Diving into other people's lives

At my place of work.... I sort through books and paper items that have been donated. And let me tell you, it is an education all in and of itself. Firstly, because you're exposed to ALL sorts of books. I usually get a few chortles and a snort or two during the day by odd titles, odd subjects, odd illustrations and an "oh no they didn't!"

But my favorite donations have to be the journals and diaries.... 'oh no!' you think! And 'oh yes' I say.... But these aren't like entire notebooks of someone's deepest-darkest thoughts, it's more like the first few pages are wasted on "does he like me?" "I think I'm getting fat" and "life is so good, I should be so grateful (but obviously they're not or they wouldn't be writing in a journal - which is essentially a place to whine and complain without anyone judging you for it)". And then the rest of the journal is empty - blank - abandoned. Most often, I can rip out the offending pages and it's as good as new. But last week.... I stumbled upon a gem. A true treasure.

This thing was juicier than the streets of New Orleans after Mardi Gras... it was down right delectable. I mean, people make mad money off of novels written with the information tucked between this journal's pages... people go to the Oscars over movies with content like what I found in this journal. It was classic. It wasn't racy or torrid or what-have-you.... it was just gasp moment after gasp moment. My life has never moved that fast, but then again, I'm not a 32 year old recent divorcee.

Here's a quick recap of what I read and gasped over to the best of my recollection: (and a time frame, VERY important) (oh, and I changed all but ONE of their names. Enjoy guessing which one remained the same.)

Let me also preface this with a personal disclaimer: I don't go rooting around donations for journals. I check them for entries because I can't put it out in the store all written in! It just so happens that I have the unusual pleasure of scanning through them a few seconds before I rip out the pages - if that's a possibility, other wise the whole thing gets chunked. But on this one occasion, I had the opportunity to scan it, become intrigued, flip back to the beginning and read it all the way through. And it wasn't much, probably ten pages - but engrossing nonetheless.

The journal was actually a gift. From a group of friends/small group type atmosphere. And they all wrote something in it. All inspiring and 'we love you's. So we start off knowing that Janelle is not a total social outcast and has people in her life that care about her enough to buy her a journal and inscribe it with hope and happy thoughts.

So it starts the usual way - I'm so blessed, I have great friends, great job, great relationship, rah-rah me. Then, the next entry, she's all "I'm a failure, I'm getting a divorce, I couldn't make my marriage work, I don't know what I was thinking, work is going down the crapper, and on another note, I went to St. George Island with some friends and desperately love Chad but couldn't tell him!" Wah-wah-wah..... The next few entries were about how she feels about her ex-husband and how she's so glad to be rid of him and how she only held on for so long because she wanted it to look like she was trying. (to make it work). When she described Jeff, it was like whoa, why on earth did you date him, much less marry him?!? She rattled on about how she was embarrassed of him in public. How he offended people, how he wasn't as smart as her (or perhaps at all), he mistreated her, devalued her, towards the end, she would always initiate sex, etc, etc, etc.

So I'm sitting there thinking, what was the attraction in the first place?! People don't all of a sudden become stupid, or offensive. They either are or they aren't and when you spend time with someone, you have the opportunity to see them as they are. So if Janelle went into this marriage knowing all that, then what could have possessed her to continue down that path to holy matrimony? Talk about crazy town - people do the most inexplicable things sometimes.

Anyway, moving on with the journal. So, let's say that on May 3rd, she confesses to herself that she is in love with Chad. She has gotten a divorce from Jeff and is trying to get Chad to notice her. On May 5th, she's hanging with Chad and convinced he's digging on her. He's being all sweet, kind, loving and all that, but he doesn't say anything to the nature of how he feels. May 11th, Janelle is hearing from mutual friends how they think she's good for him and that he likes her and that signals to Janelle that it's time to move in for the kill. May 27th finds the duo at her place, hanging out, and eventually finding themselves naked and she confesses to Chad that she loves him. She's met with nothing.... She's crushed.

But they still hang out, and Chad is still nice to her and his actions say that he's into her. But she wants to hear those three little words that mean the world to most women (or perhaps women everywhere, who's to know?). He won't spill. Two months later, in July, he breaks down and tells her he loves her and she is THRILLED. Her next entry is all about marriage plans. Her own little timeline. She expects him to propose in maybe six or so months, then be married about a year later. But she hasn't talked to Chad about these plans or ideas... However, she soon does because her next entry is all about how excited she is that Chad had been thinking about marriage too! Only his timeline is MUCH, MUCH more condensed than Janelle's. They get engaged in August and married about six months later. During this engagement interlude, Janelle talks about going dress shopping for the second go-around the alter and she finds the perfect dress at a gaudy shop that she didn't want to go into at first. The woman who was working had on bright green eye shadow and was just tacky-tacky-tacky. But Janelle was shocked to find the best dresses she'd seen all day in that shop and she eventually settles on one and buys it.

There is a big gap in her journal entries (time wise) and the next entry is in May... they've only been married a short while and ta-da!! Janelle is PREGNANT! She mentions that people are a bit concerned with how fast it's all been... but she doesn't seem affected by their concerns.

And there is where the entries stop. The other 98% of the journal is empty, save for a folded piece of paper that Janelle had written to Jeff about all the reasons why she hates him. That was also amazing to behold. Janelle had donated a lot of books, and one of them was a small book of "mother's quotes". You know, those little books they sell at Hallmark that you think are just so perfect for so-and-so, but really nobody wants. Yeah, someone gave Janelle one in honor of her son - Jack's - first birthday. So Janelle and Chad had a wee little son named Jack.

In other stalker-ish news, I know their last name and address because she left an address sticker in one of her books.... this happens often, but not usually when a diary is donated at the same time. However, I don't know where the book is and it's not like I wrote it down, so don't freak out on me or anything....

I was just amazed at how much I learned about a complete stranger in such a short amount of time. And I must say, I am impressed with the books she donated, they are a varied and interesting bunch.

There was this one book about how a man got jilted three days before his wedding, so he decided to have the wedding anyway, only without her, and go on the honeymoon to Costa Rica with his brother (after promising each other there would be no carrying anyone over the threshold of anything). They had such a great time, they decided to extend their honeymoon for two years and fifty-three countries in Asia, South America, the Pacific rim and Africa. They sell their houses and commence to have the sort of life my fantasies are made of. I'm like practically drooling over this book and I flip it to the back and there's this miniature picture of the author and his brother and they are HOT! I almost threw a hissy-fit. That just ain't right. Two attractive, straight men do not need to be traveling around the world having fantastic adventures by themselves. They need to take me with them. That's the name of that tune.

There was this other book that the author autographed and dedicated to Chad, saying - "Researching this book nearly made me loose faith in the human race" Name of the book? "ER medical emergencies" What was inside? X-rays of the most improbable and painful examples of stupidity you have ever known. My favorite was this x-ray of the pelvic area with a clear outline of a wine bottle right in the middle of it. The story behind how it got there was incredible because at first the guy lied and then he was in so much pain, he spilled all the beans. Suffice it to say that there are acceptable uses for wine bottles and shoving them up your rectum is not one of them. (He thought he would just be able to poop it out. When that didn't happen, he had to go to the hospital) What was on the next page? An x-ray of a pvc pipe in the same location. Different patient, I think...

So I guess you could say I've been learning a few things by hanging out with books all the time. It's interesting, these books and the people that come in to buy them. A co-worker rang up this one guy who bought a gay sex book (I didn't even know we had one) and apparently the guy buying it tried to hit on my co-worker (who also happens to be a guy). I thought that was pretty awkward. Then I started wondering who would buy the other sex books we had in the relationship section (wedged between books on mothers and daughters and how grandparents spoil grandchildren). I soon found out and had my own awkward cashier experiences. Thankfully no on tried to hit on me. I think I would have been devastated. But I thought it was pretty ironic when one guy bought a sex book and a book labeled "how to initiate conversations and make friends". Maybe it was a little premature for him to be purchasing the sex book. He should have studied the conversation book a bit first and see how that went. Just a thought.

Did you know superman's name is Kal-El?

I've been watching how writers are treated in the world around me. How they are portrayed in books, movies, the news, tv shows, etc, etc, et cetera. And here are two things that stand out to me the most: (1) they often have a big choice to make when choosing the material to write about (i.e. keep a friend or dish all and lose friend forever) and (2) they expose themselves and are reduced to the most vulnerable state we know of. Oh, and to be a great writer, you must be male, unshaven, tortured, skirt-chasing, imbibe in all vices and make a mockery of everyone and everything around you. Is that about on-par with what you see in the media? At least in movies and some tv shows, these great, prolific (if not 'fringe' dwelling) writers are stereotyped into this narrow, gender-specific category. At least, that's what I'm seeing. But then again, I also think that you will always see what you're looking for. (Not find what you're looking for, just see what you're looking for. A distinct difference.)

Switching gears, I think I'll confess to a guilty pleasure of mine.... NPR!! National Public Radio is knocking my socks off left and right. Every which way I turn it's like boom! BAM ba-da-bing. And I have to admit, I like it. I like it a lot.

The sweet justice of this confession is that I used to DESPISE npr. Like, with a passion boarding on spiteful. My dad would listen to it in the car and I'd get all cranky and be like "uh, if I wanted to listen to people talking on the radio, I'd have a conversation with it, I listen to the radio to listen to music! duuuuuuhhhhhh." Then promptly change it to some station that probably sounded like nails on a chalkboard to my dad but delighted me. My oldest brother would listen to it too and I just thought he was dorky and working on his "know-it-all" skills.

I therefore repent of my sins of ignorance and superficial judging and lay myself down at the mercy of the intellectual powers that be.

If I were a "favorites" type of person, I'd start describing my favorite parts of NPR, but a quick mental scan of the things I listen to divulges no one particular item as my favorite NPR-ism. I just like tuning in and picking up in the middle of these conversations they're having on the radio with intelligent people or people with fascinating histories or perspectives or ideas or theories. I like it when they discuss current affairs and I'm yelling at the radio and then one of the panelists eloquently states what it is that I was shouting at the radio. It makes me feel smart. But all it shows is that I'm paying attention. I suppose in some arenas, paying attention is all the smartness you'll ever need. Or is that in ALL arenas?

I also like listening to the Jesus music station. I think there are more than one in Tallahassee now, but there is only one to me. And I love it! I'm actually okay with it when the DJs talk... because they're actually funny and entertaining and real and honest and unapologetic and totally not frontin'. So it helps that they often (not all the time, but most often) play super music (I wish there was more VARIETY though), and the DJs don't annoy me. The only other station in Tallahassee that has DJs that don't bother me is Hank 99 and that's just because there ISN'T one. So yay for my favorite Jesus music station, keepin' real and not frontin'.

When I was in high school, I begged for a CD player to be installed in my sweet ride (an '84 volvo) because I already suffered from road rage (having to traverse TALLAHASSEE in rush hour traffic to go to torture - oh, uh, school) and the radio and the commericals and bad DJs just intensified a very horrible experience. Plus I didn't have AC for a while. But that wasn't really an issue. I just tried to think about how the sun beating down on my arms and legs was slowly but surely tanning them to a warm, golden complexion. And now, I never listen to the CD player (true, it is in the trunk...).

It's odd how the things we hate the most become a favorite staple of the ride to French class or work. It's interesting how a favorite past-time can become the most loathed activity under the sun. Is it normal for such things to pull 180's? Do they come full circle and return to where they started? Does the circle keep spinning 'round so that one day you love rummikub and the next day you hate it? And so forth and so on?

Oh, the mysteries of the world. They taunt us and expose our limited understanding.

Empedocles who?

We watched a travel video of Paris, Normandy and Brittany in my French class on Friday. It was an early '90s discourse in public awkwardness. Complete with a kid running around a castle sporting a mullet. A blond, spiky mullet. Before, during and after the mullet the host used his four words of francais to stiff smiles and lots of head shaking. I was glad when it was over. But boy, did I learn some nifty travel hints.

Not having insurance makes for very expensive doctor's visits. I have to get poked and prodded all over before gaining clearance for this gig I want to do for two years in Africa and geeeeeeze, you'd think I wanted to go to the moon or something. Because it's about that expensive and intensive.

I like looking back over life and seeing how it's all been working together to prepare me for this moment right now. 99.9% of the time I never see it, but lately all sorts of things have been aligning in my mind to let me see how the good, the bad and the not-so-good looking are benefiting me. It's like some sort of rare reward for half-way decent behavior. (Because, let's be honest, I'll never get caught on good behavior.)

I was reading a good book last week (or was it last month?) whatever, this good book had a good quote and I wrote it down. Would you like to see it? OKay, here it is: "Empedocles said that God is a circle whose centre is everywhere and whose circumference is nowhere."That's pretty exciting, isn't it? It's a new spin on an old idea. Or perhaps a really old spin on a not yet born idea... Seeing as how Empedocles lived about 400 years before Christ... but about 1600 years after the Jewish faith was established... hmmmm, which hair to split, which hair will it be?

I like the imagery in the quote that at first attempts to define God and make him a containable entity (by likening him to a cirlce), but then blows that out of the water completely by acknowledging that there is no place he isn't and no border he hasn't crossed. But my favorite is that his "centre is everywhere". Which means he is inside me, he his beside me, he is across the room, he is in all things, he is all things.

And I think when we see it like that, we start treating things differently. I wonder if religion is an opportunity to have a different perspective. Not just one perspective, but different ones that help us see. Because just one perspective isn't going to show us much. As they say, 'there's more than one way to skin a cat.'

Precocious and my work rant.

I just learned the definition for precocious today... I thought I knew what it meant, but I think I was wrong... I'm still not sure. I get a word from Merriam-Webster's online dictionary everyday (because there is no boundary to my nerdiness) and today's was precocious. Apparently it means "exhibiting mature qualities at an unusually early age" and for some reason I always associated it with a negative connotation. Like "uh, that child is so precocious - what a pain!"But it sounds to me like precocious is a good thing. Until it irritates the nearest adult, I suppose. Then like all good things, it becomes a bad thing when it puts someone out.

Funny story:

I was ringing this lady's books up at the store the other day and she blurts out: "when it comes your time, go get your mammograms done." Then she reaches up to her collar and pulls down her shirt to show me where someone has drawn geometric shapes on her skin and proceeds to tell me that she's just been to radiation therapy. And if she hadn't gotten her mammogram, she'd probably be dying of breast cancer instead of being treated for it.

I love it when people tell me intimate details of their health, love life, personal life, (basically anything I didn't ask about and have no wish to know about) and then look at me. What!? What am I supposed to say?! Uh... thanks for sharing? It is lame, but I have a hard time coming up with responses to things like that. Am I supposed to sympathize with their plight? Talk about people I know who are going through / have gone through the same thing? I pretty much end up looking like a deer in the headlights and gasping for air like a deer hit by the headlights.

It catches me off guard every time. One minute I'm telling you your total is $18.49 and the next your detailing the trials and tribulations of the labor of your first born which ultimately ended up as a cesarean birth. And I'm thinking.... just because my name is on my shirt and you might have read it, meaning that you might know it, does not mean we're friends!! Strangers talk about bland things like the weather, hopes that you'll have a nice day, and how lame gas prices are. Save all your talk relating to bodily functions, bodily fluids and bodily break-downs for friends and family. Strangers are much less vested in you and tend to care a lot less. If you have no friends or family, then go and make some strangers your friends. But start out slow by talking about the weather, hopes for having a nice day and the ridiculous price of gas that we all pay because we're too lazy to take the bus and walk.

Now, leave me be, I have to go and study French.

27 months of Unknown-ness

I read something funny today. Want to know what it was? Okay, here it is:
A pessimist looks at a glass of water and says "that glass is half empty." An optimist looks at the same glass of water and says "that glass is half full." A Peace Corps volunteer looks at the same glass of water and says "hey! I could take a bath in that!"

I suppose that is as good an introduction as any to the twenty-seven months of my life starting July 2009. That seems a lifetime away, but I'm sure the time will fly by. So, yeah... I've signed up for the Peace Corps and they're (tentatively) sending me to West Africa. In preparation, I have to learn French. HA! Fantastic, right? I have to admit, I kinda did want to learn some French. And the PC is a great excuse to sign up for French classes.

So the way this works is: I have sent in my application, references, and initial health forms. Then I had a phone interview with a guy in the Atlanta offices. That went well and he recommended me for "water and sanitation extension" project in west Africa. Now, I have to get a full physical and have my doctor sign off on lots and lots and lots of stuff and my dentist too. Then, once that is finished, I can send that in and when it is all cleared, I will be put in the pool of people cleared and ready for take off. I have been recommended for a project in the west Africa region dealing with water and sanitation. This can take many forms. None of which will be revealed to me until I clear the medical and dental stages. But I will most likely be working with water pumps (installation, maintenance and such) and doing some sanitation and hygiene education. And since I'll be in Africa, HIV/AIDS education will come into the picture as well. Which is good, that's what I want.

So, hopefully, in July of 2009, I'll be heading off on 27 months of unknown-ness. This could get messy. But I can't help be overly excited about it all. I get to learn French! For now, anyway. Once I get to where I'm going, I'm sure I'll also have to learn another language - some sort of local dialect of some obscure language. And then the fun begins. They sent me a little book of inspirational stories of past volunteers. It's precious. Maybe at the end of my 27 months of unknown-ness I can write about knowing something. ;-}

HAITI!

My boss at the bookstore totally got on the bandwagon of this mission trip I went on to Haiti in June. She would ask me if I was excited and I'd go "yeah!" And then she'd say that she was probably more excited than me and she wasn't even going.

Well, Goodwill has this little newsletter that they publish every two months or something like that and it goes to all their stores and to their donors (I'm guess some people and companies just donate outright money or something...). So my boss wanted me to get in touch with the editor of the newsletter and have her write up an article for it. So I did and here are snippets of my answers to her questions and some pictures thrown in for good measure:

1. What is your title at Goodwill?

You know, I'm not sure what the official title is, but when asked, I just say bookstore clerk. We're all trained to sort, price, categorize, and shelve the books (along with running the register). Your email said to give as much detail as possible, but I don't think you want me to go over board on this one! :-)

2. How long have you worked for Goodwill?

I started this March. So it's been four, almost five months so far.

3. How did you get involved with mission work?

Let's see, I went on my first mission trip when I was ten to Venezuela. I went with an organization called Teen Missions International. They send hundreds of teens (and pre-teens) all over the world every summer. (It's pretty incredible) In case you want more info on them, their web address is http://www.teenmissions.org . In addition to Venezuela, I've worked in Honduras, Germany, and Israel with Teen Missions. The exposure to other cultures and different ways of life had a deep impact on me and I always want to learn something new about the world or even better, experience it. The combination of that and working to improve some one else's life brings a whole new level of personal satisfaction that I haven't found in any other occupation. It is my hope to make a career out of working aboard in a mission-type environment. Thus it probably should be explained that

I'm working at the bookstore while waiting for my application for the Peace Corps to go through. The application process can take up to a year. And my love of books and spare time created the perfect opportunity to go to work for Goodwill at the bookstore. That and Donna was hiring at the time. :-)

4. What did you do in Haiti?

I assisted the doctors who set up a clinic at a church in a rural village in the mountains of Haiti. I did a few different jobs. I even picked up a little Kreyol (Creole) to help my interaction with the Haitian patients. Before the doctors saw the patients, we had to weigh them on a scale, take their pulse and blood pressure. I learned how to say "stand here, please" (krampela souple). This was to get them to stand on the scale. There were a few people who had not stood on a scale before because they would stand on it sideways and cover up the dial that tells me how much they weigh! Then there were others who had before because they would remove their shoes (which was not really necessary, but I didn't know how to communicate that in Kreyol, so the shoes would come off!)

I also learned how to say "thank you" (mesi), and "sit over there" (chitala) in Kreyol so I wasn't always making silly motions with my hands to direct people around. I'd also greet people with a "good morning" (bonjou) or "good afternoon" (bonswa!). Kreyol is based on French with West African languages mixed in. A Haitian friend (who just graduated from FAMU) told me that the slaves created Kreyol to communicate with each other and not let the French understand their plans. So if you're familiar with any French, you'll pick up Kreyol pretty fast. Or at least the little pieces that I did, anyway!

Oh yeah, I also worked in the pharmacy and put together the medicines prescribed for the patients. I would have to use an interpreter to give the directions to the patient on when to take what drug for which ailment. Most of the medicine given was pain reliever (Tylenol, Aspirin, etc.), vitamins with iron (anemia is very prevalent and malnutrition in children is a problem), and antibiotics for a wide range of infections.

Those were the top three. We also had medicine for high blood pressure, anti-itch cream, allergy medicine, diarrhea medicine, re-hydration medicine, cold medicine and some hygiene items like soap, shampoo, toothpaste and toothbrushes. There were a few cases of malaria and one interesting skin disease that the doctors were unable to identify without consulting outside resources. So they took pictures and searched an online database later. There was also one guy with an STD ( but I don't think that should go on the record!).

I also sat in on a few patient exams and learned how doctors check for anemia without blood tests (lower eyelids and fingernails).

5. Who else was on your team?

Three doctors, and ten little helpers with diverse backgrounds. Medical experience was a plus, but willing hands work too.

7. Tell about the people you served.

We traveled for 45 minutes up a mountain into a rural village with no medical service whatsoever. In fact one elderly lady told me point blank that there should be a full-time clinic in this area and not some little clinic every few years if that. (An interpreter was standing with me and told me what she said.) I didn't even ask for her opinion on the topic, she just up and told me they need a clinic at the least. A hospital would probably be an unheard of luxury in that area. There is no electricity up there. What they have is created from diesel generators (if they can afford something as expensive as that). Needless to say, most cooking is done over an open fire. The mission that we stayed at operates a burn clinic because of the high rates of burns in children and adults.

Something that impressed me was that everyone dressed up to come see the doctor. The little girls were the cutest with their little frilly dresses. Everyone was very patient, which was good because 150 people came through the clinic each day and we only had three doctors. Often, grandparents would bring their grandchildren through the clinic. This could be for a number of reasons. Either the parents were working, moved to a big city to find work, past away, or didn't want to go.

But my favorite part of the trip was interacting with the patients and practicing my limited Kreyol. I could tell that many of them were amused to hear this little white girl trying to greet them and give directions. And it tickled me that they could be amused by me, so I would exhaust all the Kreyol I knew and watch them light up when they understood something I said.

We had a special scale for the little babies who couldn't stand on the adult scale and I loved picking up the wee little squirts from their mothers and placing them down on the scale (most of them dead asleep at the time) and murmuring a little "sa bon!" Literally it means, that's good! But it made the mothers beam that their baby was a good healthy weight. It meant that they were able to provide a good diet for their child. And that's half the battle down there in some of these rural villages.

When we came back to the mission where we stayed, a group of Haitian women were preparing dinner and it always smelled amazing, so I got the interpreters to teach me how to say it smells good and I would walk through the kitchen and say "Li santi bon!" and the women would giggle at me and probably think I was a little crazy. But I couldn't resist. Kreyol is a smooth sounding language that floats and rolls off the tongue.

Girle man movies

I am secure enough in my femininity to admit that I've seen the Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants II in a theater with about fifty teenyboppers. I'm not sure which was funnier, the movie or the audience's reaction to the movie. These girls were sooooo into it that they literally gasped when Kostas introduces Lena to his (oh no!!) wife. They kinda spoiled that in the trailers for the movie, so I don't know why everyone was so surprised. And there were definite and audible "aawwwws" sprinkled throughout the movie. And I'm not sure, but I think there was clapping at the end of the movie and I might or might not have participated. I can't quite remember, it's a little fuzzy. Maybe that was Mama Mia. Only instead of fifty teenyboppers in that theater, it was 100 menopausal and singing women. Apparently they've started making movies to suit certain niches and have quit worrying about mass appeal.

Seriously? .........no

Working hard for the money in the bookstore the other day and this lady walks in with a book. She holds it up and says "I bought this book here and I've finished reading it. So, can I exchange it for another one now?" Caught off guard, I was like, "huh"? I couldn't believe it. Does this look like a library to you? No! You cannot just exchange it for another one. In a perfect world, maybe. But I hate to break it to you, but this is the farthest thing from perfect. I probably should have directed her to the nearest library. That is where I ought to work. In a place where books are free. You just have to bring them back. That is probably the closest thing we'll get to perfect.

Haiti beckons

I am off to Haiti in less than two days! I am really excited about it. I just love traveling so much, the mere thought of packing sends shivers down my spine. It's been awhile since I've visited a developing country and I find that I enjoy spending time in those the most. Probably because what attracts me is the amount of diversity and there is more of that in these countries. Although, Japan is definitely a developed country, but it's so drastically different from other western countries, it's in a whole different league. Anyway, back to Haiti. And me in it.

I had to buy some scrubs from goodwill to wear down there because apparently that's the only time women can wear pants and not be considered to have a damaged reputation if you catch my drift. I also had to find some long dresses with sleeves to wear when I'm not wearing scrubs. Have you ever tried to find a long dress with sleeves in Florida in the summer time? Near impossible. But a thrift store in Port St. Joe for the Humane Society was obliging and I found two dresses of a lesser degree of hideousness that I could wear. And now I think I'm all set for clothes to wear! I just hope I don't sweat to death. Of all the possible misfortunes to befall a person in Haiti, I'm oddly concerned with sweating to death.

I'm reading this amazing book about this 18 year old girl who is sailing around the world, all by herself. She is woefully inadequate for the task, but of course, that is what makes her story so appealing. What would be the fun of reading the accounts of a briny ole mariner with twenty odd years of experience under his crusty belt? None at all! So, needless to say, reading of her adventures has about got me in a lather of excitement about the prospect of embarking on my own adventure! Unfortunately, I'm not talking about Haiti here since it's only a week and I'm going with about 14 other people (I think). I'm trying to keep the trip exciting by knowing as little as possible about the details. If nothing else, that should make for an interesting interview at customs.

Well, it's gotten late and my brain has turned off for the night. Actually, I'd much rather get up and start packing for Haiti than sit here typing out some bric-a-brac letter clusters that barely make sense. I know it's time to move on when my grammar and spelling take a nose-dive and my typing gets dyslexic. 'p's for 'b's and all sorts of other nonsense.

Never was a truer word...

I never thought I'd find accordance with something a republican said, especially one of such excess like Regan. But wouldn't you know, surprises come in all shapes and sizes.

"People don't start wars, governments do."

--Ronald Reagan

Gifts of scat

We have a very giving raccoon who has designated our back porch and more specifically, the mats in front of the doors, it's own personal latrine. Not once but twice I've found raccoon poo on the mats at our sliding glass doors.

I did a little investigative investigating and found that yep, it actually is doo-doo from a raccoon and that this is a way for the raccoon to stake out its territory AND it will use the same "latrine" repeatedly. This is not cool. I do not want to find raccoon scat on my door step! At least it's not on fire, but still. NOT COOL.

Well, at least now I know what Rosie's always barking at... those sneaking, pilfering night rats.

You know I hope someone is not depositing these little droppings and doing some voodoo chants... 'cause it's pretty suspicious when it's only in front of the doors, eh... unless the little bugger is taunting Rosie. I wouldn't put it past 'em.

Cycling with kill or maim you.

With all these obscene rises in gas prices, I lament the sorry state of public transportation in Tallahassee. I lament how spread out Tallahassee is and the fact that I can't just walk down the street to the grocery store like I could in New Zealand. I was living in the nation's capital, a few hundred thousand more inhabitants than Tallahassee, yet much more compact and each suburb/neighborhood had their own mini center with some restaurants, businesses and at least a convenience store if not a grocery store. I loved the fact I could walk to the post office, cafe, grocery store, antique shop, Indian restaurant, multiple bus stops, and more in under five minutes. How spoiled I was. I even hoofed from my mini town, Kilbirnie, over the hill (very big hill) to the neighboring suburb known as Newtown where I attended classes at the hospital. I get to tell my children that I walked to school and it was uphill both ways. No snow though, and a bummer at that.

But back to Tallahassee and how cycling will kill or maim you. I have a job relatively close to my home. Theoretically, I could ride my bike to work and save on gas and get a nice workout. If I was in New Zealand, I would do it in a heart beat, or even take the bus. But here in Tallahassee, that's not exactly an option. I've been scarred as a child on the roads of Tallahassee. My dad and I used to go for all sorts of bike rides, down the St. Mark's trail, our old neighborhood - Indian Head Acres, and around FSU. I will never forget riding my bike down Pensacola and people honking their horns at us, and shouting obscenities out the window. Lord knows I was on the edge of the road, hugging that white line and wishing I was somewhere else without all these big, heavy, fast cars whizzing past.

For that reason and the general state of Tallahassee's roads and drivers, I am too scared to bike to work or anywhere else for that matter. I won't even bike around my own neighborhood since Lakeshore Drive cuts through it and people drive that road like it's a rollercoaster ride. Not to mention today's Democrat has an article in the Local section about the 'Ghost riders'. It's basically a rundown of car-bike accidents that leave the bikers seriously injured, flying through the air or dead. And not just any run of the mill bikers, no sir. These are people who work with bikes for a living or have been commuting to work on bikes for ages. Not exactly people out for a Sunday stroll. So I'm thinking my chances of safety are pretty poor. I'd much rather ride on the sidewalk that is reserved for pedestrians, but there are places where the sidewalk ends and without warning switches to the other side of the road or just ceases to exist.

I've never supported bikers sharing the road because in order to pass them safely, you've often got to spend some time in the on-coming traffic lane. If it's rush hour, that's out of the question and then you have two choices. Back up traffic behind a bike going who knows how slow or pass the biker within an inch of their life. Sharing the roads is not fair to cyclists or drivers. Every major thorough fare should have a sidewalk, bike lane and car lane. Essentially, neighborhoods don't need bike lanes because you shouldn't be going above 30-25 mph anyway.

I just know that you won't find me out on my bike on Tallahassee thorough fares anytime soon. Not only is it dangerous, but it is hot outside. I'd wheeze my way up to work in a cloud of perspiration and sun stroke only to discover I've got a spray of dirt up my back from a puddle I must have sped through on my way over. I'm tempted to try the bus system, but my impression is that you don't use it if you have to be somewhere on time. Geez louise, what a mess. Maybe I'll talk with my boss about my experimentation with the bus so she'll know I'm at least en route, if not an hour early for no apparent reason.

Cockroach Longevity

My parents and I just recently returned from visiting family and attending a funeral down south. This close association with death prompted a little discussion in the car about how we want the end times to go down. Cremation was the order of the day since burial seems to be a luxury of the well-insured these days. Anyway, we got to talking about grandpa and his insistence to be buried and not cremated like his wife and son. He does, however want his wife and son's ashes in the casket with him. Because of his tour in the Pacific arena during World War II, he gets to be buried in the Florida Veterans National Cemetery down in ... um... central Florida.

For real, this cemetery is in the middle of nowhere, next to nothing and across from desolate. But once you enter the perfectly manicured grounds, you suddenly realize where the rest of the military's budget goes. Every blade of grass stands at attention, the bushes that line the sidewalk remind you were you can step and where you cannot, and at every bend in the road, a patch of land has been cleared of shrubby forest and white rounded tombstones watch you as you ride by. This is where my grandpa will be buried with the ashes of his wife (well, we're actually not sure if they ever did get married or just lived together for fifty-odd years) and his son (tragic car accident).

Despite the talk of my grandpa's funeral arrangements, there is no doubt in our mind that he'll be around for a good long while. He may be creeping up his mid-80s, and he doesn't get around too well, but I'll be darned if he doesn't have that cockroach longevity. My parents muse that he'll be around even after they're gone. And it's funny because he hasn't exactly led a life of exemplary health. But neither has he thrown his health to the dogs. He doesn't eat red meat (only fish & maybe chicken. I don't know, I can never keep up with his finicky ways), eats beans (good for the heart, I hear), hates carrots (but we can trick him into eating carrot cake), and drinks that non-alcoholic beer (but thinks it's the real thing).

My grandpa is a case study in wonderment. He's illiterate, but served in WWII (I don't know how he got through the service without reading something....but whatever. I don't think they were real picky back then....or now). Because he can't read, he's VERY picky on what he buys at the grocery store. It has to be the right brand or he doesn't know what he's got. Drove me crazy one day when I went to pick up some medicine for him once. I got the wrong brand. Then I got the wrong form (liquid vs. pill). Then I got the wrong size. I threw my hands in the air and said forget it. Did I mention that the man doesn't drive? Not since I've known him (which is, you know, my whole life). I do know that he had a motorcycle once and he had a big crash that knocked out a bunch of teeth and messed his face a bit. But that was long before my time. And he can pretend to be mean as a snake, but really, the man must have a heart of gold. I say this because when he lived down south (he currently lives in an apartment attached to our house), he had all kinds of animals all over the property. Ferrets, a variety of birds, dogs, probably some feral cats, and who knows what else. Now it is my opinion that people who care for animals have a touch of the sainthood in them. The rest of them might be rubbish, but there's a piece of the divine in them for them to care for another living beast.

And I almost forgot to mention that grandpa used to de-ball skunks. In the back yard. Which was conveniently backed up to the high school that my mother attended. Here she is, trying to survive adolescence, and her dad is taking the stink sacks out of skunks in the yard of the high school. There are no secrets in a small town, but you don't have to give them visual aids. Lord have mercy.

Don't let me forget to tell you that the man has guns. Not just one or two, but a bunch. And not just some sissy BB gun. No sir. My grandpa's got some cannons. Which never struck me as a safe idea. Especially when he was threatening to use my dog as target practice when she rummaged through the recycling bin at night and woke him up. And it's not like he's had these guns since he was a young buck..... nooooo, he's got recent acquirements as well. Just when he was in his late seventies, for reasons unknown, grandpa decided he needed another handgun. And got one. I feel like, if you're over a certain age or mental capacity, you should hand over your drivers license and any firearms you might be hoarding. It just ceases to be a good idea for certain citizens to have either of those after a certain threshold in age and mental stability has passed.

Currently my grandpa has been reduced from a menagerie of animals/pets to one dog. One very neurotic dog. This little beast can see everything coming and going from the driveway and yaps about it for a solid five minutes. Doesn't matter that it's YOU. YOU who have lived there since the beginning. Nope, doesn't change a thing. And yet, the little beast won't yap at the legions of squirrels and the occasional bird that my grandpa feeds right in the driveway. I don't know why grandpa feels it necessary to feed the squirrels. I believe they do enough pillaging as it is. But glance out the window and you're guaranteed to see four or five squirrels munching away on bird food that grandpa lays out on a TRAY in the driveway for them. Needless to say, my dog Rosie loves this set-up as it allows her to come barreling around the side of the house and send the squirrels fleeing to the nearest oak or pine tree for safety. She gives a good chase and I've seen her nearly snag one. Grandpa, of course, hates this and threatens to (once again) use my dog as target practice for abusing his squirrels.

Oh, there are so many more stories that I could tell about grandpa, his neurotic dog, his charming demeanor (and really, I mean his sarcasm), and the bizarre stories he tells of his time with the navy in Japan. Or I could tell about he could make just about anything with wood, including replica weapons like rifles and shotguns. So good, you'd have to hold it in your hands to realize the weight wasn't right. Or how he had gargantuan poinsettias growing as tall as his house in central Florida. And how he and Sally (my grandma) had a table and chairs made out of barrels. Or how he's got a lamp with a pair of hot legs holding up the lamp shade and bulb.

But don't let me forget to tell you about the tattoo taking up the better portion of his forearm. He got this naked lady tattooed on his arm for all the world to see while on a drunken leave from the ship during the war. His commanding officer said "no can do. go back and put some clothes on her." So he went back and had a serpent wrapped around her naughty bits. Or course, by the time I came around and could see it, it was a blurry mess and I had to ask him what it was. Then I could see it. And I thought he was pretty badass too. I mean, how many people have a grandpa with a few remaining teeth left over from a motorcycle accident and a naked lady with a snake wrapped around her on his forearm? You've got to admit, that is one badass grandpa. True to the image, he lives up to it everyday when he defies natural law and continues to go about living like a cockroach after a nuclear holocaust. The man will outlive us all.

Will 'O the Wisp

I like to tease my mom when she does really outrageous stuff that I'm putting it on the internet. Occasionally, I'll make good on those threats. But that only works when I remember what it was that she did that seemed so unreal at the time. At the present time, I've totally forgotten all curious whims. But I'm sure something will happen that will make my jaw drop... and I'll race over to the computer to type it all out before I forget.

The pathetic excuse for a memory that I have is only good for easy forgiveness. I can never remember to keep grudges or why I'm angry at someone, so I just forget it all and move on. That's the only benefit. The detractions are that I'm easily distracted and forget what I was doing/saying/thinking, I can't remember doing things with friends (oh... I saw that movie with you?), and the only way I can learn is by repetition. Oh wait! I remembered another benefit of my pathetic memory skills. I am an excellent secret keeper. Because 9 times out of 10, I forget your secret in a manner of days.

I like to check out PostSecret on the web, and the books too... the whole format is really interesting, in that you disclose your deepest-darkest secret as a form of art on a postcard. The aura surrounding other people's secrets is very intriguing. Especially when you find out that you share the same secrets with strangers. Just another way to feel like this whole big world is getting smaller everyday. Anyway, the point of PostSecret is to share a secret you've never told anyone. Anyone. I've thought about something I could share that I've never told anyone... and I come up with nothing. This is for one of two reasons. One: I've probably blathered about it to someone one already or Two: I just don't have something twisted to share.

Maybe that's what people mean when they try to describe me to me. Someone called me "soft" the other day. Which made my mother laugh and comment that she suspected I always had a little piranha blood in me. So maybe people just pick up on the fact that I'm not burdened down with a heavy sense of guilt or tragedy. I just haven't got major secrets. The secrets I did come up with were LAME-O. And you could probably classify some of the secrets on PostSecret as lame, but they're usually the funny ones.

Yeah, my secret to send to PostSecret would be:

I can never make up my mind. It's in a constant state of agitation.

I've decided to name my mind: Ignis Fatuus. Which you will be glad to learn is a synonym for will 'o the wisp. Something I think accurately describes the state of my memory. Some might say flaky, I would say elusive.

Theories on dogs

The dog days of summer are here at last. My dad likes to jest that he wishes someone would treat him like a dog. Feed him, pet him, let him sleep all day, take him for walks, etc. Lately I've wondered what it would be like to be a dog. What makes them tick?

We often assume they're just simple little creatures, loyal to the end and generally good natured. But what if there's more to it? I mean, only a couple hundred years ago conquistadors and colonists and slave owners equated entire cultures with the simple mindedness of pets. Mostly as an excuse to treat human beings as sub-human, but still, it happened. So what if we're just ignoring a whole 'nother side of dogs? Just because we don't understand dog's behavior, does that mean we can regulated it to silliness?

For example, when it rains (even just a light pitter-patter) my dog nearly convulses into spasms with what I assume is fear. She slinks off to hide whenever we turn on the hose to water the plants or wash a car. She races off to capture some unseen villian in the night. She'll bark at all sorts of unknown sights and sounds. She hates crossing over the floor vents and gives them a wide berth when she's not crouching her way up to sniff at them. She'll only eat the food in the bowl that she wants and leave the rest for later. When she's upset (I think), she'll tip over her water bowl. She won't chew on anything in the house except paper in the bathroom trash cans (so gross). If you call her to you in an effort to put her in the pen or the house, she knows and won't come within three feet of your outstretched hands. She's as stubborn as all-get-out and will not do what she doesn't want to do until she's good and ready. Case in point: she will sit at the back door. You will go to it and open it. She will continue to sit there. Reach for her and she'll jump back. You close the door. She returns and sits right at it, staring at you. You repeat the process. Same result. You walk away. She stays. Later, you return and open the door. She waltzes right in. Everything is in her own time. Needless to say, I call her the princess.

A four year old that we sometimes babysit thinks it's crazy that I call a dog a princess when she's obviously not a tall blonde in a gown with a tiara. But after multiple explanations of her classic behavior and why it warrants the title of 'princess', he delights in calling my dog a princess. I imagine that he conjures up visions of my dog standing on her hind legs, wrapped in a glowing gown and walking down a path strewn with rose petals on her way to a ball or something.

She has very expressive eyes, don't you think? I knew this guy once who had very loud eyes. There was so much he wasn't articulating that his eyes were practically having a conversation with me. It was pretty spooky. But because my dog doesn't have the gift of speech, her eyes, her tail and her body language have to do all the talking. Therefore it's not as spooky as that guy who could talk, but just didn't. Needless to say, when someone isn't speaking in a direct manner there is a lot of miscommunication that can occur. I wonder how much of my dog's body-speech I misinterpret. I wonder what she sees in the dead of night that I can't. I wonder what she hears, and smells that we can't. You know how they say that dogs have acute sense that are like 10 times or 100 times better than ours? I'm always wondering what she knows that I don't. That, and how she can sleep 20 hours of the day. That is so rightous.

i. am. such. a. bad. person!

But I have a lovely bunch of flowers.

How did I get said gorgeous bouquet you might ask? And why am I such a bad person? Well, it all started two days ago when I got an email from a teacher at my old high school, Rickards.

Let me set the scene by saying that when I got home in December, the director of the International Baccalaurate program at Rickards wanted me to drop by school and talk to the students about life after IB. Since I'd gone to college, traveled around the US with AmeriCorps and then lived in New Zealand for a year on a Rotary Scholarship. Always happy to oblige, I went and spoke to three classes of seniors. Asking if there was anything else I could help out with, I ended up working for the students at their Pangea show back in February or so (gosh, it seems like ages ago). It was all fun and good work and I enjoyed working with the students and encouraging them to aim high when they graduated from school.

So fast forward to two days ago and I get an electronic missive from the teacher whose class I spoke in. Turns out she's also the sponsor for the National Honor Society. And the seniors I spoke to are officers in the club. They were organizing their induction, and wanted to have me as their guest speaker. How cool! Not having any conflict in my schedule (as if), I heartily agreed.

The funny thing is, I wasn't scared or nervous until I got there. It is one thing to speak to a class of seniors, and another to speak to an audience of their parents. Ack. I didn't officially prepare anything. I do not do well when I have written material. I'm much better when I can speak with a natural flow and have a little guidance from a power point or something of that nature. I was almost tempted to prepare a power point. But then I thought, that might be over-kill. Looking back, it propably wouldn't have been a bad idea. Anyway, I was given ten minutes, but I'm sure I only spoke for perhaps five, if that. I kept it short and to the point. Service is good. Service is rewarding. And I hope that being inducted into the National Honor Society is the first step of a lifetime of serving others.

Let me tell you something, there is nothing worse than a speaker who drones on and on.

Anywho - the induction ceremony was very nice with the inductees lighting candles and it looking like a New Years Eve church service... Then at the end, I got flowers! How cool is that? And not just any flowers, but flowers that are so me. They're not generic, and thank GOD there weren't any carnations (death to all carnations in bouquets). It was such a treat to get flowers.

So that's the story on the bouquet of nature's bling. Now for the story on how I embarrassed myself.

Sigh. Back in highschool, I had this teacher that I didn't get along with. (big surprise) It wasn't just a personal conflict, but I wasn't learning, and that stuff was important because I was getting tested on it and if I failed, I wouldn't get the IB diploma and I wouldn't graduate from high school. It was kinda a big deal. So I switched classes. Through a series of very unfortunate events, I ended up back in his classroom (the other teachers were dropping like flies). But before that happened, I confessed to another teacher that I didn't get along with said teacher and I preferred not to be in his class, if I could help it. Well this teacher goes behind my back and tells this other teacher! Then that teacher goes and tells my dad! (who worked at my high school) Then my dad gets upset and makes me go to this teacher I don't care much for and apologize! I was stunned! What was I apologizing for? For not liking somebody? That's just the way the cookie crumbles! I wasn't gossiping or deriding anybody, I was simply explaining my resasons for not wanting to be put in this teacher's classroom again. That's all. But my dad was insitent and that apology was perhaps the MOST awkward moment of my life.

Flash forward to a few hours ago and WHAM! Second most awkward moment of my life. This teacher has a daughter too. Who was being inducted. So he was there. His brown hair had turned to grey. And I was antsy to avoid him! I did not need anymore awkward. So at the little reception after the induction, I'm standing there talking to my best friend's little sister (who also got inducted that night) and the story comes up about the high school fiasco. Thinking this teacher had already left, I decide it's okay to tell them the story about it. Well, I don't just tell a story, I get all animated and I practically shout the story. At the conclusion of it, I look over and THERE HE IS!! Realizing he probably hung around to talk to me, I got sooooo embarrassed because there's a high chance he heard me reliving the awful ghost of high school days past. And he probably just wanted to say hello, inquire about my dad (his ex-co-worker, after all) and say something complimentary about how much I've grown up since 2002 or something along those lines. But instead I act like a complete jerk.

After all these travels and all the people I've met and all the lessons I've learned, you'd think I could learn to be pleasant to an old teacher. But nooooooo. I am once again an annoying 16 year old, freaked out about confrontation. Honestly, Leigh Ann! Honestly!

And there-in lies the story of how I came to possess such a glorious arrangement of flowers and how I regressed about 8 years.

Tick Tock

We finally got a wireless connection so I can sit in my Taj Mahal wing of the house and putter away on the computer to my heart's content. Although, I find myself rarely on the computer. I rewind to when I was living in New Zealand and remember spending nearly all my time on the computer - in a feeble attempt to be connected to life back home. Reading the news, talking to the fam on Skype, drifting across the infinite rabbit holes of the internet, reading friend's blogs, you know, that kind of thing. But now that I'm back (and not doing school work, or researching anything for school), I find I'm only on my computer for maybe fifteen minutes to check my email. How boring I've become!

Working at the bookstore is fabulous (because I love it) but terrible because I'm exposed to all these books that look so fascinating. Every which way I turn, someone's recommending a new book and I go hunt it down and read it. I've become a book hermit. I've taken to polishing off books like a bear coming out of hibernation. This is not boding well for my plans to save money, as I'm spending it all on books. I need to exercise that library card. However, every experience I've had in a public library has been disastrous and if you can remember back to my wailings about the change in operations for the State Library, then I think you'll understand why I've been avoiding them. The plague would make for a more pleasant experience than either of those.

So I finally got around to posting some pictures. It's been a trial in the asinine, and I don't need stress. Therefore, it's taken me a long time to get these pictures up. Like, at least a month of irritation.

That being said, here's the story behind the shots.The first picture of Rosie is her classic fang-grin with arched ears. She's saying "Won't you play with me today, Leigh Ann? I promise to get very rowdy, jump all over you and nibble/chew on your wrists, elbows, fingers and biceps (or what passes as biceps on me). Doesn't that sound like fun?" I mean, how can you say 'no' to a face like that? You should see her chase a tennis ball. It's like someone strapped rocket boosters to her tail as she shoots off across the yard. If I'm not careful, I'll throw it too far and she'll be going full speed, catch the ball then BAM! She's run into the truck, or Koi fountain, tree or porch. I'll admit, it's pretty funny, but in a bad way. The bad way where you laugh then make sure no one can see you laughing because you know you shouldn't be laughing at that. But you laugh anyway.

NEXT! Are the Kois in the fountain. Every now and then Dad gets out there and cleans the little pool out and refreshes the water. The same night, a magnificently huge owl comes and snatches away the biggest koi. Good thing these little guys reproduce like rabbits or we wouldn't have very many koi in the koi fountain. But at least we're doing our part to make sure the current food crisis doesn't extend to the wildlife of north Florida.

And finally is the swan fountain in the koi pool. I don't have much for it, either. Other than to say, hey! that's the fountain in the koi pool. (say koi pool five times fast.)

So this is my ultra-exciting life. I like to think that I'm just resting up and gearing up for the next big adventure when I have something relevant to blog about. Till then, it's picures of fish, dogs and fountains.

Laughing, laughing, laughing all over the place!

You know when your life is so full you're choking on it? I mean, it should be a very pleasant thing, a full life. In the Christian tradition, we wax on and on about a cup that overflows. But has anyone ever stopped to think about the mess that an overflowing cup makes? And who's going to clean that mess up?!

Don't get me wrong now... ever since I realized that I wasn't living life to the hilt, I've been on a mission to do just that. So, every once in a while, when I actually man up and do live life to the fullest, my cup overflows and spills joy everywhere and who's left cleaning that up? Me, of course.

Gosh, can't you see that I'm busy living life and I can't be bothered cleaning up this joy and happiness splashing around everywhere? I simply can't be taken away from this full life, there's not a moment to spare.

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I went on this random tangent tonight because lately, I've been a very busy bee. And it's been great; I've been to weddings, birthday parties, lunches with friends, retreats at the beach, shopping for friends, this 'n that, you know, this 'n that.

Enjoying it all, of course. But in the times in between these fabulous events, I find myself getting snappy and short tempered and annoyed... wayyyy too easily. For example, I went by (a store that will remain nameless) to get a card. Finding their selection not to my taste, I blurted out "these cards are lame." And right as I said it, I went "gasp! Leigh Ann! You sound like one of those distasteful girls who is nothing but a pain in the arse! Take it back! take it back right now! Someone needs to check their attitude at the door." Let me clarify that the card selection was indeed lame. But I didn't have to voice my concerns. Especially since I was alone and anyone nearby would probably think I would want them to agree with me and that just puts them in an awkward spot.... so it was just dumb of me to be so critical aloud. Besides, if I wasn't in a bit of a time crunch, I wouldn't have cared so much and most likely kept my thoughts to myself.

And that whole situation made me think. Despite the fact that so many wonderful things are going on around me and with me, it's stressing me out! Ha! The busier I get, doing awesome things with awesome people, the easier it is for me to fly off the handle at the most trifle of events. Isn't that so strange... it seems like there is a yin-yang side to everything. There isn't extreme happiness without extreme emptiness. If you look for it, you'll see the dark side to all the joy in life. If you look for it, you'll see all the beauty attached to the ugly in this world. Its all there, we just don't bother ourselves to really look for it. I'm especially bad at only taking things for surface appearances.

Anyway, that's enough about that.
I just got back from a super wonderful birthday dinner with fantastic friends, and we laughed the whole time, told stories, ate delish grub, and laughed a whole lot more. Tomorrow, I'm getting up at the BUTT crack of dawn to go to the beach! For an orientation to the Haiti trip. (SO STOKED!) Then, Sunday I hope to spend with my bestest friend and then go to church in the PM. And maybe read some. Or knit. Or play with Rosie. Or do the crossword. Or sudoku! Or pick flowers. Then make a daisy chain and dance in a circle and hug a tree. Sometimes I have a limit to how much cuteness I can handle in a day and since I was around the most precious babies this evening, my quota has been over-drawn and now I'm a weeeee bit sarcastic.

That being said, I am now done and will go get that daisy chain started.

Who knew Pooh Bear had it in him?

I found another fun book to read. I tell you what, there is something to be said for only working part time at a chill job. I find that I've got heaps of time for reading all sorts of fun books. And my mom got me this cool book journal thingy to record the books I read, quotes, recommended reads, etc... and it's way more fun than it sounds.

OKay. So. The Tao of Pooh. I'd heard my friends talk about this book, and was curious but never really interested/motivated enough to go seek it out. Well, one fell in my lap the other day and I flipped through it.

Intrigued, I purchased said book and took it home with me. I began reading it that night and I'm still reading it. It's not very thick - size wise or intelligence level. Which is what makes it so great!

First off, the cover art is to die for cute, and the illustration on the back brought me in, hook, line and sinker. "Pooh just is" Ha! I'd never realized... he really is, just is.

I'm only a fourth of the way in, but already I've copied down, like half the book in quotes. It's so clear and direct. And when you're explaining ancient Chinese philosophy, that's exactly what you need to be.

So far, my favorite illustration used in the book was to distinguish Taoism from Confucianism and Buddhism. It describes a scroll with three men sitting around a pot of vinegar. Each one has dipped their finger in to taste it and each one has a different expression on their face as a reaction to the vinegar. One man had a sour face, another was bitter and the third was smiling. The vat of vinegar was meant to represent the "Essence of Life" (nice phrasing, eh?) and each man's face mirrors their philosophy's belief about the human experience.

I won't give much else away, and hopefully this will make you hungry for knowledge! So much so that you will go out and read this book. Or another. Or look up the story on the internet. Either way, you're learning something, right? Then my work here is done.

p.s. I am currently entertaining recommendations of reading material. If you have favorite books, or just really great literature, holla!



Buddha in Glory

Center of all centers, core of cores,
almond self-enclosed, and growing sweet--
all this universe, to the furthest stars
all beyond them, is your flesh, your fruit.

Now you feel how nothing clings to you;
your vast shell reaches into endless space,
and there the rich, thick fluids rise and flow.
Illuminated in your infinite peace,

a billion stars go spinning through the night,
blazing high above your head.
But in you is the presence that
will be, when all the stars are dead.

Rainer Maria Rilke