a book with a story

I read a story in the Seattle Times this morning about the rise in sales of used books. The gripe is that used books don't provide the publisher or author with any profit or royalties. I have mixed thoughts and habits.

I love used books. I love the smell, look, and feel of used books. I love the smell of the shelves of books at Powells in Portland. Dust and must float through the air and hit me the minute I walk through the door. I often will open a book and stick my nose into its pages; like a dog, getting acquainted with its character and history. More of my books were bought used than new, I would imagine, though have never counted. I love my used copy of Ulysses ("Fred, 1945") and a red leather-bound volume by Emerson. My used books are certainly my favorite volumes on my shelves. My two favorite bookstores offer used books--Powells and Epilogue in Seattle.

I do have one exception in my preference for used books. I do my very best to buy poetry books written by living authors new. I want publishers to get the message that there is a market for poetry and to support the poets themselves. It is not a life of glamour, fame, and fortune, so the eight cents they get from my book purchase matters. One of my favorite people on the planet, Laurie Lamon, recently had a beautiful book of poetry published by CavanKerry Press, The Fork Without Hunger. It is really quite stunning.

child's play

On a recent shopping trip to Archie McPhee's, I found a little hut full of farm animals, people and fences. It was the exact same little hut I had when I was about seven or so. I've had it on my dining room table and find it quite amusing to play with while eating dinner. The farmer still has a shotgun tucked under one arm (to shoot the little rabbits?) and his wife is still poised with chicken feed. I was amazed to find that anything from my childhood was still being sold.

Other favorite toys from childhood include Tinker Toys (the wood ones in the picture...not the plastic ones you get these days), Legos (the ones that did not include anything fancier than a platform with wheels and had pieces that children under three could have choked on), and a little plastic sheet in a frame that would change colors and show contrast when left out in the sun with an object on it. Also featured in the photo is a chair my grandparents gave me. It was the Jolly Green Giant's hand and oh, how I loved that chair! I also loved my skateboards. I had two that I got at about eight or nine and would take them apart, clean the ball bearings and trucks and put them back together over and over. Sometimes I would swap the trucks on the two boards and would toy with various levels of looseness for those tight turns. I still love my skateboard, though don't take it apart anymore and prefer the longboard to the short one.

day shift

Yesterday at work I got some bad news. The woman who covers for me on Wednesdays while I am at my internship is leaving. There isn't another person qualified to handle the issues that come up in my absence except for my boss. I can't imagine that she will be thrilled to cover my job once a week (twice during those weeks I am at school). She is out after foot surgery and doesn't know the news yet. I worry that my "deal" will be in jeopardy and hope it isn't.

I never knew that balancing work, school, and an internship would be so challenging. If I had a job as a barista or cashier at Target, I could work my shift, leave, and be done with my work day. Instead, I am constantly trying to find time to get everything done. I can never say I am too busy or it will be seen as my shortened schedule not working. And asking for help with something is dicey for the same reason.

It is a bit like I am in purgatory--biding time while I work my way into a better existence. I graduate in 2007 and wonder whether I will last that long. I like my job and the people, but feeling like Stretch Armstrong has its downside. We shall see.

this I believe

NPR has a Monday morning clip called "This I Believe." It is a chance for people to share an essay about what they feel strongly about and to share their strongest convictions. This I believe, in brief.

I believe that we are destroying our environment bit by bit. The earth is hardly recognizable--covered by concrete, buildings, powerlines, neon signs. We fill our lives with jobs and shopping and cleaning and running around in our cars. I believe that we would be better to slow down, to live simply, to let go of our conventions.

I believe that we need to turn our energies and resources toward art, poetry, spiritual practice, our dreams, sport (moving, not watching the NBA), play, listening, talking, work in which we can take pride and pleasure. We are starving for these things in our lives, whether we know it or not. We walk around in a gloomy haze, confused when our shiny new cars and high-powered jobs don't provide contentment.

I believe in the power of the written and spoken word. Words can heal and destroy. Words can build bridges, soothe, comfort, demonstrate love, heal broken hearts, feed minds, bring smiles. Speak the truth. Speak your truth. Listen to what is around you. It is all right there, everything you need to know.

I believe that it is not only our pleasure but our responsibility to look out for one another. If you have two bars of soap, give one away. We hoard and hoard, afraid we won't have as much as we want or as someone else. We rarely base "what is enough" on what we need. We need to feed our hungry, guide our lost, tend our environment, care for our children, love our animals. And I do not mean just those we know or those who ask for our help.

I believe that if we have hope, we have life.

What do you believe?

shhhhhh!

Yesterday I was having a hard time keeping myself focused on school reading. I kept getting up to start a load of laundry, clean my desk, water plants--all worthy things to do. However, I needed to read for a good stretch, since I return to school on Thursday. So, I decided to go out for the errands I had to do yesterday and end my trip at the Ballard Library. There I would be free of temptation. I walked the whole building before settling down in the sci-fi and large print books section. I realized that the library was NOT distraction-free. Let's see--I am surrounded by books and computers. These are two of my biggest distractions at home. Nevertheless, I managed to keep my butt in the chair for a couple of hours, which was long enough to finish "Where to Start and What to Ask." Fortunately I had a pair of earplugs with me, because the library is not a quiet place. There are kids giggling all over the place and when they giggle, I have to look. How could I not? And the woman sitting at the table nearest my chair was sewing her bag and singing with her headphones on. She also kept readjusting her empty Pepsi bottle. I think she spends A LOT of time there.

If you haven't been to the Ballard Library, it is worth a trip. It is a small, neighborhood library with a great environmental design. The roof is planted with plants that live off of rainwater and there is a periscope to use to look at the roof from the main floor. The natural lighting dominates and natural wood is primary inside and out. Just bring your earplugs if you plan to do any reading there.

tropic of cancer

Yesterday I received an e-mail from one of my best friends letting me know that one of her closest friends has a quite serious form of cancer. This news came just months after she lost another of her closest friends to a nasty, aggressive cancer, leaving behind three school-aged children. It feels completely unfair and ridiculous.

I began to think about the nature of cancer, its treatment, its prevalence, its indiscriminate attack on the body. I assume it starts as one bad cell. One cell that is irregular grows quickly and begins to encroach on the healthy part of the body. Why is it that if the body is invaded by a virus, it attacks, isolates and destroys that virus yet it can't seek and destroy a cell that is not one of its own? Perhaps the body wasn't designed with this defense because whatever is causing all the cancer wasn't around when the plans for the body were laid down. It sort of goes with my theory about flying. We can't survive a 30,000 foot fall because we aren't meant to be that high off the ground.

I've seen people overcome cancer--my mom rebounded from a very advance stage of lymphoma. Several friends have fought and whipped breast cancer. A friend of mine is currently responding very well to an aggressive chemo cocktail to treat her very serious and difficult back cancer. Funny that we use the word "treat" for pumping the body with a bunch of nasty chemicals that nearly kill it. It doesn't sound like much of a treat. And I've also lost people to cancer. My grandpa left the world far too early because of cancer. A college friend died of cancer a few years ago of a tumor that showed up in her thigh one day.

This complicated disease is still best prevented through simple means. Eat well. Get exercise. No fancy pills or ritual, just eat more dark foods like blueberries and spinach for their antioxidents, drink lots of water, and get your butt outside each day. Walk, run, skip, crawl, roll...do whatever you can do to move your limbs. And to fight cancer around you? Take care of the environment. Make sure that your batteries and fluorocarbon lightbulbs get thrown away properly. Support cancer walks and runs. Give a dollar if that is all you have. You are giving the gift of a cure to people who haven't even been born yet. How wonderful is that? And, on a more personal level, if you are the type to do so, say a prayer for John. He would be grateful and so would I.

material world

What if I received word that I had a few hours to evacuate and could take only what would fit in my car? I have been thinking about what I would bring with me. Some of the items on my list: Isabelle (she would hate being the car that long, but I'd take her out of her carrier and try to get her to ride in my lap), food and water for both of us, school books, my poetry books, my stuffed bear, fountain pens and ink, my journals, my computer, photo albums, a few childhood items (baby blanket, baby book, plaster handprint, book of drawings), mom's doll, a few clothes (sweater that my mom gave me, dad's shirt, and some practical items), dad's hat, my red baseball hat, my longboard, a few important papers (ss card, birth certificate, passport, credit cards), my pillows and a couple of blankets, my painting box and paper, my camera and film. I'd fill up the corners with books (signed books would come first) and clothes. I would not bring what I didn't readily need or that which is replaceable. So, what it comes down to is that I am a sentimental person who loves her cat and books. There isn't much I really need and my wants are simple. I hope to keep it that way. If it all fits in my car, I am in good shape.

falling into fall

Today is the first day of fall and it certainly feels that way. It is pitch black still (except for the glow of my laptop screen) and the forecast is for cool temperatures and perhaps some sun breaking through clouds. And, I will be going back to school in just over a week. Even during the fifteen years between my undergraduate and graduate work, I have had a back-to-school sense each year...a feeling of starting over, newness, beginnings. And this year, I am beginning my second (and last) year of classes for my master's degree. I am beginning my internship work with children. Too bad I don't have anyone to take me school clothes and lunchbox shopping. Then, I would be set.

By the way, you'll be glad to know that Lexi found more food to buy in Houston and is staying home to look after herself and home.

the big (not so) easy

We seem to be on the path of yet another hurricane and I'd like to rename it Hurricane Insult to Injury. The people of NOLA must be thinking 'so what' at this point. Do you get more FEMA money if you get hit by two hurricanes within the span of a month? I gave up my television two years ago and do not miss it, especially when I hear about the horrific images people are faced with in the news media. The ones inside my head based on the descriptions on NPR are bad enough. I don't need further visuals. I was touched by a story about the employees of a prominent museum in NOLA who refused to leave the museum even in the face of the National Guard staring them down. They were fearful that looters would ravage their sacred art collection and I was terribly proud of them. I was equally touched by a woman who had been writing poetry over twenty years and lost it all in the hurricane. She had one poem published in 1980 and she was excited to think she might be able to get a copy of it from the publisher. She wrote scores of poems and was thrilled to think that one survived.

So, now we are on to Hurricane Rita, which I might call Hurricane Chocolate Pudding. My friend Lexi who lives in Houston shared an account of her trip to Target yesterday to stock up on staples before the rains started to pound. Too bad she wasn't looking for the kind of staples you put in a stapler--she would have had better luck. She bought the only two food items she could find: clam chowder and chocolate pudding. She's thinking her husband can eat the chowder and she can eat the pudding. How long can a person live on pudding? Would scurvy set in? I hope Lexi doesn't have to find out. Hey Lex, at least take a multivitamin, will ya?

lost potential

My high school counselor had, let's see, less than an abundant amount of confidence that I would do much of anything after graduation. Strike that...he wasn't even sure I would graduate, actually. He gave me a couple of "suggestions" to help pave my future. The first was to give up on the thought of college and he threw away all of the college brochures I brought to my college counseling session. The second was to be sure that I had some kind of career plan, so he recommended a summer occupational course (and, I needed to make up credits after failing algebra). So, my two best friends in high school, Kathy and Becky, and I signed up for a stint at Lion Country Safari. There was a chimp named Ace who smoked Virginia Slims, and another chimp, Isaac, who could type his name and both were quite clever and naughty. By day, they were put in a large cage in the walk-through area where they would taunt visitors and at night they were in a building in smaller cages. One of our jobs was to clean the cages while they were empty during the day. Chimps can be quite foul (I suspect that they are so bored that they will do anything to entertain themselves) and their cages reflected this. And then there were the cockroaches.

Kathy (thanks for reminding me about this, KK) and I were cleaning out the cages one day with a water hose and out came hundreds of cockroaches. We were horrified and disgusted, but we'd seen worse (have you ever had a whiff of llama poop?). At some point, I got freaked out at the roaches which were coming out of every corner of the room and moved a little too quickly. I slipped and--yep, it's true--fell into the cockroach-infested water. You have never seen anyone move so fast (me) and another laugh so hard (Kathy). Yes, this was to be my career path. Sorry I messed that up for you, Mr. Williams Stotts Jr. of Orange High School, but the whole professional job thing is working out pretty well for me.

peanuts and crackerjack

The house was darling, but far too small. I had almost convinced myself that I could make it work until I came home and looked around at my stuff. My books alone would take up all of the room. I felt like such a girl when I said, where are the closets? Where does one put her clothes? I did get to bounce on the trampoline and met some very nice people, but will have to call them today to let them know that I just can't squeeze myself into the space. The cost savings just isn't worth the sacrifice of space. I might keep looking a bit, but don't have time to do much on that front.

It would be great to get out from under the iron rule of my current landlord, however. This is a guy who will actually follow me through the building to say weird things to me, hollers at everyone at Christmas (he hates the needles trees drop on their way in and out), way over sprays air "freshener" that I'm willing to bet is called Tropical Breeze, and just raised my rent a substantial amount. Then there are the letters he posts everywhere...I can't possibly give a just description of them here. I'll post the next one I get. They come almost weekly and usually say something like, "Effectively immediately, if I find one more pizza box in the recycling, I will evict you. I am not kidding. This has gone on long enough. I will find out who you are and give you an eviction notice. Thank you." I am NOT exaggerating for dramatic affect. Actually, you need to add a dozen more grammatical errors to make it accurate. On the positive side, I take the stairs consistently in order to avoid him, as does the rest of the building so it makes for a good workout. The poor couple with the toddler. If she has a cracker in her hand, he probably hollers at her about that.

island life

Today I am going to look at a house on Bainbridge Island. It is a small house for rent and I figure I have to at least have a look at it. Usually Bainbridge is a place to move when you have more money, not less, but in this case, this move would save me a few hundred dollars a month and get me back into a house, which I miss. It would also take me further away from my friends which I am not excited about, but I don't have much time to see anyone these days anyway. It would just turn those rare occasions into an event rather than a quick walk around Greenlake. But it has a garden, patio, a couple of acres of land, a hot tub and a root cellar. Who wouldn't want to have a root cellar?

I am loathe to move. I have been in my current place for more than five years. This is the longest I have lived in any one place in my life. I have lived in the following places (by street): Malvern, Whiting, Gilbert, Arden, 15th, Heather, Whitworth, Wiclefstrasse, Nestorstrasse, Stefanstrasse, Regensburgerstrasse, Eisenacherstrasse, 80th, Lake Samammish, 19th, and finally, 52nd. There were a few short-term stays with various people in between at three or four locations as well. Good grief. I am good at packing at least and am lean in terms of personal possessions. I don't have any superfluous stuff just hanging around. If I purge my filing cabinet, I am in good shape. I may not even like the place but if I do, I may have to take it.

halloween, first blood

I can tell you where I was each year when I saw the first evidence that Halloween was approaching. This is true for the past ten years or so. Candy aisle at QFC Ballard, walking past Rite Aid in downtown Seattle, marquee at Ballard High School.... Since my birthday is the day after Halloween, it is as if each year a task force is deployed to remind me of my mortality. Yesterday, I was waiting in front of the WaMu tower for a shuttle to take me to our conference center and I turned to my right and glanced into the flower shop and panic swept over me. I saw a big orange and black sign with cats and bats and Happy Halloween on it. Not already?! I mumbled the obligatory swear word, as I do each year, and then counted the weeks until it arrives. About six. And how old will I be? 39. More swear words.

Halloween has always been a mixed bag for me, but most of the memories are good. In kindergarten I was a black cat and remember wearing my costume to school and being led on a playground parade. In first grade I was a pumpkin and I suspect this was not my choice. The costume was made of paper and it fell apart as the day at school progressed. I hated it and by the end of the day it was not holding up well at all. That was not a good year. I was a hobo, clown, and cowboy more than once--all good costumes in my book. I was ten and nearing the end of my trick-or-treating career when I finally convinced my mom to cut up yet another white sheet (she had done this at least three times before for older siblings) so I could be a ghost. That was a very good year.

These days I generally just wear some Halloween socks and leave it at that. I suspect it will be a lowkey year as I return to school two days later and will certainly have plenty of homework to do.

confirm this

Today is the first day this week I remember waking to something other than the sound of John Roberts being grilled. There is little I dislike more than confirmation hearings. "Judge Roberts, do you remember this memo that you wrote in 1932 about sharing the office refrigerator?" "Judge Roberts, do you recall saying hi to a guy in a black suit in 1917?" Ok, it isn't that bad, but it always strikes me as a weird way to interview someone. They know what they are going to hear from him and he knows what he is going to be asked. It seems like this big adversarial game. Some of the questions were so ridiculous and obscure, which means to me that they couldn't find enough dirt on him to fill up the time. He had this clever way of dodging questions by saying that he may need to decide on that issue as chief justice some day, so he didn't feel he could answer the question at this point. I like that one and might try it myself. "I'm sorry...I can't answer that question because I might have to answer it later and don't want to be held accountable for what I might say now." Perhaps I should work on the wording. My thoughts on Roberts? He says "um" a lot, but doesn't say "like" and "you know," so he has that going for him.

standard of living

My criteria for what needs to be cleaned and what needs some attention has changed dramatically over the last month. The first year in school I managed to keep up with keeping my home in order fairly well, but alas, with work, school and the internship...things are changing. My new rules for domestic duties:

1. Take out trash only if overflowing
2. Vacuum the carpet if the cat rolls around on the floor and comes up with lint flecks over at least two-thirds of her body
3. Water plants if they are brown
4. Run dishwasher only if out of crucial items such as spoons or bowls (yes, perhaps I DO have cereal for dinner every now and then)
5. Dust only when OCD nature kicks in and requires it
6. Clean bathroom mirror only when toothpaste splotches on the mirror are mistaken for a rare form of chin cancer
7. Make bed when calendar rolls over to May 2007

It is fairly easy to track. It is all quite reactive and I'm not home enough to actually worry about my home becoming a pig sty. On the flip side, I manage to keep my desk at work in order. And my school books, while covering the entire dining room table, are in neat piles. So, I haven't lost my touch entirely. When I finish school I intended to spend a week sleeping and the next week cleaning. Then, I'll figure out what to do with the rest of my life.

escape the city

Once a week on Wednesdays I drive a total of five to six hours to get to and from my internship site in Port Townsend. I drive, take a ferry, then drive some more. It is the only substantial driving I do every week, so I guess it is a way to see the inside of my car every now and now. Why Port Townsend? I used to go there for vacation--long weekends when I needed to get away from the city. My perspective has changed on it being a vacation spot now that it is within commuting distance. Though, a man with a gun and a drug-sniffing dog just walked by my car, so that also lends a new perspective to the whole adventure.

Port Townsend is a lovely city and if you haven't been there, you should visit it at some point. And, it has the only Jungian-oriented psychotherapy center dedicated to children in the Pacific Northwest. I do sandtray work, art, and play therapy with kids. Sandtray is a form of therapy using a small sandbox and small figures and toys (my favorite being the white tiger babies) to tell a story. Straight into the unconscious. It is worth the drive.

The ferry terminals often have wireless access, so that is a plus. And the ferry has arrived and so I am off to work with my kids.

it's come to this

Do you REALLY care what I have to say? Who knows, but I have created my own blog. I have become worn down, checking a's blog daily with no satisfaction. Perhaps I will develop empathy, feeling the daily pressure to produce something to entertain the masses. The masses of three, that is. So, what's it going to be? Who knows. Maybe I'll just regurgitate the reading I've done for school for the day. It's interesting stuff, I tell you.

As of late, I've been reading a lot of trauma literature. It is amazing what the mind accommodates when it has been put through the wringer in childhood. Basically, the psyche perpetuates the cycle of trauma by inflicting trauma internally with internal nastiness--you know, those teethy things we all tell ourselves. It brutalizes a person over time. And that trauma can be either a single instance or cumulative. A daily tongue-lashing is enough to do it. Sorry...I will think of nicer things to write about in the future. I don't mean this to be the blog of gloom and doom.

It has just occurred to me that creating a blog may just be a clever way of avoiding homework. That is what we call resistance, folks. Isn't this fun? And speaking of school, the goddess on my left can be found on the lovely grounds of Pacifica Graduate Institute, where I go to grad school. Pretty, huh? I have about two weeks to do hundreds of pages of reading. I keep telling myself that it will all get done somehow, but I don't know if that is actually true. It is fun to think so, though. Perhaps I can get a few of my friends to read the books for me and provide a brief summary. Let me know if you are interested. I have some really exciting stuff to offer up. Hee.