A Foundational Discovey, Part 3: Like Oil and Water and No

I started this post weeks ago, but as per usual, sat on it because I doubted the validity of what I had to say.  But things are happening! and I should be less silly.  It consolidated three very different drafts over three very different days, into one blocketed entry.  The first sentence you'd read set the tone for understanding each emotional moment's when and why.  Block A: excitement our appraisal was rad.  Block B: gloomy the initial landscape bid was more than anticipated.  Block C: Going through each up and down, climbing to the other side with a prosperous outlook once again.  I captured those word-for-word entries that were jumbled, half-thoughts really, and consolidated them.  It took everything to not tweak a word or correct a spelling when I re-read, knowing they'd be innocently judged.  I understood the importance of showing the evolution though, if nothing more than for me.
 
And then every word disappeared in less time than it took to write disappear.  Gone were the phrases I struggled with for weeks to make sense, the neat way that sentiment came together, the point of view I wanted to convey.  Gone were the snapshots of thoughts I would never get back.  gone, gone, gone because of some stupid, random series of split second coincidences.

My guts sank inside to a depth I hadn't felt in a long time; I'd been emotionally robbed.

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Now I write this, some time has past since it was lost.  Trying my best to replace what I liked and build the rest upon the gnarled, fighting pixels that remained.

March 31: The entry would offer how I finally uncovered what type of home we actually had, which is a Minimal Traditional.  It's plain, solid sticks were built for the returning WWII vets and their families.  Yup, Craftsmen and Case Study are magnificently rad, but this is something we can truly mold to us.  Weaving our chapter into the continuing story by reflecting upon the beauty of her youth, while creating a lovely & swell update for now.

The appraisal came back on the house and it was fantastic.  Enough for us to refinance our loan and eliminate the ridiculous mortgage insurance, while still having cashola for improvements.  Not as much as I hoped, but nothing to scoff at either.  We can do the things we need, some we want, and that's tops.

The lunch on March 31 felt different, sun beamed particularly optimistic.  I leaned way back in a patio chair, which rests upon those nasty, white rocks, and smiled.  I was so proud for how far we'd come.  My eyes fixated and unfocused at the dirt & grass shards before me; staring downward into this future, as if it were some sort of magic eye poster.  The means to an end was now a thing.

And then everything separated.

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April 1:  A simple miscommunication latched onto 3 years worth of financially ignorant daydreaming.  I folded up my happy pants and bought a ticket to sad town.

I mostly blame the home shows though for contributing to quite the unrealistic perception machine.  How they pretend it's so easy and edit out the reality how much is provided gratis.  Some of that is still on me and will not happen again, but I won't dismiss their part either.  For all the manual & mental efforts to see this seed develop, it was wilting before I even had the chance to kill it.

Travis and I went on a walk to discuss those last 24 hours.  I was kinda upset at myself for getting caught up in the excitement of having a completely redone front & backyard.  Pushing reasonableness aside and expecting the keys to the Chase Manhattan bank.  My vision narrowed and I lost sight to the fact many of our ideas were still totally going to happen.  Yet because the entire checklist was no longer an option, my grey friend suggested I must have somehow failed...  silly.

Trav sympathized, but couldn't fully understand why I was significantly bummed.  Sure, we both want the yard to be inviting, and he likes gardening too, but it's really my thing.  So going back to his practical stance, he's simply not as emotionally invested as I was.  So I shared examples more relevant to his deep interests and he got it.  Close your eyes and picture a hobby you totally dig.  Now think about that hobby being supported in a way that would allow you to do it whenever, only steps from your door.  Where you could develop, play and share it with friends - wouldn't you say yes?

In the end, turns out I needed a reset - otherwise nothing would ever have been good enough.  And that's not what any of this is about, so I'm glad it happened now, rather than later.  While it was tough, it was an essential conversation to have and we both felt better.

And then everything united.

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April-May ish, something or whatever:

I don't want this to come across as selfish or whiney, so if those thoughts have risen, I kindly ask to please shut your pie hole.  No question, we're doing this for us: privacy, fencing for puppy, envious curb appeal - duh.  But we're also cheerleaders for sustaining friendships and the environment; a place to listen to birds, essential low water needs, organic garden beds, helping the bee populous, and contributing sustainably to our teensy society through home grown food & laughter.  Why shouldn't we do something about that, in an aesthetically pleasing way?

So we are!  And you get to see the madness unfold...

Tree of Rage Furniture: Rage Dining

In less than an hour, our home will be filled with the third installment of a beautiful piece of furniture made from the rage tree.  To date, that makes a Rage Desk, Rage Bed, and finally this Rage Dining Table to call our very own.  Where I'll hug it and pet it and squeeze it and love it.

I look forward to sliding my grandparents Steel Case chairs up to the heads of the table.  Assessing the best placement of my succulents, place settings, chairs.  Kneeling at eye level, running my hand over the smoothe, sprawling top.  wow.  My mind wanders to the large brunches and dinners I can now finally offer; knowing the laughs that await, hugging lovely friends, and making memories that will embed themselves into each grain.  Hopefully he'll keep the secrets since who knows what'll happen to our brains in 50 years.

The evolution of this three year story is quite remarkable.  From the excitement of a ginormous tree in our yard, to the mess, to the removal, to the logs, to the tears, to the milling, to the craftsmanship by a man and his tools.  Not even gonna make a joke, because you're mind is already in the gutter.  Each piece that now sits in our home is distinct; they feel a little different, has it's own message, breathes independently of one another, yet are born from the same lone, spikerificus parent.  This table is the descentment of a remarkable crescendo.

But the transfer of one surface to another is extra personal for me, a confessional.  I have never regularly dined with any other table before.  I kid you not, it feels weird to leave it, which is weird to say about a table I played no part in acquiring.  But it feels right, this be the one who replaces it.  The previous eating apparatus was in my family since before I was born.  Literally.  My parents purchased it in 197x-something from a Marie Calendar's restaurant that was going out of business.  And all the years in Simi Valley that weren't spent eating cereal on the floor in front of the fuzzy TV watching Saturday morning cartoons, were spent reaching up for my bowl on that table. It kept my secret of drawing on my american cheese slices - and of course EATING THEM; it held me up when I would cry because of a bad grade.  It didn't complain when I branded it with green nail polish during a slumber party, or when I would kick its legs out of frustration for something my parents said no to.  It supported me in Palmdale when I would rest my head because I was so unhappy; it was also went with me when I moved away from that awful place and started life 2.0.

It's seen its share of joy and heartache.  Seems wrong to get rid of what I keep wanting to say is her, so at least for now, it'll stay with us.

{end cheese}

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Thank you to the chump who planted this ridiculous, but beautiful tree.
Thank you to the city goobers for allowing us to take it down.
Thank you time and frustration, which forced us to find the best people in Los Angeles to surrogate our wood.
Thank you x1000 Josh at Arbor Exchange, for giving us these enduring formations that will outlive us.


...although I may request they be cremated with yours truly, so none of you fools can have them...

besos.

What's Your Story?

How did you land here, thin mass of printings and plastics?
Where did you stray from?  Where is your guardian?
Did you fall in vain or succumb to a lovers' spat?

Who is this reflection staring back at me?
What is your story, flat soul?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I found this drivers' license in the street, while walking with Travis last night.  I originally picked it up to investigate who this mysterious brunette was.  Like, what's her deal?

• Then I thought, I should mail this back to her because I'm a lovely fucking lady (Travis agreed.)
• Then I thought, oh snaps, what if she's gone missing and I found a clue!  ...maybe I should check with local authorities.  But insist, "No, no.  I had nothing to do with it officer, I swear!"
• Then I thought, I should send this back to her with a note saying "I know where you live."  Which, technically, is accurate.

A Biscuit To Share

I've spent the last few weeks researching and mildly educating myself on the best ingredients to use for homemade dog treats.  Preferably vegan, really trying for gluten free though.  It turns out many doggies, like humanoids, find digesting wheats & gluten ruff.  So it became a purposeful challenge: find simple ingredients, a recipe that tasted good and one I could make en mass.  I wanted any puppy parents who came to Leroy and Bentley's Birthday Pawty to have a thank you take away.  Some might call it a doggy bag.  But without knowing the personal dietary needs for 12 pups, I had to err on the side of caution.

There were some pretty awful experiments and several times I had to drop it in the trash, but I eventually found this recipe to use as my platform.  A Peanut Butter, Banana and honey piece of goodness.  After a few versions, I knew I wanted to incorporate more banana flavor and less honey/flour.  So I hitched up my non-graduating culinary school pants and I set out to make a better batter.

What I developed was a delicious bite-sized treat, that not only Leroy loved, but I did too!  Travis found me sitting at our dining table, poppin' these gems, in order to um, make sure they were ok.  Seriously, they became 30 calorie marvels made even better with jam!  I knew this was a winner, winner, chicken dinner.

Enjoy alone or with furiends.

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My version (makes 24-36 small cookies)

• 1 1/4 ripe banana
• 1/4c peanut butter
• 1Tbsp + 1tsp honey
• 1/2 - 1tsp cinnamon (optional, ratio based on preference)
• 1 1/4c gluten free flour (I used Bob's) 

1. Preheat over to 350
2. Line a baking sheet with parchment or Silpat.  Skip if using a silicone bake mold
3. Starting with the banana, mix ingredients together one at a time, incorporating well after each
4. (Optional) Refrigerate dough 10-15 minutes, to reduce stickyness
5. Roll dough into 1/2 inch balls, flattening down with a fork.  Or stuff into silicone bake mold
6. Bake 12-15 minutes, depending on size

It's Time To Pawty!

{as dictated to Brandi, by Leroy the Puppy Boy}

Hi, I'm Leroy!

I came home on July 4, 2013, when I was only 3 months old.  My human friends Travis and Brandi loved me right away, even though I was a little scared.  I remembered them from all the visits while I was at the shelter, so like I knew they were cool, but I had never spent time away from my bothers and sister.  And then I rode in this moving thing and then they showed me all kinds of grass and toys...  I mean it was great, but I was overwhelmed for a little bit.  But soon it became apparent these people that only walked on two legs (I still don't get it) were going to be my bestest friends furevers, and I wouldn't have it any other way.

Brandi and Travis decided my Woofday was April 4, because that makes it easy to remember.  Here's my first one. And because I was too little to know when I was born and couldn't call up ma & paw, I said... OK!  But then the coolest thing happened!  My human friends found my brother through Instmagrams.  His name is Mr. Bentley Jackson and he's pawesome!  After not seeing each other for a year, we played at the park and had THE BEST TIME.  We have a super, special puppy bond and that's swell. 

So my second Woofday happened.  But today, we get to have a pawty!!!  It's gonna be at the Zoom Room where I can run and play and see my friends.  And of course, my brother.  I love Brandi. I love Travis, I love my brother, I love my aunties and uncles and all the people who puppysit me, and all the people who have fun with me.

<3

 

 

Moving Past The Night Corpses

I should really be reading for book club, but the allure of a solo walk is far too great.  I'm also doing a fitness step challenge through work and I need 3200 more to reach the 14k goal.  It's chilly out, so a swell cup of hot tea would be a perfect silent companion.  I perform the necessary, filling one of four green ceramic mugs we've had for years.  It's like having an old friend with brown teeth stop by and give you warm, wet kisses.  The microwave whirrrrs.

I rummaged for a pair of comfy pants that have become too big since losing weight, but it's late so I don't mind.  These pants have also drug on the ground since I brought them home, so there's that.  But instead of taking two seconds to cut off the bottoms like a normal person, you'll find me stuffing them into either my socks or shoes, like a savage.  What I'm saying is baggy pants that balloon at the feet.  My top of choice, a heathered sweatshirt that is slightly too short because it's from a hip store.  I think the timer went off minutes ago.  oops.  No makeup; hair mostly dry.  My mom always said I'd catch cold going out with a wet head, but if it's all the same to you, I'm gonna stop believing that now.  A pair of walking shoes will ease the pounding pavement.  Tea in hand with no lid, because my face doesn't seem to understand how those plastic shields work.

As I drift down the street, I'm alone with nothing more than billions of neurons and my drinkable escort.  I stare at the ground, hoping to find answers to questions which are buried in thought, but no one is answering.  I notice tonight the pants have achieved a new level of tucked and stuffed.  This looks ridiculously bad, but there's no other souls who can actually view my existence.  this drink is really good.  My mind plays a trick when it's late and there's little movement in the streets; I feel invisible to the night corpses, even the driving ones.  I'm just a whiff out the corner of their eye, nothing more.  But this cloak of protection is revoked when I notice the lights of a parked car.  It jerks me into feeling fashionably self-conscious, with my ballooney pants, pea coat with the missing buttons and tea vessel.  I'm startled and the hot liquid spills over my hand.  I shake it off, but yowch.

I continue walking the same path as I did with Travis & Leroy only hours before, away from home towards a major street.  The few cars out seem desperate to get somewhere, while I want nothing of the sort.  Can they see how vulnerable I feel?  The tea keeps splashing over the sides, while the cold air dries it quickly.  The strange texture left on my hand leads me back to when a friend of my parents said "You only spill a drink when you look at it."  {squints eyes like Fry} I should stop believing that too.  My gaze wears off.  I see now I'm in the exact same spot as earlier, where Travis helped rid my shoe of a bloated orange gummy bear.  I smile, wanting to capture that elation in my pocket for later.

As I wait for the crosswalk to change, I see two chumps across the street, sitting under the half-assed LED lights of a Taco Bell.  hand says go.  I walk past them and briefly assess the situation.  I have a knife and a semi-warm cup of liquid; they'll get a good dose of both if they follow, so I'm good.  their feet remain.  I really like walking when it's quiet.  As I figure out the size and shape of my writing pants, I better understand why creative people do it so often.  The phrase clearing your mind resonates, but it's really taking your mind away from the business of living.  The brain says cool, let's go down to the banks of the Mems-o-sippi.

This entire time I've been fighting an epic battle.  On one side of the ring, the crafting narrator with a story to tell; on the other, the practical thief who knows the value of remembering daily responsibilities.  The second guy sounds like a riot.  how is it possible I just spilt this fucking tea again?  I step check and I'm further than expected, likely because the narrator was more persuasive.  Gee, I wish there was a way to record your thoughts as they go - speaking them would never do.

These walking shoes have led me towards the last few blocks of home and suddenly I feel the urgency to be there.  My tea long gone, nose sniffly, and I'd like a snack.  Most of all, to get this story from head to pixelated paper, as I wrote and re-wrote a hundred times over.  My brain needs a carriage return.

I cross the street, when the 14,000 tick badge completes!  I'm smiling, excited to remove that from thought, the green ceramic mug dangling & bouncing from my right pointer finger.  ARE YOU KIDDING ME - TEA THAT WAS NOT THERE, BUT WAS TOTALLY THERE, JUST SPLASHED OUT ALL OVER MY SHOES?!?

I can't help but laugh.  you win this round bandito...

Going Clear Is A Costly Penance

I have some experience studying religion and have learned more about it as I get older.  And with Jesus' Super Bowl happening this Sunday, what better time to tell you I don't care.  I really don't, about any of it.  Business Messiah and I will not be friends, and I will leave this earth this same way I arrived - disembodied.  Or as a ghost... I haven't decided yet.

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My grade school was a private Lutheran affair.  The concept was taught, but not forced upon us at that age.  Now whether that was just how the school operated or we weren't old enough yet to be fully indoctrinated, I'll never know.  We had bible lessons & gathered in the church each Wednesday, but that was it.  My family never went back for Sunday service, we didn't participate in away games, never spoke about it at home unless I was studying.  All my parents wanted was for me to be in a good school and that seemed to fit the bill.  I don't remember what I learned about the book in all those years, which may have been telling for how I'd look upon religion later in life.  At the time, it was just a place where I could have a super rad day.  And oh yeah, there was a picture or two of jesus on the wall.  But there were also pictures of butterflies and macaroni art, so there's that.

Later in junior high, my best friend Veronica would invite me to spend Saturday night with her, as long as I went to catholic church Sunday morning.  It was the occasional insistence by her mom, over some sort of guilt I never quite understood.  But she would drop us off, speeding away while yelling see you in 3 hours...  We were good kids, so like what was I repenting for?  At Veronica's insistence, I even took the eucharist once, which as a non-catholic I think is super shameful according to the fictional rules.  check and mate.  Admittedly, it was weird for numerous reasons, including lack of tastyness.  But wasting a Sunday morning was worth it to spend time with her.

In high school I befriended some chick who I soon found out, went to Wednesday night youth group.  Why is that the choicest weekday to be saved?  She invited me all the time and I eventually said yes out of frustration.  For me, high school was a time to discover myself, my friends, in between getting a little high and a little tripped.  So when given the opportunity to go undercover and infiltrate the seedy world of kids doing clean fun, my dipped brain said I'm there.  They played kick ball and tag for an hour before gathering to review the previous weeks' learnings.  I remember sitting on the floor in a circle, just like I did when I was in Lutheran school.  I darted my eyes back and forth to everyone in the room, almost as if I had left my body and could hover above the crowd.  I was staring back at kids who were barely older than me, acting like they were put upon thy hard plastic chair for the ultimate purpose.  About 10 minutes later, I once again shelved my detective hat and went back to being a me who didn't give a shit.

To this day, religion makes me anxious & nervous.  Other than eating, breathing & drinking - I don't like being forced to do something that millions of others are into; I don't enjoy feeling like I must check in with an invisible parent all the time, whose index finger is invariably stretched in a point.  I don't care for the idea I must live up to unrealistic expectations or sweetly be told, I'm not worthy of this life.  I don't believe in contradictory rules and I don't like something intangible legitimizing or de-ligitimizing any human, simply because a written invention decrees it.  How if you're not all in, you can't be a true believer.  That doesn't seem awesome to me.  Why can't we just be nice and considerate and thoughtful to one another?  Practicing that shouldn't come with a thousand tiny commandments.

Have most of the denominations been able to guile us so hard, we're chasing dangled carrots in the hopes of a few holy bites?  I kinda feel like it is.  Whether you're a kid bargaining for a sleepover, or a grownup pledging eternal loyalty for a blissful afterlife.  It's all the same - do the thing that sucks and you'll get something good in return.  I could go to the gym and get the same effect.

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My first experience with Scientology wasn't driving past the Celebrity Centre in Hollywood, mumbling a soft woah...  Nor asking why is that building so blue.  And finally pondering who is L. Ron Hubbard and why is his name on everything.  Nope, it was on a walk with Travis soon after we started dating.  We passed this used book store and I was already being summoned like a paper moth.  Outside was a cart of $1 books and I randomly picked up Dianetics.  I had vague memories of their commercials but always thought it was for a fictional narrative.  Like how James Patterson's thrillers are advertised every 3 months.  whoops.  The church probably equates stores like that as the Napster of print because they insist you only buy new copies of their rhetoric.  Travis sermonized how LRH was a science fiction writer and created this overlord character called Xenu, who brought some of his people to the prison planet Earth, where they exploded in volcanoes or something and the spirits attached themselves to humans (called thetans.)  It sounded like a pretty good story.  And then he told me no, that was his "religion."

come again?

I remember thinking how made up it sounded.  How silly.  How if that was the core of this fundamental movement, why would anyone follow it?  I laughed at this idea which sounded so preposterous, yet it knocked on my detective door once again.  I kinda wanted to know more about a religion that wasn't.  I mean for a person who has never studied the concept, that's what it seemed like.

So over the years, I've read articles for and against the faith because the more I know, the more informed decision I can make.  At book club, we read Beyond Belief by Jenna Miscavige Hill, the niece of the current Scientology leader, David Miscavige.  Most points of view were the same theme: it's brainwashing, it's misleading, it's invasive.  And I agree - there's something that's off about Scientology.  I don't know what they stand for, other than the apparent need to give money and recruit others.  To do what though!?  It seems like a giant mass conspiracy to keep their classified, subterranean work secret - at any cost.  But what is the work for?! {shakes atheist fist}

With the HBO documentary Going Clear premiering last week, it's just another group of people confirming what so many others have said.  The behind closed doors accusations are staggering; abuse and threatening behavior at the forefront.  Why do they separate families and have children doing manual labor?  Why must you taunt others and disconnect from anyone who speaks ill of their business?  Why is continually releasing secrets during auditing so important - are they proclaiming it to be therapy or confession?

I totally understand the need to be part of something, to work together and help sort out the questions in life.  But I don't understand achieving that, when the cost of your "work" far outweighs the benefit.

I just don't get such madness.

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I am in NO WAY any sort of expert of the subject.  I just know what I read, what I feel and what I believe.  Which you may or may not agree with, but I guess in a way we're all at least a religion of one.