so i know i just posted, but...

i decided to participate more in the whole 'blogosphere,' seeing as i long to know people are reading me, and therefore decided to scan through some existing blogs in search of something to read. rather than finding something good to read, i discovered blog after blog after blog about babies. do it yourself. click the link at the top of the page saying "next blog" and count. babies, babies, people trying unsuccessfully to have babies, newly married couple and yep... prego with a baby! oh, and one very unusual adult blog for a sex-educator named lindy.

does that mean i need to be a young, newly married mom struggling either with her fertility or infertility if i want to be a successful blogger?

even the neighborhood cat has a routine

there's a cat that lives in our neighborhood. i don't know very much about cats to tell you the exact species/variety/kind, but i can tell you it is very cute, it's black and white and it has a little bell that dangles from it's neck. every so often i find this cat nestled beneath the large tree in our back yard- no doubt trying to figure out how to play with my neighbors two indoor cats. but since the weather has been starting to turn, i haven't seen cute, black and white neighborhood cat too often. until this week that is.

three out of the four days that i've biked to work this week, i have spied our neighborhood kitty prancing down the same exact stretch of sidewalk. this may not seem very noteworthy right off the bat, but stick with me. i work the exact same shift four days out of the week. and so i leave the house at roughly the same time every day i work.

so imagine, tuesday at 1:15 neighborhood cat seen trotting down the sidewalk that runs alongside the private highschool's football field;

wednesday at roughly 1:15, same cat seen in same place doing what he/she was doing the day before;

friday, again at 1:15ish, friendly neighborhood cat is again traveling the same path as the two days earlier in the week, at the same time as earlier in the week.

saturday, no cat. i assume he/she is taking the weekend off.

maybe i have too much time on my hands- or maybe my life is just not that interesting right now, but i find it fascinating that the cute little guy is following a schedule of sorts, that even a cat can possess their own routine.

and this got me thinking, on my half-hour ride into work, about my own appreciation for routine. i enjoy waking up and doing the dishes right away- before the sleep has even left my eyes. i enjoy working the same shift each and every day. i enjoy coming home after a long day of work and pouring myself a glass of red wine.

there's a new manager at work that i haven't been able to make my mind up about yet, namely because he doesn't know my routine. every saturday, he is in charge of directing the flow for the evening shift and the past three saturdays i have been disappointed with my assigned lot for the night. while every other manager sees that i am best suited to take charge of my own section, this manager has me run around here and there- not giving me the time to work my own products. i like to work my own products.

basically it's the difference between doing one large project from the start of my shift and finishing it before my shift is over, or doing an hour of work over here, then an hour of work over there and then afterward, still having to complete the same large project before my shift ends- only because i wasn't the one to do all the earlier leg work- i don't know where to pick it up or where to leave it off.

this is one of the reasons i know i'm a marxist. in his discussions on human autonomy, marx talks about how a person is made more human by their connection to the work of their hands. he argues that a person working in an assembly line, for instance, doesn't not see the fullness of their work. he or she plays only a small and seemingly insignificant role in the work being done. it is much more fulfilling to complete a project beginning to end. and it is in that that we are able to see our value and worth as a human being living in society.

okay, so far i've gone from cat that walks in our neighborhood to questionable new manager at work to karl marx' theory of human autonomy... i can't tell whether i am just rambling now or whether this is just good writing. i mean, who else could connect those three strains of thought?

enough self-praise for the evening. and incase the marx blurb bored you from an otherwise interesting blog entry on cute kitties, maybe this will make up for it

today's agenda

the time is currently 12:08 on my computer screen which means i have exactly 42 minutes to shower, pluck my ever-thickening eyebrows, get dressed, find something in the house to eat and then peddle the 7.2 miles to work where i will yet again try and deal with annoying customer questions, socialize with people way too outgoing for their own good, figure out how much hummus and sushi to order for next week, stock my shelves, freeze my ass off in the cooler trying to rearrange everyone else's overstock and peddle the now cold and dark 7.2 miles home where i have a glass of wine and maybe a bubble bath waiting for me.

i know a lot of people who would say their lives are just as boring. i've never understood the point of suffering through a work week so that you can live your life the way you want- when all you do is suffer through another week of work. i've always wanted to work just enough so that i can actually live. travel. learn things. have crazy fun hobbies that fill my time and take up all my energy.

it feels sorta like the dead of winter where everyone and everything is hibernating and you just grit your teeth and get through it 'til spring arrives and life can be reborn. but the snow hasn't even fallen yet... too early hibernation!

wake up.

i need to reissue my library card so that i can continue learning things mid-week.

things i want to learn about:

1. metal working (specifically minor welding and metal forming so i can create lawn art out of discarded objects)

2. mushroom hunting (not necessarily the magic kind, since my grandfather used to be a non-magic mushroom hunter and used them in his cooking)

3. midwifery (since just about everyone i know is having a baby and it's on the brain, plus i've heard enough about how cold and impersonal and even harmful hospital births can be and i'd like to research the alternative)

that means first i need to find the old library books that are still in my possession from the last time i lived in minneapolis and probably prepare for a LARGE fine... hmph.

okay... if i'm going to get going then i've got to go now! i have exactly 39 min and counting!

learning to write

how do i write? what do i write? i say i want to be a writer when i grow up, but how do i do that? the 'when i grow up' part seems to be here and now but i have cut myself off from all my previous schooling, from my intellectual influences, from just about anything that spurs creativity and have slowly allowed my brain to turn to mush.

and so i ask myself... how do i write? my first instinct is to take a class. that's my first and only suggestion when i think about how to learn, just take a class. it's like i've been indoctrinated to believe the only learning worth anything is done inside a classroom and adding to my already large pile of student loans. but what if that's not an option for me at this time? how do i learn to write outside the classroom?

blog? i used to think blogging was the most ridiculous idea and created for angst-y thirteen year old girls that wanted to whine to the public of their oppressive suburban lifestyle. that was until i had a professor that blogged, and blogged intellectually mind you.

i can't promise anything remarkable. i can't even promise regularity seeing as i usually drop whatever hobby/activity/craft i start only days after starting. but i can promise a true and honest attempt.

i want to learn how to write. i've been told time after time that the only way to learn is to just do it, over and over and over. so this is my attempt. i'll attempt to write a little every day, just to get it out there in the world. just to practice the art of discipline in writing and work my writing voice out a little. please bear with me.

this is me...

things i like...

sunny fall days that mean i can leave the front door open and let the crisp, clean air liven up the house a bit. wool socks fitting snug-ly in my worn in moccasins. riding my bike down lake street late at night when no cars are around and the road is mine. wine and candles and cheese and chocolate. smoking a cigarette in the brisk night, pretending i'm sitting on my roof in a much more simple time in my life. traveling on my own; walking through the airport without knowing a single person and yet being surrounded by hundreds of people all smiling and hugging and crying and fiddling with luggage and chasing their children and waiting impatiently in lines, lines and more lines. feeling the scaly, wet legs of my turtle fit perfectly around my hand as i lift redford from his bath. morning yoga with my kenyan chai tea at daybreak, knowing i have the whole day ahead of me. warm baths before bed. cruising past other bikers on my commute to work. purple mums. long walks around my neighborhood that make me feel independent and free.

things i dislike...

getting rained on while biking to work and then working an 8hour shift in damp jeans and soggy shoes. sticky countertops. answering my cell phone, making a call on my cell phone, or really- just talking on my phone. cars that speed past me on my bike only to be stopped at a red light, where they've pulled so close to the curb i can no longer squeeze through to make it to the intersection. emptying redford's food dish to discover a thousand small mites milling around under the lettuce and tofu. interacting with my boss. an empty refrigerator. disappointing my parents. loan collectors. when guys at work offer to help me lift a case of eggs. feeling small and insignificant because my life isn't as "cool" as the people around me.

father and daughter

i have always been a daddy's girl.  never mind the fact that my first word was daddy or that i have his eyes, ever since i was little i loved to hang around my dad.  

we used to do all these cool projects when i was growing up.  mom said it started when i was still an infant; she would put me in the truck with dad as he snow-plowed overnight for work, he'd steer the large vehicle with his left hand and feed me my bottle with his right.  actually, the very first memory i have in life is mulching the back yard with him.  i remember i was wearing these real itchy, blue wool tights under a dress and it was just about to get dark... i begged mom to let me stay and help daddy just a little longer and to my amazement, she agreed.  i was so proud to be the one helping him with such an important task!

growing up with two sisters didn't change things.  i was usually the one trailing behind dad, laughing at his goofy humor, begging him to let me help in the garage, or to play soccer out front.  teenage girl years admittedly slowed some of the bonding- as it turned out i was not his middle son disguised as a girl- but we managed just the same.  i remember when mom forced me to tell him about my first kiss.  i was so nervous... how should a dad react to his little girl's first kiss with a boy?  but he just got this huge grin on his face, raised one hand in the air and surprised us all when he yelled "score!"

elizabeth andrews, in her list of writing exercises states, "Most memoir explores the basic question, "Who am I?"...." instead, she challenges young writers to consider the question, "whose am i?"

i am a daddy's girl.  and yet, somewhere along the way i've become an independent woman.  a woman struggling to forge her own path and experience life and love and faith on her own terms.  i've grown accustomed in these few short years living on my own, to make my own decisions- hell, i decided to travel half way across the globe without consulting anyone.

but what happens when those two identities clash?  when my stubborn independence butts heads with my sense of duty, obligation and respect for those who raised me? how do i confidently make my own choices and live the life i've grown into knowing full well it will break their heart and possibly ruin the bond years have been spent making.  at what point do i choose independent woman over daddy's girl... and why can't i have both?

writing exercise 1

after googling elizabeth andrews, a local author that always seems to speak directly to my soul, i came across a website she hosts and a long list of writing exercises she hopes will spur on the budding writer.. ie: me.  and so in an attempt to make more time for my writing/blogging, i figure this is a good place to start.  i hope this to be a helpful and inspirational tool.  

writing exercise 1: moccasin-like faith

i've heard one's spiritual journey likened to many things in my day.  things like a journey or pilgrimage come to mind, or even the budding of a small seedling and the blossoming of a flower.  i have not, however, ever come across anyone who referred to their spiritual life as the breaking in and wearing out of a favorite pair of shoes, that is of course until elizabeth andrews.  

i have a pair of moccasins that i've worn nearly every day for the past four years.  they're originally light tan in color with a sort of ballet-flat-meets-mary-jane style to them and topped off with just the right touch of fringe on the toe.  i found them at a random department store one day while doing some more important shopping with mom, probably christmas or birthday shopping seeing as we rarely go to the mall without a necessary purpose.  i was trying on a pair of old-man slippers, the kind that are of moccasin design with fur-lining and intended for indoor use only, when the kind saleslady, surely appalled at my choice, brought me this pair of trendy and obviously more appropriate Arizona brand moccasins- with soles and everything!  i tried them on but was hesitant at their obvious trend-appeal... they were so new and girly.  "just give them a few weeks," mom said sensing my disapproval... "they'll wear in."  

and they did.  those shoes marked a significant turning point in my shoe-buying career.  once a girl with a closet full of shoes for every and any occasion, i found this single pair useful for just about all of them.  i donated all my old kicks and was thrilled at the freedom having one pair of shoes gave me.  no more deliberating on what pair to wear, or selecting an outfit based on what shoes were most fitting for the day.  hell no! these shoes were fit for all occasions, such as going to class, running downstairs to check the mail, trekking to the supermarket clad in sweatpants, or dressing up for the occasional fancy dinner.  i began wondering why a person ever needed multiple pairs of shoes anyway when having one was more than enough.

besides, these shoes were comfortable! the ever-wear and tear of these once trendy moccasins helped form them to the exact shape of my foot.  slipping them on was like finding my foot's true and obvious home.  worn in the summer, they kept my feet cool with their open top and light-weight, while worn in winter, they allowed for the additional 3 pairs of wool socks and leg-warmers.   i found myself wearing these same shoes on long hikes across rocky terrain with no problem and yet i had no desire to remove them once inside comfortable on the couch.. they were and had become, an extension of my own, natural feet.

but as with any comfort.  there comes a time when one begins to wonder what else is out there.  passing a shoe store, i couldn't help but glance at all the fancy styles and colors i was missing out on: high heels in classy bronze, shimmery-sequenced ballet flats, mustard yellow mary-janes... the excitement i could have in those!  looking at the shoes i would never own was fun in a way, but always ended with me gazing back at my familiar and well-worn, darkened-tan, fringed toes and smiling at my own contentment.  

my moccasins lasted me just over four years before the souls started rubbing down, exposing a single large toe on each foot.  i tried in vain to cover the hole- i even took a friends advice and melted the rubber of an old bike-tire into the hole, filing it down for aesthetic purposes.  but nothing worked... i knew this $19.50 pair of shoes had walked their last mile.  

but where to now?  i scoured the internet for arizona brand moccasins but came up empty handed.  shame that moccasins were so trendy for so long- seems everyone and their mom makes a pair, pointy-toed and embellished with flowers and beads.  nothing seemed to fit.  not even the $10 pair of rocket dogs i impulsively picked up at a famous footwear in iowa. (sidenote: rocket dog had previously been a reliable shoe company since they catered to the wide-footed, round-toed crowd i identified with).

my sister suggested minnetonka moccasins, a leather moccasin provider found at the I-80 truck stop of all places.  so one saturday afternoon, my mom, sister and i all took a drive out to one of the largest truck stops in the country to hunt for my moccasin replacement, and *surprise* we ended  up coming home with three pair! one for me, one for mom, and one for my boyfriend carl (since i couldn't have a boyfriend that didn't know the magic of moccasins).  

this new pair began a bit snug; they were darker in color, the fringe more obvious and the soles more noticeable.  when i looked down on them, they didn't look like my own feet for quite some time.  but i trusted that they would begin to wear. soon enough, their color was more faded and dirt-covered, their soles wore down, and they too began to mold to my feet.  in an attempt to make them last a bit longer than the last pair, i've also invested in a cheap pair of boots for the winter- comfortable enough that i'll actually wear them come snow- but not so comfortable that i'll sneak my moccasins out for dry-ish winter days.

as i remember this long history i've had with my moccasins, i can't help but think how fitting it is as a tool to describe my own spiritual journey.  born into the church, i accepted my spirituality without knowing how unique and special it was.  at first, i was ever aware of it's presence, but after awhile, my spiritual life seemed a constant companion.  i grew into it in all the right ways; fit snug into it's warmth and comfort.  it got to where i didn't even need to think about my spiritual life at all, it was reliable and ever-present- fitting with whatever circumstance i faced.  when life was good, my faith in god was to thank, and when life turned hard, my faith was there to pull me through.  

but like a well-worn pairs of shoes, one's spiritual journey requires alterations if it's going to remain vibrant and useful.  i had tried every way i knew to keep my faith the same, to ignore the holes and the disappointments, to patch and alter and press on... but eventually, i was ready to begin searching for something new.  

i knew myself well enough to see that i wasn't in need of a new faith; it wasn't the basics that had let me down, but rather the constant wear and tear of the old.  i wasn't searching for a drastic change of spiritual life, just an update on a previous model- something made with richer and more hearty materials that could stand up to my questions and challenges.

and like the new pair of moccasins, the first fit was questionable.  was it right to change?  i felt self-conscious of all its newness.  was i still unique if others were seen with the same thing i had?

but time has take it's toll.  i've begun to ease into my self and my spirituality.  the promise of comfort and security continues to press me forward and a hope for longer wear and tear has made me both a bit cautious as well as excited.  shoes unfortunately take a lot less time to break in, however.  but it's comforting to know that as promised, they feel good... like my foot's true home.

steps taken in my absence...

the thing about blogging is this...

it tends to be a solitary activity, best accomplished when i've had too much alone time and therefore have finished all other alone-time activities like sleeping in, bathing, cleaning my room, shaving my legs etc...  

on top of that, it is a computer-dependent activity, best accomplished with computer in hand... and seeing as i don't usually find myself with computer in hand (and in ample alone-time)... blogging rarely gets done.

but enough about that... there are other steps that have been take in my blogging absence.  they are as follows:

climbing: i have been considerably more active in my climbing endeavors... not to the level i'd like, but still, it's a step.  my new shoes are nearly broken in and i have gotten comfortable going to midwest alone as well as going to vertical in groups... lets count that as one step.

reading: possibly the largest step taken... maybe even two as i have finished one book and am half-way through with the other.  Animal, Vegetable, Miracle by Barbara Kingsolver is a great month by month account of one family committed to consuming only that, which they or their neighbors have produced... inspiring, informative if a bit slow-moving...  Their Eyes Were Watching God by Zora Neale Hurston is said to be a classical account of African American Feminism and lives up to that title.  it has served to ignite thoughts and emotion laid dormant by time and apathy and often grabs at me from its safe haven inside my bag either while i'm at work or enjoying time at home.

sewing: this has yet to manifest itself into a full-on habit.  a few projects here or there have gotten done, and i did branch out and start knitting a hat that is absolutely necessary in this cold weather... but the need for a sewing machine keeps gnawing at my keels...

composting: umm... how do i carry a large garbage can on the back of my bike and where do i find bulk composting products such as leaves or grass clippings when everything i see is frozen over with snow and ice... am i just making excuses?  sidenote: plans for springtime gardening are under way.  just need to build hot-house and pick seeds to start germinating in feb-march)

biking:  yea! finally an area i can boast over!  i have been mostly faithful to this goal, ignoring 

minor break over the holiday season due to snow, cold, and poorly conditioned tires... new knobby tires have been acquired and put in place, riding has again commenced to work (home at night in the cold is a bit daunting still.. but has been done from time to time) and the end of winter is in sight... maybe?  

family: how am i doing? a tad better? hopefully? i'm trying...

hoop: don't ask... the basement is dark and cold and far away... plus it floods a lot from our free but broken washer and dryer...

kiswahili:  i said habari yako to a kenyan man that came through my line at work yesterday... does that count?  truth is, i find it hard to force myself to study (again with my limited alone-time and computer availability), especially when kenya feels so far away.

and running with that tangent... 

that random kenyan man can't know the ache his presence caused in my heart yesterday.  hearing a familiar accent ask me that old familiar question So when are you to return to kenya?  soon, i say... it's what i always say.  but when is soon?  what is there for me to return to? friends i haven't seen in years and haven't talked to in months?  an idle dream of being a community developer with no place to start...?  am i to be one of those girls that had an incredible experience in "africa" and tells others how she longs to return while wearing the jewelry but has no actual plan for return?  

life in minnesota keeps spinning along without a hitch.  familiar places, familiar people, steady work... besides some discontentment with the cold, i'm happy and pleased to be here.  excited even at the prospect of finally choosing a location and sticking with it.  and this one makes the most sense...  

more confusion for a later date.  it's getting dark and i still need to ride home:o)  at least somehow i'm making progress...