Tuesday, January 24, 2017

January Twenty-Something

No. No, no, no, no, no. You cannot start on the liquor at 8:30. You are still in your pajamas, for chrissake.

I paced around my unit for 10 minutes or so feeling anxious. What was I supposed to be doing... I forgot. I know I had plans yesterday of what I would do to occupy myself. Carefully laid plans from keep me moving forward.
Shit, how could I forget... liquor liquor liquor liquor.
Gross, rum breakfast sounds awful. That isn't what you want.
What else is nearby and destructive that I can have? Shit, cut that out, you nut!

Practice your music. I don't wanna.
Paint. I don't feel like it.
Facebook - shit, shit, shit. Aww, you did it. :(
Why did you look?
Another dose of sickness.

Reality is a heavy rain sinking into my wool sweater.
Pipeline approved.
Coat hanger abortions are back in fashion.
Your career will be frozen.
Science is a hoax.
I'm so itchy.
GET OUT OF BED. PUT DOWN YOUR PHONE.

Crap, why did I ever get a smart phone?
Oh yeah, cause I couldn't get my flip phone repaired. Shoved into the next wave of reality, plugged in and monitored.
But the GPS is so haaaaandy

Pacing, pacing.
Oh thank god. COFFEE.
I forgot about you, coffee. Routine. Normal. Wholesome-ish.
Something to sit down with and rake up my jumbled thoughts.

okay....... so I'm looking at my Christmas tree. Yes, my Christmas tree. There are no ornaments anymore, just needles all over the floor. It's drooping outline is a reminder that I need to figure out what's next. It's January twenty-something; January 2017 will only be twenty-something a short bit longer, and so will I.

Yeah so the tree - get rid of that thing. I will.
What's next, though?
I wish I still had a flip phone.

Hey! Focus, lady.
WHAT ARE YOU GONNA DO?


Saturday, January 21, 2017

To Be Still

You are more than it.

You are more than your Heartbreak
You are more than your Blood
You are more than your Joy
Your Guilt
Your Memories, Obligations, or Fears
You are more than Numbers on a Scale or a Chart
or a Sexual Identity
You are more than your Hobbies
You are more than your Mantras
You are more than a Mother, Father, Sister, Brother,
You are not Color
You are not Money
You have no Face
You have no Body
No Gym Routine
No Couch Routine
No Addiction
You are more than a Factory for processing society's drudgery
You are more than Exhaustion
You are more than Bloodshed, Revenge, Anger
You are more than even Love or Understanding


Strip it all away.

You are more than a sum of your parts, more than a set of societal norms, more than your feelings. 
These are the easy answers; the ones that can be used to quantify ourselves based on specificities of time and environment. They are for the benefit of that which is not us.

If ever you have the courage to release your ego, you may have the chance to steal away

Who Am I

You are exactly the weight of the universe.



Saturday, June 11, 2016

Some Things I've Smelled

I have always paid particular attention to smell. It's a sense that can so distinctly compel us to new curiosities, as well as entrench us in nostalgia (for better or worse).

I'm partial to all kinds of smells; baking bread... the ocean... gasoline... saddle leather... flowers... cow pastures... high school gyms. Every smell has a meaning. Here are a few of my memorable smells;

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..... My grandpa took me to Dunkin Donuts when I was a kid. I thought it was cool because it was one of the only times I remember doing something together, just he and I. It was raining the whole drive there; cold damp air puddled up in the gutters and craters of the Detroit pavement. We pulled into a spot, and he asked me what I wanted as he slid the shifter up. The cinnamon balls. Those were almost the only doughnuts I would eat as a kid who didn't have a sweet tooth. 'Ok, why don't you stay here honey, it's wet outside.' He set his pipe down on the dash, which was still pillowing out little tufts of smoke, and cracked the windows. I passed the time drawing pictures in the fog with my finger and taking in luxurious gulps of fresh pipe tobacco and the cold Detroit rain. 


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..... When I was in high school my family took a trip to Jamaica. I think it would be a stretch to say that my parents would jump at the opportunity to go back; we were staying in a port town that got trafficked by cruise ships during the day, but more or less turned into a local club scene at night. My brother and I had a great time. One night we were having some Red Stripes with a few locals, and my brother popped off to the shop across the street for a few minutes. I felt uneasy to be by myself with a bunch of Caribbean dudes I had met just that week, but the feeling dissipated quickly. We got to joking around, and then a very silly rap battle ensued. A guy named Alex stepped up to present me his battle, and I remember his necklace swinging around on top of a white tank top. His rhythmic movements pushed over a sweet swirling current of vanilla, sweat, ganja, and hibiscus flowers... it was a stupefying effusion, the likes of which I have rarely encountered since.


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..... I didn't know what mothballs smelled like until my family had some guests from Japan come and stay with us. Kazuko unpacked some of her belongings into my brother's dressers and the scent of mothballs played curiously well to a very distinct floral. Some years later, my family along with my boyfriend's family hosted a few Japanese students, and the smell returned. The four of us sat in the grass, speckled by afternoon sunlight, doing some "American tie-dying". Mothballs, Asian floral, and summer grass...  the smell danced quietly around us. Many years later, as an adult, I moved to Japan and took notice of other smells; the farmers burning their dried cuttings, food carts of the festival season, spring cherry blossoms, tatami mats, and cool bamboo forests. I made some of the dearest friends I'll ever know, and I fell in love once more among those smells. Parting to come back to the States was such sweet sorrow, to borrow a phrase. I wept quietly on the plane as I watched a couple cherry blossom petals float by my window. Upon my return, my dad brought my suitcases up to my childhood room and let me alone. I unzipped a big roller and there it was, splashed all over all of my belongings. Mothballs and floral.

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There are so many smells, all evoking the associations we have made with them.
Some smells bring me back to very dark places and tie knots in my stomach.
There are others that are as light as air and make me ache with joy.
Sometimes I think I can even recall memories I've never had through smell. Maybe that's true. 


Monday, March 14, 2016

[ Fuwa Fuwa ] Peppermint Silk Bars

I've made batches by request here and there, but this was by far the largest soap order I've ever agreed to. Over the course of about two months, I made 400 butterfly mini bars for a charitable organization my mom is part of. I learned a lot about different methods along the way and am proud to have used re-purposed materials to create the packaging, despite the additional work it created. 

This project took a lot of time and energy, but I'm proud to put my name on the final product.



Saturday, January 9, 2016

Bronze & Paint

Recently I finished up a few projects. 

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The jackrabbits were an idea inspired by working at Great Basin; they were everywhere and had a lumbering sort of grace. The sculptures were created with that characteristic goofiness in mind. My roommate, Miki commented that the actual skeleton of my creation must be "horrifying", which made me smile. Miki was also the artist in residence and an inspiring lady who connected me with the foundry to pour my castings.  


Once I received the castings back from the foundry, the next step was to grind off all the extra crap that had glommed onto them while the metal was being poured. This was a laborious, but also hilarious process. I purchased an angle grinder for the job, but soon realized that shooting off metal sparks in a tiny apartment with wood floors was probably not going to end well. Also, the soundtrack for my neighbors wouldn't be unlike somebody chopping up bodies next-door. So my solution became running an extension cord from my boyfriend's work place into the nearby alley where a construction crew was already working. 'Mornin', boys', I nodded behind goggles and a respirator. Yep, this is totally normal. Nothing to see here... just your average crazy lady in an alley with power tools and a bagel. 


Once the hunks of excess metal were removed, I was able to do the finer grinding and finishing at home. Patinas are chemical solutions that create different rust finishes for metal when heat is applied. My patina didn't turn out exactly as planned because I didn't have easy access to a blowtorch, oddly enough. For what I was working with (a hairdryer and boiling water), I am decently satisfied. 

As you can see, the plans for this project were airtight, from start to finish.
And more to the point, the jackrabbits were finished in time for Christmas and found homes with my family.

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Below are a few other things that I have been working on periodically. The bottle came from a dream.







Wednesday, November 11, 2015

A Leap of Faith

Becoming a ranger was something that I dreamt of since childhood. As an adult, I would tell people that it was what I envisioned for myself eventually. The line kept coming out of my mouth, even after I stopped believing it. I had been applying for park jobs for nearly five years and nothing ever came of it. Nothing. No call. No interview. Ever.

And then a call did come.
Unexpectedly and with poor timing.
But I went. And here's what I'm proud of;

* Buying a new (used) car after crashing into a deer.
* Creating two of my own park programs.
* Helping to run the astronomy program.
* Learning the science of the caves, ancient trees, and night skies.
* Receiving an absurd amount of comment cards, being gifted Japanese treats with a touching note, and being invited to Austria for a glass of wine.
* Hiking every trail in the park.
* Finding one small flower (still in bloom) that exists on only one mountain in the world.
* Killing all the mice that got into the house. Every. Single. One.
* Making great friends.
* Creating art that I love.
* Translating the park brochure into Japanese.
* Having my video of a silver-haired bat posted on the park's Facebook page.
* Taking care of a ranch.
* Learning to take a risk and trust that I would land on my feet.




























Before I decided to go, I was terrified. I had resolved to work for money, and I was content enough. I had a good office, good benefits, good co-workers. Starting as a temp employee, I worked my way up to get hired on full-time and had just received my first ever promotion.


Walking away from what I had made for myself to take a seasonal position seemed like insanity.

Now I can see clearly that it was the only decision that made any sense. Life is short.



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(I wrote only one journal entry at the park, and have decided to share it...)

10/21

Well I'm here. And here I've been.
I'll while away by these trees a little longer then be gone.
I haven't written because I've been wrapped up in magic thread.

The pungent sage echoes through the mist hanging low; the clouds funneling themselves to the earth across endless miles of sky. It's so quiet.



A deer stops in its tracks and looks dead into my eyes. 
I am what is waking in you, she says.
Y   e   s   ,
I answer
Soon she is bolting into a thicket of dusky amber, where I wish I could follow and my spirit would drink in the stillness until it was quenched. 

In this modern world I am always thirsty. 
But we all must get along, mustn't we?



The ground stirs; it too is awake.
From my feet, to my knees, to the chakras in my temples. I can feel them near.
Hooves of wild horses are drumming across the valley. My heart answers.

...I'm here, I'm here, I'm here...
..........Pa-rum, pa-rum, pa-rum..........

Racing across canvas after canvas of jagged rock, their nostrils flare and sweat streaks across their coats. Manes shake and earth breaks under their thunder. I close my eyes.

I feel the heartbeat in the ground.
I'm here. I'm here.

..........Pa-rum, pa-rum, pa-rum..........

It rolls louder,  l o u d e r ,   l  o  u  d  e  r  .

Then it slowly f   a    d      e        s,
and all is still once more.

And soon I'll be gone, 
and we all will fade.
And I wish only for this wonderful stillness.