For a year now I convincingly told myself that Facebook was a wonderful place to connect to my friends, old and new. So valuable! So awesome, this World Wide Web social place! I only know it's been a year because it's been a year since I quite writing; which was the only really valuable thing I've done on www since April 7, 2010.
It's over now. Whew. I can put it past. I'm done being a voyeur. I'm done being voyeured. If you really, really want to know what I'm doing and how my children are ... call me. P.S. I'm still taking texts.
Facebook is a life substitute. I want my 15 minutes, per 365 days back. How much is that? Hold on. That's 5,475 minutes. That's 92 hours. That's two weeks unpaid vacation for someone. Obviously I know I can't have it back. It's over now. I will make sure it doesn't sucker-punch me again though. Stupid.
Saturday, April 16, 2011
Wednesday, April 7, 2010
Almost Amish
It's true, we don't have cable, satellite or even one of those wire deals with aluminum foil on top of the television. Truth. We do own a TV, it's flat and you can put a piece of round plastic in it and a movie will appear.
It's true, we don't have texting on our phones. We did, now we don't. I want to spend time with my family. What I don't want is to sit in a room for hours and never have eye contact with someone because they are typing to a person who lives across the U.S., a person they've never met. I don't want that.
"Oh my God, we're almost Amish," Danae said when I informed her we were stopping the text message feature. Oh. No. You. Didn't. The Amish don't drive an H3. The Amish don't have cell phones or flat TVs. They don't shop at Banana Republic, then occasionally stop at Starbucks for a 1000 calorie beverage. They don't do this. Amish. Pfff.
I'm not 80 yet, but I do remember a time when we talked, face-to-face. We took walks together, climbed trees and ran through cornfields. The Amish do these things. So I tell Danae to climb a tree, run until she can't breathe and then turn around and do it again, and then tell me how it felt to have her heart pumping real blood. Afterwards, I'll churn some butter and knead the bread. We'll have Daddy chop some wood for the electric range and before dark, we'll sit together and watch a good flick until God turns off the power - just like the Amish almost do.
It's true, we don't have texting on our phones. We did, now we don't. I want to spend time with my family. What I don't want is to sit in a room for hours and never have eye contact with someone because they are typing to a person who lives across the U.S., a person they've never met. I don't want that.
"Oh my God, we're almost Amish," Danae said when I informed her we were stopping the text message feature. Oh. No. You. Didn't. The Amish don't drive an H3. The Amish don't have cell phones or flat TVs. They don't shop at Banana Republic, then occasionally stop at Starbucks for a 1000 calorie beverage. They don't do this. Amish. Pfff.
I'm not 80 yet, but I do remember a time when we talked, face-to-face. We took walks together, climbed trees and ran through cornfields. The Amish do these things. So I tell Danae to climb a tree, run until she can't breathe and then turn around and do it again, and then tell me how it felt to have her heart pumping real blood. Afterwards, I'll churn some butter and knead the bread. We'll have Daddy chop some wood for the electric range and before dark, we'll sit together and watch a good flick until God turns off the power - just like the Amish almost do.
Saturday, March 20, 2010
The Dead Seal
Within a five foot square of Imperial Beach, I found a soft green piece of sea glass, an electric cordless beard shaver – without metal blades – an indistinguishable plastic toy-thing, and the approximately, two-week old carcass of a once brown Seal – eyes gone. I made phone calls. Seals are federally protected: dead or alive. (I’m new to this, bear with me.)
“It is the responsibility of the planet to take the seal,” the woman stated. She works with a local protect-the-seal group. I agree that it is. However, it seems the planet’s slacking off on its responsibilities and shouldn't the Seal be allowed a decent burial. Don’t we all deserve that much? Does anyone have a small boat, could you just drag its body out a little bit and let its life disperse with dignity?
The Seal waits on the rocks at the southernmost end of Sea Coast Dr. Two people and some rope, forget the boat. It had a life just as we do; it’s now gone, as ours will be too. I know all of you here feel a part of the ocean. Salt water runs through our veins too. Two people, tops.
“It is the responsibility of the planet to take the seal,” the woman stated. She works with a local protect-the-seal group. I agree that it is. However, it seems the planet’s slacking off on its responsibilities and shouldn't the Seal be allowed a decent burial. Don’t we all deserve that much? Does anyone have a small boat, could you just drag its body out a little bit and let its life disperse with dignity?
The Seal waits on the rocks at the southernmost end of Sea Coast Dr. Two people and some rope, forget the boat. It had a life just as we do; it’s now gone, as ours will be too. I know all of you here feel a part of the ocean. Salt water runs through our veins too. Two people, tops.
Sunday, March 14, 2010
Anniversary of me
Here I am: 48. It's a good number I think. Every year on my birthday, if I'm able, I give myself my favorite gift; I go to the ocean and I dip my toes for luck and best wishes. My family went along for the trip and it was good today. Although Caleb has been on the beach half-a-dozen times, this time he noticed sand. He let it run through his fingers, over and over. Instinctively he knew he'd not enjoy eating it, so he didn't taste. Since we were at Imperial Beach, I'm glad he didn't. California's neglected, illegitimate dirty child of sand, surfers and sewage. Tijuana sewage. Unacceptable for swimming more than half the days of the year. U.S. waters included. Mexico doesn't have the money to change their relic waste system. Mexico's neighbor spends money on wars. Seems kind of shitty.
By the way, those billions of tons of plastic that were driven out onto the beautiful ocean and dumped. It's broken down into a trillion pieces. It won't sink; it's floating onto the beach. It's floating into the mouths of ocean residents - you know, fish and mammals - dolphins, whales, those kinds of mouths.
Everything buried surfaces. Everything that lives and dies in the water hopes you are given equal treatment one day. Birthday wish: May the excrement of a six hundred and seventy three thousand fishes fly from the ocean depths, through the air onto the windows and sidewalks of your home, while you are mowing.
Happy birthday to me. Ohana ... Mahalo and Aloha.
By the way, those billions of tons of plastic that were driven out onto the beautiful ocean and dumped. It's broken down into a trillion pieces. It won't sink; it's floating onto the beach. It's floating into the mouths of ocean residents - you know, fish and mammals - dolphins, whales, those kinds of mouths.
Everything buried surfaces. Everything that lives and dies in the water hopes you are given equal treatment one day. Birthday wish: May the excrement of a six hundred and seventy three thousand fishes fly from the ocean depths, through the air onto the windows and sidewalks of your home, while you are mowing.
Happy birthday to me. Ohana ... Mahalo and Aloha.
Tuesday, February 16, 2010
stripped
I had my "numbers" done recently. That's where your birth month, day, and year are added, subtracted and some other mathematical procedures combine to give you a final number. This is your magical number. Your entire life can be summed up with this number. You should have no questions remaining once you know your number.
Mine is a seven. I read what a seven's traits are, and the previous mistakes made by my former self in that other life I had once, and who should avoid me, so on, and so forth. But for me the most striking part was when the author mentioned this, "You will only reach fame posthumously, if at all." What. Seriously? So basically for someone hoping for fame who received this news could pretty much just give up trying. Forver. But all seriousness aside, you now know with absolute certainty that if I'm not taking any of this seriously, then neither should you. Give me a break people.
So, I met Tabby. Tabby stripped my hair. My hair is absent of color. I like it. It goes with everything. And the bonus? I know someone from Ecuador. Do you know that in certain places in the world girls pour beer on their skin before going out to sun bathe, to make themselves a "golden" brown? I shit you not. They do. Why mess around with the coconuts when the beer is right there, chill and ready.
You know how certain people appeal to you and others do not? Those are the numbers. There are several ways of doing the math. You ask yourself a series of questions. Number one. How many times in the first five minutes of meeting so-and-so, did they smile at you? How many times in the first five minutes of meeting so-and-so did they roll their eyes at you when they didn't think you were watching them? Do you see the pattern? Then there's the other way: birth day, month, etc ... blah.
Anyway, Ecuador, beer ... yea, yea. I heard you can live cheaply and well near the equator and it stays consistently warm. All. Year. Long. Are you feeling it? Me too. I'm pretty sure we should all go to Ecuador and get tan. There are way less people than ... here. Before everyone rushes out to buy property, let me take a quick run down there and check things out. And let's keep it on the low-low. Wait for my call.
Oh! Yes, while I'm gone, could someone talk to a few experts about this whole pole-shifting fear and find out what will happen to the countries, say, on the equator. Should be safe, right? I'll call you.
Mine is a seven. I read what a seven's traits are, and the previous mistakes made by my former self in that other life I had once, and who should avoid me, so on, and so forth. But for me the most striking part was when the author mentioned this, "You will only reach fame posthumously, if at all." What. Seriously? So basically for someone hoping for fame who received this news could pretty much just give up trying. Forver. But all seriousness aside, you now know with absolute certainty that if I'm not taking any of this seriously, then neither should you. Give me a break people.
So, I met Tabby. Tabby stripped my hair. My hair is absent of color. I like it. It goes with everything. And the bonus? I know someone from Ecuador. Do you know that in certain places in the world girls pour beer on their skin before going out to sun bathe, to make themselves a "golden" brown? I shit you not. They do. Why mess around with the coconuts when the beer is right there, chill and ready.
You know how certain people appeal to you and others do not? Those are the numbers. There are several ways of doing the math. You ask yourself a series of questions. Number one. How many times in the first five minutes of meeting so-and-so, did they smile at you? How many times in the first five minutes of meeting so-and-so did they roll their eyes at you when they didn't think you were watching them? Do you see the pattern? Then there's the other way: birth day, month, etc ... blah.
Anyway, Ecuador, beer ... yea, yea. I heard you can live cheaply and well near the equator and it stays consistently warm. All. Year. Long. Are you feeling it? Me too. I'm pretty sure we should all go to Ecuador and get tan. There are way less people than ... here. Before everyone rushes out to buy property, let me take a quick run down there and check things out. And let's keep it on the low-low. Wait for my call.
Oh! Yes, while I'm gone, could someone talk to a few experts about this whole pole-shifting fear and find out what will happen to the countries, say, on the equator. Should be safe, right? I'll call you.
Tuesday, February 2, 2010
Once on Maui
They told me many things: 600 curves, 54 one-lane bridges, three hours to drive 30 miles. Numbers crack me up. There can always be adjustments. I'm a good driver; I can drive 30 miles in less time than their supposed calculated stories. Three hours. Ridiculous.
The numbers were all correct. It does take hours and hours to drive the road to Hana. It's a little scary and a lot beautiful. Wild plumeria, bananas, coconuts and waterfalls with every turn. Depending on whether you are driver or passenger you can also see the drop-straight-down cliff that will take you to your maker if you don't keep your eyes straight ahead.
I took my three teenagers to Maui for Valentine's day. It seemed unreasonable to not take that road - it's what you do if you're on the island. I was the only licensed driver and knowing what I know now, I would never be a passenger on that road. My fate stays in my hands.
Teenagers love music, me too, but not that day. Everyone was required to stay completely silent. I have neurological short-wire issues and can only listen to one thing at a time, otherwise I must put on a stocking cap and try to block the second and third things. So we enjoyed the beauty of silence. The colors of peace are emerald, fuchsia and juicy mango orange. The smell of silence is earthy, like dirt and rainfall mixing together and then sliding over ancient rocks spiced with mildew and moss.
I didn't know I could drive two miles per hour, but I can! My kids were terrified and delighted in the same exact moment. This is the road. Forget the Autobahn. It's much harder to drive slow than fast - it takes guts my friend. When you arrive, you will find that if you stand in one spot and slowly turn, every single view, every degree is one of sea sprayed magic. You will feel alive.
I made a promise to some short Hawaiian guy in pink and blue tattered shorts (he said he was God and I would crash and burn to ash on the return trip if I did not follow his instructions) that I mustn't tell anyone what was really in Hana and my superpower is my ability to keep my word, so ... yea, just go to Hana.
The numbers were all correct. It does take hours and hours to drive the road to Hana. It's a little scary and a lot beautiful. Wild plumeria, bananas, coconuts and waterfalls with every turn. Depending on whether you are driver or passenger you can also see the drop-straight-down cliff that will take you to your maker if you don't keep your eyes straight ahead.
I took my three teenagers to Maui for Valentine's day. It seemed unreasonable to not take that road - it's what you do if you're on the island. I was the only licensed driver and knowing what I know now, I would never be a passenger on that road. My fate stays in my hands.
Teenagers love music, me too, but not that day. Everyone was required to stay completely silent. I have neurological short-wire issues and can only listen to one thing at a time, otherwise I must put on a stocking cap and try to block the second and third things. So we enjoyed the beauty of silence. The colors of peace are emerald, fuchsia and juicy mango orange. The smell of silence is earthy, like dirt and rainfall mixing together and then sliding over ancient rocks spiced with mildew and moss.
I didn't know I could drive two miles per hour, but I can! My kids were terrified and delighted in the same exact moment. This is the road. Forget the Autobahn. It's much harder to drive slow than fast - it takes guts my friend. When you arrive, you will find that if you stand in one spot and slowly turn, every single view, every degree is one of sea sprayed magic. You will feel alive.
I made a promise to some short Hawaiian guy in pink and blue tattered shorts (he said he was God and I would crash and burn to ash on the return trip if I did not follow his instructions) that I mustn't tell anyone what was really in Hana and my superpower is my ability to keep my word, so ... yea, just go to Hana.
Monday, January 11, 2010
nasal passage
Dear God,
I can't breathe. This is how my life is going for two days, continuously, every three minutes: I sneeze, sniffle, blow my nose, cough and then my eyes water. Sneeze. Sniffle. Blow ... got it?
My husband brought this germ home. He says, "Pablo gave it to me." Sounds fishy to me. He's never mentioned a Pablo. Throughout our home and in both vehicles we have hand sanitizer. We are supposed to sanitize. Continuously! Pablo's mist made its way into my sanctuary. The husband stayed in bed for two days. Then the poor little six-month-old baby got it. Baby went on antibiotics. Youngest daughter, now me. I cursed my symptom-free daughter and told her I couldn't wait for her to get it since she seemed to think we were such exaggerated, dramatic people she has to endure living with. I don't think it's a good parent who curses viruses on their children, but if you had seen her face, you would have done the same exact thing. Trust me.
There's nothing left to do in this situation but to take drugs. I know, I know. Here's a pill, there's a pill. Pill popper. I just can't see suffering. I'm pretty sure Jesus would have taken something too. Anyway ... Sudafed. AKA: pseudoephedrine, AKA: crack. It's almost midnight. I only took half of the recommended dose cause I'm ultra sensitive and I'm messed up.
Every three minutes has now spread out to about every 15 minutes and that is so cool. My hair's a fright. I am in extremely mix-matched clothes and my family disappeared hours ago without telling me goodnight. My family's frightened. Thanks a-freaking-lot, frickin Pablo, ghost boy. Retard.
I can't breathe. This is how my life is going for two days, continuously, every three minutes: I sneeze, sniffle, blow my nose, cough and then my eyes water. Sneeze. Sniffle. Blow ... got it?
My husband brought this germ home. He says, "Pablo gave it to me." Sounds fishy to me. He's never mentioned a Pablo. Throughout our home and in both vehicles we have hand sanitizer. We are supposed to sanitize. Continuously! Pablo's mist made its way into my sanctuary. The husband stayed in bed for two days. Then the poor little six-month-old baby got it. Baby went on antibiotics. Youngest daughter, now me. I cursed my symptom-free daughter and told her I couldn't wait for her to get it since she seemed to think we were such exaggerated, dramatic people she has to endure living with. I don't think it's a good parent who curses viruses on their children, but if you had seen her face, you would have done the same exact thing. Trust me.
There's nothing left to do in this situation but to take drugs. I know, I know. Here's a pill, there's a pill. Pill popper. I just can't see suffering. I'm pretty sure Jesus would have taken something too. Anyway ... Sudafed. AKA: pseudoephedrine, AKA: crack. It's almost midnight. I only took half of the recommended dose cause I'm ultra sensitive and I'm messed up.
Every three minutes has now spread out to about every 15 minutes and that is so cool. My hair's a fright. I am in extremely mix-matched clothes and my family disappeared hours ago without telling me goodnight. My family's frightened. Thanks a-freaking-lot, frickin Pablo, ghost boy. Retard.
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