, dizzy, just like "picnic, lightning" but not fatal. And really, there was no fainting or dizziness either. Fig and me, we decided to make Sabino Sundays a regular thing, so again this comment will be aimed at the Tucsony Folkses but feel free to join us. We will be making our forays earlier (perhaps much earlier) until mid-September or so. This fall is going to be oh so gorgeous, so if you're thinking about joining in just one time on a single day you may want to wait until then to do so. If not, we'll be acquainting ourselves mostly with the Bear Canyon side (keeping in mind that I'm still breaking in my turf-legs).

What gets me each July as monsoon season rumbles in is that the desert explodes into a few dozen shades of green. And especially this year, it seems green is dripping from every leaf, twig and claw. There is some kind of moss clinging to the rocks in the lower canyon. Entire mountain ranges look as if pulled up from some South American tropical belt and plunked down for an hour or two in this otherwise inhospitable place.

Every nook and crag is teeming with some sort of life, mostly the plant sort but there were a lot of lizards on the lam today. I don't remember seeing these purple flowers before this year, but it's been a long time since I hoofed it in this part of the natural world.

The last picture here is the rough perspective of A Mountain, which sits just to the west of where I work. I already had enough distractions what with sky and clouds and cool insects and sweat in my eye, but this is truly a gorgeous thing to have within reach during my every workday.

Jealous much?

Mark Your Calendars!

2007-08-07T16:23:00.001-07:00

Hey all of you Tucsony folkses...

You've got plans during the last weekend in September and/or the first weekend in October...
Desert Survivors is having its trimesterly plant sale! And even cooler than that is that you'll find ART on sale, too, art that has been created by some of the program's employees! You can find a plethora of painted pots, but they won't be there long...besides, you know you've been waiting for the perfect opportunity to jazz up your patio, garden or kitchen shelf!

I'll post some more info as it creeps closer...

More Inner Thoughts

2007-08-07T16:15:00.001-07:00

So I'm reading about the earthquake-mine collapse-earthquake debate. It reads very much like the chicken-egg-chicken debate, if that's written down anywhere. And I get to the part where the mine's owner swears that his piddly little 3.9 tremor shook the ground for four minutes, but then there's some sciencey bloke talking about how the 9.0 quake in the Indian Ocean in 2004 lasted six minutes. And in my head, this is playing out:

Me: Aren't earthquake magnitudes, um, you know...
Other Me: Come on, you know this...it's an ex- word.
Me: Extemporaneous?
Other Me: No.
Me: Existential!
Other Me: Keep trying.
Me: Um...uh...um...exponential!
Other Me: How dumb are you?

Animal Kingdom

2007-08-03T20:06:00.001-07:00

It's funny how we use small animals as verbs...ferret out the truth, weasel out of doing something unpleasant, snake our way into the next room. But no large mammals--we don't go mammothing or rhinocerousing. And whaling is not at all how it sounds.

Superfantabulistic

2007-08-02T17:59:00.000-07:00

That, my friends, is how I feel right now. I am so in love with my new job. Also, I am sore in a way I didn't know was possible, but it's all a part of the process. The heat so far hasn't been intolerable, per se, more like working inside of a swamp cooler that is abandoned on Mars. (Isn't that one of the planets where temperatures soar?)

Yesterday was my first day and it was a good one. I started learning the ropes...we're braiding a big rope bridge to toss across the Santa Cruz River. This is not how our rivers look, not yet at least. These pics are from the first major memorable event of my life, the great floods of 1983. The best picture is number 38, taken on October 2, 1983, at 10:00am.

I am kidding about the rope bridge.

I spent today getting an orientation to the nursery end of things, transplanting seed- and saplings from tiny containers to bigger, sell-worthy ones. I used things like vermiculite and lava sand. It was definitely less strenuous than weeding in the sun for the better part of the day like yesterday, but my hamstrings may have a different opinion. No, I'm sure of it. They have a different opinion.

I have been flooded with memories of the year I spent in San Diego, working on my first AmeriCorps team on our many environmental projects. Chances are good that you've heard most of those stories, so I'll detour around the bulk of it and just say that I think my place on this earth is outside. It feels like I've returned to some kind of home that I didn't even realize I missed.

I hope your world is feeling as perfect as mine. I'm gonna go ice my muscles into submission.

Willowy

2007-07-30T23:50:00.000-07:00

Dear Gravy Guy,

Here is a willow tree. And a closer picture of some branches. And a closer picture of a flower.

Sincerely,
Gracie Shoots

The Nature/Urban Interface

2007-07-28T21:39:00.000-07:00

I spent a bit more time outside today, but it went a little differently than my other excursions this week. In this course, not only am I bonding with nature to the tune of five hours each week, but I'm also looking at how nature manages to inject itself into our urban and suburban realities. Most days it's easy enough to find evidence of nature even in the most citified places. Today it was beyond easy. Rain fell from an angry sky, inches and inches of rain. And I knew where best to experience it--the Rillito River Park, which runs an 11-mile stretch along the top of what is usually a dry river bed. "Usually" in that last sentence is roughly synonymous with 360 days each year, and some years it's more like 362 days.

I honestly don't know the time delay between the picture above and the one below. All told, I was out there for about 75 minutes so there's the timeframe.

A rain event, like what we've seen this last week and really this whole monsoon season, is most certainly a spectator sport. There were lots of people at the river park, cameras in hand just like me. In another place where waters rage more regularly, this spot might be a great place to put in, but there were likely dozens of locations all around greater Tucson today filled with would-be river folk, watching in awe at the sheer power of water. When I first arrived at the park, there was merely a puddle in this underpass. I would guess that the river rose approximately two feet during the hour I paced above it.

The picture below does the actual scene little justice. These waves form in the river because of the incredibly high volume of water. I remember during last year's monsoon there was a lot of talk about how they form, and why. If I had to guess, I'd put the trough-to-peak height of this particular "wave" around eight to ten feet, though I'm sure you'll remember my height/distance/volume guesstimation skills are questionable. I watched entire trees, or more precisely what earlier today were likely snags, slam through these rapids and get tossed about like twigs. The foliage seen here is from the desert broom plants which line the river bed. I can say with some authority that these thickets have some individual plants reaching as high as twelve feet. (I used to work with youth at a nearby school and we'd often wander the river bed after picking up trash from the path above.)

Much damage has been done by these storms, in the natural world as well as in the sculpted, deliberate and pricey landscaping across the city. There is a sort of beauty even in what surely is death for this mesquite.

My parting shots show, I hope, that no part of the city is immune from this deluge, be it surface streets or puddles in my driveway. We're expecting more rain in the next several days and it will be interesting to watch through this new lens I'm beginning to develop.

Sabino, II

2007-07-27T21:18:00.001-07:00

I headed out to Sabino yesterday. I wasn't necessarily planning on it, but after grabbing lunch with my brother, I found myself drawn back to the desert. I suppose my trip wasn't totally unintentional because I did grab my pack on the way out the door even though I purposefully did not don proper hiking shoes. When I got to the canyon, I decided it was time to gather a "big picture" type of perspective. Instead of a walkabout, I caught the tram into the canyon.

After the severe weather we had last year, the tram only runs up to the fourth stop now. It's disappointing. I think that limits the tour to a couple miles up the main canyon. A wonderful and somewhat unexpected trade-off was that the creek was running in the lower canyon. It shouldn't have surprised me, after all the Santa Catalinas have received better than five inches of rain in the last week. I chatted some with another trammer and it was delightful. He was an older gentleman, easily in his late 50's or early 60's and he spoke fondly of his old home in Vermont, which was just minutes from Huntington Gorge. He had a few questions about desert plant life and I found myself thrilled with being able to share some information. The desert heat was his only complaint of summer in Tucson. I usually second the motion, although yesterday was gorgeous and dare I say even almost cool. He hopped off at the third stop on the way back down, saying he'd catch a later tram. We wished each other well and I settled into my moving meditation.

When we got back across the water and over to the Bear Canyon side, the tram stopped to give riders a chance to check out the creek. I took this opportunity to hop out and cast aside worry. The Bear Canyon trail, for some reason, is already my favorite. I tickled my toes in the "raging" water and just sat for a good thirty minutes, absorbing everything I could out of the moment. Because of the sandal situation, I opted to stick close to the road until the trail fell off the rocky hill and into the sandy shallows. Below, I've got two views just off the Bear Canyon trail, the first to the NW towards the Catalinas, the second to the SE towards the Rincons.

I found a good bit more trash this time out and decided it would be a waste (of time, camera memory, and ink & paper when it comes to print time) to shoot the trash I find in the wild. Instead, I'll just carry it out with me and shoot it later. That said, I've already found an exception. You know what this used to be, but doesn't it look different in this state? I realize it's most likely that humans destroyed it, but a part of me likes to think that nature fought back and left the barrier scattered across the ground in tattered x's.

Some good news found its way to me this week. I was offered, and accepted a position with a local non-profit plant nursery, Desert Survivors. I start next week and already I am filled with excitement. The nursery sells only plants found within 500 miles of Tucson. It's situated on the west side of town, tucked along the Santa Cruz River near the base of A Mountain. My schedule will give me time off during the week, so I can still get some quality trail-time.

More thunderstorms tonight tore the city apart, yet we saw nary a drop in my neighborhood. Supposedly the Rillito River is running again and hasn't yet hit its peak. There's more rain in the overnight forecast. Tomorrow's agenda includes some face time with friends and riverhunting.

What a Nutty Idea!

2007-07-26T20:46:00.000-07:00

There is one blog I love with every single molecule of my soul, and it's Heidi Swanson's 101 Cookbooks. If you haven't yet stumbled upon it, please do so now! It's an homage of sorts to her that I offer this post to you tonight.

I discovered Goji berries a few weeks ago and I embraced them immediately. They are about a zillion times tastier than raisins, which I'm not allowed to eat because of their whole grapey lineage (I'm allergic to grapes you see...it's not that I have a religiously motivated hatred of them). As dried fruit goes, Goji rocks the boat in every port. Um, yeah. Okay. Anyways.

With my newly discovered old love of hiking, I've been craving a new kind of trail mix. I asked Claudine for some ayuda and she heartily offered a number of suggestions (thank you my pastry chef heroine!). You'll notice there are very few precise measurements...this is one of my more touchy-feely recipes, you just gotta trust your instincts. Here's where I landed, and I must say it's interestingly tasty!

Mix together a handful or two each of:
Goji berries
Pistachios, roasted or toasted and chopped *
Sunflower seeds, roasted or toasted
Pepitas (pumpkin seeds), I used raw but roasted or toasted would be even more delicious
Popped amaranth **
with...
2 tablespoons ground flax seed
2'ish tablespoons ground coconut (optional)

* Chopped nuts. I like to coarsely chop most of the nuts and seeds together. I also grind some of them up in a mortar and pestle and I toss in a few whole ones as well. I find the blend of textures makes it taste better somehow.
** Amaranth. If you're in Tucson and/or a web-commerce fan, Native Seeds/SEARCH is a great source for all sorts of amaranth. Amaranth is a grain and in its popped form, it tastes a lot like popcorn.

Before I go any further, check out the picture up there. This is about what the mixture will look like with the measurements I specified.

Now, in a separate dish whisk together 2 egg whites and a tablespoon or two of ground Mesquite meal***, also available from Native Seeds as well as a number of other places. Incorporate the wet and dry mixtures until it resembles a mealy mess. Spread it out in a large, lipped baking pan and bake on low heat (200 degrees) for awhile (I went for a total of 40 minutes because I was afraid of creating a panful of inedible crap, but an hour would probably lend a delightfully crispy crunch to this belle melange). Also, about halfway through I interrupted the process and broke up the clusters with a fork, making sure to rake through and turn all of it for even roasting purposes.

*** Mesquite meal is neither bark nor branch, rather the seedpods themselves ground into powdery goodness. Mesquite pods are sweet and the meal can be substituted into recipes as part, let me emphasize PART, of the measurement of flour. I think it's gluten-free so there is no binding umph. You'll have to do your own research on that end if you're interested in, say, mesquite chocolate chip cookies (Heidi actually has a recipe for this and she does a good job educating her readers about mesquite meal). Mesquite meal typically adds a touch of sweetness and I may use another tablespoon next time. If you're not a fan or if it isn't readily available in your neck o'the woods, feel free to eyeball a similar amount of your favorite kind of sweetener such as honey, agave nectar or nothing at all. To be honest, I can't quite make out the flavor of it, which is really why I'll add a bit more next time.

One last thing...before I got to the gooey, eggy part, I scooped out some of the raw mix to have with me for today's hike (which I'll be posting about tomorrow, most likely). I really did mean to measure the amount that I mixed with the egg whites. If I had to guess, I'd venture to say it was a good two cup's worth, maybe as much as three cups.

Go, mix, eat, share!

Sabino Canyon, Day One

2007-07-23T13:50:00.000-07:00

water in the Rillito...a good sign...

My reintroduction to Sabino Canyon this morning went very, very well. I elected to follow the Bear Canyon trail, mostly, but not quite the distance to its namesake. It will take a short while to acclimate to hiking once again. I was surprised at the cacophony of noise I created, both internal and just by walking...a freight train of thoughts crashed through me as audibly as each sandy step. Zippers on my pack clanging about. More thoughts from every which way, bombarding me on my quest for connection. I will put them in something resembling a list here.

* I will have to learn to be judicious in the pictures I choose to take, and even more so in the pictures I choose to share. Yes, it's beautiful but documenting like a tourist will serve no concise purpose.

* Another class I'm taking at the moment deals with cellular memory, or how the body stores information outside the central nervous system. Meandering my way up the trail today, I was struck by a thought that hung on for much longer than the other fleeting and murmured thoughts which accompanied me today: after more years than I will admit to, every cell in my body remembers the joy of hiking! Every time I come "back" to hiking and general outdoorsiness, I always wonder what the hell keeps me away? Of course, the answer is the flaw I most loathe in myself...but perhaps this time I can conquer it for good.

* Animal species encountered: Grasshoppers galore! One gecko, tail wagging like the big tease he (she?) is. Several banded-throat lizards...that's not their actual name, mind you...I'll have to swipe a field guide to help reacquaint me with the fauna of this, my desert home. A packrat or twenty. One hawk, maybe two, but I suspect it was the same one drifting in and out of my sightline. Humans, loud ones quiet ones small ones big ones. It's like I'm Dr. Seuss, but without the rhyming.

* Plant species encountered: How much time have you got? The obvious, assorted cactus. A few leafy grasses, shrubs and small plants I don't think I've seen before. Next trip out, I'll stop by the interpretive center on my way out to the trail. Lots of dead and dying prickly pears.

* My field guide to garbage project will change scope a bit...instead of just garbage, I'll be looking at the things that don't belong in the desert. I saw a good bit of buffle grass, a big bad invasive species which we brought to the desert intentionally but which we later discovered was a terrible idea. I also found two bits of trash, a mismatched set of plastic water bottle components. I'm already bristling with ideas for presentation of this paper/pamphlet/whatever it will become.

* Hey, mid-day is a dumb time to go. I know this. Let's act on the knowledge next time!

* Evidence of water. Puddles. Stained earth. Green, green leaves.

* Mid-day storm is about to interrupt this post. More later perhaps...

Edging Closer to 200 Posts

2007-07-23T00:35:00.000-07:00

From my class journal...

Great find tonight--a snake skin! Oh, how I am so not enamored by reptiles, but this skin is beautiful. Dad accepted my post-dinner offer for a walk and we set off in my parents' neighborhood [a decidedly more wild area on the northwest side of town], storm brewing to the east. One thunderhead in particular was immense, to the SSW with a ceiling in the mid-20K foot range, according to Pops. I have a hard time estimating distances, height and volume, whereas his 30 years in the cockpit have given him a wealthy appreciation of such things.

So the snake skin...about 18" long, crunched up and found on the dirt road in a wash area. Because I was not in any sort of protected area, I brought the skin back to the house to study it more closely. I took a small snip of it (I have no idea if this is permissible, though I think I recall seeing flora snippings/specimen in a photo of a journal at this website. I need to clarify that.). Anyhow, what strikes me about the skin is its strength. In its present state, shed not terribly recently and washed some distance down "stream," the skin is dry and seemingly frail, except it isn't frail at all. Even dry, it is pliable and flexible.

And its architecture--the top/dorsal(?) aspect seriously resembles both a honeycomb and the inner, fibrous structure of a prickly pear pad. I've also seen a similar design in manmade objects, from packing materials to the webbed pockets in my field pack. The design seems to allow for strength & flexibilty. In this dried state, the scales seem almost soft, and certainly rippled. I had to laugh...on seeing it and my fascination with it, my mom asked "is that a fractal?"

I returned the skin to a wash...tomorrow I'm headed out to Sabino to introduce myself to the landscape.

Apples Are Delicious...

2007-07-18T15:47:00.002-07:00

...but at the moment, I am not a fan. Of the mac-sort, I mean. My monitor bit the dust. Luckily it's under warranty (I think), so it embarked on a new journey today, back to the factory from whence it came. Perhaps all the king's soldiers can glue it back together again.

I will be mostly off the radar until around this time next week. No email, no internet stalking, no electronodigital communication whatsoever. Well, that is unless you have my celly info in which case you can text me.

Also in my world today: a flat tire. I guess the old saying is still around for a reason: when it rains, it pours buckets full of tornadic flurries of crap. I hate to see what third bit of bad news is lurking just beyond my gaze.

Have a groovilicious week, I will try to do the same, and remember to look thrice (left, right, then left again) before crossing the street.
Sina out.

2007-07-18T15:47:00.001-07:00

My Kitchen Smells Like Pickles

2007-07-15T21:24:00.000-07:00

It's probably because there's an open jar of pickle juice in there, but you never know.

Hey, the monsoons arrived tonight. Officially they started a week ago, but I've only seen a handful of raindrops since then in between a few tiny thunderfarts. The rainy season would have been easy enough to recognize what with the gods tossing thunderbolts at each other in some kind of celestial version of dodgeball, rain coming in sideways, wind loud enough to make me think some shoddy pilot left his 747 idling on the curb while he hopped out for a beer. More thunder, more lightning, more wind, rain sheeting in from the other side. Lather, rinse, repeat.

But the true hallmark of the monsoon's arrival is this: just after the night stilled itself and the puddles stopped trembling, Miela got some wild hair up her ass and barked three times, bolted outside and was in midair on her way back in when I yelled "BAD DOG!," knowing full well that by the time the last syllable was echoing out of my mouth, she would already have landed muddily on the carpet and be mid-leap into her next filthy bounce.

The only saving grace here is that Miela is well-trained and when I followed up my "BAD DOG" with "BATHROOM NOW!," she charged right in and hopped into the tub, dutifully awaiting her splashdown.

Oh, how I love monsoon season! If only I had a legless dog...I'd probably call her Wormy!

Here's a cool photo I grabbed tonight out my back door.

Let's Get Physical!

2007-07-12T23:14:00.000-07:00

Much to the dismay of certain muscle cells, namely those in the quadriceps femoris area as well as those in the general abdominal region, I worked out tonight. I was sitting on my couch, quite nearly steeping in what could almost be called self-disgust when inspiration crashed through my front door. I've just been feeling so blechy lately. I was ruminating on feeling blechy and all of the sudden, I switched on some workout music and was doing crunches in my living room.

Miela was confused by the whole thing. She kept getting in my way, pawing at my belly (oh if only it was that easy!), licking my forehead. It made keeping count a little tricky, but I threw in a couple extra at the end just in case the number 7 does not in fact follow the number 4.

After grunting my way through "The Chemicals Between Us," my favorite crunch-song, I grabbed Mi's leash and off we went to explore our neighborhood on foot. I inched a little closer to disgust when I realized that was the first time we ventured further than the mailbox since moving to Chez Sina. But we're on our way now to someplace healthier. Yay us!

Now, if anyone knows how to persuade a muscle group out of seceding, I would be most appreciative if you shared the secret!

Sina's Almost Famous 7th of July Pasta Salad

2007-07-09T21:54:00.000-07:00

3/4 pound fusili, boiled and cooled

1 shallot
6 - 10 oz. sliced or quartered mushrooms
Combine & saute in a little olive oil, but be sure to pull from heat before mushrooms give up their liquid (they should be very plump)

12 oz. jar marinated arty hearts, cut into little pieces*
12 oz. jar roasted red peppers, diced
1/2 can black olives, chopped (I went for 1/8ths)
handful (or more) crumbled feta with Med-style herbs
Combine these ingredients, incorporating some of the liquid from both the peppers and the hearts. I also use a splash of Trader Joe's Tuscany Italian salad dressing at this point. **

Now combine all ingredients in a big, pretty bowl. Adjust the liquids (you'll need a little more, but get inventive with balsamic vinegar, more TJs dressing or maybe even a little truffle oil?). Add a spoonful or two of shaved parmesan. For a meaty crowd, you can add some diced pancetta or salami. Let it chill for about an hour, or longer, to bring flavors together.

* In channeling my inner Martha Stewart, I've found it's nearly messless if you cut up the hearts while they are still in the jar, just drop a pair of scissors in there and chopchopchop.

** I think it might also be good to add a roasted, diced tomato and/or zucchini at this melange step. Roasted yellow peppers would be a great add-in as well.

I also think this would be a good (and more carb-friendly) dish using bulghur or some other kind of grain (don't say quinoa, I hate quinoa!) instead of the overprocessed pasta option. It's also good just as a melange on top of some romaine or red leaf lettuce.

I'm on my second batch! It's good stuff! Bon appetit!

Just, I Don't Know, Be

2007-07-09T01:11:00.000-07:00

There's a lot to be said for an open window, a soft breeze, a curtain swaying slightly.
Dark night, soft and warm, the stinging heat long since sizzled into the atmosphere.
A single lamp throwing light against a yellow wall.
The occasional note of a favorite ballad making its way from Point A to Point B, speaker to ear, adrift on the breeze.
Eyes closed, body asway much like the curtain.
A deep breath, another, and then one more. Small sigh.
Curiosity and worry and all forms of anxiety for the moment shelved.
A stanza from childhood, goodnight cow jumping over the moon.

The Solace of Words

2007-07-06T22:15:00.000-07:00

I've had a crazy week, full of emotional peaks and troughs, though I suspect "trough" is too harsh a word. Imagine, if you will, a sine wave set around, instead of the value 0 (zero), bumped up to around +2 as the baseline. Whoa, whoa doggie, I am beyond my expertise here. I'm sure there's some sort of valid point in my example, though I can't find it.

Insert tangent here: Back when I was learning all about geometry, physics and sine waves, which clearly made little impression, I remember thinking my name was utterly cool because without much imagination at all, my name is a mathematical expression. Sina, I am...or the Sin a. Very few people can say that. And before you start to interject your own tangent (dare I say "secant"?), yes I realize that, for example, the word Brian could be the mathematical representation of b X r X i X a X n where the product equals some other number or coefficient or whatever. That's not what I'm talking about with my name, because in that case it actually goes all mathematical on your bad ass.

Back to my point, which I don't think I've yet established. Oh yes, crazy week, highs and lows and a path paved with revelation and signed in the key of fret. I enrolled in a new class and I am very, very excited about it (no, freak, it's not physics). It's called Natural History Writing and one of the goals is to develop a "publishable" piece. I use the quotation marks there because, well, publication is never a guaranteed phenomenon. But I will be writing and rewriting with the intention and the hope that my carefully arranged words will be trotted out to the masses. I listened to Claudine's good advice and decided yeah, I should just get on with writing.

To that end, I will be cross-posting here some of my mutterances, literary dalliances and first draft smudgings over the next couple of months. You have been forewarned.

And finally, back to my original point about words and the soothing power they have as hinted at in this entry's title. It should come as no surprise that I seek a number of emotional comforts in words, be they written or sung or whispered softly to me from somewhere behind me. My soundtrack for this week has largely been comprised of two individual songs. They have served me well in both this latest segment of my autobiography and in times past. They both can dress up or down as needed and I include the lyrics here, courtesy of this link, for one of them in case you maybe need a pick-me-up or a join-me-while-I'm-sad. I'll include info on the other song another time. In the meantime, don't wake me, I think I'm in a dream...

It's weird how the words suit both emotions, isn't it?

WWOZ by Better Than Ezra
(Written by Kevin Griffin)

WWOZ is on in stereo
A string of flowers haloed around your head
Candle light
Ceiling fan
Curtains blow away and back again
Back again
Don't wake me, I think I'm in a dream

Sleeping is easy
I used to lay in bed for hours
I've waited a lifetime now maybe I'll learn

Calling back and forth through heavy air
The barges sound their warnings in the dark
Peace comes like a trusted friend
As it starts to rain again fall away
Fall away
So don't wake me I think, I'm in a dream

Sleeping is easy
I used to lay in bed for hours
I've waited a lifetime now maybe I'll learn
Sleeping is easy
I used to walk the streets for hours
I've waited a lifetime now maybe I'll learn

Let go of your fear, let's grow old together
Find a place along the way
Let's reel through the years
Each makes the other better.
But what thoughts can I call allies
When this circle of ribs keeps working on its own?

Chorus

WWOZ's on in stereo. Well it's on in stereo. Repeat, fade.

It's Blogtagious!

2007-07-05T21:22:00.000-07:00

I feel a spell of verbosity coming on. Like right behind me. It's ramping up, but not like the actual onion-sort of ramps. That would be really weird. Aaaak, wild leeks chasing me, aaaaah run for your lives!

There are a couple blogs that I read with some regularity whose blauthors have been posting these "eight things nobody knows about me" entries lately. It's a little like the contagious surveys that circulate amongst myspacers on an hourly basis. But better because, you see, we're not on myspace here. I think myspace will be the downfall of modern society. And you can find my profile here.

I don't know that I can come up with EIGHT whole things that nobody knows about me. I mean, it's not like I'm an open book on display in a museum. So instead I'll do a running tab with itemizations (oh how I bow down to the mighty I.R.S.) as we go along.

You know, I think I didn't use the word "itemization" correctly. I'll just put numbers in front of each statement.

1. There is always a health book or a cookbook within arm's reach of my desk or couch. Almost 100% of the time, that book is Paul Pitchford's "Healing with Whole Foods," my food and health bible. If you've never taken a peek, please do. It will change the way you think about food.

2. I'm fascinated by prisms. I know some of you will think that this is the same thing as my widely-known fascination with light and all things physics, but you will be wrong with that thought. I am quite sure there is one of those this is to this as that is to that word problems I could assemble here, but I was never good at those and most of my friends weren't either. It's for all our benefit that I'm skipping the SAT prep allegories. But back to prisms...it doesn't matter how intricate or simple they are. I remember being entranced by my mom's collection of them when I was in third or fourth grade. She had several hung in a west-facing window and I would spend (what I remember as) hours watching the tiny rainbows cast and dancing around the room.

3. Sometimes when I'm falling asleep, I make weird throat noises and wake myself up. Sometimes I wake up Miela, too.

4. The main reason I don't do much reading in public is because I become so completely engrossed that I either make the same grunts as above, or open myself to a mugger's whims, or both.

5. I dream up and collect titles of works I have yet to write. It does seem like maybe this is a backwards approach to writing, like probably what should happen is that I will write the Next Great American Novel and from that, the title will inherently and organically appear to me, apparitionlike and real. I would share some here, but I'd hate to give other aspiring and more motivated writers the good ideas I've worked hardly at all for only to see, say, their work ride the tide of the NYT Bestseller's list for a record 400 weeks, or something like that.

6. I have no idea what "hope is the thing with feathers" means. I wish I did. I need some hope tonight.

7. I think Christine Lincoln's short story "A Hook Will Sometimes Keep You" is one of the best stories written. Ever.

8. Since June 26th, I have written 10,426 words, +/- a few here and there, in a collection of emails that will not be open to public inspection. Just imagine if that had been directed towards one of those titles, wow, I'd be a hell of a lot closer to being a renowned author, loved the world over.

9'ish. I think my intentional writing tends to be better in micro-formats. Look down below the body of this blog for a micropoem I wrote awhile ago and still completely love.

Oooh? Am I out of secrets to share? Hmph, odd. There are probably a few more of them, swept into the dark corners of my conscious- and not-so-consciousness. But I made it to eight and eight is grrrrrreat!
*****
Untitled

She whispered something
Like his name
And he whispered something
Like yes.

Floyd's Next Week Man, Tonight's Southern Rock

2007-07-04T00:43:00.000-07:00

I'd like to give a shout out to my friend Dino who turned me in the direction of Freaks and Geeks, a show that I don't even remember hitting the airwaves. It was only around for one lonely little season, circa 1999, and I think that may have been the year that I was TVless. I'm not quite sure. I feel the way about this show (the few scenes I found at YouTube) the way I feel about pretty much all the coming-of-age stories that are out there--they were made for me. You probably feel the same way and I guess that's the selling point, everyone can relate.

I've had a ponderifous sort of week. I'm thinking about picking up a writing class through my school. There's a publishing aspect to it and I'm excited and a little terrified about that. You never really get over the fear of rejection methinks. What if I write something that isn't publishable? What if I get published and nobody reads it? What if I get published and the reading public hates it? There's so much negative energy tied up in those what ifs that I'm just about ready to send them packing, adios, farewell. Fig will be glad when I finally say adieu to all the worrying. Fig's a smart gal.

This week brought with it a package from Lolo, the aunt in Seattle not the friend in North Carolina. Lolo sent me some of my grandparents' treasures unearthed from their time in Peru and Guatemala some 55 years ago, including a coca bag which was used by the natives during their harvest of cocaine leaves and my grandma and grandpa would watch them chew the leaves during the harvest. I'm not sure how long the scent of raw, illegal drogas sticks around in textiles, so I won't be using this bag as a carryon anytime soon. But you may see me sportin' it around town as a very unique purse.

Also in the box with the bag were some fajas and other textiles and a couple small pieces of art, 4"x4" paintings with carved wood frames. And that has really been the subtext lately of all my thinking, art and artists and creation, not the Biblical sort.

What is it that spurs us on to create, to draw or shape or scribble out on a cave wall? What is the spark?

A couple months ago I posted that manifesto of sorts, the one I wrote during my Prescott seminar. I've been thinking about that lately, too, how it fits in with who I'm becoming and how I fit in with the world. I haven't arrived at any easy answers, or any answers really. But I'm thinking and it feels, to a smallish degree, like I'm progressing forward even if it's merely an inch at a time.

That's all a girl can ask for, right?

Underwater Adventures

2007-06-29T19:54:00.000-07:00

I left my house today, heading out for such exotic locales as Cost Plus and the grocery market. I took with my a cup of ice water because it's good to have water with you at all times in this part of the world during this time of year. I also tucked my celly into my pocket, something I rarely do because there are better places to store that piece of necessary equipage. I made my first stop without incident and went to hop back into the Eggmobile.

Guess what happened then...tick tock, ticktock, tick tock.

My celly jumped from my pocket into the cup of melted-ice water. SPLASH! Dammit! The rescue mission took less than a second, but remember that any unit of measure can be divided up into an infinite number of subparts. So in the 1000 milliseconds my phone spent submerged, it's safe to say the damage was done.

Fortuitously, just last weekend Fig and Evan told me how to dry out a cellphone in the oven (yes, the oven) but I was nowhere near home. So I totally MacGyvered it by disassembling it and leaving it to "bake" in my car.

I made a call on it and it sorta works. But when I opened it just now the screen is displayed as a mirror image version of itself and the features that were blue (battery bar, voicemail icon, displayed numbers, etc) are now red. Did you know red and blue were color wheel opposites? Neither did I.

To further complicate matters, not that anything is terribly complex thus far, I went poking around Sprint's website just in case I have to buy a new phone. Oh wouldn't that be loverly? I couldn't access my account and had to jump through those identification authentication hoops and they sent me a temporary password--as a text message to my phone!

Another MacGyver step later, you know the reading the message in a hand mirror, and I'm good to go. More or less. Sort of. I'm not sure if I can receive calls or if my speaker has dried out (damn alcoholic slacker), so if you're looking for me over the airwaves, this is a heads-up that you may not find me for a little while.

Wasn't that a fun way to go from point A to point B?
Don't forget to visit my cellular memory post and play along if you're so inclined!

Cellular Memory

2007-06-25T13:32:00.000-07:00

So I'm working on this class, Cellular Memory: How the Body Organizes & Stores Information. It stems from a couple experiences I had while I was in massage school, things that happened to me that I couldn't explain and that my teachers couldn't explain either. I'm conducting a survey, of sorts, where I'm asking just a few questions of people who I think are experts or have a personal interest in understanding their bodies. If you are one such person, I invite you to think about the questions below and share your thoughts with me.

This topic may inspire discussion between you and your colleagues. If you know someone who expresses an interest in contributing his/her thoughts, by all means please invite them to visit Fogstorm and chime in! Thank you so much for any experiences you feel comfortable sharing, and too for taking the time to share them.

From your experience as a practitioner/recipient of body and energy work or simply your own thoughts and ideas, how would you define cellular memory?

How did you first arrive at the thought that memories might be stored somewhere other than in the mind?

If you are a practitioner or serve as an educator, how do you incorporate this knowledge as part of client education/student learning?

What is your profession and/or your perspective for this survey (e.g. massage therapist, EMDR practitioner, cancer survivor, shiatsu client, all of the above, etc)?

Please feel free to include any personal experiences you may have had with muscle or cellular memory.

Gleanings From the Stream of Consciousness

2007-06-22T09:51:00.000-07:00

Last night, I had a dream that Jim Gaffigan was my brother. Let me be clear, I don't wish for this to be the case, it just happened to be my reality in my altered/dreaming state. We were staying at a posh hotel because there was a family wedding, but we didn't know who was getting married. In the dream, I felt it was probably me, but we just didn't know.

Also, my hotel suite was infested with mosquitoes.

Miela taught me two important lessons this week:
1) Bunnies make the best toys. They're really fast, but they're probably tasty.
2) Slimy, stinky water from the bird bath is way more tasty than that clean, cold stuff inside that sometimes has ice in it. Birdbath water smells like food. Yummy.

The job situation is improving exponentially everyday. I'll keep you in the loop--I don't want to jinx myself by posting an update prematurely.

I awoke this morning to find a bruise on the very tip of my nose. It doesn't hurt and I don't know how it got there--you'd think I would remember slamming my face into a sharp corner or really anything at all. At first I thought it might be wayward chalk (I did artsy stuff yesterday), but no it's a purplishred bruise-looking thing greeting everyone with an unspoken "hi, I'm diseased and how are you today?"

I'm headed to Phoenix later today, just to keep Fig company. It will be a fun, mini-road trip. I need to head out and get some things done beforehand, and it's best to do it now while it's still a balmy 97 degrees. Oh, summer mornings in the desert just can't be beat.

Are You Cereus?

2007-06-16T21:40:00.000-07:00

I'm camping at the folks' place tonight, looking after the flowers and the iguanas.

There's a pretty cool thing happening with one of mamacita's special cactusses. The cereus is a night-blooming cactus and each bloom lasts exactly one night. The bud can take weeks to mature from a pimple-sized outcropping near cereus's crown to a showy, dinner-plate sized feathery fuschia thing.

It looks a lot like a headdress on a drag queen.

I'll be posting pics throughout the evening...the entry-level digcam is not playing nice and I'm squeezing off one frame before it shuts down in some sort of geeky, agoraphobic fit.

First frame, around 8:00pm 6/16/07...

Second shot, 9:30pm or so...notice the slowly unfurled petals...the petals flirt with the warm night air and often it's dawn before the whole flower has fluttered open.

Third glance at 10:25pm...I would guess that a 2am shot will be the winner.

4th Portrait of a Desert Drag Queen, 12:08am 6/17/07. The flash washes out the bright redpinkflame--it won't actually look this pale until sometime tomorrow afternoon, and of course the edges of each petal will be brown and tattered. If I should stumble from bed during the deep dark night, I'll bumble myself outside and see how she looks.

Last shot, for reals yo...1:41am 6/17/07. I'll see what it looks like in daylight...

I missed daybreak by nearly two hours, but isn't she pretty? 6:00am 6/17/07

What a way to begin your day!

Hungry bunnies? Half the petals disappeared, they are gone, poof. The bottom petals were at a height just perfect for a bunny en pointe. 12:27pm 6/17/07

Denouement. 2:00pm 6/17/07

Le fin. It's not out of focus--it really looks like clumps of melted crayons atop a cactus, no more drag queens and headdresses. 3:54pm 6/17/07

PS. 2:37pm 6/19/07 Sure, it's a little out of focus. The wind was blowing and this is the cleanest shot out of about eight shots in this go-round. I love how people can act like (or just be) assholes by posting anonymous (and not very constructive) comments. I thought about deleting it, but this is probably the same asshole-acting (or asshole) who has been dogging this blog a lot lately. I've deleted the other things because really, what's the point of being an asshole? FYI, that's a rhetorical question and I don't actually want you to answer.

Bobbin' for Apples

2007-06-15T19:59:00.000-07:00

I just watched Bob Barker's last show as a living American Icon. I cried a little. I'm such a dumbass.

I'm also spending my Friday evening deep in thought. Well, maybe only shallow in thought which is not to say that the thoughts need be shallow. I stumbled across this list of morceaux des penses...guess which one is my favorite?