One done...

One story submission done. Two still being written. I need to find an appropriate venue to submit this "foot" story. Is anyone interested? I would have been back when this foot saga started. I still would be...heck that's why I wrote it.

Looking forward to a thumbs up. Although it would be appropriate to start collecting rejection letters too. Either way. I'll keep me posted. :)

Semantics

Dreaming...procrastination...and the difference is? One is productive?

Red Letter Day!

This morning...for the first time in positively months...I was able to get up and walk first thing this morning without hobbling. I forgot my foot hurt! It's been tingling, but it doesn't hurt! Until just now...and now I'm running late for work and I better speed it up a couple notches to get out the door to catch my bus.

Whoo hoo!! Happy dance, happy dance! (okay, sit down, put your foot up. That's a good girl...)

Got a match?

I signed onto eHarmony a couple months back. My mom called to tell me the "free weekend promotion" is going on. I caved in to the parental pressure and sign on. I took the test. It was actually all pretty interesting stuff. I stayed pretty neutral and put my search at a fifty mile radius. This garnered me matches clear up to the Canadian border and far south of Seattle. All the matches were clearly based on what I'd entered. (Garbage in, garbage out? Actually I'd spent a little time and thought on it all.) I still get "matches" delivered to my e-mail every day. I consider it junk mail at this point. But, it's the only mail I get these days.

Thing is...I received a couple of "requests for communication" (sound lovely doesn't it?...not) after the free weekend was done. I found myself looking at these profiles and wondering if it is worth the $60 to be able to respond. I decided against it. So, what's the deal? I've been known in recent history to spend $150 or so to see someone - and it was worth every dime, but I won't spend $60 for the privelege of emailing a known "match"?

When did life get so sticky? When did it become verboten to show an interest in anyone? Just saying hi and making eye contact is inviting tsk-tsking from onlookers. And hey, how come guys come right out and ask, "Are you single?" but as a girl when I asked the question it was an affront to his sensibilities? And no, he's married. I only made a fool of myself that once. In my age group the double standard still applies. I'll get over it and end up making a fool of myself again, but later...not today.

I'm just whining. There's nothing to be done about it. Let me rephrase that...I really don't care to do anything about it. Life is just interesting.

Life just gets more interesting

Life just gets more interesting every time the sun rises. I've been applying for jobs to stay afloat as this contract winds down to it's end. I'm nervous. And I'm not. My dad, in the meantime, has made an amazing offer. I just don't know what to do with it. He's offered up his condo and the funds (at 5% amoritized over 30 years) to go back to school at SDSU to finally get my B.A.. My brain is doing overtime. I did go ahead and apply. I've got 192 credits and no degree. (I'm feeling a little like Van Wilder with all the extra course credits and nothing to show for it.) Good jobs in my neck of the woods almost require a degree. Any degree.

Thing is I'm not sure I want a degree anymore. Yes, it would make the job situation a little easier. Yes, I'd have the loan to pay off. I don't have CA state residency status so the funding is higher than I would like. There is serious concern that even if I am allowed admission the school isn't guaranteeing there will be a place for me until the state approves next years budget. Do I really want to get in the middle of that? I don't mind going back to school for a class or two...but for a year and a half? Uh...I dunno.

What I really want is something I should have been doing all along. I should have been submitting my stories for publication - anywhere - well, everywhere. I wonder that mor schooling would make much of a difference. The differences I've felt in recent years have been through the writer's group I was part of in WI. I've been thinking that may be something to get back into here. I don't need to go back to LaLa Land for that.

Since the offer was made I got on the stick (pogo stick, it seems) and found three sites that are requesting story submissions that will pay for those they accept. I've finished one story. I sent it on to a friend to get some feedback before I send it in. We'll see. These aren't anything that will pay the bills. Mostly they might put gas in the car. Again, we'll see. The story has certainly kept me busy this week. It's been a good busy.

On the job front I was able to reconnect with a running buddy and sent my resume and a chatty letter to pass it along to those she knows. Now I'm just sending prayers that something pops up that will make me happy when October arrives.

I know much of this toronado of thought from Dad's offer comes on the heels of booking my flight down to San Diego to get away for a week, see my daughter and the rest of my family and shake off this last job. Every day I wonder that there is so much to do, so little time and deadlines looming in my face. I am beat at the end of the day. Just getting home is the goal. I don't have time to request transcripts which are already available because it's the same school I'm applying at. And really would I be bettering myself or putting off a dream I've had since I was twelve?

Maybe this is just the impetous to scare me into doing that which I've always been afraid of.

Back end of Business: The Paperwork Saga

I put K in charge of the bathroom when she got her part-time job. She is responsible for shampoo, conditioner, soap, razors, hair spray, toothpaste...all the consumables in the bathroom. Including toilet paper. Maybe you can see where this is going. Up till now K has been pretty cool about coming up with great smelling shampoos and body washes. She has offered up a grand assortment of hair sprays, conditioners and "polishers". When she bought toilet paper it filled the cupboard to the edge.

And then she didn't. I saw it coming. On Sunday I realized she was totally broke. Her payday wouldn't be here until this Friday(yesterday). We had between us a half a roll of toilet paper until Friday. I kept mum. It seemed fairly obvious to me how this week was going to be. I dug around in the back of the cupboard for the 1/8th roll of t.p. I'd tossed in the back one day last year when company was coming over (replaced with a full roll for the occassion). I took the partial roll of t.p. into my room and put it in my bureau in preparation for the inevitable. Mostly, I was curious what K would do? Would she ask me for money to fix the problem? I had it. Would she borrow a roll from a friend? There's an option. Would she come up with a hidden stash of cash? Nope, she's not that kind of money manager.

Monday morning we were out. I carried my partial roll with me from my room to the bathroom. I probably counted out the squares to see how long I could hold out while I was at it. And I carried my partial roll back to my room when I left the bathroom. Oh, the lengths a mother will go to see how their kids will handle a situation. Upon returning home from work on Monday there was the roll of paper towels from the kitchen in the bathroom. Lying ready on the counter were several carefully torn pieces of paper toweling, about the size of three squares of t.p. I don't think I normally smile when taking a whizz. This then is how K takes care of the problem. Substitution.

I did not offer help throughout the week. For that matter, I didn't say shit (pun intended). It was business as usual (another pun, thank you). (actually, there's quite a few puns sprinkeled in here...I'm having a good time with this subject...) I occassionally remembered to bring my secreted roll of t.p. with me. I occassionally forgot. K arrived home from work on Friday night with a great flourish of mondo mega-roll package of t.p. and her regular cash contribution for living here. Her face is beaming.

We have t.p. for another three months.

Hempfest Seattle

...or Things I Didn't Do Today.

K and I were downtown this morning checking out a university for her to attend this fall when we found ourselves in the thick of a herd of people moving as lemmings down the street. When we realized it was for Hempfest, well, we became lemmings too. First we shoved all our coins into a parking meter (25 cents gets you 14 minutes of beautifully close to event, and school, streetside parking) and off we trotted. People watching isn't near as colorful as the Solstice Fair in Fremont. But for a spontaneous event, I will gladly accept whatever sights there are to see. For all the people bringing their dogs one would easily have thought it was a Muttfest. For all the undertones of words washing through the crowd, "No dogs. They are not letting in dogs." it merely empowered those with dogs to believe their dog was special, that theirs would be let in, that they would fascinate or charm the gatekeeper easily and be let in. One lovely pooch allowed himself to be stuffed into a backpack - he was just wiggly in it. Why are dogs still happy with their owner when they are let out of lousy situations? I swear that dog was smiling. It's all a great game and he was along for the ride.

The crowd was interesting enough as we got closer to the gate. We shuffled along and gazed at piercings and fashion and I didn't realize it is cool to leave the holographic "Official" sticker on my ball cap when I'm wearing it. I wonder how Minnie Pearl is these days? A train rumbled along for a while, cutting the crowd off from the entrance gates. No one seemed to be counting the cars. That would have been a nice crowd game. Sorry I didn't start it. So, at thirty three cars the crowd was starting to get impatient. When the last rail car went by we all crossed the tracks en masse and found a the entrance. K and I are checking our phones, getting photos of the area, and I saw time was about to run out on our parking meter.

Did I mention the cops? Did I mention the several squad cars placed at each corner we crossed with the lemmings? Did I mention the Cop Camper with awning and picnic tables set up in a cordoned off parking lot? Cops were relaxing at the tables under the awning. Urban camping at it's finest. I hope one of these cops has sense enough to issue a citation when they start the campfire.

Yes, our parking meter was running on low, and K's work schedule was looming close too. We each took photos of the entrance and made mental notes to make a day of it next year. I suspect K will find some friends to go back tomorrow.

We drove home talking about the city and all it has to offer. We drove home talking about our little burg and all it has to offer. We drove home talking about stopping for lunch - we did and drank the best micro brewery Root Beer I've had in several years. This is what I did and didn't do today. So far, so good.

There once was a time...

There once was a time when I couldn't wait to get online and post thoughts and my impressions of my day or a moment. There once was a time when a theme would emerge and pull me along to follow the thread and share what came along. I don't even remember some of the things that would hold my attention. I am glad that I posted losing my job. I am glad that I posted moving across the country and starting life new. I am glad that I took the time to be a tourist, and run a marathon and play tennis. I'm glad that football season is starting up again.

The lull that is now is refreshing too. It seems a waiting for what-is-next. The recovery of my foot and knees takes longer than I would like. It is probably necessary. Yet it's hard to sit still. One would think that while I sit quiet I would be filling the web with all these crazy ideas that go on in my head. But it is inconsequential. Some are worries; that is just whining. Some thoughts feel like big-plan-in-the-making. Rather than write about them I am preferring to "do" them.

Much of my online life revolves around searching job postings for a less temporary position. Though it is productive time I have nothing to show for it yet. There are a lot of boxes to check and fields to fill out and agreements required when one is applying online. Applying online can take two hours of concerted effort depending on how the company has set up it's web pages. Save often, one never knows. It appears I have some sellable skills. Again, one never knows.

For today...all is quiet on the Western Front.

My Day

My day

On any other day than today...

(ahhhh...lovely dreamin')

The Ambience of Rain

The ambience of rain during a Music Festival in the Snoqualmie Valley...
is really hard to capture in a photo - simply note the draping plastic over the speakers. But the music was great (as always) by the Cascade Jazz Quintet - also note: drummer is behind plastic draped speaker.

These are just a few of the things that make for a marvelous weekend.

Oh, the phone interview yesterday...it's not my job. Nice chat with HR...but it's not my job. On to the next one.

In the Woods

Writer’s Camp Cramp Camp

I spent my weekend in the woods. Is it writer's camp or writer's cramp? And is that plural or possesive? Because, in this instance it should be singular and I'd love to be possessive - but I don't want to own it. These are simply notes to myself.

In the woods...the deer are fearless.

In the photo below the chickens are camera shy.

Which is too bad because they are amazingly colorful

and funny and one in particular is especially talkative

(no video/audio here to prove a thing).

The chickens and I had quite the conversations several times during the weekend. I thought the russet colored chicken and I hit it off rather well. Actually, she talks a lot, and will follow one around to make sure she has an audience for her monologue. I understand this kind of behavior. Of course, not first hand...okay maybe.

It just kinda got personal when I picked her up to hear her better and she got nervous (as I'm sure I would) and she shat down the side of my dress (which I know I wouldn't). It was my fault. I picked her up without a whole lot of warning.

Wait a minute here, I warned her, and I even took my time. I made my intentions clear. In fact, she didn't ruffle a feather when I picked her up. Not a single one (which I found amazing). It wasn't until she was well nestled close in and burbling away about all her troubles that she let loose all down my dress. All I'm saying here is "chicken shit" has a full and deliberate meaning; a coy, talkative, full and deliberate meaning.

Pretty white flowers

It's kind of nice not having my glasses (they were stolen out of my truck some months ago...). I have trouble seeing distances though. During my walk at lunch today I saw the most beautiful field of little white flowers. I just wanted to share them here on my blog.Aren't they lovely?

My Special Pen Pal

I write people on occasion. I use paper and ink. Sometimes I use cards or stationary. Most of my letter writing in online, to my aunt, my friend overseas, other various people. In April this year I wrote a letter to a very special man. I wanted him to know exactly how I felt. I didn't want him to wonder at my feelings. It may not be greatness, but it is exactly how I feel. My letter went...

Dear Mr. President,

Enough! Send no more troops, no more souls, no more loved ones to fight on our behalf. It pains me to consider the extreme measures we take as a nation everyday to continue with the dead idea of war. This is sending loved and loving people to destroy the families and nations of other loved and loving people. The insanity of it is profound. Please stop this immediately.

It is secondary that the enormous military budget is impoverishing our country. It is the greatest, colossal, single cause of our country's debt, our insolvency. It is destroying America. It is the elephant in the room, the huge mad invisible elephant consuming our individual incomes and public resources. Please do all you can to cut, cut, cut the military budget.

None of this is Americanism or patriotism; it is suicidal insanity. Please do all you can do to stop this waste of good people and of our good money.

With utmost sincerity,

I told him, didn't I?

My pen pal wrote back to me last week. I got the letter today. Did you know the White House has to pay postage like the rest of us? Or is it a ruse, and the post office just drops off gads of postage stamps gratis for the presidential correspondence?

Mr. Obama wrote (and I think he took some liberties):

Dear Friend:

Thank you for writing me. I have heard from many Americans about important defence issues our Nation faces, and I appreciate your perspective.

I am committed to making my Administration the most open and transparent in history, and part of delivering on that promise is hearing from people like you. I take seriously your opinions, and respect your point of view on this important issue. Please know that your concerns will be on my mind in the days ahead.

Thank you again for writing. I encourage you to visit WhiteHouse.gov to learn more about my Administration or to contact me in the future.

Sincerely,

(signed) Barack Obama

Mr. Obama's stationary is embossed.

I feel a bit like a school girl that has just completed her Civics Project. I'm surprised I didn't do this back when I was in school. I'm sure we were each encouraged to contact our legislators. I know I've always felt it was futile. Lately I've been feeling it is futile NOT to do something. Even if it is a single simple letter. To tell the truth I'm a little bit proud of myself for actually sending my letter. Whether Mr. Obama read it or not, I put it out there. And I meant it.