c'mon

my thoughts are dropping all twirlly like marbles, hard and scattered. . .

my brother is having surgery on his foot at this moment. because he regularly boasts that HE is NEVER sick (emphasis designed to illuminate my persistent state of ailing,) i’m certain he’s poised, leg-up, for a rough round.

i’m pale as a ghost and people here are talking about it.

my parents have been car camping for a month in beef-eating texas and are hanging on to their new veganism by thin strands of organic kelp harvested off the pacific coast by oregon kayakers then laid to sun-dry on our ocean beaches. sleeping in their car in freezing weather (with head colds,) finding nothing to eat save those who recently considered the world from two eyes, and tiring of the inarguably big, backward ways of texans, they’ve decided to get the hell out of dodge and are making their way home this weekend.

i stunk up the kitchen this week in an unsuccessful attempt to sprout radish, broccoli, and quinoa seeds. four days later and a counter-top full of rotting seeds, i learned, in true eskimo fashion (mocking by a loved one,) that sprouting seeds are meant to be rinsed and DRAINED twice a day. turns out bacteria do swimmingly well eating and pooping away their days in tepid, standing water. seeds do not.

i’ve found this wonderful card by ryo tagaki and am going to give it to my girl today. . .the sun is low and the vibe is piquant with a twist of love-ache like the slow-life walking weekend days we spend together.  plus she thinks persimmons are lovely.

i'm a true believer in humans being meat-eaters. a believer too that the current relationship between most lower-48 meat/animal product-eaters and the animals they exploit is sick and ugly and i want way out. my understanding of this has been developing for about fifteen years and is all mine--it's a powerful thing to feel right in my skin about something that's caused me a lot of shame and anxiety.

my value of respectfully giving and receiving gifts is still a strong one though and i doubt i'll turn down animal products offered me by one of my elders. hopefully they will understand and respect my choices though and not offer me any meat. another decision i'll need to make is whether to eat meat from animals raised by my family members or other local farmers when we gather for yearly family celebrations. hmmnnn. . .i'm up for the challenge of negotiating these choices!

as for the fish, i have enough access to fisher-people through my family and work that i’ll be enjoying a little smoked salmon a couple times a week. plus, i have very little problem with the relationship between fisher-people and the wild- line-caught fish they catch and kill.

here’s to a happy consience! and my cracking fingers (so much cooking, so many dishes) are crossed for good health in this big decision.

hooked on oolong tea.

the whole pack of hormone medication hit the round file yesterday cuz ive turned bitch, it seems, since the first drop. how to stop the bleeding now?

considering a long-range plan to further unplug my home from the bullshit (already no car, no tv, no microwave, no land-line, no computer, groceries local when possible and meat happy always.) talked with my girl and my friend about putting yurts on land out of town and making a small farm to feed and keep us. but the city calls, and i answer, with a heart full of love, that i will not likely abandon it.

i've discovered psalm one, who spits nice and (bonus) is a sexy dyke as far as i can tell.

time based art festival with hedda was fun. . .especially talking to edie in oakland on the computer. she drew us and faxed it on-site. we drew her and taped ours up with the other attempts to represent her pretty face.

my knees are swollen still and bleeding from the tri-met accident (exactly one week later.)

i found another lost dog (or did she find me?) and led her home on two shoestrings tied together, compliments of a resourceful elderly neighbor. sweet and soft girl who my neighbor took in. true to her nature, the little beagle is a barker.

i love mangos. god in heaven, i love mangos.

fictish and me bought a box of sweet yellow perfectly ripe bartlett pairs in hood river on sunday. what a gorgeous light full of hot autumn day. on the ride home, from tribal members at the bridge of the gods, lori bought 200 dollars worth of coho salmon. long silver bodies on ice in her industrial white coolers. they smelled like water and a trip in the fall of the year. she'll smoke them and share. i met delilah begay from sililo who said that her teenage daughter, weighing and handling the fish from the bed of the pick-up, is the tough one, the fisherman who caught these beautiful bodies.

i visited camas, washington with my mom yesterday to hand over nine of my left shoes for repair to a grouchy and wonderful elderly cobbler. on my way to the restroom, i got a sneak peek behind the counter at his 42 year-old itty bitty shop. . .all that wood and metal, order, and tools to fix and assemble, built fast in me the thrill and ambition that only workshops and fancy kitchens do.

the cobbler’s retail space is organized in three distinct sections: model trains and accoutrement, moccasins for the family, and a hodgepodge area of hand-etched belts and purses, shoe care supplies, boxes of fur and leather scraps, and random american indian paraphernalia. i was shocked to find dangling above the counter an authentic eskimo yoyo (two conical shaped “balls” stuffed with polar bear or reindeer hair and covered in seal fur with a base of some soft skin. . .the balls are attached by a length of sinew with a bone handle. the object of the game is to get the balls swinging in opposite directions.) “wow! where did you get an eskimo yoyo?!” “from an eskimo,” he answered. an old lady, now passed, whose name he could not remember, financed her way from a remote alaskan village to washougal, washington years ago by making and selling things. he and she became friends. and the yoyo has hung above his counter, unidentifiable to most customers, for twenty odd years. to my excitement, it was for sale. i’ve not spent $15 in a better way, ever.

further down 4th street in this same small mill town, we came to an art gallery with a rob wurzer carving in the window. i recognized it immediately and pulled my mom inside to show her his work and to tell her about my conversations with this artist who spent most of thirty years as a logger in oregon and washington forests. during that time he collected rooms full of antlers and bones and grew a mystical connection to the land, animals, and spirits of the woods that he began expressing through carving these left-behind animal parts. his visions are fascinating and his art is fantastic and in-demand nationally. my mom and i chatted with judy, the gallery owner, about rob’s pieces as well as some masks by lillian pitt also in the gallery. not having heard of lillian, my mom confided in judy, that “although these masks are nice, the ones my daughter creates are more interesting and much better.” !!yikes. i was embarrassed and nervous and now had to answer the gallery owner’s curious look.

by the end of our conversation judy said she’d be willing to look at my work sometime. so, driven by the idea of my masks hanging in a gallery with rob’s and lillian’s, i sped home, retrieved three masks and photos of others, and returned within the hour. to my great surprise judy liked the pieces i brought in and asked if i’d be willing to exhibit them in the gallery. woah. i said yes.

feelin it:	cheerful
bumpin:	iTunes WEFUNK show 266

we wondered in silence, will we eat it? i thought not since it came from a pool. you worried over a patch bare of silver scales.

it is true that a flounder was waiting there between us, but i was cheerful. we sat together, afterall, in mutual deliberation. and in spite of your mood, the light coming off you brightened and warmed the entire room.