thoughts of the day: thanksgiving day

If Thanksgiving  could have waited another week, I would have been ready for it. This may have been the first time I have ever been truly, and chosenly, alone for Thanksgiving. Kinda strange, but frankly, necessary.


Yesterday was my first real day off in months, because I know it will be followed by another day off and then another and another!!! So, as all first days off go...I wandered in a fog, doing mindless tasks.
I did, however, talk with a handleful of people that are close to my heart, and they siphoned from me all the social energy. I slept like a sinking whale carcass.


And today I woke up, ready to feel again. I miss waking up just feeling READY.


I did things that reset by empirical self: such as thoroughly cleaning the truck (which included removing a couple quarts of pea gravel, and a few pounds of farm soil, from the cab alone.)
I spun records. (thanks to Wes Montgomery, Joni Mitchell & Built to Spill)
I carefully sawed some ornamental gourds that have been curing for a year, and painted them. tomorrow i'll epoxy em and they will go to those pre-qualifying souls, who shall remain unnamed.


I really wasn't hungry all day, but still really wanted to make delicious food.
So, I roasted parnsips, potatoes and purple-top turnips in olive oil and oregano (feta cheese added later). I made a quick, tamari-shitake mushroom gravy which was drizzled over the roasted goods that were placed over a pile of sweet spinach and chopped roasted garlic in one ceramic bowl.
Then I made baked pumpkin pie-pudding, that i created a crispy, coconut-millet crust that was actually successful (awe Millet, we are finally getting to know each other).
I also sipped on this delicious small batch hard cider finished with Belgian yeast called "Crisp."


I ended the day by watching American Psycho, which made me laugh and gawk at Christian Bale's amazing performance. seriously.


I tried not to think of the things that have been weighing heavily on my heart. the things that make me nervous and stressed out. I am just thankful to have some time alone. I miss my family and that ever-warming sunshine that goes straight to the bones.


"Songs are tattoos, you know
I've been to sea before.
Crown and anchor me
or let me sail away...
Hey blue, there is a song for you."


-Joni Mitchell

Thought of the day viii:

As I'm sure you've noticed in your neighborhood, a great number of tree limbs are yawning over the sidewalks; they are laying on the roofs of homes and the patio furniture and stretching across front lawns, jabbing into the earth where it landed in a thud. 
The snow that had broken those already feeble joints and ripped them off like hangnails or the clothes of rape victims, and has since melted, 
but the cold remains. 

Energy workers climb ladders and lifts to make repairs, before the next storm crashes over the Rockies. I can see it's muffin-top teeming up for the decent. 

There is still much to be done on the farm, much to be picked up, pulled out, spread out, dissembled, organized, cleaned and stored. But the snow crests her doorway, like an impatient landlady waiting to sabotage our tiny efforts, so we might as well give up a little, and I suppose am happy to do so, and maybe take some chances, too.

Thought of the day vii:

Orale!

"Baila Sali!


Porque no bailas?!"


Maria or Chayo, as we like to call her. Little one. She yells my name.
Even if I am right there in front of her, she commands it, emphasizing the second syllable. 
Four or five couples have taken the floor in a traditional spinning poka. 
Their hats are all alike. Bright colored embroidered coats. Their boots are Ostrich. 
Big-ass belt buckles, flashing Gold chains, Jewelry everywhere. 

And the women are dressed up too. 
Their hair is big and hair-sprayed shut. They are clipped together stiff, skirts tight, but they are agile and quick. Some cling to their partner, for dear life, while he spins her dizzyingly. Others hold loosely and lean out to scold a family member for not dancing. 




I nod politely when they scold me. 
"Si, yo voy, jolito." 


My stomach is still engaged in battle from the incredible homemade Mole, carne asada and rice I wolfed down. I normally don't eat meat, but this stuff was AWESOME.


 I was the only gringa to attend this familial fiesta that took place in the same double-wide all fiestas in this trailer park did. I did not want to spoil the mood by trying too hard, so i hung low and spoke with a few patient, warm-hearted folks at the table. 
I drank too many Coronas. They kept opening more bottles for me, before i even finished them. 
Javier would watch from across the room, ready to pounce on the empty bottle. 
"Otro?"
"No, no gracias. Si tomo mas, voy a bailar, entonces no mas por favor!"


Javier works on the farm too. He is married, has two kids and an ever-undampened spirit.
He laughs at my poor spanish and pops open another beer for me. Oh geese.

I feel sick, but a little brave. I decide to give in. 


Javier and Maria's parents are wonderfully kind to me. The dad entreats me to dance with him and yes, por su puesto, if he doesn't mind going slow. He is in his 50's, works 16 hour days and this is his first day off in two weeks. He is quite drunk, but merry. He laughs and says he will teach me how to dance.
I feel the unmovablely shy, pink smile take over my face. I stare at my feet almost the whole time, trying not to step on his pointy boots. I look up at Chayo to say silently, 
"See what a dork i am?!" 

"Que Valiente!" A woman I had been talking with whispers to me.
She said most white people wouldn't have tried. But I figure, hell, what do i have to lose? I am already the singled-out one. I might as well have no regrets. 
Everyone was good-humored. I left very early, respectively, around 11pm. I had to get up a 4am for the farmer's market.  As did Chayo and Erica (sisters to Javier). They all work on the farm in different capacities. Their family had a farm in Mexico and the kids grew up operating tractors and fixing primitive irrigation systems.


I feel honored that they invited me to a family fiesta. I am learning alot from them these days. 


And that is that.

complete thought of the day: vi.

unlike worms
unlike wild fermentations
unlike loneliness


to-do lists don't do themselves.


It is rare these days, but today while waiting for my laundry at the mat, i visited four out of the other five establishments in the strip-mall, purchasing items at each place, including some whiskey for cider toddies (it is, after-all, the first snow of the year), and developing three canisters of film at stupid walgreens. 
When will i learn to first develop ONLY the contact sheets and not waste money on all the prints of my horrid attempts at photography, dear me!
Needless to say, by the time the clothes were done, all my money had magically disappeared.
 At least i have some fun music to spin tonight, including: Moody Blues "days of future passed," an all-time favorite, Swedish music of the Stockholm Philharmonic Orchestra, and the soundtrack to Jodorowsky's "El Topo"!!!. I was rather conservative NOT to buy three Simon & Garfunkel records that i love and a bunch of weird no-name records from the 70's that were almost too nasty/absurd-looking to pass up. almost.
oh and another book that will sadly just have to put it's name on the list and get in line. I cannot resist checking out these used-book stores that open up. Especially when they are operated by extremely introverted people who hide cleverly from their customers and speak in teeny tiny voices behind eNOURmous glasses. That's what i call choosing the right profession. 


signing off to this tune...


"Cold hearted orb that rules the night,
Removes the colours from our sight.
Red is grey and yellow white,
But we decide which is right.
And which is an illusion?"

complete thoughts or something: v.

had some extra time.
so i used it trying to think of what i could say.
darn it, then. 

complete thought of the day: iv.

Though at times annoying, i do recall with a comforting nostalgia the "Proverb of the day" that my mom would have us read, each morning, before school.
reflection is priceless.

thought of the day: iii.

in one bowl sits
the triumvirate, called to action.
Symbols for ultimate balance of authority:
avocado, salt, pepper.

complete thought of the day: ii.

And some morning I'll see the tail end of a cats' quick-sprint across the lawn;
But it will feel like the moment when i am about to leave and i catch my reflection in a window, recognizing that signature, familial expression of people i know. concozco pues, con la persona soy; la gente soy y yo. concozco pues conmigo misma.

one complete thought per day: i.

In order to practice more often this activity of writing and extending the creative process; i hereby dedicate this first complete thought to my dad, who always has feedback on my writings, and from whom I anticipate more writing poured forth. end of thought. 

the Hobby Lobby

There is a place where all plastic pumpkins squat on shiny floors; where all season flowers and stalks are made laminate-plastic or papery-plastic; where the smells takes you over completely, side-by-side with the feeling of wanting escape. 
Let me describe the smell: So, mixture of the dentist office (air-conditioning rattle, buzzing tooth cleaner machine noises, plastic denture filings) and a hampster cage (the fluffy corn-coloured crap you have to buy to line the bottom that soaks up all the urine and turds, not to mention when they kick it through the bars and it ends up all over your bedroom floor. Kinda like that.
The god-forsaken staff wears gigantic blue smock-thingies that beg you to pleeeeease not hold back asking all of your stupid questions. Where can i find the little porcelain ducklings? oh, there are aisle numbers? i don't see any aisle numbers.
It is a place where all mock-figurines and cheap knock-off de-cor-a-tive i-tems, and all cheap, knock-off craft-supplies, half-built-for-you craft supplies or cheap knock-off already-MADE crafts are available in PLENTY. 
that place is Hobby Lobby. 
Hey, it's not your fault you can't find anything better to do with your time. Hobby Lobby is there for you.
Have you ever felt that you lack the experience of watching women ...(no men in this place, except for the one eccentric frame-department guy who is way too helpful for comfort)... waddle back and forth between autumn wreathes, because they are all just so gorgeous and it might just take an F-4 tornado to tear those manufactured maple-leaves from the foam interior, right? That's right...look no further, adventure addicts! Hobby Lobby is going to give you countless ways to waste your planet's resources and your precious time gluing more glitter to your craft-table than your popsicle-stick what-ever-the-hell project you bought in separate baggies for a total of 11.99! have fun this friday night you wild-thing!
There are giant hanging posters of everyday people (like you and me!) crafting! and it reads, "Create Happy past-times!" How overwhelmingly empowering. 


okay okay, to be fair...there is One actual positive side to the HL that i have not highlighted yet, and that is their half-way decent selection of figurine animals. no seriously. the dinosaurs are actually pretty awesome, heavy in weight and one of them can open and close it's mouth. Not that i collect things like that, but if i ever need one, i know of one enormous building full of crap i can go to and possibly find it! 

a beautiful day to say

whatever there is to say, and say it again
because the first-time didn't really make it here
(maybe the words did...or some of them, but not the weight or the meaning)
it AaaaaaaLL leeked out on the way home.


All the bumps, and all the jolts.
my shocks are worn and bent.


Begone doubt and rage! (pleeeeeeeeease!)
it is NOT your fault and the words were not as important as the feeling within/behind/around
the words.
By the time i wind down for the day, i am wound up with silence, solace and no urge for creativity left to foster remembering any that i had during the hustle of the day (the brilliance of a momentous inspiration).


There is a vague thought of being sober of religion. sober of dogma. sober of shame.
shit.
that's all it is i guess. that is means to be sober of SOME of the things i have been fighting, or rather, reckoning with. It's not all negative, really. I sort of cherish all these memorized scriptures, idioms and standards I have attained and withdrawn from to look at, and yet not fully shed. Whoo is it getting hot in here...

Horoscope of the Day

We are sick of being special. (disclaimer: feeling rather dry today. read with a salted palette)


There are no cameras following you out the door, watching you get in your car and spying while you buy groceries. There are no thoughts in the produce-stacker's head about which bunch of carrots you or I will want to buy. The carrots are all the same, piled in a pyramid, because bounty is seductive. It is basic marketing, not unique love-vibes directed to your personal needs. 


The local transportation bus sports a banner that asks if you are "job hunting? RTD is hiring!" They already know you are job-hunting; unemployment rates being what they are. They are not offering you a job, but the opportunity to trudge through yet another de-humanizing cross-examination only to hire fifty people and waste five-hundred other people's time.


Job applications smell like lottery tickets smelling like college credits smelling like a dog's promises to never pee on the carpet ever again.


We desire work, desire rest, and desire inspiration. 
Inflicted with disease, discrimination, stress and thousands of other "special" circumstances that face living creatures, no one is exempt. 
There are ways to cope most of the time. there are also ways to change what we can change.


You are your most influential judge. 
If you are not convinced of something, you probably won't respect it. If you want to be convinced of something, you can still operate under it's rules. 
Whatever you want to do. 


So, what do you want to hear? 
Want me to agree with your conclusions? okay:
You are an alchoholic; you have low-self esteem, ADHD, and are bi-polar and struggle with anger, baby-making hips, constipation and can't seem to afford anything, ever. 
Baaaaaad job, people. 


Does this help you accept yourself?  Are you sure that your inherently evil soul is satiated with the failure of the suit you embody? 


Are we not totally sick of being told to rise above our disabilities and conquer our peers? Aren't we tired of having to be special?
Speciality is what drives evolution of species. Not the flourishing of species, but the next stage...the morphing, weeding out of the weak, and the glimpse into the future of that species. If everyone believes they are that future, don't we ALL dwindle and become extinct? 


Granted, we are not the only species that appear to be wiping ourselves out (with war, individualism, destruction of resources, etc); we see it in other species too, including plants. Some of this appears to be genetic. Some of it just instinctual. The table is piled high with carrots, they are cheap and we are drawn to it's bounty. 
When a tree is under stress, it produces as much seeds as possible, to ensure the future of it's species. blah blah blah.


What are we so worried about being special for? Isn't this absurd, insane and somehow beautiful existence enough? What is with this driving need for greatness. And not just for greatness, but greatness above other greatnesses? 


Hi, my name is Sally. I'm a Virgo, moon in Capricorn, with a Capricorn rising. I eat THIS way and I like THIS music and i CARE about the right things. Great for me!
Oh, and I work on a farm and am going to start my OWN farm; it will be utopia and will feed the world! woohoo!!!


Well, that felt good to get out. You might think i am hopelessly cynical or simply toying around with existential issues. I don't know about that. I am cynical, for sure and it keeps me passionate when the stressors get too high. However, the whole argument with "specialism" or "chosenness" is something i have had issues with for awhile. Lately I have noticed alot of folks obsessing over being the ideal of their ideals; often labeled "savior complexes." I would love to hear your thoughts! I'm serious. I won't be mean, unless you already think i am mean. then, i guess i am mean, or whatever. 

s-t-r-e-s-s

is spelled out in my afternoon dreams today. 
terrifying.
things i didn't know i was capable of thinking.
like anger more intense than ever felt accompanied by circumstances vile, absurd, dire and trivial altogether.


i guess i have chosen my line of work. and it is work, capital W.
work and not art. and not the stuff of higher learning, adventure, and a few other unknowable loves. i chose it freely and do not regret it. and i am mourning the losses deeply.
watching them escape. pieces of me escaping me. rejecting me for somewhere nurturing. fair enough. these dreams are tearing me up...    anyway.


former options morph into impossibilities. one for each of my 26 years.
now i just want a bit of sleep. some time with a book, before passing out completely,
and a little energy to write one goddamned letter.
still...it feels like my cells are all splitting in stupid ways. tearing from the inside, when i can't decide what to do with a free hour. a random gap in time; a hole to fall into.
each is a tiny hell housing a devil for each desire.
each a purgatory of ungraspable longing.


yes, stress. you are indeed the predator of our species.
scooping up the wounded of the pack to give em a slow one.
installing the fear, an everlasting download of time that appears to turn on a wheel
that we can stare at
waiting for something to change.

Creative crutch that it is, I just love it.
But more like a couch than a crutch. I can nestle up and draw a mostly willing model who pretends not to know the difference between my leg and a conveniently located chin-scratcher. Especially the cats that stick around awhile, giving you all sorts of chances. The lines are all curvy and smooth. Plenty of attitude and every darn bit of it, totally justified. No apologies here. I really do love drawing cats. 
Even though they make up what i lack in budding characters, story-lines and letters i planned on fleshing out. what else can i do when it just doesn't come? and a cat walks by?
so i draw more cats every time i draw. walking projections of my creative constipation of all these formerly exciting ideas i had. They vanish faster than fresh salsa in my brain's tiny-sized bowl, then projected onto cats.
fair is fair.

oh yeesh!

Everyone, i would like to say that i am sorry to disappoint.
On all individual accounts. On all broad-ranging fronts. 


It has been ** days since my past blog-fession.


I have virtually abandoned my Etsy account; a lovely little fling (that i do not regret, by any means). I may re-activate it later. we shall see.
I have burned more bubbles in my skin, from not wearing enough UV protective layers. To my body, i apologize the most. 
I have not kept up correspondences with my people. 
I have painted bad pictures, and painter worse ones over them. 
I have attempted to write a story. again. A repeating sin...someday i'll give it up.
I have gone to work with a hearty passion to perform with strength and efficiency; 
Whilst, I return to my home with a glazed-over gait, stacking big plates on top the smaller ones in sheer laziness. 
I have sat for hours to repair this abandoned perennial bed, digging the noxiously connected roots with a slow enjoyment...instead of calling, or writing, or blogging.
I have rejected a documentary, within the first five minutes. It was about the atom bomb and made me furious, wrathful. (No more "footage" please, shock-doc-jerks!)
I have rejected all Louisville Coffee-shops, though i've only tried one of them. It felt temporary and inferior.
I have carried my plants in and out, in and out of the appartment between the sun and the wind and snow. they are going to be all splotchy and imbalanced at maturity. 


But...


Has it really only been two weeks since I moved to this new town?
Where are all my favorite places to curl into the worn carpet? where is the heavily-beaten jogging trail and the alleyways full of strange and awful, city crap? Where is Happy Gate chinese take-out? Where is the noise? 


crawling back to normal here.


and it may take some time.

Etsy? ...you betsy.

Hi again.
So, you know that handmade masonjar-cozy-thermos thing i carry around with me? oh. 
Well...a couple years ago I decided to heavily insulated a mason jar so that i could take my snobby coffee with me to work, in the chilly mornings and have it still be hot when i got there. It worked! And so well that i've used it every day since, filling it with soups, teas and one time i jammed it with pasta and olives. Actually, you can put anything in it....wine, fruit, granola. i think i've put as many food groups in my jarmos as there are food groups. I digress...
A Jarmos nice to have because i never have to use a 'to go' cup (in mall-girl voice: it's like totally green! omg!) plus, if the jar ever breaks mason jars are so common to replace. The cozies are machine washable, but i prefer hand-washing in the bathwater, because i worry about the threads wearing out.
Why am i telling you this? 
Enter Lisa to say "Here's the thing...:"*
Almost every where i go, folks express their interest in this jar-thermos (now dubbed 'Jarmos') and some even ask me to make them one or suggest i sell them. Different people sell things on a hand-made website called Etsy, so i checked it out. 
Anyway, i made an account, so if you know someone who does want one, you can direct them here!


oooh...shameless plug for online entrepreneurism? meh, I'de call it testing the waters of demand. 
If no one wants one, they won't buy one. I'm not going to pay my cell phone bill with the 4 dollars i make on these things. Just thought you'd like to know.

vehicular automobilic shlobble-gob

             Image above was scanned from the faded blue paperback manual, shoved in the glove compartment of the 1996 F-250, which is quite amazingly, in our possession. 
It has not quite sank in that we actually have a vehicle now; and not just some little automobile, but a heavy-duty TrrrUCk! with two fuel tanks, a v8 and a cab that, when parked, is a good two feet above my head- before climbing inside.
             But hey, you remember Ol' Tooth... that primer-grey, beefy beast with not a hint of a muffler?
Well, you will be relieved to know that THIS truck is much more reliable and hopefully even a long-lasting one. Even so, it feels illegal. I peek out my window every so often to make sure the Department of Transportation isn't slapping a ticket on it. As if its mere existence is a violation to the city somehow. But no, it is more-so a violation to myself! Afterall, though we only drive it when we need it (which will soon be everyday, once i'm farming and hauling things in it), it is a gas-gusseling change in our lifestyle. 
           Okay okay, calm down saltron, your ideals haven't entirely flown out the window yet. 
Just think of it as an extra large power-tool. Take a deep breathe and keep reading the manual. 

sketchbook gluttony

"Nothing is...

as stifling to success in agriculture as inflexible adherence to someone else's rule."


-Eliot Coleman


I've been reading this guy alot lately, upon recommendation of my future boss and of other farming/horticulture sources i've consulted over the last few years. In my opinion, his views and practices comes as close to permaculture as an organic, commercial/market gardener can get. 
Having had a crush on permaculture for some time, this appeals to me. Because most folks in the U.S. are unable* to incorporate permaculture techniques at home;we end up paying Whole Foods (i.e. whole paychecks) prices for some things or just going conventional for the rest, because it hurts the pocket. 
However, for folks who have the time and energy to invest in their living spaces, i would recommend Food Not Lawns** or anything written by Eliot Coleman, really. He lives in Maine, a primarily zone 5 region, but  makes it clear that variations on his particular experiences are easily incorporated to vastly different climates. (Denver/Boulder is a dry zone 5)
Because I am embarking on a new life of farming, I am anxious to really feel the differences between my city-dwelling life and that of the country (sitting on a tiller, hand-harvesting, hand-weeding, washing, driving trucks, pruning, picking, being covered in dirt CONSTANTLY.) My mother will be thankful that i finally have good reason to smell like a musky rat... besides not bathing. here you go, mom. 
I am thoroughly excited about growing things i've never attempted: Asparagus, Mache, Artichokes, Burdock Root, Daikon, Boc Choy (pac choi), etc...


O', I will miss this crazy city. 
Denver...you smashed-up, gritty anarchist visionary-lover. 
In a way, I am abandoning the projects I still love. Freeschool, Denver Zine Library, CopWatch potlucks, trips to Pablo's Coffee and the best bike shop ever.  
I will miss the collectives of all creeds and colors and phobias and obsessions. I will miss Terese. I will miss the stenchy Ol' Platte. 
But open land awaits. It beckons to kick my bright-eyed ass, straight to China. Will I come back for seconds? Hell yes, i will.
Making decisions. 
Making transitions. 
Taking steps.


*By unable, I mean, that the majority of folks either work WAY to much just to break even or don't have the energy, knowledge or opportunity to realize how they might grow their own food and how easy it really can be.

**Food Not Lawns outlines how one can adopt permanent culture on a household, or even Appartment size, level. It is good for ideas, but should be translated to one's particular situation and with things in mind (such as climate, availability of seed, knowledge of land and water-rights, etc). I would also recommend 'The Urban Homestead' by Kelly Coyne & Erik Knutzen, which can be found at the library.

winter's gruesome babe

I was finally able to enlarge the comic I had posted earlier.* 


And darlings, Pleeeeease read it left to right and then top to bottom, instead of scrolling down immediately to view the pictures, like the person who flips casually through a grahic novel they aren't sure about; for shame. 
I command you to enjoy this experience!


*located below, past the regular postings. 

Pull Up a Five-Gallon Bucket & Make Yourself Comfortable

Sixty-four times twenty-four hours until work begins again. 

With a truck to buy and a move to make out of Denver. 

With meetings to attend, meals to prepare with violent

creativity and a bit of volunteering at this or that event.

With walks to take in the snow, to the store; to the rec. center. 

With a daunting amount of material to read in preparation 

for agriculture. 

And a brain packed with divergent interests,

misplaced passions, energies and emotions.

That chunky, pink Royal with a stubborn margin release

won't lend my fingers the dexterity to continue manually.

My handwriting floats in and out of legibility and the front

steps have been swept too often of the fresh snow. 

I return humbly, to the electronic world, to give birth to:

a 5 page essay on feminism I screech out one

Washington Park, windy afternoon here; 

a comic series I coughed up in early January, there.

It is not with boredom, but with focus that I embark here.

Focusing on not all the pressures to do it all, but on the 

desire to begin one thing, and proceed to the next.

feel free to find a warm corner, a thought to pick, a witty jab

and any what-have-you's you might find clinging to the unswept ceiling

of these entries.