This early in the morning you can't see the toxic sludge that has all but destroyed this beautiful wetland. Coal mining is the devil!
Monday, August 3, 2009
Sunday, August 2, 2009
Magic!!! In the form of a red velvet cake.
The beginnings of something wonderful. Shortening, granulated sugar, red food coloring...
Homemade cream cheese frosting! I was asked by a 4-year-old if it gets yummier the longer you mix it. I said, "Yes, of course it does."
Three layer side view.
The view from the top. It looks so pretty!!!
The finished masterpiece. Those boys at the wetland better love me for this.
Saturday, August 1, 2009
Unexpected Beauty
Granny Square Madness!!!
Twenty-two down, one hundred eighteen to go!
Swiss Chard.
The prettiest thing I saw all day.
The prettiest thing I saw all day.
Friday, July 31, 2009
Let the Uncooling Begin!!!
Everyone knows I like science. In fact, I love it. Love!!! Recently I went back to Portland after a year and it felt like an experiment. How would the new me react to the old town? At first I was really excited. From the plane I saw the lights of the city and a wave of nostalgia swept over me. Portland is aesthetically beautiful. I have never doubted this. I didn't move 2700 miles away to get away from the gorgeous, epic views.
Portland has a lot of awesomeness going for it. Music, art, coffee, food, activism, progressive thinking, etc. It's a beautiful city that is relatively clean and easy to get around in. There's a lot to do and see and experience. All of my people are there, friends, family, former coworkers. I love so many things about that town. So what was I leaving behind? Two days of working at my old job, Bark, reminded me really quick. So many people in Portland have stickers all over their cars, bikes, and houses about the environment. People advertise how much they care about being "green" and saving the trees and our wild spaces and blah blah blah blah blah...
Anyone can own a sticker. Anyone can display it on a car, bike, or house. What I have discovered is that not just anyone actually has the gonads to do something. When it comes time for action, when our beloved national forests are being raped for foreign corporate profit, when drinking water, endangered species, healthy ecosystems, our national heritage, and Portland's epic aesthetic value are being threatened by the very agencies who are supposed to protect them, apathy takes over, and environmentalism becomes nothing more than another password into the Culture of Cool. And THAT is what I moved to leave behind: a world where clothes and music and tattoos and even causes determine your value as a human.
On my road trip across the country last summer, Stacie and I had breakfast at a Denny's in some small town in Ohio. I looked around at the people and noticed something odd about them: none of them were cool. They were just regular people. No one was cool, and the shocking thing about it was that no one cared about not being cool. It was like a breath of fresh air.
So many people are concerned about being cool or hip or whatever it is. But what about being nice? What about being honest or genuine or humble? Why are these traits so very out of fashion? Well, I'm bringing them back, dammit!
I myself have a lot of this Portland snobbery, I'll admit it. But I've learned that being real is a lot more important than being cool. In the name of science, I'm going to uncool myself. Anyone want to join me?
Portland has a lot of awesomeness going for it. Music, art, coffee, food, activism, progressive thinking, etc. It's a beautiful city that is relatively clean and easy to get around in. There's a lot to do and see and experience. All of my people are there, friends, family, former coworkers. I love so many things about that town. So what was I leaving behind? Two days of working at my old job, Bark, reminded me really quick. So many people in Portland have stickers all over their cars, bikes, and houses about the environment. People advertise how much they care about being "green" and saving the trees and our wild spaces and blah blah blah blah blah...
Anyone can own a sticker. Anyone can display it on a car, bike, or house. What I have discovered is that not just anyone actually has the gonads to do something. When it comes time for action, when our beloved national forests are being raped for foreign corporate profit, when drinking water, endangered species, healthy ecosystems, our national heritage, and Portland's epic aesthetic value are being threatened by the very agencies who are supposed to protect them, apathy takes over, and environmentalism becomes nothing more than another password into the Culture of Cool. And THAT is what I moved to leave behind: a world where clothes and music and tattoos and even causes determine your value as a human.
On my road trip across the country last summer, Stacie and I had breakfast at a Denny's in some small town in Ohio. I looked around at the people and noticed something odd about them: none of them were cool. They were just regular people. No one was cool, and the shocking thing about it was that no one cared about not being cool. It was like a breath of fresh air.
So many people are concerned about being cool or hip or whatever it is. But what about being nice? What about being honest or genuine or humble? Why are these traits so very out of fashion? Well, I'm bringing them back, dammit!
I myself have a lot of this Portland snobbery, I'll admit it. But I've learned that being real is a lot more important than being cool. In the name of science, I'm going to uncool myself. Anyone want to join me?
Saturday, June 20, 2009
Monday, May 4, 2009
One From the Vaults...
The other day I was looking through an old spiral notebook for a clean piece of paper to make myself a study schedule for finals week. I stumbled upon this, written 2 December 2008, after a particularly difficult few weeks. It is called "Clarity, or the Celibate Life."
I'm having trouble deciding where to start this. As the Mad Hatter says, "Start at the beginning, and when you get to the end...stop." There is no actual beginning, this is only a snapshot, one small story out of a lifetime of abuse, self-inflicted and otherwise.
A few weeks ago someone I cared for very much broke my heart. I don't know if he intended to hurt me like that, but he did. He made me feel used, worthless, disgusting, like a mangy little whore. I told him this, and he got very upset and emotional and apologized profusely, but the damage had been done. He lied to me for over a month, and my trust, being a fragile little thing, was broken.
As soon as I told him he had made me feel like a whore, I realized this was not the first time. This was but the latest in a long line of unhealthy relationships I've had with men. I have known very few men who have not made me feel like all I am good for is sex, and this sudden realization made me very angry. At first I tried very hard to be pissed at this latest guy, to blame him for the whole thing, but this effort was short lived.
A couple days after our last conversation, which I now refer to as the Day My Leaf Collection and My Life Fell Apart, something happened that helped open my eyes to a self-destructive pattern I've been perpetuating for half of my life. I was at school talking to some of my fellow NRWT students after class, and I let slip to one of them that I am "easy." Moments later I went to my car and cried because I was so embarrassed. I heard a voice in my head say, "If you don't want to be treated like a whore, stop acting like one." I didn't think about it too much at the time because my Dendrology notebook was due the next day, but I had done the same thing to the New Guy, the one who had recently broken my heart. Backtrack to the end of September, I told him the easiest, most effective way to get me into bed, so it is small wonder that he used this exact method only a few days later to do just that.
Now, I want to make it perfectly clear that I do not view myself as a victim. This isn't a "poor me, feel sorry for me" kind of thing. My purpose for writing this is to explore my own self-abuse and to accept responsibility for my actions so that hopefully I can begin to heal. These men are not all bad men. Some of them are good men. But I seek out unhealthy and/or inappropriate relationships, and this is what needs to stop.
Anywho, the next day I had craniosachral therapy. Early in the session my therapist, Carla, asked what needed work. I said my heart. As soon as she put her hands near my heart, I had an outburst. It wasn't a thought first followed by speech, it was like something had been stuck and exploded out of me as soon as it was unstuck. As soon as I said it, I felt this horrible tightness in my chest melt away. "The reason men treat me like all I'm good for is sex is because that's how I feel about myself." That's what I said, and Carla, who always knows the best thing to say, said, "Whoa! That was a big one!"
It was a big one, indeed, but how big I didn't realize for a couple more days. That Sunday, I was home alone, bedridden with a horrible toothache, and I started pondering this revelation. It occurred to me that it was a very true statement. I know logically I have so much more to offer than sex. My awesomeness knows no bounds. Yet I thought back over my life and time after time sex was either the first, or most often, the only thing I gave. Clearly there is a huge disconnect somewhere between what I know to be true and how I act. How can I know I am one thing and allow myself to be treated like something else entirely? A better question is how can I repair this? How do I reconnect the dots of something that has been broken since before I can remember?
Honestly, I don't know how, but I do know it's possible. As my craniosachral therapist and my mother say, if I've been through everything I've been through and I'm not broken yet, nothing will ever break me. I'm stronger than I give myself credit for and I have some good ideas about how to start. The only way out is through, and I know I can fix this.
So there you go. I don't remember writing it, but it's pretty awesome.
I'm having trouble deciding where to start this. As the Mad Hatter says, "Start at the beginning, and when you get to the end...stop." There is no actual beginning, this is only a snapshot, one small story out of a lifetime of abuse, self-inflicted and otherwise.
A few weeks ago someone I cared for very much broke my heart. I don't know if he intended to hurt me like that, but he did. He made me feel used, worthless, disgusting, like a mangy little whore. I told him this, and he got very upset and emotional and apologized profusely, but the damage had been done. He lied to me for over a month, and my trust, being a fragile little thing, was broken.
As soon as I told him he had made me feel like a whore, I realized this was not the first time. This was but the latest in a long line of unhealthy relationships I've had with men. I have known very few men who have not made me feel like all I am good for is sex, and this sudden realization made me very angry. At first I tried very hard to be pissed at this latest guy, to blame him for the whole thing, but this effort was short lived.
A couple days after our last conversation, which I now refer to as the Day My Leaf Collection and My Life Fell Apart, something happened that helped open my eyes to a self-destructive pattern I've been perpetuating for half of my life. I was at school talking to some of my fellow NRWT students after class, and I let slip to one of them that I am "easy." Moments later I went to my car and cried because I was so embarrassed. I heard a voice in my head say, "If you don't want to be treated like a whore, stop acting like one." I didn't think about it too much at the time because my Dendrology notebook was due the next day, but I had done the same thing to the New Guy, the one who had recently broken my heart. Backtrack to the end of September, I told him the easiest, most effective way to get me into bed, so it is small wonder that he used this exact method only a few days later to do just that.
Now, I want to make it perfectly clear that I do not view myself as a victim. This isn't a "poor me, feel sorry for me" kind of thing. My purpose for writing this is to explore my own self-abuse and to accept responsibility for my actions so that hopefully I can begin to heal. These men are not all bad men. Some of them are good men. But I seek out unhealthy and/or inappropriate relationships, and this is what needs to stop.
Anywho, the next day I had craniosachral therapy. Early in the session my therapist, Carla, asked what needed work. I said my heart. As soon as she put her hands near my heart, I had an outburst. It wasn't a thought first followed by speech, it was like something had been stuck and exploded out of me as soon as it was unstuck. As soon as I said it, I felt this horrible tightness in my chest melt away. "The reason men treat me like all I'm good for is sex is because that's how I feel about myself." That's what I said, and Carla, who always knows the best thing to say, said, "Whoa! That was a big one!"
It was a big one, indeed, but how big I didn't realize for a couple more days. That Sunday, I was home alone, bedridden with a horrible toothache, and I started pondering this revelation. It occurred to me that it was a very true statement. I know logically I have so much more to offer than sex. My awesomeness knows no bounds. Yet I thought back over my life and time after time sex was either the first, or most often, the only thing I gave. Clearly there is a huge disconnect somewhere between what I know to be true and how I act. How can I know I am one thing and allow myself to be treated like something else entirely? A better question is how can I repair this? How do I reconnect the dots of something that has been broken since before I can remember?
Honestly, I don't know how, but I do know it's possible. As my craniosachral therapist and my mother say, if I've been through everything I've been through and I'm not broken yet, nothing will ever break me. I'm stronger than I give myself credit for and I have some good ideas about how to start. The only way out is through, and I know I can fix this.
So there you go. I don't remember writing it, but it's pretty awesome.
Thursday, April 30, 2009
Herpin' A!!!
I know what you're thinking. Herping sounds dirty. It is! But not in that way. I think it comes from the Greek word for creepy. Not creepy like kiddie porn or the guy in class who molests you with his eyes. It refers to movement, the way certain animals creep along the ground, specifically reptiles and amphibians. Herpetology is the study of these animals, and herping is the act of going into the wilderness to look for them. So it is dirty. My brown capri leggings are stained with Costa Rican wetland mud from herping, hunting for spectacled caimans, to be precise. Yes, I went crocodile hunting in a neotropical wetland wearing a baby-doll dress and leggings, by the light of the full moon. That's how I roll.
Anywho, while in Costa Rica this past January, I learned a lot about herps. I was awesome in the field. Justin, our herp guy, would show us a species and we would have to use our books and key them out. I got each one right the first try! I was on fire!!! Then, we had a big test. It was the worst experience of my life: The first F I've ever received on a test...EVER!!! I'd like to say I don't know what happened, but that would be a lie. I didn't study. I didn't take notes. I didn't pay attention in class. I slept and drank coffee and daydreamed about who knows what. Justin was disappointed because he knew I could do better. I told him someday I would redeem myself, and that day has come.
This semester I'm taking Wildlife Biology. Mostly we've learned about birds... waterfowl, waterbirds (which I assure you are different from waterfowl!), birds of prey, upland game birds, perching birds... We also studied mammals, which was super fun because we got to play with skulls and skins. The day of the mammal test I found myself daydreaming and petting a red fox skin, then I snapped out of it and realized I was supposed to be doing something intelligent. I couldn't help it! It was so pretty. Then came what I had been looking forward to most: herps. We spent 4 days going over them and we learned about 65 species of turtles, snakes, lizards, salamanders, frogs, and toads. This past Monday we had the test, and I totally rocked it! 49 out of 50. I got the highest score in the class. Herpin' A, indeed.
Anywho, while in Costa Rica this past January, I learned a lot about herps. I was awesome in the field. Justin, our herp guy, would show us a species and we would have to use our books and key them out. I got each one right the first try! I was on fire!!! Then, we had a big test. It was the worst experience of my life: The first F I've ever received on a test...EVER!!! I'd like to say I don't know what happened, but that would be a lie. I didn't study. I didn't take notes. I didn't pay attention in class. I slept and drank coffee and daydreamed about who knows what. Justin was disappointed because he knew I could do better. I told him someday I would redeem myself, and that day has come.
This semester I'm taking Wildlife Biology. Mostly we've learned about birds... waterfowl, waterbirds (which I assure you are different from waterfowl!), birds of prey, upland game birds, perching birds... We also studied mammals, which was super fun because we got to play with skulls and skins. The day of the mammal test I found myself daydreaming and petting a red fox skin, then I snapped out of it and realized I was supposed to be doing something intelligent. I couldn't help it! It was so pretty. Then came what I had been looking forward to most: herps. We spent 4 days going over them and we learned about 65 species of turtles, snakes, lizards, salamanders, frogs, and toads. This past Monday we had the test, and I totally rocked it! 49 out of 50. I got the highest score in the class. Herpin' A, indeed.
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