Thursday, December 29, 2005

Ur-s not a dog. Urs-a bear

Ursa Major
So familiar
So easy to find though black as the night sky
Her soft nose pointing to the only thing brighter than her eyes
Both guiding as her muscles ripple across the horizon
feet flying like Mercury’s

We will all miss you

12/27/05

Wednesday, December 28, 2005

Tis the season

Christmas traditions at my moms house

1. Chores will be done
I was ACTUALLY using the upright vacuum to clean the futon.


Amazing what you find in the couch cushions

2. Christmas stockings are to be taken to Walgreens Christmas morning. You will be given $20 for goodies, but it has to all fit in the stocking.
3. Games will be played.
4. The Jug* will be passed.



5. There will be at least one (non-alcohol related) screaming match amongst the immediate family.
6. There will be at least 3 large meals
7. Everyone I visit will be disappointed I don't have more time to spend with them
8. Someone will get socks
9. Someone will trip over a dog almost dropping the goose/lamb/turkey or duck

* The jug is a musical instrument because no one ever trusted his drinking companions. You blow to make the tone, drink, and blow to make the tone. That way everyone knows how much you are drinking. My mom can do an octave in a big enough jug thats less than half full, she showed me on the Jim Beam bottle.



This year we can add: using a car to push mine because one wheel's break locked up.
wearing A Shriners Fez while playing pool and drinking

I love the holidays

Thursday, December 22, 2005

The Holiday controversy

Merry Christmas or Happy Holidays?

I find myself saying both. Mostly it depends on if I expect to see/speak to the person again before the New Year. This year has made it very hard on me. I feel badly saying Happy Holidays like I'm taking sides. I expect some republican or bible thumper to jump out of the bushes and say "Ooohhh she just took Christ out of Christmas"
And, just so, I also feel badly about saying Merry Christmas.

In a world where we have been beaten into submission of political correctness and cultural awareness this was the only thing that I didn't have to worry about. Merry Christmas and Happy holidays were never a touchy subject. My old Hindu boss bought Christmas gifts and we wished each other a Merry Christmas. Now suddenly I can't even wish someone to have a pleasant day on the 25th of December or when ever your chosen holiday may be and a Happy New Year (wheew, at least I can still say that). Now every time I end a meeting or conversation I hesitate. What do I say? Will I offend someone? Will they think I am taking sides? How could they not? Apparently this is the biggest controversy since rappers started using the "N" word (although I think is now okay for me to type (but not say) nigguh, nigga or niggah).
This controversy is the IN thing. Forget Presidential wire tapping, forget the national debt-taxes-budget, forget the soldiers dying, forget intelligent design, forget the NYC transit strike, forget Saddam Hussein's trial, forget anything about anything that might have mattered and realize THIS debate is THE thing on everyone’s minds.
So there we two stand like Dr. Seuss South and North-Going Zax neither budging, waiting for the other to make the first move.
“So, are you taking any time off?”
“Sure”
“Got all your shopping done?”
“No, you”
“Yeah, but I have to travel to see my family”
“Right. Sure, sure”
“Well, have a…..Good weekend”
“Yeah, um…Drive safe”

Butter 'em up with cheep gifts

Toffee

I halve the recipe because I have a smaller cookie sheet and smaller pans
2 c Butter (16 oz)
2 c sugar
2 Tbs H2o

2 Tbs Vanilla extract (set to the side)
and a thin chocolate bar (broken into pieces)
glass measuring cup (custard dish, etc) of cool water

I like to use Ghirardelli. I have tries their semi-sweet, their mint chocolate, and their peppermint bark bar. All worked well.

On Med-High heat use a stainless steel pan (glass would probably work too, but I tried a Teflon pan and it didn't come out right. Yes, I blame the pan.)
heat the butter, sugar and water stirring CONSTANTLY.
it will take about 10 min.

Here are the stages you will go through
melting
slight boil (butter color)
fluffy hard to stir (light-ish color)
thickening (loosing fluff and darkening)

When it starts to thicken its done-ish
I have made so many batches I can tell by color and smell, but till then this is why you have the cool water in a see thru container. QUICKLY (as time is of the essence) take a little on a spoon and drip wanna-be toffee into the water, don't forget to keep stirring the mixture at the same time (it helps if you are Vishnu). If it hardens you are done. Also watch out for the smell of burning sugar at this point.
remove from heat, add vanilla (keep stirring) .

On an aluminum foil covered cookie sheet pour Toffee (not like a pancake, you want it spread out more)
wait a min.
The top needs to cool a bit or the chocolate will indent into it too much
put broken chocolate around on it to let it melt (about 2 min). The chocolate will change color a bit at the edges and when it hits the middle its melted (you can also test by gently sliding it, put your spatula (not a pancake spatula) in the middle and give it a slight slide). Take your spatula and gently spread chocolate. I start with the outer edges first to be sure the middle is cool enough, otherwise you'll pull the toffee too.

set aside and cool.

My first 2 batches turned out perfect.
then I ruined like 5 in various ways. And then back to perfect.
Its very easy, once you've got it.

Best of luck

Wednesday, December 21, 2005

Learning Nothing Standing Still*

Do you feel the heaviness?
Do you long to curl up in your cave? Are you depressed? Or are you just in harmony with the seasons?
For 3 days the sky will freeze. For 3 days, the royal court astrologer prepares us for the end of the world. But really it is just the beginning. We wait in glum harmony for the return of the sun,

Unless you live in at the equator where the sun strolls across the sky for 12 hours or the Antarctic Circle's permanent blinding grin for 24 hours.

Well as long as I am standing still, lets pretend to learn something. Or at least make wild suppositions.

I always associate the Solstices with the Celtic. Maybe because of my Irish and Dutch heritage. But apparently it really belonged to the Persians but I guess Southwest Asia isn't really that far for customs to have spread. They were all a little nomadic back then. Follow the food. Escape the conflict. Create the conflict. Etc. Cultures were always moving & mixing, warring & capturing.
So perhaps the Celts got it from the Persians**. Part of the Celts mythology surrounding the solstice involved the fight between the "Oak King" and the "Holly King". They were twins, pitted against each other in a never-ending fight for supremacy. As cold weather approached the Holly King had won out, as it were, as the incarnations of his twin brother (the oak) had shed all their leaves and stood naked in defeat. But on the winter solstice the Oak King rallies -- albeit imperceptibly -- and begins to establish his renewed supremacy.

The first civilization to celebrate the winter solstice were the Ancient Persians, deriving from their Zoroastrian religion.
Zoroastrianism (or Zarathustrianism) is a very interesting religion. Also very hard to find some one to talk to about it, its only got about 140,000 members, so this is where I go making wild suppositions.
Perhaps the Celts got Oak and Holly from the basis of the Zoroastrian religion. The battle for balance. And from the concept of Metaphysical dualism (Holy and Evil spirits). Twins? I don't know. I couldn't find much about their idea of solstice but that it was celebrated as the birth of the sun.


*The word solstice is from Latin solstitium, from sol 'sun' and sistere 'to stand still,' as it is regarded as a point at which the Sun seems to stand still. The word was first used in English around 1250.

** other intresting connections

Monday, December 19, 2005

O Christmas tree

When I was a little girl I had books on records. One of the tiny little records was a Christmas story. It was called something like the littlest Christmas tree. It was a story about a little tree in amongst other trees and how it never got picked and finally a spider spun a web on it and the frost came and it made the little tree just beautiful.
Course that tree got to live and that too made it my favorite story.
I have an odd relationship with these holiday trees. Oh My God! Did she just take the Christmas out of the TREE? get over it people
First there was a tree, one of the old fashioned aluminum trees. It was a couple of sticks with holes in them. You had to separate the branches out by the color painted tip on the end that went into the stick (or later on, after the ages had removed all trace of color, by size). So you put all 300 branches in and voila a 12 foot tree. Actually it was pretty realistic. Man they made quality back then. Needless to say this was about the worst job in the world. Scratchy, tedious, tiresome and heavy. Alright so my sister and I were very young but trust me it was hard work. Don’t even get me started on the lights… but the result was always nice. If the season got to be, well the way it always got around our house, it was nice that the tears made the lights on the tree twinkle more. Then for years we didn’t have a tree. My mom is old school religious. Learned Greek and Hebrew so she could see where King James misinterpreted the Bible. And in researching discovered the Tree itself was a pagan thing.,.and apparently against God. See The Old Testament, Jeremiah 10.
My next tree was years later. The first time I went along for the purchase of a real tree I was 18. I was celebrating Christmas with my lover’s family. Having left my own family never to look back. They always went together to get a tree. It was so festive and amazing to wander among all the tall trees. To pick one up have them wrap it in twine making a pine-scented cigar to stick out of the back end of the suburban. Getting it home and in the corner cutting the twine letting it “Sproing” out to life. Everyone decorating and re-decorating after each other. Ah, it was the first time, and it was wonderful. This was what a family Christmas was supposed to be all about. Then after Christmas the parents started the proceedings for a nasty divorce.
3 more years passed and in a lonely place of my own I decided to get into the spirit and get a real tree. It was cute and tiny, well that’s what I said about the thin little tree since it was all I could afford. I watched as they chopped it down and set it in something like a paint shaker to remove loose needles, birds nests, bugs etc. So small I threw it into the back of my ford Escort hatchback. I bought lights and hung childhood ornaments on it. It was pathetically cute. I felt a little more spirited. Christmas eve morning as I admired the lonely damn thing I saw hundreds of spiders scurrying about, weaving webs all over my ornaments and lights.
I squealed. I freaked out. Cursing I ran looking for bug spray and not finding any I ran for the hairspray. I was crying over my crappy luck, shellacking the lights, the ornaments and the webs. I went through 2 cans of aerosol and fell to the floor cross-legged, choking on the fumes and crying. I hated Christmas. It had NEVER been a kind season to me. There was nothing to fix it. I began to harden my heart. I was damned and doomed to be one of those crotchety old humbugs. I looked up at the evil tree and saw the spider webs that now looked like spun glass. I was reminded of that story from my childhood. And it mattered less and less that I was having yet another crappy Christmas, that my ornaments would have to be cleaned, that I had either killed hundreds of spiders or they were now running through my apartment. None of it was really very important. In a moment of trauma or a moment of clarity it just didn’t matter. That sad, sad tree looked unique now and the soft memory of that children’s story wrapped me in a child like wonder and glow. Somehow that poor tree and I were both better off for the spider webs, both more innocent and more festive.

Merry Christmas and may all your trees be full of spiders

Writings have moved

Friday, December 16, 2005

"All this talk of love..." and she lapsed into reminiscences

or
"Another Story"

I thought it was over. Our last conversation on the phone had ended badly. Apparently, I wasn’t ready for a “serious relationship”. I scoffed at first "I am about as serious as they come” but the end kept coming. No matter what I thought or felt, I saw the end of the tunnel coming closer and closer and there was no light. It was a dead end.
I held the dead end on the phone. The long cord twisting through the kitchen down the stairs past the back door and down to the basement steps into the private dark. The dark dead end began to announce it too had given up. I followed the cord back to end the disconnection and the receiver’s preconization of the situation.
I was cold. It was late and turning fall. I looked out the dark kitchen window. The solitary light about 20 yards from the house glowed down and shifted the shadows as the tree moved around it seemingly seeking out the light in all the dark. There was a halo and haze around the light but only for a moment as I took a deep breath and shook my head: resisting, defiant, and shaking the moisture from the edges of my eyes.
I was losing grip, but I would do it quietly. I would slip under the darkness. Back to where I had been before. Before I had known there was light, before I knew worth, before I knew love. Knew love? I sneered at my self as I threw the mason jar at the porcelain sink. I didn’t know shit. I wasn’t ready to take the relationship to “the next level”. Would love share the same marks of completion as a video game or pretentious business proposal? Was it nothing without the “Golden Ring”, the “signed contract”, and the final act of consummation? Fine, I’m too immature. But how was I immature if I knew I was too immature to make that kind of commitment? Why was it this knowledge that was the end, and none of the other things I knew? Was I crazy? Knowing my mind was fighting against me. My heart demanding things my head was not about to deliver. Knowledge isn’t power; knowledge is the means to every end. I was full of knowledge. Thoughts drowned in my head mixing with my hard pulse and I wanted to cause damage. I wanted to inflict harm. The beat within yelling for release demanded response. I knew the target would end up being me.
The cuts were wide from the thick glass. It was not sharp enough for no pain, or was it that it was too deep. My hand was throbbing. The slices on the Moon in my hand seemed to eclipse the other planetary mounds and make the Ley lines of my life more obvious.
I dab at the cut nearest my bloody love line. It was made deliberately, slow and hard. There are no hesitation marks feathering the line. This line will not change the head or heart lines on my palm. It would not be mistaken for a preexisting line. The mound of the Moon (the pad on the heel of the hand) is the area of receptivity, either positive or negative (stagnation). I had cut through the fat to the meaning: intuition, moods, sensitivity, illusion, lunacy, escapism, addiction, psychic vision, the subconscious and spirituality. I remember all this, as the blood tried to fill the gap, from the Hindu who had tried to teach me palmistry.
I already knew this would not be my last love before the cut was made.
I needed it to feel.
I had released the anger and felt the trapped pain beneath cold calculating reason.
I was reassured I was alive, but now I wanted it to stop.
Maybe some aspirin, ibuprofen, or something would help. Slowly my brain took the reigns again, a soft thought wrapped my bloodied hand nothing is over till I know it is

Monday, December 05, 2005

It had been 10 days since they had instituted the smoking ban. One last bit of freedom, one last moment of calm. Geneva inhaled the last tobacco smoke tinged with filter; she realized the inmates were dealing better with it than she was. But they had quit cold turkey and she was only quitting for 10 hours at a time. Stubbing out the butt she gathered the utility belt from the passengers seat of the car. Lock and double-check the car. Buckle on the belt and pin on the ID card. Straighten: pants, shirt, belt, collar. She walked up the long walk way that lead to the wide cement stairs up either side. For a single story concrete and brick building it looked strangely antebellum. All it was missing was the gabled roof and the balconies, but the front was so tall it could have been designed for balconies. The walk way followed half way around the pillared front to a door on either side. The one story building was actually laid out like a series of cubes but Geneva had always thought it was laid out like a maze. You entered either side through one set of huge glass doors and then another. In between there was a few frightening seconds where one had to close before the other opened. In-between you knew what it was like to be a window display or an oddity on exhibit. Geneva always stood perfectly still for the 10 second count before the next door made a subtle click and allowed her to step into the lobby. Inside the building had changed a lot but this was still a lobby. The architect’s model was no longer there on display under glass. That would be silly, providing the inmates and guests with a visual layout of the complex.
She walked over to dispatch. "Hey Joey"
He looked up from the monitors crammed into a tiny room. His bulky frame barely able to turn without bouncing a shoulder off one of the unit lock down switches on the wall. "Checking in Geneva?" She nodded while swiping her card and signing in. Joey turned again slamming his shoulder into the key box "Damn! Why did they have it cram all the equipment into here?" Geneva looked up without a smile "The biggest switchboard in town lived in that room" Joey stopped rubbing his shoulder and looked around the room "I guess there was all kinds of wiring leading into here then" a door banged in the distance echoing down the wide empty hall. Joey looked thoughtful. “So what happened to the switchboard?" Geneva shrugged. "I don't know what happened to the physical thing, but the network became the first Internet dial up for the city." the echo bounced around the polished floor, down off the high ceiling seeming to settle near Geneva's feet. She stepped on the spot like she was pinning a loose leaf or runaway paper. JoAnn walked up, following the echo. "Giving Joey a history lesson?" She said smiling. JoAnn was more often than not the cause of the echo. She was loud and liked to stir the emptiness with noise, usually her loud voice. "Yeah, she's giving me a reason why this damn tiny room has all the controls and electronics"
“It's not that tiny Joey. You’re just huge.”
Joey squared his shoulders with pride taking up even more space "How does she know so much anyway?"
Geneva interrupted before JoAnn could answer, “I’m a local, not a transplant.”
“Right. I keep forgetting you didn’t come with the job like most of us…the job came to you.” Joey smiled at her.
Geneva smiled a half embarrassed smile at Joey as the words she said so often came from his mouth. “Sometimes I wonder if they hired me because I'm a woman or because I already knew the building"
"Both" JoAnn’s casual voice bellowed "You are in unit D today.”
Geneva walked down the echoing hall that JoAnn had just come from. Geneva didn’t find it odd that the echo was not from the last words. She followed the echo of “Unit D” around the corner as if it were to escort her there.
Joey squinted into the sunlight and called down the hall after her. “See ya for dinner?” Her figure seemed to wave an affirmative back towards him.
She walked away making less noise than a slight breeze rubbing up against a decorative wind chime. The walls and floors seemed to absorb her voice, her footsteps never seemed to reverberate or carry. Only a tiny jingle of keys or loose change and the occasional radio call betrayed her presence.

The hall leads her through the unlocked double doors and around the corner. Geneva followed it thru' the secure door into the cubes. Hallways crossing hallways like graph paper. Tiny courtyards enclosed by hallways and old offices. More secure double doors with single hallways wide enough to have 3 gurneys side by side. Then another door to another secure unit. The inmates and guards of Unit D would be waiting for her, Geneva looked at her watch. It used to be smoke break now it was just time in the yard. Geneva didn’t know why they still did it. It wasn’t like the exercise time when they were allowed out to the back (what used to be a pasture) or the side field. There was no space for games in the space where they were allowed in the early evening. It was just one of the larger courtyards created by all the squares on the graph paper. Just windows facing eachother, a bit of green below and blue above. Geneva opened the unit door and went straight to the heavy steel courtyard door to unlock it. There was only an anxious guard and one inmate by the door. In the past everyone would be waiting, anxious and ready, already having bartered and paid for the cigarettes to smoke outside. Stella, the guard. Nodded to Geneva as she swung the steel door open. The fresh air stirred the scent of jailhouse humanity. Stella turned her head as if the smell had taken a swing at her. She looked at Geneva and when she quietly spoke she looked past her “I’m gonna slip off …” Stella added the international sign for lifting a cigarette to her lips. Geneva nodded and looked outside. It was a one person job anyway. The walls were so high it would take more than 3 inmates cooperating to even get up to the roof. The chance of 2 inmates working together was improbable and besides after that there was the guard station set up on top perched like a cupola, the security cameras, the sensors, and the razor wire at the perimeter.
Very few went outside, most stayed in the day room watching TV. Geneva turned her attention to the outside. She watched the hardest core smokers walking the perimeter of the yard. Everyone had walked it and counted it. Most had walked it so much it was habit. Geneva could tell from where someone was how many more steps they would take before they would make a right angle to their path. Jo had 20 more steps to go when she sat down. Right there in the foot worn path. 40 steps and Linda would be on top of Jo. Linda frowned at the interruption of her circuit. She hesitated, looking back over her shoulder, missing a beat. One by one their pace slowed. Why Linda didn’t just cross the yard Geneva didn’t know. There was no one in the middle sunning or reading or whatever they had once done while they smoked. There was no one there anymore but just like the habit that kept these few women walking around the edge, even without smoking, kept them from deviating from their routine. Geneva lifted Jo up by her elbow and moved her out of the way before there was a pile up.
She looked at Jo, she seemed out of it, “Do you need to go to the infirmary?”
Jo came back a little and focused on Geneva “No” she sighed looking at the slightly confused women trying to regain their pace and spacing “I just got tired of it. Nothing else will change anything here. We are a hermetically sealed device of perpetual motion”
Geneva walked her back inside “There’s no such thing”
Oh sure there is, here there is. In the rest of the world maybe not, but here, here there are no sources but ourselves.
Every order has with in it the germ of destruction. Instruments strive to become out of tune. The pressed and dressed yearn to be folded and crumpled. Schedules eagerly try to compensate for the worlds interrupted rythem every so often missing a beat”.
She looked into the yard through the bright window. “There are no carriers here. We’re all perfect pitch with lifetime guarantees.”
She looked back at Geneva and laughed “Well at least 5 to 20”.

And then...

Thursday, December 01, 2005

She's too smart for my own good

I have to start off by saying I'm sorry.
This is another dog post. No wait it gets better. Wait for it.

So Goethe hasn't been, uh, regular.
And she's been stubborn about it.
I've even brought home her poop and put it in the backyard to no avail. There is nothing better than taking your dog to the run so she can poop just so you can pick it up, the warm semi-solid mass, in a plastic bag and take it back home to your own yard. The perfectly good yard right outside your door. The yard you just had to have in the city where yards are scarce so you could move your dog in.

Wednesday night I swore I wasn’t taking her to the run. If she wanted to go she could damn well use the back yard. I didn’t take her on Thursday morning and when Thursday night (all snowy and windy and cold) I was on my way out and promised that I was gonna play, maybe walk but we were NOT going to the run. We played for ½ an hour and then went for a walk. I let her chose the way. At each corner I’d ask her which way she’d look around hesitating not use to being given control and then pick a direction. Now the run is S.E. of my house and she started out going south. Crossed east. Then back west. And about half way down the block she stopped. One paw up in the air registering her hesitation she looked back at me, looked ahead, put her paw down and went back the way we had just come.
At this point in my head I had quit vowing I was not taking her to the dog run and began to think, well okay if you can find it.
Do I need to finish the story of the walk? Or can we just skip to the part where after 48 hours she drops a pile in the dog run with me saying “Alright you win!”
I bag up the poop for the yard in hopes she will get it, but knowing that she has me trained.