And When Almost Everything Is Gone?

I lost a whole week. I don't know exactly where it went. All of last week is a frustrating blur. Except Friday, that was hellish enough it made a lasting impression. Small hell internally in my body's anxious efforts to cope with stress chemicals in lots of little surges resulting from my job, but nothing like the big HELL I saw later unfolding online in videos coming in from all over Japan showing the earthquake as it happened, and more just heartbreaking video of the tsunami's destruction. To see how the people in the hard hit northern towns had their entire world overpowered and overrun by earthquake and then an icy cold and relentless tsunami to the point where little is left that is recognizable makes me feel ill. That's not bad enough, they have to have imminent reactor failure to contend with. The west coast of the US and Canada will get to share some of their misery and fear if it goes, the resulting cloud will visit us on it's way to dispersing around the world. Japan's economy will take a huge hit, which will immediately hit the world's economy, and if we ever thought there was a time when we weren't all one in this world, this should make it clear.

Actually I don't know what I did with the last three months, March is almost halfway over. I have started a nice sized painting but even having an accidentally free week (this last week that just slid out of my grasp) to work on it and doing only a few hours on one day was extremely frustrating. But I can't even imagine how horrified I would be to see my whole tiny row house get washed away, and not just mine but the whole street, no neighborhood, no city of houses and businesses, and to just be supremely grateful if my family and friends and neighbors all made it through. Assuming I even survived. I am chilled to think that not only entire towns but also whole trains are missing and no one knows where they are. And not to lessen the heartache of that thought in any way, but you know what happened to all of the pets. Some of the older people who made it through, that might have been all the comfort they had.

Compassion For Thieves?

That's tough sometimes, especially if you've been the target. But it is something to do for oneself even if one can't do it for the thief yet. It takes time to let go of judgment and ego and victim mentality.

I kept wondering why my MPG has been so bad. For a long time. Figured it was my car getting old. Asked my better half he said the problem is right there and pointed at my right foot. He's a mean bugger sometimes, and he's the one who is the scofflaw and feels it's ok because he is "favored by the most high God".. yeah, so is everybody else Mr. My Way. I think about a year ago I asked if my car's filler cap had always had that little tweak. It was his car before it was mine, then his, then mine again. He didn't know. I thought hmm, I wonder if somebody's jacking my fuel.... nah, I have a locking cap! Filled up tonight, and checked tripmeter again.

HOLY CRAP! Worst mileage yet, 9 MPG on a car that used to average 20MPG on the nose in the city, and which is running just fine. Scratching my head, thinking jeez, it runs great, I got a light foot, I know all the shortcuts around long lights, I time lights, I coast as much as possible especially because the MPG has been so LOW... but FORGOT that better half in customary laziness had admitted forcing my cap many times a few years back, even though there was a key on the keyring. Just. Too. Lazy.

I said "You did WHAT?!! Knock that shit off!" Such a freakin' boundary violator, but not getting away with that crap anymore like in the past. No, no, no, no way.

So locking gas caps apparently can be strong armed, (I'm looking at YOU, Stant!) doing it repeatedly could only make it worse, but it still spun for me so I forgot. Guestimate my auto is leaking somewhere but I can't smell it or find it, or I've lost a good chunk of my fuel for over a year to a thief, that would be something like $400. Maybe more. But I'm not sure. Part of me wants to get the bastard(s) doing it if that's the case. If I saw them taking it I'd seriously want to sling a little birdshot at their ass, but I know that's only because I have had so much theft perpetrated against me and I really really despise thieves. Thieves and taggers. I also know shooting them is illegal and really wouldn't and also know that's just my ego judgment reaction (and too many Clint Eastwood and Bruce Willis films); ego takes it personally, and I can let that go and make the choice to not be a victim. I'm the law abiding citizen with a decent set of ethics and want to remain that way.

But the thought still ticks me off. I work three jobs to among other things to keep that old car, and to put gas in it so I can go to work. I'm expected to use it for the heaviest job, and walking with a bad hip and knee and back well, hurts a lot, though I used to do that for the other jobs, and just pop a lot of ibuprofen. The bus is fine but it can take two hours to get someplace a car gets me in 20 minutes. So I really struggle to make that gas last. So I resent the theft. And all I can do is think Well, shit. Nothing I can do about what's been done, it's just gas, so what if my income is poverty level, shit happens and a lot of it comes from other people (degenerates, but, sigh, people). It's just life, there is no escape from life happening except death. The wisest thing for me to do is reassess my attitude about it and let it go, and thus let the resentment go with it. Resentment only hurts me, mentally and physiologically. So I just let it go and move forward, it's a very little thing even though it's a violation. I know that the violation aspect is what hooks me the most. So I'll settle out my attitude and get that new cap I ordered that supposedly actually works on the car ASAP. And maybe save up for an alarm, because now they drill gas tanks too.

My ego however still pops in to exclaim loudly that people who steal what other people work hard for ought to at least lose a finger each time they are caught. Maybe two if it's a big theft!

My Buddha within says just chill baby, that's just what some people do. That they are unconscious. Or that they have fear of lack (sort of the same thing), or they gain satisfaction from getting something for nothing, and gaming the system (of ethics and morals, which is also right thinking), which is essentially putting one's self in samsara the same as any wrong thinking. So they are already suffering. Okay, I understand that. I can chill.

I am curious to see what happens after I get the lock, and possibly an alarm, and also if the thin piece of clear tape I put over the bottom of the flap gets broken soon. I just want to know.

Also FYI to anyone who reads this because of the tags who is looking for a how to on stealing gas, it's a misdemeanor in most states with up to 6 months jail time and a $1,000 fine. And I hope you get caught.

Namaste!

Feeling Like A Blue Christmas? (and it's not even Thanksgiving?)

Here's one of the best Christmas lights houses set to music I've seen since "Wizards of Winter" waay back. Guaranteed to lift the spirits. There's a page full here. If you have good broadband try the Vimeo versions,

I know there are blessings everywhere in our lives, sometimes we just need to take the time to look. Believe me I look a LOT, I practice gratitude all day long, but I was feeling a little blue because it's that time of year and I have so little family that isn't toxic, and the ones that are healthy are so far away I might as well be alone. But I still have so much I am thankful for. I usually start with just waking up again in the morning!

Hang in there! There really is a god and she loves you. The signs are everywhere. Don't let the devil steal your joy.

Got Uke?

Pohaku image borrowed from SuzukHammer who got it I dunno where, thx!

K, I have a cure for what ails me to share just FWIW to you, and YMMV. Do I spend too much time in forums? Of course I do! I have bad blood and and wonky ass genes and addiction runs rampant in my famil(ies) and has caused much shenpa for all involved, except my generally oblivious other half, (who after four years of me blogging sporadically and even setting him up with his own a couple years ago which he finally has been using to battle evil in the world of form), said to me yesterday "YOU have a blog?". Well yes I do and this is it.

He also noted as he finally started reading it because I said he should because he might learn something about our relationship, that in the beginning I was calling him my "buddy" and my "better half". He wanted to know if I meant it. I told him yes at the time, but he is really both and neither. He has wrought great grief in my life over my strenuous objections and I have thrown up my hands because even God throws up his hands at the actions of fools. (That's a famous quote I am not going to bother to look up for you. Google is your friend and I would not deprive you of the joy of all the related links that will of course pop up and pull you even farther off course than this post is sailing now). But my bud has also been the one who was there for me (mostly because he was the last one standing because he is partly the reason my mother disowned me and the rest of that side of the family and friends followed because she's the boss and she lied and that is what people with no recovery do. My crime was trying too hard to please her and I don't do that anymore because it almost killed me).

So part of my mother's objection to me was that I was happy while she wasn't, therefore she could only be happy if I was miserable. I'm the codependent one so I used to be happy if the other person was happy first. So that was crazy making. My hair fell out, I got hives and migraines, I started having nightmares, my thyroid became toast, and the extra cortisol from all the stress packed 20 extra pounds on. Now I am so burned out even after a most two years I have compassion fatigue and my favorite songs are "People Are Crazy" and "My Give A Damn's Busted". Now if people aren't happy, it's just not my job to fix it. AND they can keep their crap on their own side of the street. I know a lot of people in similar positions and they feel the same way, and they are also moving on with their lives and their lives are much better for it.

One of the things that has really helped me is Adult Children of Alcoholics meetings and a little gift from God AKA The Mighty Uke. I am borrowing the title from the film because it's true. A ukulele has the power to heal. Go to YouTube and check out WS64, here and here, and of course Jake Shimabukuro, and others. It's a wonderful blues chaser, even when it's the blues being played.

Here's a neat little chunk strum posted by byjimini in a uke forum.

Tell me that all doesn't take a lot of the "Ow" out.

Now go get your own.

Update

You'll have to click, can't be bothered making it work in the post.

Apparently I am actually not having a really great year, being far far far from being a decent example of humanity. I am living more like an average every day delusional narcissistic moron, like someone on a reality tv program for 20 year olds.

I figure it's either menopause or job stress. I can't really talk about my job but I am looking for a better one. I like my boss but work just gets intense and I really just want a quiet cubicle somewhere where I can do my job without being interrupted or stalled, then just go home. Benefits and something creative would be nice, but I'm kind of done with dreaming & hoping. It is what it is and that's all it is, hope is a cruel illusion that leads to being stuck again in samsara.

I added two more ukes to the herd since my last post, so the year isn't total suckage. My arthritis is worse though, which makes playing not really doable some weeks. Note I use the term "playing" loosely. I think I'm going to add some uke blogs to the blog roll there.

Art is something I'm making more room for, like an animal pulling fur or feathers from it's own body or rolling shit into balls to make a place for the babies. Getting the layer of dust off of the paint tubes will make me feel a lot better. It's like keeping one's desk clean, if I can't keep the creative space clean my creative thoughts are dusty and unclear.

Ok so this is a crappy post and some of my fellow bloggers seem to be going through a similar dearth of posts because of unexpected twists and turns on the highway or rough roads of life, so I hope to see you all back on the autobahn cruisin along at a good clip next year, and hope I'm still here too and can kiss bumpers and draft along in your slipstreams!

Santa Monica Traffic as Practice

Coolest image borrowed from Tim at The Wackinator.

I had the displeasure of driving around Santa Monica, CA today. Wow, what an opportunity for PRACTICE in the moment! What a shitload of ASSHOLES, ahem MORONS, ahem traffic challenged people behind the wheel in that city. The roads are tight and 95% of the Toyota Priuses (Priuii?) are here. And they are especially arrogant and rude for some reason. To them I say you know what? Studies show your "green" car is a buncha hooey. All the electricity you suck up comes from unclean power stations, so there. Emissions ain't comin' out a your tail pipe bozo, but they's still comin' out. :P

Anyway, I am obviously still stuck in my shenpa but am posting because my one loyal reader has said several times now, "WHAT?! It's almost halfway through the year and you haven't posted since Christmas? What is up with that?" So cherished reader, this is for you.

So my biggest chunk of shenpa right now is people who hit and run. You egregious pieces of CRAP, what the hell is the matter with you???!!! That is just SO damned fucked up!!! I really really pretty much despise people like you (well, none of MY three readers would ever do anything like that so this is really pointless, but I'm thinking since we're all one they'll get the vibes via trickle down blogonomics), so anyway, what are you thinking? I had one of my two bosses' cars parked in front of my house last December and some shit for brains bounces off it so effing hard in the middle of the night that it was bounced up on the friggin' CURB, and the car in front of it was also shoved into the curb and creased halfway down it's side. My boss's car ended up a TOTAL. Yes, you disgusting piece of human garbage, you destroyed someone's car. An innocent person's car. And roared off into the night. Were you just drunk, or were you drunk and on the phone? Or drunk and texting at 3am? You, you bleep, you I can not yet send compassion to. You I hope have a little visit to jail (you being the one in the orange jumpsuit) in your future.

And to the worthless shit who snapped a $250 mirror off my other boss's car a couple days ago (technically West L.A.), what were you smoking? Did you think it was so cute that you nailed the mirror on the truck behind it that you swerved in closer to get the pickup too? That's costing me $300 or more because I put that truck there, you ass. It was tight to the curb and should have been safe. Or were you swinging a bat out the window for fun? I hope you get a boil of your dumb butt that works it's way through the short distance to your BRAINS. Yes, you know what I mean.

And you idiots that don't EVER bother to look for pedestrians: I'm working on a dart gun that will fire a flag that will stick to your car with an adhesive so strong that it will take off at least a six inch circle of paint down to bare metal if you try to get it off. AND pull the metal into a bump! The flag will say "ASSHOLE" and your car will wear it for a minimum of a year or you will have to go get a body shop to sand and paint if you pull the flag off. And you'll still have the bump. When even 20% of all pedestrians have these flag applicators so they can just point and let fly in the moment that you are an inconsiderate ass, you will ALL be paying much better attention as to whether someone is crossing the street before you go barreling through an intersection! I can imagine one car having up to 10 asshole flags flapping along in the breeze as it sails down the boulevard, sort of like Lakers flags only ten times more annoying! What a lovely cautionary tale that would be for every other driver who spies you on the road. Sort of like in Texas where people have better manners because everyone is packing heat and no one wants to get shot.

As a tangent my idea for taggers is to strip them naked and dip their entire body in hot pink dye that will not come off for at least a year, so that everywhere they go people who have to pay the taxes to clean up their ego based pissing on society shit can spit on them.

Okay, I'm apparently not having a great week and possibly I am taking it personally, so I am going to spend the entire weekend on my cushion doing meditation and mani mantras for the one hundred million mani mantra accumulation for world peace. I just wanted to get everything off my chest first.

My ego feels better already.

Please learn from my very very bad example.

Practice Helps

I had a laid back Christmas with just a couple friends and the little bit of family I have left. Most of my family is dead or might as well be. It's the cycle of life. For me many of the endings have come in December or January, so it's not a season I celebrate anymore. But I do like an excuse to have a simple dinner with people I love.

I had planned to use my oven which was fine the last time I used it a few weeks ago. I turned it on to preheat while a friend and I were preparing veggies for roasting. On some subconscious level I realized I wasn't hearing the pops of the warming metal as the oven heated, nor was there any sound or smell of ignition. There was also no gas smell so that was good. My oven was stone cold and I had stuff ready to go in. I got a lighter and flashlight and looked for where the pilot should be, tried lighting it, no luck. Got a man in to look at it, no luck. Ok. Stovetop was fine, and my friend set about having to dice the potatoes smaller while I did the garlic and onions. Part of me was remembering a Christmas past where my mother's stove had pulled the same stunt. A little universal humor at work, and it was kind of funny. Except that I also wondered if my mother had put a curse on me, since she was always the vengeful sort. I dismissed it until I went to microwave some butter for garlic toast, and the microwave was also on the fritz! Ok, pull out a small sauce pan. Dinner was fine, a little late but it was extremely informal and so what, it all tasted great, ribeyes and home fries and grilled asparagus and mushrooms with garlic toast, and even experimentally roasted garlic off the grill.

After dinner we all watched the Poodle open presents, which was hilarious, because he knew exactly how to open his gifts with enthusiasm and help with a few other people's wrapping paper. I wanted to get the camera but didn't want to miss the joy of watching a little "kid" opening presents at Christmas. It's really not as silly as it sounds.

So at evening's end my friend commented on how well I handled the appliance outage, just rolling with it and not even getting upset. I was a bit puzzled because all I could think was what good would it have done me to get upset about it? Then I realized how easily something like this would have upset me in the past, and saw that my practice has really helped change my attitude about a lot of things, and how I have awareness that I can choose to handle things differently. It doesn't mean I don't still have to practice my dharma teachings and my recovery until I die (and maybe after), but it's nice to see it working in real life situations. I'm a little bummed about the microwave, it was $100 and only lasted nine months, which is one of the things so frustrating about everything being built in China these days, the quality is appalling. But there's nothing I can do about that either.

Be Careful What You Ask For, Part Three

I can't believe I totally missed a November post. Hence be careful what you ask for number three, regarding dancing as fast as you can, AKA juggling multiple jobs and multitasking. (Plus Google wouldn't let me back into Blogger).

Last August I needed to add another part time job to my current set. I haunted my local Craigslist and three other career sites. The career sites didn't have much to offer in the way of part time, and I didn't want a full 9-5 M-F job, because I already had two part time jobs that I found useful and one of those I was somewhat stuck in, but I like it and have a really great boss. It just was paying me diddly because the business itself had unexpectedly come to something of a grinding halt, hit hard by the recession. So I needed to add more income soon.

At first I was a little picky and wanted something art or computer graphics related, since I already had one accounting job and didn't want another one to complicate that. Then I started looking in areas for which I don't have a great fondness. I looked farther and wider, for jobs for which I could make myself settle. I never spammed my resume, and I never applied for anything that I didn't feel I couldn't do well and with an upbeat attitude. I wrote a specific cover letter for each application. At first not much happened, then after about two weeks the boulder got rolling and I was getting a few answers back and an interview a week. I rediscovered that looking for a job really is pretty much a full time job in itself. I was doing my other work but it was being affected. My better half seemed to think I wasn't looking, so I had to show all my sent resumes and explain the reality of job hunting in a depressed market when people were losing jobs and houses at all points of the compass! Hello! I was popping onto CL twelve times a day at minimum, for 3-4 hours of looking some days, hoping to catch fresh postings in 10-12 different areas.

I interviewed for some pretty interesting jobs, but didn't get the jobs for various reasons, and it felt like I was on hold for something, so I kept my faith and willingness. One of my first interviews was barely an interview because the potential employer was late to the office, couldn't seem to get off the phones, and the computer had died and wasn't present. I expanded my areas of searching, because I finally had the use of a car. I applied for everything from teaching art to executive secretary to general office to bookkeeping, to dog walking to electrical gofer to personal assistant to an artist, to personal assistant to a CEO to sports photographer and image editing. I can't even remember what else.

I figured each interview was another positive message to the universe that I wanted to work. I did my best and left myself open to whatever it was going to bring me. One of my most hopeful interviews was on a Friday with a small company that was restructuring and needed someone to come in, take notes and write their own job description with little help, and it had about eight hats that needed to be worn by the one person that would be me. I interviewed on the phone twice prior to coming in and interviewed sequentially with everyone in the office. It took three hours. I put two hours worth of change in the meter, and at two and a half hours was resigned to a ticket on the borrowed car.

They said QuickBooks was a plus in the ad (I know QB) but when I got there I found out they used Peachtree. They said the job was 1-5 M-F, but when I discussed hours they wanted more, but made it clear it was never going to be full time, which of course I didn't want, so fine. There was an undercurrent of something going on inter-personally with the crew that raised my neck hair. I walked out drained and anxious, and praying that the car had become hidden from the view of the ticket nazis ('This isn't the car you're looking for, move along"). From across the street I could see no little white slip of paper and was immensely grateful it was ticket free. I counted it as a good sign. Tickets here cost a minimum of $60. Over the weekend I wondered what I would do if they called me back and said I had the job, because as I thought on it, I wasn't sure I wanted the degree of stress that would appear to come with it. It ended up that they never called me back.

However, the very next day on Saturday I got a call and the job I really wanted hired me on and said I'd start in two weeks. It was image editing, I can do it in my sleep (and later did), it was freelance, which was fine, I could flex my hours. It was good pay range depending on speed, I knew I'd be quick enough, and I was delighted! It was perfect! Also on Saturday I got a call from the early semi-interview, that said that position was still available, was I interested? Not so much, I had the image editing. I got a call again from the same person on Monday asking once more if I could work, even on a day to day basis, the employer was without an assistant and suggested I could temp and make some money while helping find another assistant until I started editing. So I scratched my head a bit, thinking it over, and said ok. The employer was cool and the location close by, and I got a check at the end of the week.

Two weeks later I was trying to sell my temp job on Craigslist and just starting the image editing. I was really excited about it. I'd set up the free software trial version and got a head start in learning it with my own images on my own time. I got my new $100 portable drive to transport the images, which would run 4-8,000 per week to sort, pick the cream, and edit. Pay was supposed to run $15-20 an hour, which is my range. It took me 50 hours to sort out 12 teams worth of little kids into their separate teams of 6-8 kids in each, sort the kids into their own folders, pick the best shots from new photographers who didn't know how to set their white balance or auto focus, etc., and get them returned in time for print. I was working til 4am, getting up and going to work for the temp job, telling myself it will get faster, I just have to get a better handle on sorting teams of mostly all blonde little girls all wearing their hair up in high ponytails; or all brunette boys with buzz cuts, or short wavy hair with bangs. Turned out that the software I was using was rendering all the colors at a hugely elevated color saturation and contrast, and that the crop tool was completely unreliable when adjusting the mandatory crop dimensions. So my colors were off (mostly just light with an over exposed look) on the employer's pc, and so were a lot of my sizes. I ended up with half pay on that lot, so I think it averaged out to about $2-$3 an hour for the first batch. Ok, it was barely paid training, it would get better...

The next week I was given an empty drive. I left messages that weren't answered, I ended up sending more contact sheets to test my color settings against the owner's pc to figure out how to get an acceptable match by compensating for what I was seeing on my system. I tracked down issues with the software compatibility with Vista 64 on various forums, and found I wasn't the only one who'd had this problem and it wasn't my fault or lack of skill. I aggravated my carpal tunnel syndrome to the point I was sucking down pain killers around the clock. I edited in my dreams. At the end of the second week the boss asked for my set of images, and I essentially said you mean the ones you didn't give me? It wasn't pretty but he handled it well.

Week three I said give me a half load, I have to figure this out under less duress. I didn't get images until late and he needed them all in 2 days. I did it, feeling I owed him one, working around the clock with snatches of sleep and lots of coffee, but it did me too, as in IN. I was done. There was no way I could figure that anyone could make the stated wages, figured that it was a set up for failure and that it was a little underhanded in that the company line was that anybody who was really good at this should be making $20 an hour. It upset me because it should have been a great job. I could see it was going to cost me my wrists and big chiropractic bills to continue even a few weeks longer. The great job turned out to be the temp job which had been among my first interviews. I still have it, my boss is a kick, the job is varied and covers amazingly diverse grounds, and I have the eccentric and specialized knowledge to contribute to almost anything that comes up. It has played to all my strengths except my currently dyslexic typing, but he's patient with that.

Somewhere in there near the end of that three week period the electrical gofer job called and asked if I was still available and I wasn't. Three jobs is enough for now, thank you very much. I am exceedingly grateful to be working all my jobs, and all with super bosses. Hallelujah, amen!

Be Careful What You Ask For, Part Two

I went for the last few years without my own car, after the great privilege of having one since I was 16 years old. I had access to one to drive for awhile for a few personal and many family errands, and errands and favors for the owner, but the price of borrowing it was too high, even though I gassed it and kept it clean, and only used it around town. So my life revolved around the bus and a lot of walking, and using my better half's car on off hours. I also was able to get short lifts from friends, a service I had performed many times for many different people over my years of car ownership.

So after going through the hell of yet another unexpected move and being deeply immersed in job hunting, and realizing that needing to find a job that was close to a bus route was limiting that search, I asked the universe for a car, and got one.

However, I forgot to specify that said car be in dependable running condition. I ended up with my friend's car because he needed it stored long term and was in a hurry. I agreed to store it if I could drive it a few times a week. Then he let me know it had a failing clutch, which neither of us can afford to fix right now. My car expert warned me to never stop on a steep hill, as if the clutch failed completely all I'd be able to do is hope traffic cleared enough to roll it safely downhill to the side of the road. Traffic clear? In THIS town? ROTFLMAOWF! (rolling on the floor laughing my ass off while farting). I was thus very grateful that it has a strong emergency brake and overall very grateful for the car anyway, and cleaned it up and gave it love. At last! Wheels! It changed my whole perception of life. Because I was so extremely grateful for wheels, about 4 weeks later another car became available, actually one I loved dearly and that had been mine for awhile before. My old buddy and family workhorse minivan Bruce was cleaned out, de-stickered and up on the auction block before I said Wait. A. Dang. Minute! Why can't I have this car? (I had never been paid back for him either, just gave him to the better half when the better half gave away their own personal car to their offspring). The answer was basically because I didn't have a job (remember I'd never been paid back for this car, and my name was on the title). My response was "Well, if you sell the car and then I get a great job and need a car, how am I going to get there?" and the answer was "We'll buy another car."

This made absolutely no sense to me. Sell the solid 13 year old car I know the history of and love to buy a cheap 15-17 year old much higher mileage old beater with who knows what is wrong with it to get to work because said better half doesn't like V6s and wants me to have a 4 cylinder, and by the way is currently driving yet another V6? Why not fix the clutch in the first car? Some people are born without common sense and have a hole in their brain where it goes so never do learn it, and I am living with one of them.

So I said give me 3 weeks to find a job so I can keep the car and pay for it's upkeep. Agreed. I would have figured out how to keep it anyway. So now I have two cars, one with a bad clutch and icy cold air and a great sound system, and one with a crappy radio and broken CD changer and speakers with middling air, and a leaky exhaust manifold. What I really wanted was one great running solid car. I didn't make that clear, I just asked the universe for a car. So now I have two to wash in a town that prohibits washing a car with a hose, you can only use a bucket or it's a $1,000 fine. AND two to juggle for street sweeping, which of course is on different days and at different hours on every street and each side of every street and around every corner. This town has unbelievable ticket prices and little ticket Nazis that roll up and down streets all day in their funky little toy cars with their little scanner guns checking parking permits (said permits good for only a two block radius!), expired meters (there is literally NO free non permit parking anywhere except in some store lots and church lots), expired tags, any infraction that nets this city huge sums of money with which to enact even more rules and restrictions that always seem to have huge fines attached to make still more money. But it's a nice town overall, and I'm grateful to be living here. I could be in New York, not that there's anything wrong with that. I just have the impression that parking is worse overall.


Even with Post-Its all over the house and my pc warning me to move cars I finally got a ticket because I thought the hours were 1-3, and they were 11-1. But I am so grateful for my car! And it gets me to my jobs just fine, but that's another story.

Be Careful What You Ask For

because the universe has a perverse sense of humor!

I had been mourning the lack of bees and expressing how tough it was going to be if our crops had to be hand pollinated. We are incredibly dependent on bees.

When I was first trying to get back into painting after a long time away I painted that little bee. So in my general lament over the loss of bees while having to hand pollinate my zucchini I think I may have unintentionally manifested bees in abundance.

I'm very glad I had just let my pup back into the house one early Friday afternoon, because about a minute later I heard the strangest sound, and had to get back up from my work to investigate. It didn't quite sound like an engine, a mower, or a power tool, but had some aspect of all of those, though it was a buzzy whine I hadn't heard before. I looked out the back door and moving into the center of my patio was a small whirlwind full of tiny dark objects. It took a few seconds for those objects to register as BEES! LOTS of bees! All I could think was "Oh holy crap, please keep going!" Well apparently that's not what bees do. These guys started peeling off the tornado and landing on my stack of moving boxes which we had intended to donate. Then they started disappearing. They were crawling into one of the boxes! I spent the rest of the day learning all about bees.

This is the time of year that hives split up. The swarms are a set of workers protecting a queen who has decided due to the birth of a younger queen to move along. The swarm will alight and rest when it is tired as it is searching. It may land in a tree and stay for a few days while scouts search for a good area near a food source to build the next hive. There had been bees in a tree a few streets down and over where we walk. I don't know if it was this hive or another. It didn't matter, I didn't want them! I had wanted more bees, true, but this was ridiculous. I had a swarm living next to my back gate, and six feet away from where we like to sit at night, and right in front of my motorcycle! How would I let my dog out? How would I get my bike out? How would I get into my garage? It was all about me.

So I spoke to a lot of bee people in between Googling bees. I was able to get from a quote of $200.00 eventually to free from the city to remove them. The city wanted to wait a week or so though. The blessing was that these weren't Africanized bees; supposedly we do have them in Southern California but most of the bee people I spoke to said no we really didn't in L.A., that they were just our usual honeybees. These were actually very non aggressive bees, especially since they did not yet have a hive to protect, so they were still vagabonds. They may have been resting or they may have had scouts come tell them all about the really cool boxes next to the zucchini and tomato plants, plus our lemons were in full flower, so it was a great location, c'mon, follow us! Anyway, they settled. I didn't want to be deprived of my patio etc. for a week or so while they possibly got completely entrenched, so I used a long rake and knocked all the boxes down one or two at a time, carefully retreating as deemed necessary until I could pull their box free and open it up. I was hoping they would get the hint that it was no longer a great place to park. I also found out they go to sleep at night. This is what they looked like later when they were sleeping.


If you click on the pic you can just get an idea of what a cantaloupe size ball of bees looks like in a book/record box. Aren't they just adorable? They were hanging from the inside "ceiling" of the box, and they were making a soft rustling vibration sound. They were also chewing on the box; they'd been chewing on it all day, and I think they were getting into adding wax to it before they went to sleep. I was actually getting pretty fond of them, but eventually they were encouraged to move on. I wished them well.

Now about the car I asked for. I got two, a month apart. One has a failing clutch but great cold air and a super CD sound system and drives like a rocket. The other has a crappy radio and a leaky manifold and a bad tire but it can haul a truckload of stuff, and the air works, so it's great for me because I have to move big things sometimes. Plus it was mine once before, so we have an understanding, this car and me. He "waves" hello at me with his wipers.

What I should have made clear when I asked for a car was one great car with everything working properly would be sufficient. Because I wasn't super happy with the first but was very grateful for wheels, I got a much better one but it needs a bit of work. But now I'm stuck with the first one too. But I'm still exceedingly grateful for the abundance!

Now I'm asking for financial gain from painting again. I'm doing my best to be careful with that request, that it be answered in the best possible way. There will be some work posted shortly, so check back every now and then. Then it will be more of "still painting", but even if it's daily I'm not committing myself to that movement. At this point with 3 PT jobs and looking for another, once a week is good. See you next time.

Sex with Zucchini

I had lovely zucchini squash plants earlier this summer! They were robust in their pots and went nuts when I put them into the carefully prepared vegetable bed.

I was so tickled with them, and practiced patience, knowing I would be rewarded with lovely fat squash in six weeks or so, just waiting there for me to pluck and inside of 5 minutes be happily (for me) steaming or frying them up. I remember summers way back when we had squash everywhere; the front rose garden, the back patio, the neighbor's yard. Back in the days when August meant two foot long dark green zucchinis hiding under the bottom leaves that when found would elicit a holler of surprise from my Grandma. Those were the ones that we hollowed out, stuffed and baked. Life was good. Every summer at this time 30 years ago we were running out of neighbors willing to take the abundant excess off our hands.

So with this in my history I was mightily perplexed as to why my beautiful baby zuchs were falling off the plant or rotting at the end? So I hit Google and learned all about blossom end rot and lack of pollination preventing the fruit from setting. The lack of pollination was apparently from a lack of bees, which is a serious situation in itself. But the immediate solution was hand pollination. Or sex with zucchini.

I was ROFLing and thinking what a pain in the rear! One has to take a male flower, which grow on long skinny stalks and are smaller than the female flowers, which have a swelling at their base and are closer to the vine, and carefully open it up to find the pollen laden pistil and carefully rub it over the stamen of the female flower. The female flowers are usually open early in the morning and close up as the day progresses. So I either had to get up early (which I did) or gently pull the petals open enough to insert the male flower's orange organ. Plus as the plants grew inches in all directions daily, I had to do this while reaching through prickly squash plant and twisting myself into ungainly, awkward and sometimes painful positions. That part was sort of familiar, and I have to say I have a deeper understanding of writers who use flower imagery to describe sexual intercourse in novels. It was literally painfully obvious. And after a few days of trying to be a gentle and tender squash love facilitator, I was getting a bit rougher with the guys and less delicate with the girls, grabbing the boys and twisting, and yanking a couple petals down on the girls and mostly blindly stuffing bright orange pistils at hidden stamen. Use a brush?! Who the heck has time for that? I just wanted some squash, dammit!

Image thanks to The New Green

I did this for weeks, and started getting some nice zuchs. Then a tragedy with which I'd had no previous experience hit. Powdery mildew. Roses, yes. But squash?? I'd never had a problem before because I grew up in a hot inland valley. Now I'm right on the cool, foggy coast. Too much humidity and cloud cover and a partner who didn't know you always water from the bottom started a decline. I had four foot high and wide plants, and it was sad hard work trying to save them. I'm currently buying my zuchs from the store again, and better luck next year. But in their prime they were gorgeous and I was full of expectation. Sigh, another lesson in expectation. Next year I will have as little attachment to the outcome as I can manage. In the pic below you can see the spots where the mildew was starting. I hand sprayed these plants for weeks with all sorts of natural remedies, but could not compensate for the breeze that spreads it and the weather that encourages it. Those are cherry tomatoes in the background, they are currently over the fence and up in the tree right now. Battered but still producing!

Why Does Google Hate Me?

Just kidding, I ADORE GOOGLE! I can hardly remember how we even managed B.G., before Google. But I'm using it as an example of how humans tend to take things personally from the perspective of the ego self. I love to read a few specific blogs everyday, you can find them in my blogroll. But it seems like I have to do word verification twice, at the minimum, to get Blogger to accept a comment. Then when I want to follow a blog, half the time it tells me that I don't have an account or that my pw is incorrect. I'm sure it's not my typing! But just that little inconvenience can stir up a tiny feeling of exclusion, because it tickles my ego in its "I'm Not Worthy" spot.

I'm just posting today because I see that I have missed June, uh, July entirely, and don't want to do that two months in a row. I'm all wrapped up in manifesting, which is going extremely well, and I wanted to stop by and tell all three of you that the key to manifesting is having tremendous gratitude for everything you already HAVE. Even the hard stuff, the lessons, the grief. That practice of gratitude opens one's heart and the Universe then instantly replys "Oh! You're ready for more gratitude!" because it tends to give you more of what you focus on. There's a saying "What you resist, persists.", which is also true, it's just manifesting from a negative perspective. A positive perspective and belief also brings more of the same, which translates as abundance.

I am not impressed with "The Secret" because it is a badly rehashed, dumbed down version of the laws of manifesting. Manifesting is not about getting parking spaces and stuff. It is about filling one's life with grace and peace. Stuff is just the world of form, while peace of mind and grace are what make life worth living. I'm currently manifesting a good job, and it takes energy, positive energy. I'm confident it will show up when it is supposed to, the accoutrements required are already coming together. In the meantime I'm holding those good thoughts, and saying thank you a LOT.

Am I Getting Too Old For This?

Not me. Small easy rock garden.

I finally got my bike dirty again from a good trail ride. I'm coming up on a year since I wrecked on the California Incline and my scar still stings every now and then and my bike isn't nearly as dirty as it would have been this time of year. I have had lots of crash and burns in my life from my teens on with horses, and several with dirt bikes and mountain bikes. You fall off, get back up, dust off the dirt and climb back on. If able. And like in baseball, there's no crying. Mountain bikers, like cowboys and cowgirls (cowfolk?) don't cry. That special breed of cowboy known as the professional bull rider especially is not allowed to cry. Not only that, unless they haul you off unconscious on a stretcher, you usually have to give a wave of your hat or hand (if the rodeo clown gets it back to you in time) to let the crowd know you're ok as two burly guys help you hobble off on your broken leg, or at least manage a smile for the cameras.




So we rode Sullivan Canyon in the bottom canyon part and it was great, I think I have only ridden Sullivan one or two other times in the last year.

It was gorgeous, green, there was water in the stream bed and we looked for frogs, but didn't find any. We did however see a California King snake of the brown and gold coloration. I had one when I was in my 20s, he was injured and I took him home and fed him and when he was feeling better he got out of his enclosure one time too many and out the door. A year later I found him sunning on my driveway and caught him again and took him back the the hills. He was about 8 inches longer and stunning.

We also saw a second snake almost immediately, stretched out completely across the trail. A downhiller had just zoomed by a couple of minutes before we rolled up to where it was. My buddy said "Oh, another snake" and we stopped and looked at it from a cautious distance back because it was a good sized snake and we needed to identify it before proceeding. I said "Gopher, no, Rat snake?" because it wasn't a Gopher snake and the color wasn't right for a Rat snake either and I was going through my mental image files and he took a good look and said with deep respect that it was a rattlesnake. I looked at the tail that was partly in the brush and and then saw the rattles, holy moly! I then went into Oooh, neat! science mode and thinking of habitat told him it was probably either a Southern Pacific or Western Diamondback, but it was too dark for a Diamondback and the head wasn't as nastily triangular. Like it mattered what variety! but we were still stuck in what to do and we were safe so we were thinking. We didn't want to turn around, the trail was being heavily used because it was a Sunday so we had concern for others (I especially was concerned for off leash dogs and kids), and we couldn't get the snake to move off the trail by tossing rocks at it or even off of it (small rocks, we didn't want to hurt it), so I found a 5 foot branch with a 3 foot thin and floppy extension and moved in to poke it a little. I thought maybe the downhiller had run it over and she could have had. But it wasn't safe for hikers, bikers, dogs or the snake for it to stay across the trail. I've had snakes and have a healthy respect for rattlers, but it was about 4 1/2 feet long and they are shy, so there was a safety zone with a long enough stick and the bikes pointed back downhill so I could turn and run. They generally just defend and not attack if you don't step on them accidentally. It's not like "Snakes On A Plane", which fortunately I have only seen the trailers.

I gave it a few gentle pokes and finally it lifted it's head a little. They don't really see well but it was testing the air with it's tongue. I said "It must be injured" and my bud said "No, I've seen them just lie there like that before, you have to really hit them in the head with a rock to get them to move", so then I poked his tail end and gave him a shove and he came to life, coiled up and rattled like crazy. That is a loud, instinctively blood curdling sound, folks! This is a Western Diamondback but the sound is similar.
The tail is the same black and white banding at the end. You might need to refresh the page and wait a few secondsssss.


This is the kind of snake I had to convince to move off the trail, but it was darker, and quite beautiful.

(Thanks Phillip for the photo loan.)

So far it was all good, we usually pay attention so we saw it well in time, but had the added luck of it being a long straight stretch and not a blind curve.

Nice ride, an hour and a half up, less that 20 minutes back downhill, but it's always worth the climb. It was a bit more technical because the ruts were deeper from rain and the trail had changed in other ways. There were more areas of loose rock, and more rocks in the trail. But Sullivan isn't really considered very technical. It's mostly really nice fast singletrack with lots of curves and a few big steep drops but they are the easy kind to get up and down, down just needs balance and up just needs speed. I've seen a video on YouTube of a little kid riding it and doing better than most adults I know could. It's a great video and shows how nice and green the canyon is, and how easy most parts are.



The only parts that kind of disturbed me was when two downhillers (young men) being way radical speeding down and they almost nailed my bud coming around a turn and up a steep hill where he was waiting at the top because he heard them, I didn't. Courtesy on trails dictates that hikers have the right of way, and downhill has the right of way over uphill, but others' safety should be kept in mind. Racing around blind corners can land a rider right in someones' lap or in the lower part of the canyon where it widens out, a baby carriage; or flip one over a dog. The resulting carnage would not be pretty. If one sees downhillers coming, it's polite to move to the edge of the trail and let them by (and they should also bleed some speed to a safe passing level) or you destroy the momentum they may need to negotiate a difficult passage; like the guys coming up the steep hill, it was like a huge whoopdedoo. So my bud stepped aside, but they also needed to make noise so people knew they were there. Tires alone don't always make enough noise to hear over one's own tires. If he hadn't heard them there could have been a head on at about 20 mph. Common sense just improves safety all around. This is even mentioned in some trail reports. Riding a trail should look a like this:



The other thing that left me shaking my head was we had to stop for two old guys going up, they stuck to the middle of the trail and we pulled over, and I moved over in a tight spot and had to stop put my foot down as the first guy went by and there was no trail there, it was a ditch, and it was covered up by shrubbery so it was invisible and I said Oh F**k and slid forward off my seat to try to save it but my foot kept going down which hung me astride the top bar and over I went, bike on top and it was a deeeep ditch so I was at about a 45 degree angle and the guy says "Oh sorry" and rides on and his bud rolls by right behind him and says sorry and they're gone and I'm thinking HEY! A little help guys? I had a bike on top of me and hooked in my legs and I'm not even on a level area, and there's nothing to grab. My bud came back and gave me a hand up. My right side has a knee with no ACL, a bad hip and a multiply sprained ankle so I've had a lot of practice with wrecking on that side. This was more like Artie Johnson on his tricycle, if you have any knowledge of Rowan and Martin's Laugh In? But I came up with only one little scratch.

On another interesting note, I read somewhere that I think due to quantum physics and the nature of our brains it has been proven that we can "see" five seconds into the future. Some of us can see a lot farther. I was staying cool today and not taking any chances though I still took a few small jumps

Not me.

and popped over some small downed trees (people have built "ramps" with stones, so they aren't as technical as they used to be) because I had a feeling I had a crash coming, and it didn't feel like apprehension from being a long time off the dirt. Just a feeling of a crash, but not a "bad" feeling about it. My bud had a feeling that he'd see a snake, and he did, the kingsnake. But he felt there would be another and there was, the rattler. He almost mentioned it beforehand. After the rattler he said that he felt we were "done" for the day with snakes, and we were, though we eyed several sticks and roots longer than usual, and we warned people going down as we were going up. I left the long branch as a trail marker right where I'd thrashed the bushes a bit so that it would be encouraged to go a little deeper. They don't really hear, they feel vibrations, so I tried to get it to feel it would be safer farther away.

Fun! But my arms were tingling from the downhill vibration on the way home and I was a bit sore this morning. I think it's time to slow down a little more. That makes me a little cranky.

Flowers For Algernon and Charly

I'm fascinated by craigslist, and find the most amazing things, it's a slice of the society we live in, cross sectioned by material goods categories, relationship want ads, services, and nostalgia. (And ukes, I got 3 of them off cl!).

But first let me slip off on a tangent. When I was in high school I read a book titled "Flowers For Algernon" by Daniel Keyes, it is truly a classic exploration of the concept of self and the effect of intellect on that self awareness. When I read it I didn't realize that it was adapted from the author's original short novella which won a Hugo Award. The novel won a Nebula award. The book was adapted into a movie with the wonderful Cliff Robertson in the title role as Charly, the character the novel tracks through his experience as a janitor with an I.Q. of 68 through his intellectual growth via an experimental brain procedure. Later it was a stage play with Michael Crawford, who went on to do Barnum and then Phantom of the Opera and later EFX in Las Vegas. Crawford broke his arm doing a stunt in Flowers For Algernon. (Crawford used to own one of my bronzes, I used to own one of his jackets. Long story.)

Here's a quote from the book from the Amazon review:

Following his doctor's instructions, engaging simpleton Charlie Gordon tells his own story in semi-literate "progris riports." He dimly wants to better himself, but with an IQ of 68 can't even beat the laboratory mouse Algernon at maze-solving:

I dint feel bad because I watched Algernon and I lernd how to finish the amaze even if it takes me along time.

I dint know mice were so smart.

From this excerpt at the beginning of the experiment, Charly's I.Q. grows to genius level and far beyond; to where he is, upon finding himself at the other end of the intelligence scale, again isolated from his fellows by the gap in ability to understand, except now the lack is that of the scientists. Then Algernon starts to lose his brilliance, which does not bode well for Charly.

So point being, Flowers For Algernon is a classic, and without completely revealing the ending of that story I wanted to share the joy I felt when whilst browsing through craigslist looking for furniture for my new patio, I found that Charly is alive and well in L.A. County. Here's the ad vebatim:

I cut up a big tree in my backyark ,use it to built a picknic table, to sit on them around a bomb fire,make a hole in the midle and use it as a pot for a flower, you can get as much as you want for free! i can help you load up your truck, call for more info. The tree is located in the city of (note: I edited the location for privacy).
thanks
charly

Oh Charly, thank YOU for taking me back to that wonderful, heartbreaking and yet uplifting story about a simple man who wanted to be the best he could be. You seem to be a hard worker, generous of spirit, and kind. You are a gem. Thanks for making me smile. God bless you!

UAS Itch and Happy New Year!

I used to be a collector, it was part of the antiques and collectible dealer acquisition mindset. I've put that mostly behind me, thanks to some hard life lessons taught me by the thieves and nutcases I've crossed paths with over many years. I learned that for as many decent and kind and ethical people there are in this world, there are also many who are users and losers, and some who prey on people as a matter of course. They take as much as they can, on whatever pretext they can get unsuspecting and trusting people to swallow. Then they blame the victim and run off to find the next target, leaving a swath of destruction in their wake. I found while researching this and hearing other people's stories that this is really more common than the average person would ever suspect. I've read some excellent literature about psychopaths, and now I finally understand something of how they work. They have no conscience and no soul. It explains a lot of behavior I never understood before in several people I had the misfortune to know and to trust, and my new knowledge makes me believe there is a welcome place for eugenics in human society expressly for weeding out vicious criminal behavior. I recently read a novel about an alternate universe in a book titles "Hominids" by Robert J. Sawyer in which an advanced Neanderthal society neutered proven criminals as well as some of their relatives, and thus reduced the incidence of aggression over generations within the species genetically. In times of tribalism in our world this was also done to some extent; people who exhibited this kind of defect were taken along on a hunting expedition, and the hunting party made sure that individual never came back.

Buddhism will say that everything is dharma and karma, and shite happens, that life is basically suffering (and it teaches the tools for minimizing suffering, and those tools are the Eightfold Path). And if you don't know, one of the most important precepts is the injunction against taking life. But it also says that sometimes to save someone, say a murderer, from the effects of bad karma that person would be taking on by killing a group of people on purpose, another person making the choice to kill that potential murderer to save the lives of those he would kill is actually ok, because it saves that person from accumulating the resulting tremendously bad karma, which would take multiple lifetimes to burn. So the hunting party was doing a good thing for everyone involved. It was weeding the garden.

So I digress as usual, but over the years of reluctantly relinquishing things, along with ego, I learned how deeply that acquisition comes from ego, which made de-acquisitioning easier and easier. I learned way back I'm not my stuff. But it took a lot longer to realize I'm also not what I do for a living. Other people aren't their stuff either, or what they do. So now I'm amazed now at how many people think they are, and define themselves by who they know, what they do, what they have, what they wear, where they eat, and what kind of car they drive. It's a tribalism defined by ego, and it's enlightening and terrifying at the same time. It's what lets kids kill other kids for their shoes. Or let the doctor who tried to kill two cyclists with his car because they were on "his" road somehow think he had that right. We are not what we have, what we do, how we look. What we really are is how we conduct ourselves within the context of our life day to day over its full course, and how much we are able to have compassion and gratitude, and what we give back.

People who are trying to "find out who they really are" don't quite understand this. They are searching for the "real self" within the context of the false self of EGO. Christianity explains this in the verse about how it is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for a wealthy man to enter heaven. It doesn't mean he doesn't go to God in the end, it means that his life in the phyisical world is ruled by his concern for his wealth, which is often a sort of Hell. I know a rich man for whom all he owns is not enough, he constantly lusts after more, and he makes his living ripping off estates. He actually had to track me to my door on Christmas eve a couple years ago to demand from me funds from a small account that was mine after the joint account holder died. It was black and white, funds automatically become the property of the other account holder. But this guy got out of his big new Mercedes and calmly asked me if I really needed the money that badly (my own money) that I would refuse to hand it over to him, because the other account holder was his relative. This man carries a $25K diamond and a rare $10K coin in his wallet for emergency funds when traveling. Me, I carry a credit card... but he's insane with the disease of acquisition. He's also short, so maybe he's compensating. Point being, he can't be satisfied with what he has, and heaven (or happiness, peace of mind, gratitude and humility) eludes him.

Stephen Hawking is one of my heroes. He doesn't look like much of a hero type; his cruel disease has wrenched his body into an ethereal and spare shell of the man he was in his youth, and according to medical science he shouldn't even have been alive for the last 25 years, and yet he has the world's most amazing and brilliant scientific mind and by his own and God's grace is still alive today. Some asked him something to the effect of did his disability ever disillusion him, and his reply was essentially "What more could I ask for?". To me he is a perfect example of a Bodhisattva, a being who had attained enlightenment, but who chose to reincarnate out of compassion for the beings still stuck in worldly suffering, and to teach us how to become free. I think he lives on gratitude, and with an amazing amount of courage and heart. He took what the universe gave him and soared. So when I look for role model for how to live my life, I look to human beings like Stephen Hawking. Knowing I can't come close but trying anyway.

So what does psychopathy and quantum physics have to do with the ukulele? Not much, but ukes are certainly an antidote to despair caused by the human condition and man's inhumanity to man; and like atomic particles ukuleles tiny size belies their power!

So back to acquisition, which is where ego comes into play; how many ukes is enough? One, really. But there is a so called disease know colloquially as Ukulele Acquisition Syndrome, and for most sufferers a cure is not actually desired and they are not actually suffering. In spite of my continuing de-acquisition phase I fell under the spell of this little instrument and have now ended up with one of each size; soprano, concert, tenor and baritone. Well, almost, I don't have a sopranino but that may be going too far. And the bari lives with my Mom. There are also hybrids; sopranos with concert necks, concerts with tenor necks, and a whole subset made from antique cigar boxes that sound amazing, plus maybe others I don't know about yet. But no matter the size, what a kick in the pants they are! You want something that will put a smile on your face, get a ukulele! Two strings less than a guitar, one for each finger and the thumb free to play bass or even pick out notes. Go to YouTube and listen to some ukers play everything from George Formby (not my cup 'o' tea and what actually kept me from the instrument for years) to Led Zeppelin as played by Jake Shimabukuro. The Beatles rock on uke, and did you know that three of them played it, most notably George who took it very seriously and John, who played his mom's uke when he was a teen? George's music really sings on the ukulele in competent hands.
Clapton is a joy too. It's amazing!


I used to be really frustrated with guitar until I picked up a classical, even then I never got beyond a few malaguenas and practicing arpeggios and smooth chord changes on all my different six strings. And I could read the treble clef music. That's just very basic noodling. Then I broke my right hand over ten years ago when a horse stepped on it, and my left ring finger when I bailed off my own horse nine years ago. I eventually ended up selling the guitars one by one and figured my days of noodling with a stringed instrument were over. I tried a digeridoo for awhile, but they leave me breathless. ;) Drums are fun but I had to put them in storage. Then I found out my Mom had a baritone ukulele and it was a Martin! Score! It was like a four string tenor guitar, and it made me realize how much I'd missed them. So I borrowed it and it was a joyous thing, but I couldn't find much music for baritone, and they really sound more guitar-ish. But it led me to standard or soprano ukes so I could try my hand at the traditional music and tuning, and I got a sweet little vintage mahogany piece of my own off of eBay, and it rings like a bell! And I began discovering all the uke resources online. But the soprano is tough on my stiff fingers because the fret spacing is so tight. I soon found out that many of the top players are using tenors, so I manifested a sweet Pono solid koa tenor, one of the last of the Hawaiian koas made by Pono which is a branch of the exellent Ko'olau company of Hawaii. I love it, it's very mellow since I restrung it with Worth Browns. But by then I had discovered the low versus high g debate, and I put low Gs on the Pono, which left me "needing" a traditional high g tuned instrument that was larger than my soprano. I decided a concert would fill that spot nicely, and I also had a hankering for a cigar box. See how the disease progresses, how innocuously it involves ego in presenting justification? There is actually a valid reason for having two different instruments with the two main different tunings, but one could carry that into several different high and low g tunings as well as take that justification and add in variables of size and maker and tone wood and on and on. But I have manifested the concert size in the form of a cigar box (how cool is that, a twofer!) and am well satisfied with having a traveling uke in that one, a traditional in the soprano which is too sweet to re-sell, and the tenor which stays home because it is too nice to travel and koa cracks easily. It came back from an extended stay in Palm Springs with two fine and harmless finish cracks in the back, even with a humidifier, so I decided to let it stay at the beach. I think the cigar box (a Po Mahina made from a 50 year old cedar cigar box) should be tougher. So I tell myself I'm done with the three that replaced my last three guitars in more compact form (everything going around coming back again), but there is this awesome cigar box tenor I just found... hmm. (This isn't it, but they sound similar, and wow Tom does nice work!).

I have to say that there is something clean and soothing and honest about the little uke. I like clean and honest, it feels to me like it is the only way to live a life of inner peace even as the world rages all around me. So yes, I feel I'm feeding my ego and as I'm fully aware of that, I have made an "informed" choice. Which means that I am consciously enjoying and playing with the world of form. And it's ok to live in and enjoy what Buddhism calls the world of form (others call it "reality", which is always subjective); the trick is to keep one's ego out of it and embrace humility, and that is exactly why I practice. It grounds my perspective and it brings me peace. My new year's resolution is to remember that life is all about gratitude, humility and practice. And, well, to not scratch the itch...

Happy New Year, and may it bring you much joy and much gratitude, and remember to practice!

All I Want For Christmas Is A Mouse That Stirs

I both love and hate the Vista OS. I mostly love the 32 bit version on the laptop, but sometimes I greatly despise the 64 bit version on my new desktop. I chose 64 bit to help "future-proof" the system, since 64 bit has been around for longer than most people are aware, including in XP Professional, and is where applications are headed with all the new quad core processors becoming more dominant in the market. Also, Vista 32 bit can only use 3GB of memory, anything else in the system will not be recognized. I bought mine with 4GB and intend to add 4GB more, as I use memory intensive software, and for the first time I have actually been able to run Photoshop CS with iTunes, without locking up the system, wow. I thought I had researched 64 bit's compatibility online fairly well as far as all my heavy usage applications and system hardware choices and peripherals were concerned, but what works for some doesn't work for me. That seems to be more common than I thought, because until it happens to one, one does not search for answers to a particular problem, glitch, conflict, or pain in the ass incompatibility. Programs that will run either perfectly or with workarounds on the 32 bit version of Vista on the laptop will not run on my 64 bit desktop system, even under compatibility mode. Some of that I found inconvenient or a bit aggravating, and it forced me to upgrade some software which has mostly been a blessing in disguise, but the one thing I cannot understand is why Logitech can't make a version of their software that can play nice with Vista 64, or why Microsoft can't make an OS that can handle a common, been around for years now mouse. Supposedly the drivers I updated to are 64 bit compatible, but I believe it's more wishful thinking on Logitech's part, and apparently it's also a general Vista problem.

The first time the pc booted up with the mouse cursor immovably stuck in the center of the screen, I thought, "Hmm, funny time for the battery to die.". I LOVE my Logitech cordless Trackman Wheel Mouse, with it's thumb side trackball and perfectly ergonomically shaped case. All I have to do is twitch and things get done with great speed! I'm actually on my second unit. So after painfully navigating around my system trying to see what the heck was up via Tab and arrow and space bar and Enter keys, which is a major PITA, and something I hadn't had to do in years, here I was trying to scope out what the heck was conflicting in a system I hadn't had up and running for even a week!

I finally gave up and in desperation found the only old standard corded mouse in my old laptop bag, dug it out and plugged it in. It's not even optical but it worked fine, and I used it to find out that Vista regularly makes mice cursors either disapppear or freeze in the center of the screen, and God Forbid it happens on your LAPTOP, as trying to fix a touchpad is a nightmare! I don't know how much of my time this issue wasted, but it was enough that after several rounds AFTER I thought I'd fixed it, I gave up and went weeks with the archaic mouse in my hand, feeling like I was drawing on a big classroom sized greenboard, learning to adapt to a mouse that in coparison felt like had to roll all over the desk, and be lifted up and put down again to reach corners, all in the small space that my cordless trackball could handle with the aplomb of a British butler. Then a few days ago I thought "This is nuts, I have a nice system and I am still fighting with the damned cord which interferes with my scanner and there is no reason why my trackball shouldn't just WORK!" So I set it back up again, Vista found the hardware just like it should and I was back in business. It felt really strange re-adapting to the trackball, but just when I was all back to my own comfortable color, as Piglet would have said, I shut the system down last night so it could rest and reboot clean, and this morning, Pow, stuck right in the center of the screen, and no quick way to shut down exceept use the BRS. (Big Red Switch). I tried one reboot with the mouse unplugged and then plugged back in to the USB port, nada, I am back to the 9 year old wired input device.

For now I am ignoring Vista's gremlins that are constantly changing folder view preferences and icon sizes, the placement of sidebar gadgets, and are fond of rearranging my destop every other time I allow something to update. I won't discuss new versions of old AV and Security programs that I have set to "manual update" and scan and which once I allow to connect, reset themselves to secretly update behind my back. I currently have more stuff hog tied than in any other OS I have used, and am looking for more ways to bind and gag software that should be respectful of my personal settings. The folders view thing didn't even start until I was researching the locked mouse cursor and read about some poor schmuck who had wrestled with his folder views for ages and finally figured out a workaround to force Vista to leave everything alone, and I thought Ha, I'm glad I don't have THAT problem! Then I did, it was like just reading about it in a forum exposed my system to a viral technical OS bug nightmare. We won't even contemplate the PITA that are User Account Control prompts, though I believe they are actually a good thing for people with amazingly little common sense or knowledge as far as keeping their system safe security wise and not mucking about in sensitive areas, like the registry. Like the other pc user who resides under this roof; who confuses his email client with his browser, still doesn't understand the difference between the URL window and Google, and can't differentiate between his various drives or consistently navigate to folders.

As far as I am concerned, this is a perfect metaphor for society as a whole. Everything that is supposedly "new and improved" just ultimately sets us back years or decades, for no reason that is readily apparent, but with repercussions we never even think about until it's too late.

Chase Bank Next!

I hope they go under too, let's scrape ALL the scum off the face of the planet and start over.

I had an 8 year old account in good standing, 28,000. credit limit, and because I haven't used it in 2 years because their interest rate on purchases was always 21% or more, they canceled it. All I got was a letter in the mail. I had a great credit rating, that's a black mark now, not that any of the greedy bankers are actually currently extending credit.
Same bank canceled two credit cards I had since the 1990s, carried balances on, paid more than the minimum on, never missed a payment, immediately after I got a big chunk of cash and paid them off. Immediately! I called on the letter of cancellation and they said, "Oh, we sent you out a letter asking if you wanted to keep it, and if we didn't hear back we were going to close the account." Bah LO ney! There was no first letter. I asked why they'd cancel a good customer, there was no satisfactory response. I asked if they were going to cancel the second card, I was told "Oh no, that one's fine". Letter came on that one within a few more days. The only reason I even had any Chase cards was because they bought up my other banks.

Deregulating the banking industry was worse than deregulating power companies.

Here's a vote for going back to the National Banks system. Can we do that? Yes, we can!

Lord A' Mighty, I Hope He CAN...

Our President Elect.

Yes We Can.

Who is this guy?

Obama's Scrapbook.

I'm an ambivalent sometimes Republican, mostly Independent or Green, and sometimes I vote Democrat. All I can say is now that Obama is The One, I really really hope he can. I think I am getting inspired, our new President is relatively inexperienced and untried but he has generated hope world wide, so if all that good energy can keep him safe, strong , inspired, and in touch with his higher power, and considering that he will not be able to implement too much of the stuff he plans that's too radical, which should ease some troubled minds, he could even end up going another 4 years. He has a helluva load on his shoulders, I hope he is as strong and grounded as he seems. I hope it's not just smoke and mirrors. And Oprah.

And I think he needs to get a white puppy, because Bush had two black Scottish Terriers. Balance is a good thing, it's only fair. Yin and Yang. A nice white, curly haired French Poodle

would be just the ticket. They have apparently decided to get as hypoallergenic a dog as possible, that means a white Maltese, a Poodle, or a Cairn terrier..? I think.. I am highly recommending the Poodle; it would be a cool gesture and would cement relationships with Germany and France, since Poodles are a German breed that was adopted by the French Court, and though they were made to look like fools by the French, they are not, Poodles are brilliant dogs. Mine is gorgeous and black with nice tight curls and he loves chicken, steak, salmon, squash, green beans, rice, pumpkin, doughnuts, carrots, yogurt, watermelon, cantaloupe, apples and Cheetohs, and adores lattes (I leave out the coffee). A classy dog, hypoallergenic, with a sweet but dignified attitude.