[{"content":"I radiate joy and share it with others. It is a time for laughter and singing and dancing. I bless everyone and everything.\nMy best friend likes to tell the story of her first impressions of me when we met in 6th grade. “When I first met Lela, I thought she was perfect…then I saw her binder.” She has long since come to terms with the fact that whatever illusion of organization I project is just that. It’s an unintentional illusion, but an illusion all the same. My house is chronically a disaster. And I don’t just mean the typical mom blog confession of a few cracker crumbs on the counter and a disheveled roll of toilet paper. I loathe those posts because how the hell did those people find time to polish the granite under those crumbs, or scrub the dirty grout behind the faucet? (honestly, how does anyone do this?). How do they get the grime out of the corners of the room when washing the floor? Is it toothbrushes? And after all the essential daily tasks of homework, laundry, cooking, dish washing, sweeping, paperwork, vacuuming, and de-cluttering, how do they also dust all the baseboards, prune the trees, scrub the spots off the chair cushions, and all those less-obvious tasks that build up over time until your house feels so unbelievably icky that you can’t fathom how to ever get it clean again, nor can you consider ever subjecting any house guests to the endless filth of your biohazardous home. I’m perplexed by the whole thing.\nAnd yet, I have a very deep desire to be a person who makes others feel comfortable, and I feel part of that is welcoming them into my home. And people often do not feel comfortable in someone else’s mess. There’s no answer that I’ve found to fix this conundrum. Should I never let my kids make a mess? Spend all my time cleaning? I’ve wondered if cutting down on sleep might be the answer, but only to having a cleaner home. It would be terrible for everything and everyone else. I know housekeeping services are a big business where I live, but whenever I think about hiring someone to come in monthly, I think about how mortified and frantic I’d feel the day before, de-cluttering just so they can do the job I hired them for. And also how obvious it will be that no one did any cleaning since the last time they were there. How much more work it will be for them because the little drips of food I didn’t notice have dried on the chairs, and stuck to the side of the sink, and because that annoying little crack where the wood floor meets the linoleum in the kitchen is now filled with crud from ineffective sweeping. Ultimately, I end up feeling like it would add to my stress, and provide very little in return. Whenever I clean the house, it usually falls apart within days, if not hours. But how am I supposed to find a way to radiate joy in a messy house? And if I try to resolve this with constant cleaning, how do I also find time for laughter, singing and dancing, let alone blessing those around me? Blessing is an extremely clean affair. Look at baptisms! I don’t see how I can be a blessing until I become less of a slob.\n","date":"2022-03-22T19:34:11Z","permalink":"/2022/03/22/bless-this-mess/","title":"Bless this mess?"},{"content":"I flow freely and lovingly with Life. I love myself. I know that only good awaits me at every turn.\nWhy is “Life” capitalized in this affirmation? Is this another reference to God? I’m trying to wrap my head around Life as a proper noun and I get visions of frolicking through fields of wildflowers with someone dressed in a flowing Grecian gown. Demeter with Persephone, before that netherworld creep kidnapped her and tricked her into eating magical pomegranate seeds so she’d have to return to him 6 months a year. Ok, now that I’m writing this out, I’m realizing, was that a metaphor for sex?\nAnyway, what’s the deal with this affirmation? Is this book trying to lure me into a false sense of security? Because this affirmation is objectively false. Bad stuff is definitely going to keep happening. So ok, this doesn’t mean I have to be actively preparing for it at all times, which is why I’m in therapy for anxiety. But is telling myself “It’s cool. There’s only good from here on out, girl!” really a better plan?\nMaybe the affirmation is more about encouraging a “silver lining” approach to life? I know many people who do this naturally. I’ve wondered if this is genetic, like temperament in babies. I can say with a reasonable level of certainty that it doesn’t seem to be associated with faith, despite it feeling like born again Christian messaging. Some of the most optimistic people I’ve ever known were atheists, and I’ve met some pretty angry, negative religious folks. So why are some people able to assume the best and others, like me, spend their time preparing for the worst? Can I learn to be the former? Can it be taught? Anyone want to teach me?\n","date":"2022-03-01T18:28:55Z","permalink":"/2022/03/01/one-i-dont-understand/","title":"One I don’t understand"},{"content":"My good now flows freely. Divine ideas express themselves through me. I am at peace.\nI have heard that as people age they become more extreme versions of what they already were. I don’t know whether to be concerned about this or not. It also made me wonder if hobbies taken up later in life are just physical manifestations of personality traits. Or maybe that’s just what hobbies are regardless of age? I’ve always hoped to become an older woman who lacks ego. I imagine myself gardening, and interacting with young people genuinely and lovingly, at peace with myself and with my world. I have been told that the fifth decade in a woman’s life is when she becomes less concerned with what others think, and I keep waiting for this to happen. But I wonder if I would notice if it does. Free flowing goodness seems like it requires both an insight and inner calmness that I don’t feel I’ve ever had. The only time I can step outside of myself and just exist is when I’m singing or writing. Maybe I should just sing or write all my communications from now on. Would that be like exposure therapy for social anxiety? Talk therapy and mindfulness seem like a lower profile option.\nA few months ago, my husband shared an article about someone who meditated themselves into agoraphobia by practicing it for hours and hours a day. The article argued that meditation is not always beneficial, despite it being peddled as the solution to our mental health crisis. The issue with this is that moderation is a core concept in mindfulness philosophy, and in the religions that practice it, so it’s disingenuous to ignore that aspect of meditation and then complain that meditation is harmful. However, despite my protests, there was something about the story that resonated with me. Mindfulness was originally intended to be practiced within the confines of a spiritual context, and monks that practice it often seem to do so in secluded places far removed from the chaos and sensory overload of day to day life in communities. Why do they live this way if it isn’t an essential component of the practice? It makes me think of yoga, which was a religious ritual meant to be practiced only by experienced yogis who knew how to properly apply both the physical and spiritual components of it. Removing it from this context and marketing it as just a healthy lifestyle choice has helped people who may not have pursued it in its original form. But a quick online search will reveal that it has also hurt many people, sometimes irreparably.\nMaybe mindfulness that is intended to bring calm to chaos should be performed in that chaos. If I lived my life in a meditation room full of candle-lit vases of flowers, ambient music, and the sweet scent of palo santo, would I really need to meditate to achieve inner peace? Simply stepping out of a room occupied by my children, with the intention of meditating, is usually enough to make me feel calmer. So maybe my mindfulness moments need to look more like everyday moments if I want them to help me through everyday life. From now on, I meditate in front of a sink full of dirty dishes. I’ll smell dinner cooking on the stove behind me, and hear the “thump, thump, thump” drifting in from the livingroom as my children leap off furniture (the way I always ask them not to do), followed by the shrieking when they trip and smack their faces on the floor. Oooooommmmmmmmmmmmm.\n","date":"2022-02-09T18:03:18Z","permalink":"/2022/02/09/new-meditation-space/","title":"New meditation space"},{"content":"I allow the love from my own heart to wash through me, and cleanse and heal every part of my body and emotions.\nI’ve written a lot about self-care and compassion, especially in terms of parenting. I’ve written about it back when I used facebook. I’ve written about it on this blog, and in the newsletter I used to write for a local mothers club. The expectations of motherhood, both personal and societal, are impossible to meet. There’s always more to do. And there is always so much you aren’t doing, or can’t do, for one reason or another. It’s so much easier to see this obvious truth for others. It’s much harder to forgive these limitations in ourselves. We could have our children in sports for physical health and teamwork, music lessons for cultural and creative developments, tutoring for academic success, gymnastics or karate for coordination, some kind of scouts for social skills and self-esteem, and they are solidly booked all week. Booked…Oh, wait! We’ve got to get them into bookclub! We can surely squeeze that into a morning slot so they can do that too, right? Ok, NOW they are solidly booked, but that’s ok because we have the weekend! Except this is when we attend the games of whatever sport our child is playing, and recitals for their music programs. And somehow, maybe, we also cram in chores, church, family visits, school projects, and the occasional visit to a museum, or campground. And at the end of every exhausting day, we’d know that we were still failing, because research suggests children are getting burnt out by this practice of leaving no extracurricular stone unturned. We are failing because our children have no time to play, which is now a documented and dangerous truth about modern childhood. We are not finding the time to sit and chat about the little things, so studies suggest our kids may not tell us about the big things either. In our haste to take photos to capture the memories, we are failing to live them, and someday all the little fingerprints will be cleaned off of our furniture, never to return, and we will miss this time, having never felt like we truly lived it. But if we don’t sign them up for all the classes, and do all the things, how will little Dahlia get the soccer scholarship? What if, because he never took piano lessons, Jayden never learns he has a gift? What if the things I’m not doing are the very things that would make the big difference, and steer my kids towards a happy and successful life? Is the answer that I’ll never know, so I don’t have to worry about it? Alternatively, what if I did decide to create this kind of jammed-packed life for my kids, and it destroys our family? This is a distinct possibility, as it would mean a dangerous shortage of down-time that I don’t think any of our introverts could withstand for long. So, it is impossible to do all the things, and it is impossible to know the results of not doing all the things. What can I do? I guess I can just be the mom friend that I need, and acknowledge this when I start to worry about everything my kids aren’t doing. I can say to myself, “They will only remember what you did do. Be gentle with yourself. You are a good mom.”\n","date":"2022-02-01T19:09:35Z","permalink":"/2022/02/01/being-a-good-mom/","title":"Being a good mom"},{"content":"I am willing to release old, negative beliefs. They are only thoughts that stand in my way. My new thoughts are positive and fulfilling.\nI am so sad today, and for no clear reason. I could come up with reasons, but that would just be trying to find a shape for the sadness I feel.\nAcknowledging the water level in a glass is important. It’s frustrating that our culture considers it pessimistic to view the glass as half empty. Or maybe I find it frustrating that our culture insinuates that pessimism is a bad thing; the wrong way to be. It’s similar to our struggle with introversion, often treating it as a problem to be solved, rather than a valid way to interact with the world. I am both a pessimist and an introvert (I’m lots of fun!), and I think it’s ok to see the glass as half-empty. In fact, why aren’t we celebrating pessimists as essential to the survival of our species? The half-empty state of the glass means that the resources are being depleted! The glass will need filling sooner than if it were full. Perhaps it’s time to start paying closer attention to the rate at which the glass is emptying, so we have a better idea of when we will need to refill. If we were to only acknowledge what is left in the glass, would we be inspired to take the necessary steps to make sure our needs will be met when eventually that glass is truly empty? Would we be as likely to note when, where, and how we can get that glass refilled if we are just feeling pleased with how much we have left inside? What happens if others are also depending on the water level of the glass? Isn’t it a good thing that someone is looking out for the group so they notice the next refill station and we don’t all die of dehydration caused by excessive optimism?\nSo now let’s change the metaphor from water in the glass to emotional energy in ourselves. Suddenly, acknowledging our depleted resources becomes a form of self-care, and is encouraged. Or is it? Does society recognize the need to consider the state of our emotional and psychological health, and encourage us to draw boundaries in order to not be further depleted? Or are we still too often encouraging the self-destructive optimism that leaves people broken and entirely empty? I see examples of both, and I’m hoping we are moving in the right direction.\nSo, I’m willing to release the old, negative belief that pessimism is a personality flaw. Anxiety isn’t a problem to fix, but rather a survival instinct to be trained. I’m releasing the negative belief that emotional limitations and mental health struggles are burdensome or shameful; something to be quietly overcome. The more we acknowledge mental health struggles, and celebrate self-care, the closer we get to the kind and fulfilling society I want to live in.\n","date":"2022-01-20T23:22:26Z","permalink":"/2022/01/20/the-water-in-the-glass/","title":"The Water in the Glass"},{"content":"I am one with the Power that created me, and this Power has given me the ability to create my own circumstances.\nWhen life hands you lemons, ideally you can make lemonade. You might even have the sugar and water already within your reach right now! What a huge advantage this is for you in your lemonade making endeavors! But if you do not have those ingredients, you might still be close to a store that carries the products you need, and you also might have the money and transportation to go to that store and purchase those items. To make lemonade, you will require the tools for the job, or the ability to access those tools. A bowl, pitcher, or some kind of container is essential. If you do not have a home for your lemonade, you will not be able to make it. If you do not have, or cannot acquire, a knife or a juicer, making lemonade becomes a lot harder. Depending on your circumstances, it may even become impossible, because juicing those lemons without the proper tools will take more time and energy, and you may not have one or either of those. In order to make lemonade, you must also have the knowledge of how to make it, as well as the time to apply that knowledge. While it is technically possible to make lemonade even if you don’t have the strong support structure and self-esteem that would inspire you to believe that you can make it, having support greatly increases the possibility that you will succeed. If you have health issues, or physical or mental limitations that prevent you from being able to make lemonade, you will not be able to make lemonade.\nI don’t like this affirmation.\n","date":"2022-01-12T23:39:01Z","permalink":"/2022/01/12/lemonade/","title":"Lemonade"},{"content":"Whatever I am guided to do will be a success. I learn from every experience. My pathway is a series of stepping stones to ever greater successes.\nLong ago, my mom and step-dad stopped at the window of a petstore to admire the hamsters. One of the baby hamsters was determined to run in the wheel with the big guys. Her stubby little legs couldn’t keep up and she would get swung halfway up the wheel by the speed of the faster runners, before gravity crashed her back down on her head. Then she would climb back into the wheel and try again. My parents were charmed by the moxie of this little hamster and took her home, with another hamster buddy to keep her company. Hamster buddy ended up being a male so before long, two hamsters became many more. There were too many babies for her nest, and we’ve all heard what hamsters do when this happens. Fortunately, mama hamster had a less traumatizing solution (from a human perspective, of course). She took half her babies out of the nest, and built them a new nest in another part of the cage. She would spend all day running between nests to nurse all the babies. I’ve been thinking about this mama a lot lately as we are back to homeschooling our two children. While my husband diligently works in our quiet bedroom, I parse out my time in small increments to keep both kids functioning and engaged in school. I tell big kid to wait for a second while I help little kid send her journal entry to her teacher. I turn on the reading video for little kid and dash out to the livingroom to help big kid divide decimals. I get him on his way, and it’s back to little kid to close youtube and get her started on handwriting and spelling. Once she’s got the idea, it’s back to big kid who is now in a full blown meltdown because Oh, no! He has to write a personal narrative and he can’t remember anything that has ever happened in his life. There is nothing he can write about except minecraft, and that’s not personal enough, and he will never be able to do this assignment! This problem is clearly going to take more time than I’ve got for one kid, so after he’s calmed down, and he is trying to remember something from his past that he might be able to translate into a written story, I dash back to little kid to circle every number on her math assignment that she’s written backwards, so she can correct that while I’m sitting with big kid, tossing out memories from all the trips we’ve taken in the last 4 years.\nBy the end of the day, I fall into bed unsure of what I’ve done with my day. It is difficult feeling successful when you are living in five minute increments, most of which are interrupted. The house is full of half finished attempts to do more. Sometimes I won’t see until the next day that, oh yeah, I brought the vinegar into the bathroom yesterday to try to get the hard water spots off the counter, but then little kid needed help recording her reading assignment. And the fact that it’s a choice we have made to keep the kids at home right now, makes me feel very much like the baby hamster that keeps choosing to climb onto the wheel only to fall on my head over and over. She also ended her days having never successfully met her goals. But as I’m writing this, it’s occurring to me that I might be missing the lesson here. The hamster wheel just goes around. It might feel like progress, but they aren’t really getting anywhere. What about the practice of picking yourself up and trying again despite repeated failure? In this particular way, that hamster was further along the path to success than I have ever been. I also want to recognize that success is a subjective term, and I might not be allowing myself to appreciate the successes that I do have, because I’m too busy being frustrated by those I’m not achieving. Like mama hamster, I am overcoming challenges and successfully getting myself and my family to the end of each day. School work gets done. Meals are cooked and eaten. We have clean clothes to wear. Most importantly, our family dynamic is healthy and reasonably happy. I can learn from these experiences instead of regretting the ones I did not have, and all the items not checked off on my todo list. These successes are the ones that are building towards my future, and they are valuable and worthy.\n","date":"2021-12-07T20:34:07Z","permalink":"/2021/12/07/a-life-lesson-from-a-hamster/","title":"A life lesson from a hamster"},{"content":"I trust my Higher Self. I listen with love to my own inner voice. I release all that is unlike the action of love.\nBefore we moved away from San Francisco I wrote myself a letter promising that I would be me wherever I lived. “Interested and interesting” is how my husband likes to describe the culture of San Francisco that we cherished, and those are the values we strived to live by. At the time I didn’t understand the dread I felt about moving away. The sadness made sense to me. I was leaving behind communities I loved and friends whose company I would dearly miss. But along with the loss came an overwhelming sense that I was going to lose myself in this move. Maybe it was my subconscious remembering something about the suburbs from when I lived here as a child. But at the time of the move I didn’t dwell on the dread. I brushed it off as the fear of change I’ve struggled with my whole life. Then we moved here, to this lovely, little town full of good schools, yoga studios, perfectly manicured parks, and happy, comfortable families. I confidently ventured out to create some community connections in our new home, when something strange happened. Despite the fact that we all spoke the same language, the people in my social circles often didn’t seem to understand me, nor I them. It was as though I was participating in a conversation in which I’d missed the context. No one was ever unfriendly, but my ability to make connections became increasingly difficult, as this undercurrent of strangeness made me feel embarrassed, and this increased the awkwardness with which I communicated. My efforts to forge ahead for the sake of my family resulted in me taking on leadership positions in organizations I had been a part of for years, but in which I still felt like an outsider. It was bewildering and inexplicable as no one was ever anything but perfectly cordial and warm; at community events, at the grocery store, at playgroups, at the birthday parties we hosted despite my own children rarely being invited to any themselves. We were surrounded by amiable indifference, and the more I tried, the worse I felt. Nothing worked, though at that point my sheer desperation was probably getting in the way of having a normal interaction. So I stopped trying. I fulfilled my obligations, but in self-defense, I stopped being interested. I stopped being interesting. I lost my sense of self, and my self-love.\nShortly before my first child was born, I volunteered my time helping a woman with breast cancer start a non-profit that created healing spaces, organized therapeutic events, and nurtured a supportive community, particularly for those with life threatening conditions. I would visit the center (her home) twice a week and log her receipts, design posters and draft copy for facebook. I also contacted people who were involved in various activities at the center, which almost always included frantic fundraising. My friend was a fabulously charismatic, articulate, talented and deeply insightful person, but finances were not her strong suit. As I spoke with people who were trying to raise the necessary donations to avoid her eviction, I would stare at the corkboard that hung above her phone. Mostly it was full of her contacts, schedules, todo and grocery lists, but up in the corner was a post-it that read only “What would love do?” I would reflect on that idea a lot in the following years. What Would Love Do? I appreciated the ambiguity of the question; how it was unclear if the question was “What could be the impact of a loving mindset?” or if it was meant to be Love with a capital “L”, referencing the more familiar sentiment “What would Jesus Do?” I thought both interpretations had merit, but I liked the second better. Reflecting on what Love would do requires a suspension of ego. I’m not trying to figure out how I could respond to something in a loving way. I’m thinking about how Love would respond. I’m stepping outside of myself, and any concerns I might have about being judged or hurt, or making the wrong choices. Nor am I worrying about how uncomfortable I feel, because all of those considerations have to do with Lela, not Love. I don’t have to care about whether I’m doing this right or whether anyone else thinks I am, because none of it is about me. It’s about Love, and whomever Love is interacting with.\nSo let’s step away from this trascendental woowoo for a second and get real. I can’t be Love with a capital “L”, and the parts of my personality that are not love are parts I’m still pretty fond of. But despite not wanting to nor being capable of transcending humanity to become pure, sentient emotion, for years I found this exercise helpful in moments of stress, confusion or sadness; then I forgot about it for a very long time, until the pandemic hit, life slowed down, and I found myself with a lot of time to sit and reflect. How would Love build a community? Love would reach out, but not worry about responses, or lack thereof. It is not a reflection on her, and even if it was, it wouldn’t matter because Love just loves. Love doesn’t worry about being awkward, or tongue tied or saying the wrong thing. Love just loves. Love doesn’t worry about party invitations or fitting in. Love just loves. Love just loves her children, who will experience a different childhood than she did, and will still be loved. Love just loves without concern about acceptance or rejection.\nSo what would Love do when someone is having trouble loving herself? When she is wondering if she is as interested or as interesting as she once felt she was. What did that feel like? Was she right back then, or is she right now? Love reminds us that we are who we were when we did love ourselves. Hurt and judgement can make us doubt who we are, but it doesn’t change it.\nSadly, my sweet friend from years ago did not survive her diagnosis. When I went to help her family clear the apartment I looked for that post-it note, but the corkboard had already been taken down. I hope the post-it is inspiring another one of her friends, in a place where they can see it every day and remember to ask this question, not just in their interactions with others, but also in their interactions with themselves.\n","date":"2021-11-30T17:27:01Z","permalink":"/2021/11/30/wwld/","title":"WWLD?"},{"content":"Welcome to my once a decade blog! Some of my posts from 10 years ago are pretty good. I sure was thoughtful and articulate back before mom-brain turned me into someone who forgets to finish her sentences half the\nSo why am I trying to do this again after 10 years, knowing how hard it is for me to maintain any kind of routine in the chaos of life with two young kids? Truth is, almost every year for the past five years I have written an introductory post to this blog. Maybe someday I’ll post them all and restart this thing over and over for several weeks when I’m dealing with writer’s block, or just being lazy. Maybe this post will also never be published. Just another post to add to the pile in my google docs. However, I hope this is not the case, because this time it’s not just about the writing itch I get every Fall. Last February I had a breakdown. It was not only psychological, but also not entirely physical. It was neurological, at least in part, and it became emotional due to the stress of the symptoms. After thousands of dollars in medical bills, there still isn’t a clear answer as to what happened. But after three different cancer scares over the course of 5 months (the last of which resulted in major surgery and the removal of even more organs than originally planned) I am now in therapy. Therapies. Several kinds of therapies, for all the different kinds of healing I now get to do. And I’m adding writing to the list of therapeutic methods I’m using to try to return to my baseline level of functionality. I know myself well enough to recognize that I need accountability if I’m going to try to make this a routine, and I can pretend I have that in a blog. But more than that, I’m hoping that some of you might even want to participate in this with me. For my birthday this year I was given an affirmation journal. Every page has an affirmation on which you are meant to reflect and offer a response. So far my entries have not been a response so much as an exercise in free association. As I wrote in this journal, I found myself continually wondering how others would interpret these affirmations, and wishing I could hear your responses and insights. What kind of ideas might those insights spark in me? So I decided to take this online where I could share, and maybe have others share with me. But, a word of warning if you require organized, precise and articulate reading material. I’m not good at any of those thing. However, if you so desire, you could raise the quality of this blog with your own reflections and opinions, in which I would be interested, and for which I would be grateful.\n","date":"2021-11-21T21:14:33Z","permalink":"/2021/11/21/its-been-a-year/","title":"It’s been a year."},{"content":"I have reached that point in pregnancy where everyone either cleverly exclaims \u0026ldquo;Almost ready to pop!\u0026rdquo; or they ask \u0026ldquo;Are you excited?!\u0026rdquo; While the former conjures terrifying images I\u0026rsquo;d rather not imagine (seriously, what sort of sadist coined this phrase? Has any pregnant woman actually appreciated the \u0026ldquo;humor\u0026rdquo;?), I confessed to my husband today that ultimately, it\u0026rsquo;s the latter question I find the most disconcerting.\nWhen I got engaged, and people asked if I was excited, I assumed they were asking \u0026ldquo;Are you excited about the wedding?\u0026rdquo; For most of us, the answer is an easy \u0026ldquo;Yes!\u0026rdquo; Who isn\u0026rsquo;t excited about a full day of getting pretty and partying with friends and loved ones at a celebration honoring you and your new husband/wife? The question \u0026ldquo;Are you excited to be getting married?\u0026rdquo; is decidedly more strange and difficult to answer. I was looking forward to marrying the man I love. And I am looking forward to sharing my life with him, but excited about it? Fortunately, no one ever asked.\nThe question \u0026ldquo;Are you excited?\u0026rdquo; is so much more difficult to answer at this life milestone because of the nature of the big event. When people ask if I\u0026rsquo;m excited, I have to keep myself from asking \u0026ldquo;Which part is it about which you think I ought to be excited?\u0026rdquo; Is it the hours of increasingly worsening waves of pain? Is it the grand finale where a large head rips it\u0026rsquo;s way out of my comparatively small, sensitive nether region? Is it the weeks and weeks of sleepless nights and exhausting days that will follow? Are you asking if I\u0026rsquo;m excited about the rest of my life? Because that\u0026rsquo;s a pretty tall order.\nThis is not to say that I\u0026rsquo;m not really looking forward to meeting my son. My loved ones and I have spent hours speculating about what he\u0026rsquo;ll look like. I\u0026rsquo;ve spent weeks getting his room ready, washing his tiny clothes, picking out his coming home outfit, and running around getting us and the house prepared for his arrival. Late at night when I can\u0026rsquo;t sleep I\u0026rsquo;ll gently set a hand on my stomach and smile when he reacts, as he unvaryingly does.\n\u0026ldquo;Excited\u0026rdquo; however, seems such an odd word to describe this experience. People get excited about vacations, excited about graduations, excited about parties, and holidays, and visits from friends. \u0026ldquo;Excitement\u0026rdquo; seems limited to the anticipation of momentary fun. I hope with all my heart and soul that parenting will not be a temporary experience for me, and I have no illusions about the enjoyment of this experience. Yes, I anticipate that parenting will be extremely wonderful at times. Introducing my child to the world, and being a part of this new, young family, will be incredible, eye opening, and life changing, but there will be times when it severely sucks. Will the wonder out weight the suckage? I have high hopes!\nMy husband says that when people ask this, what they are really asking is \u0026ldquo;Are you as excited as we are?\u0026rdquo; In his typical, sweet fashion Ben manages to make my anxiety seem not only superfluous but rather self-absorbed by suggesting that the only sentiment behind this questions is love and enthusiasm for us and our child (not the accusatory, all-good-parents-feel-this-way, sort of question I pegged it for. Just kidding). He suggests that I listen to the message behind the question, and simply lie, \u0026ldquo;Yes, I am extremely excited.\u0026rdquo;\nIf this is what the questions are about, then perhaps it wouldn\u0026rsquo;t be so much of a lie. The question \u0026ldquo;Are you looking forward to crafting a lifetime of beautiful experiences with your growing family, as much as we are looking forward to sharing those experiences with you?\u0026rdquo; is one that I can answer without a moments hesitation. When I look down the road and imagine all the family dinners, Christmas Eves, road trips, late night talks, weddings, birthdays, love and laughter that we will share with our friends and families for years to come, I do feel a spark of excitement. A lifetime of moments of fun and of love.\n","date":"2011-04-10T17:08:06-08:00","permalink":"/2011/04/10/to-lie-or-to-disappoint/","title":"To lie, or to disappoint?"},{"content":"It\u0026rsquo;s now been over a year since I\u0026rsquo;ve had a job. It wasn\u0026rsquo;t a thrilling job, nor was it in a field I enjoy, but the loss had a huge detrimental impact on my self esteem. Part of this might be due to the fact that I still don\u0026rsquo;t understand why I was fired, but I think a bigger part might be cultural. My self-image is tied up in my ability to earn a paycheck, and not earning one makes me feel like a disappointment and waste of resources. Never mind that I\u0026rsquo;m 33 weeks pregnant. Never mind that I\u0026rsquo;m happily married and my husband makes enough to support our household. Never mind that I have lots of free time to explore new hobbies and interests. The fact that I\u0026rsquo;m not earning a paycheck keeps me up several nights a month. It rears it\u0026rsquo;s ugly head on a semi-weekly basis, turning whole days into lethargic, tear-ridden pity-parties. I have no defense against these moments of gloom. I can remind myself that I spend time volunteering for organizations and causes I care about, but it doesn\u0026rsquo;t seem to mitigate the fact that I don\u0026rsquo;t make money. I\u0026rsquo;m completely baffled by my mind\u0026rsquo;s insistence that the only way to be valuable is to do something that has quantitative value; that the only way I know my worth is to look at my earning power. Where did I get this idea?! How do I change it?! What can I do to keep myself from falling prey to those panicked moments when I realize that the longer I remain jobless, the harder it will be to find a job?\nReading what I\u0026rsquo;ve just written makes me realize that these feelings are just another manifestation of my constant dissatisfaction with wherever I am and whatever I\u0026rsquo;m doing there. Like all those other times in my life, it makes me feel like the best thing for me to be doing is sitting with this discomfort and welcoming it in, as an old friend. \u0026ldquo;Ok, I understand you are unhappy. Let\u0026rsquo;s sit together and reflect on why you are unhappy and what it is you want.\u0026rdquo; But like every craving I\u0026rsquo;ve had during this pregnancy, all this feeling does is chant \u0026ldquo;You\u0026rsquo;re lacking something. You\u0026rsquo;re lacking something. You\u0026rsquo;re lacking something.\u0026rdquo; Without offering any insight as to what the \u0026ldquo;something\u0026rdquo; might be. For now I\u0026rsquo;ll trust that when the time is right, the answer will present itself, and in the meantime, I\u0026rsquo;ll continue to explore, and trust, and calmly work through the days of depression, and look forward to the arrival of my son.\n","date":"2011-03-01T14:20:22-08:00","permalink":"/2011/03/01/value-without-value/","title":"value without value"},{"content":"It\u0026rsquo;s beautiful and sunny outside. My first trimester is over and my nausea has faded into a whisper of a suggestion. I\u0026rsquo;m slowly but surely reclaiming my house from the two long months worth of mess that accumulated while I whiled away the hours moaning and gagging and wishing I were dead (ok, a bit of an exaggeration, but not much). I\u0026rsquo;ve now heard the strong, rapid heartbeat of a new little life, and I\u0026rsquo;m off the torturous hormones. With all this wonderful news, how come I\u0026rsquo;m not joyfully dancing around the house, singing and dusting like a pregnant Cinderella?\nBecause the people downstairs are at it again. Once every couple of months the owners of the hair salon below us develop amnesia, forget that they have upstairs neighbors and that the building has terribly thin walls and floors, and blasts music for several weeks until one of us (usually my wonderful husband after hours of my nagging) asks them please to turn it down. Under the best of circumstances this would be annoying. If the music were good music, and we could hear more than the thumping bassline, this would be annoying. However, the fact is that we can only hear the bassline, it literally shakes our floors, they\u0026rsquo;ll often start the music about 8:30am, and (I swear this is true) generally they play only one song. Repeatedly. All day long. By the end of the day that bassline melody is so cemented in my brain that I hear it in my sleep and I would gladly crack my head open to remove it.\nSo I\u0026rsquo;m sitting here thinking to myself that I should just bite the bullet, march downstairs and ask them to turn down the music, in a quiet and polite way, like for example, with my hammer, or the blunt end of our camping hatchet. It\u0026rsquo;s not that I haven\u0026rsquo;t had these urges before. I regularly used to day dream about heading down there with a baseball bat, standing theatrically in the doorway for a moment- a dark, menacing shadow, watching their heads turn and eyes widen- and then calmly walking over to their stereo and beating it to a grizzly, plastic pulp. The daydream used to help get me through the long, tedious, floor-quaking hours. However, these days, with all the crazy chemicals floating around in my exhausted mind, it\u0026rsquo;s no longer the stereo that is the focus of my violent imaginings.\nThese homicidal urges don\u0026rsquo;t stop with annoying neighbors. I find lately that all Ben needs to do is make a polite suggestion, that we go dancing, for example, and suddenly it\u0026rsquo;s like a Freddy Kruger monster rises up inside me and all I can think of is taking my prenatal-vitamin strengthened nails and using them to inflict as much damage as possible. Before I can respond to his request I always have to take a step back and remind myself that I love this man, and that he is the father of my baby, and that, however much I might want to scratch his eyes out for suggesting swing dancing to a nauseous, crampy, pregnant lady, he means well and once my sanity has returned I\u0026rsquo;d feel awfully guilty for blinding him. This is usually enough to allow me to make a short, concise, carefully worded reply that makes me sound like I\u0026rsquo;m right on the edge of spontaneous combustion. Which I am.\nIf these rages were all the crazy Lela I had to deal with, it would be more than enough, but, of course, hormonal roller coasters are just that, and with every psychotic, dish-smashing, eye-gouging high, there must be a sentimental, depressing weepfest of low. Several weeks ago Ben and I attended a beautiful, sunset wedding at a winery in Sonoma. As emotional and nauseous and pregnant as I felt, I managed to make it through the event with minimal tears. However, since we had rented a car for the whole day, Ben and I decided to squeeze in a little grocery shopping that morning. There we were in a crowded, noisy Wholefoods on a Sunday afternoon, getting in everyone\u0026rsquo;s way, everyone being in our way, the usual story. Because even at his best, Ben\u0026rsquo;s terrible in crowds, and because I\u0026rsquo;m the unemployed wife who can\u0026rsquo;t claim to be contributing to the household in any other way, I told my husband to wait in a quiet corner while I negotiated my way through the battle field of a produce section. At first, I was on the ball. I was weaving and dodging and spinning. But then I got that knocked-flat pregnancy exhaustion and nausea I am familiar with yet never prepared for. I stopped moving, instantly overwhelmed by the crowd, the noise, how sick I felt, how we had so much more shopping to do before we could eat, how unfair it was that we were going to a wedding at a winery and I wouldn\u0026rsquo;t be able to have the wine, and how, with my pregnancy bloating, my dress would probably be just small enough to look acceptable but hamper my breathing and eating all night long. I felt so sorry for myself I wanted to cry. In fact, my eyes were just about to spill over when I realized I was standing here in the middle of Wholefoods, tearfully staring at a big bin of potatoes. I imagined the people around me, glancing over and wondering what sort of dark, potato secret I must have that would leave me such a state. The thought was enough to shake me out of my personal puddle of self-pity and finish what I was doing.\nThe truly frightening thought is, while I know this hormonal craziness will end, I have also seen and heard enough to recognize that these episodes are nothing compared to the wild, emotional chaos of new motherhood.\n","date":"2010-11-01T12:36:29-08:00","permalink":"/2010/11/01/dont-think-i-wont-bite-you/","title":"Don't think I won't bite you"},{"content":"Change is notoriously difficult for me and always has been. My mother enjoys entertaining friends and party guests with stories about my struggles with change: how upset I was when my little brother was born, how I cried at the end of Kindergarten. The fact is, I cried at the end of pretty much every stage of my life. I was happy to finish High School but it didn\u0026rsquo;t keep me from crumbling into a weepy mass of misery when I couldn\u0026rsquo;t find my family in the crowd (fortunately a compassionate friend was there to calm me down). At the end of College, there was nothing I wanted more than to get out of that place and never go back. Yet, one of the only pictures I have of that day is me in my suit and tie, standing in front of a window, looking like a lost and frightened child, the rain-washed light removing the little color left in my face. Even one of the best days of my life so far, my wedding day, was preceded by several weeks of melt-downs and lost appetite.\nSo today, I want to take a big step, and talk about how I appreciate change. Unlike my other posts, this is less of a \u0026ldquo;I love that you are part of my world\u0026rdquo; sort of Thank You and more of a \u0026ldquo;I will learn to love that you are a part of my world, because I will be happier once I embrace you\u0026rdquo; sort of Thank You. And this post is itself part of the learning process, which I acknowledge would only be possible because of the recipient of this Thank You. How\u0026rsquo;s that for making a full circle?\nResentful as I\u0026rsquo;ve always been of change, I\u0026rsquo;ve also always been an advocate, a true believer. Sort of like those people who believe in aliens, search for aliens, but are constantly terrified of being abducted. I mean, I majored in Psychology, with the full intention of eventually going on to graduate school. How can you have more faith in change than that?\nIt\u0026rsquo;s October now, and I wrote the above paragraphs in early July, as if some little part of me already suspected what I would shortly discover. My life is about to change forever. My identity will never be as it was on the day that I wrote my introduction to Change. Also, as seems appropriate for this topic, the point of this entry is changing from a thank you, to an announcement. An announcement that I will drop into the abyss that is the internet, to rattle around down there and probably never be heard from again.\nI am going to be a mother.\n","date":"2010-10-07T11:08:02-08:00","permalink":"/2010/10/07/change/","title":"Change"},{"content":"Yesterday was full of stress, sadness, and fear. The fact of the matter is that almost everything in my life, and the life of those I love, is up in the air right now. While the view from up here is lovely, full of excitement and possibility, how can I enjoy the view without also recognizing that, with the slightest of breezes, my entire future could go crashing to the ground, leaving me with a devastating mess to somehow arrange into a functional life? Most of the time I successfully convince myself that imagining this happening is almost as bad as wishing it would, and I can spend another day breathing, hoping, praying and trusting that everything will work out (hopefully sooner rather than later for our finance\u0026rsquo;s sake). But yesterday this didn\u0026rsquo;t work. Email after email the bad news poured in, and after maneuvering through a tearful phone call from a kind person struggling to do good in an often selfish world, I wanted nothing more than to run out to the beach and bury myself in the sand for good.\nHow do you rid yourself of legitimate stress? This was the major topic of conversation while my friend and I worked out at the gym today. We hoped the exercise would cure the symptoms, but it is not an answer to the question. Even after cardio and weight lifting has eliminated the nervous energy, the concern remains.\nIt wasn\u0026rsquo;t until I ran out of energy and gave up trying to solve the problem that it happened. I was standing in front of a sink stuffed with dirty dishes, trying to make some little improvement to my neglected house, when wiser, stronger, quieter, calmer Lela was finally given the opportunity to poke her head out through the tangled mess of active consciousness and whisper to me that everything will be ok.\nI have recognized and struggled my whole life with my need to be prepared for any possible scenario, fix all problems (ideally before they happen), and be in complete control of my future. Seeing as none of this is possible, my frantic scrambling to achieve success has had huge effects on my health and happiness. After years of working on this problem, I\u0026rsquo;ve mostly come to terms with the fact that I will never be able to do these things. It\u0026rsquo;s even occurred to me that perhaps it is this unpredictability and lack of control that makes life worthwhile. However, like so many things in life, it\u0026rsquo;s an ongoing process, riddled with success, failure, distraction, questions, and uncertainty. And unexpectedly, I\u0026rsquo;ve found that the person who most often helps me stay on the correct path and make the best decision is myself.\nTo be more accurate, it\u0026rsquo;s that quiet little voice inside my mind that only comments when the stupid, bumbling, rest-of-my-brain decides to take a coffee break. Or, now that I think about it, I suppose the voice could be talking more often, but my self-centered consciousness usually drowns it out. In any case, I only hear that wise, surprisingly mature part of myself \u0026ldquo;speak\u0026rdquo; when I let go of the stress, planning, distractions, and chatter that usually clutters up my mind. The rub is, this roar of \u0026ldquo;everyday\u0026rdquo; thinking gets especially loud when I need that little voice the most- when things are not going well, when I am worried, scared, sad, or depressed, and need guidance.\nI know that many people use meditation to dial up that voice for a quick chat. I have never learned to meditate. I wish I could, but so far I don\u0026rsquo;t have the discipline to force myself to practice. However, over the years I have learned that tedious, mindless tasks can be used for exactly that purpose- mindlessness. There\u0026rsquo;s nothing like a little bit of grocery shopping, dish washing, clothes folding or shelf dusting to put my mind to sleep for a few hours. And once the mind\u0026rsquo;s asleep, that little voice can stretch, look around, reflect, and offer me the words of wisdom that I needed to hear. This doesn\u0026rsquo;t mean I get a lot of direct answer from this voice. How helpful are \u0026ldquo;answers\u0026rdquo; when taken out of the context of school and work? Like so many wise people we meet throughout our lives, this internal voice usually offers observations that I will realized I already knew, but didn\u0026rsquo;t truly understand before. I always return from our conversations feeling uplifted, confident, loved, deeply grateful. In those moments I know I am part of something larger than myself.\nToday I was scrubbing a pot caked with burned stew, and suddenly I heard \u0026ldquo;Lela, this is your life right now. This is not your life forever. Your life, like all lives, will be filled with moments of all kinds: joy, pain, frustration, peace, resolution, confusion, fear, love. Some will be of your choosing, and some will be out of your control. Keep this in mind before allowing one moment, in a life that will be full of moment, destroy your hope, your trust, and your perspective.\u0026rdquo; It might sound silly that I found this helpful, but think about it, how often do we forget that where we are right now is not where we will always be, especially when things are bad? Taking care of present business is important, allow it to cloud your entire vision of your life is unwise. And to think I wouldn\u0026rsquo;t have had any of that valuable insight had I not finally decided it was time to tackle my messy house!\nThank you, dirty dishes. Apparently you can bring as much order and peace to my life as when you\u0026rsquo;re clean.\n","date":"2010-06-15T16:38:49-08:00","permalink":"/2010/06/15/chores/","title":"Chores"},{"content":"I haven\u0026rsquo;t written in awhile. This is for many reasons. The best reason is that my computer broke, and, not to be outdone by a mere laptop, Ben\u0026rsquo;s computer followed suit. Unfortunately, this is still not a particularly good reason, because we replaced these computers with a sparkly new, dazzlingly beautiful Mac several weeks ago and yet, I have still not written. What I have been doing is: taking sewing classes, volunteering for various wonderful organizations, making new friends, getting up early, working out, spending time with loved ones, creating new recipes, recording songs online, and numerous other soul enriching activities. What I have discovered: Opportunity is not the fickle, random creature it\u0026rsquo;s often made out to be.\nAs I child, I heard many aphorisms about opportunity. The message of most of these was that opportunity is constantly presenting itself and it\u0026rsquo;s our choice whether we pursue it or ignore it. Because I was young, I misinterpreted the message for several years. I spent a lot of time trying to recognize these opportunities for what they were, so that when they came \u0026ldquo;knocking\u0026rdquo; I could take advantage. I would patiently sat, quietly listening for when opportunities would stop by, give my life purpose, and send me on my way. After several years of this, I realized that all I\u0026rsquo;d gained from the experience was the ability to wait and an immense amount of frustration.\nI began taking classes, exercising, blogging about gratitude, and volunteering in order to save my emotional health. However, within a matter of weeks, I found that I not only had an improved self image, but I was living a more fulfilling life and what\u0026rsquo;s more, I found myself bowled over with opportunities! It suddenly occurred to me that opportunity, like love, can rarely present itself to someone who spends their time in their Living Room watching T.V. How can opportunities know you\u0026rsquo;re here unless you\u0026rsquo;re out in the world, meeting people, exploring possibilities, learning more about who you are and what\u0026rsquo;s important to you?\nI realize that perhaps this shouldn\u0026rsquo;t have been so much of a revelations. And yet, I think of the number of people I\u0026rsquo;ve known who desperately want to find someone to love, but who still spend all their free time at home, alone. We can know something in our logical minds, but that doesn\u0026rsquo;t mean that we truly understand it or know what to do about it.\nToday I was presented with an opportunity to be involved in something I\u0026rsquo;ve been dreaming about for at least 10 years. I am incredibly grateful. I\u0026rsquo;m grateful to those who created the opportunity and directed me towards it. Also, I\u0026rsquo;m grateful that I have become a person who doesn\u0026rsquo;t wait for a subtle knock at the door, but rather steps up and says \u0026ldquo;Here I am.\u0026rdquo;\n","date":"2010-04-30T12:20:56-08:00","permalink":"/2010/04/30/opportunity/","title":"Opportunity"},{"content":"People who are not shy, and never have been, don\u0026rsquo;t seem to understand the affliction. I get the impression that many people blessed with a naturally outgoing personality think shy people are choosing to remain silent or making a choice to remain outside the group or deciding they\u0026rsquo;d rather not make any new friends. Of course there are many people for whom this is all true, but this is not because they are shy. Speaking as one who has been shy my entire life, I can attest to the fact that we the shy are not silent because we want to be, we are silent because usually we cannot think of a single thing to say. We don\u0026rsquo;t casually squeeze out way into groups of people talking because we can\u0026rsquo;t think of a single way to do so without looking awkward or worse, creepy. Usually those first two reasons are enough to ensure that we rarely are able to make new friends.\nBecause I\u0026rsquo;ve spent my whole life as the \u0026ldquo;quiet, shy girl with the long dark hair who sits in the corner of the classroom\u0026rdquo; and I realize that this has doubtlessly resulted in many lost opportunities, I\u0026rsquo;ve recently decided to take some offensive action against this burden of mine. So I\u0026rsquo;ve been offering my services as a volunteer whenever I see the opportunity.\nLast night I had my first volunteer experience at 9:20 Special, the swing dance organization where Ben and I take classes. Like any shy person, I spent the whole day anxious about it, imagining myself standing behind the desk not knowing what to do, while all the other volunteers seamlessly work, converse, joke around, and pretend I\u0026rsquo;m not there. I\u0026rsquo;m happy to report that the actually experience couldn\u0026rsquo;t have been more different.\nFrom the moment I showed up for my desk shift, I was being shown the ropes, and dozens of people were filing through the doors and marching up the stairs to buy tickets to the dance. I barely had enough time to think let alone worry about making conversation with anyone. However, once things calmed down and the woman who helps run the organization returned from an emergency clean-up on the dance floor, things had slowed down and some close friends of 9:20 had come to converse around the ticket desk. I was quietly easing into my role as background furniture when something began to happen that changed my perspective and made truly grateful to be a part of this wonderful organization.\nThere are many subtle, often unintentional ways the shy get sabotaged in public situations. Some people are so anxious that asking too many questions will keep them from being able to formulate any coherent sentences. As anyone can imagine, shutting a shy person out of a circle will usually ensure they won\u0026rsquo;t bother trying to join one again. And failing to make eye-contact, or even acknowledge the presence of a shy person when you are speaking to a group, will in many cases render them as \u0026ldquo;invisible\u0026rdquo; as you are implying they are.\nOn the contrary, do the opposite of this: ask a few, light easy questions; open up the circle to acknowledge and include someone; and make great eye contact even if you\u0026rsquo;re conversation doesn\u0026rsquo;t apply directly to them, and you could make a someone\u0026rsquo;s entire night. Had someone at 9:20 done just one of these things I would have felt grateful and comfortable. Instead, everyone at that table did all of them! People talked and I was included! People showed wedding invitations (two of the instructors just got engaged), they showed me too! People asked my name and verified the pronunciation! People were acknowledging that I was there and worth including in the conversation! It was completely amazing!\nOk, I think this post might now be verging dangerously close to the pathetic, so let me explain that I realize I do a lot of this to myself. Being shy in Middle School was so excruciating that I somehow managed to create a coping mechanism that, while it obviously doesn\u0026rsquo;t actually make me invisible, it makes me almost completely noticeable. I\u0026rsquo;ve watched people get kicked out of prohibited places while I\u0026rsquo;ve been standing right there next to them, in a bright red shirt, in broad daylight, unnoticed and chastised. I\u0026rsquo;m pretty lucky my husband even saw me let alone asked me out. On the bright side, I\u0026rsquo;m pretty good at hide\u0026rsquo;n\u0026rsquo;seek! In any case, if this post sounds whiny and extreme, I don\u0026rsquo;t mean it to. I rarely think anyone is ignoring me on purpose which is why I\u0026rsquo;ve started changing my behavior to make myself more visible. Still, it\u0026rsquo;s a long, tedious process changing a habit you\u0026rsquo;ve spent years perfecting. Additionally, it\u0026rsquo;s painful to be ignored, even if you know it\u0026rsquo;s unintentional, so experiencing such a warm, friendly environment in which I was welcome as a real human being complete with personality was a wonderfully validating experience.\nI suppose this entry is mostly about how grateful I am for kindness of the awesome people at 9:20 Special, but more than that I am grateful for all people who behave in a way that makes everyone feel welcome and included.\n","date":"2010-03-19T17:26:28-08:00","permalink":"/2010/03/19/people-who-make-eye-contact/","title":"People who make eye contact"},{"content":"Since purchasing my ipod a little over a year ago, I have gradually become so accustomed to the warmth of the headset, and the wonderful cocoon of my own private soundtrack, that to leave the house without it now feels akin to leaving the house without my pants. In fact, as I walked down the street yesterday with nothing but a few dollars and my bus pass in my pocket, I felt so exposed that I kept having to look down to make sure that I was, in fact, fully clothed.\nDependency aside, I have come to appreciate my ipod for more reasons than just it\u0026rsquo;s ability to drown out the obnoxious, scratchy cellphone tunes teens love to blast on the muni (though wouldn\u0026rsquo;t this be reason enough?).\nI like to keep my ipod on shuffle mode. Partly this is because I\u0026rsquo;m indecisive and the more albums I load into the system, the less I\u0026rsquo;m able to make a decision about which I want to hear. Truly, this is the American curse! But I also have a secret motive to keeping my music selections surprising and unexpected. You see, I am a big subscriber in the theory that the universe is constantly sending us messages. The problem with universe-sent messages is that they tend to be subtle, optional, and are seldom in our language. Rarely will you find a message in your inbox reading \u0026ldquo;So-in-so, you should should apply for ex-n-such job at this business. I have already taken the liberty of submitting your resume and drafting a cover letter. You should be hearing from them soon. Love, The Universe\u0026rdquo;. If only! Millions of people in thousands of cultures have crafted hundreds of thousands of ways to receive and understand messages from The Universe. But all of them have the same essential three components: a question, a method, and a person using their intuition to interpret the result. My version works as follows: When I get anxious or I\u0026rsquo;m unhappy, I go for a walk. Walking serves not only to release some of the physical tension of the stress experience, but it has always been a past time during which I am able to think more easily and with less distraction. As I think and walk I find myself zeroing in on certain problems, and wondering what needs to be done to solve them. More often than not, it is around this point that I will take a step back from my thought process to realize that my ipod is playing a song with suggestions for how I might deal with the current situation, or how I could change my perspective about it.\nYou can stop rolling your eyes. I realize this is a far cry from a true metaphysical experience. My point is not that my ipod is giving me a direct connection with some omniscient river of inspiration flowing through our universe. Rather, I\u0026rsquo;m expressing appreciation for a method I\u0026rsquo;ve discovered of accessing that part of mind that remains an elusive mystery, my intuition.\nI\u0026rsquo;ve been struggling lately. Many people have been struggling lately. The economy doesn\u0026rsquo;t seem so much better than it was a few years ago. In fact, I had a job then, and only lost it once the economy experienced \u0026ldquo;an upturn\u0026rdquo;. I funded my college experience by working at a bookstore which qualified me for a customer service position at a publishing company. I\u0026rsquo;ve labeled myself as an ops branch office worker/retail employee and I\u0026rsquo;m baffled about how to break free of the mold in which I\u0026rsquo;ve imprisoned myself. Like many, I\u0026rsquo;m seeking inspiration and solutions anywhere I can find them and I have discovered that my limitations are often the product of my own self image. When I walk down the street, overwhelmed by feelings of inadequacy and my ipod begins to play the opening chords of \u0026ldquo;Living Prayer\u0026rdquo;, I feel both chastised and hopeful. Perhaps, as many paranormal psychologists claim, this electronic device is serving as a communicator, connecting me with the infinite. Perhaps all the answers are here in an inaccessible part of my own mind. Perhaps this distinction doesn\u0026rsquo;t matter as long as this experience is giving me hope, inspirations and the strength determine and pursue my goals so I can lead a fulfilling life.\nThank you, ipod.\n","date":"2010-03-16T17:17:43-08:00","permalink":"/2010/03/16/ipod/","title":"ipod"},{"content":"BART is often responsible for my presence at gatherings of friends and family in the Bay Area, since I do not have a car. What many people don\u0026rsquo;t know, however, is that BART might be responsible for my entire existence. My maternal grandfather was an engineer and he relocated his family to the Bay Area from Maryland in the early seventies so that he could work on the construction of the BART system. It was here that my mother met my father, who had grown up in the East Bay. They eventually married and, a few years later, I was born. Because of this I have always felt a particular warmth towards the transit system, despite it\u0026rsquo;s many problems and it\u0026rsquo;s ever increasing price. The system may have sucked up more of my life than I care to consider, with all it\u0026rsquo;s delays, and the long waits for trains, but it\u0026rsquo;s also allowed me to spend time with friends and family, be present at various events and occasions, and saved me the cost, both financial and emotional, of having and maintaining a car in the city. For that I am grateful.For me personally, the BART system had the added benefit of providing me with a link to my past. Many times while staring out of the train window at the rolling hills of the East Bay, I think about my grandfather, and wonder if he ever considered how his work would effect his children, his grandchildren, and probably someday his great grandchildren. When I ride BART often a little part of me feels like I\u0026rsquo;m riding with my grandpa, and this makes me smile.\n","date":"2010-03-12T14:22:48-08:00","permalink":"/2010/03/12/bart/","title":"BART"},{"content":"Monday morning I could not force myself to wake up. Sometimes my bed doesn\u0026rsquo;t seem so much like a flat surface as a huge, bowl of marshmallow fluff. I can spent hours trying to scrabble up the slippery sides, but I always ended up sliding back down into it\u0026rsquo;s soft, dark depths. I found myself unintentionally dozing several times, as well as day dreaming about canceling the plans I had made that day. Finally I decided my self-esteem was low enough without losing a battle to a bed, so I dragged myself up despite the protest of every part of my groggy body.\nResentfully, I went to the computer and looked up the information I would need for my quest of the day: I was seeking my sewing machine soul mate. That machine to which all other machine would pale in comparison. I called my mother, who was my partner in the quest, packed up my stuff, and put on my ipod in preparation for a long, tedious journey on public transit. I was still exhausted, still wishing I could reschedule, still longing to return to my soft, still-warm blankets and pillow, when the first few notes of Life on Mars began playing over my headphones. It was startlingly how instantly my mood changed as Bowie started to sing. I felt as refreshed and invigorated as if I\u0026rsquo;d just taken a cucumber-peppermint shower. While a second ago my head felt full of molasses and cricket chirps, it had now been replaced with sunlight and lemon-scented rain. I instantly felt happy, enthusiastic, and, of course, deeply grateful to David Bowie who has written some of the liveliest, catchiest, most wonderfully bizarre songs I have ever been lucky enough to enjoy.\n","date":"2010-03-12T13:41:15-08:00","permalink":"/2010/03/12/david-bowie/","title":"David Bowie"},{"content":"Today Ben and I went to a swap meet in Oakland. I\u0026rsquo;ve been to swap meets before, with their eclectic booths filled with half empty boxes of puppy pads, unidentifiable pieces of ancient technology, and gaudy, chunky jewelry that only a giant, 70 year old women would wear with any sort of sincerity. They are a fun, puzzling, sometimes fruitful, sometimes hilarious, and always interesting part of our culture. However, this particular place was an entirely new experience for me. You see, Ben had his bike stolen from in front of the library a few weeks ago, and a friend suggested that this would be a good place to look for it. He might as well have directed us to the Moss Eisley Cantina for how alien and vulnerable I felt upon arriving and seeing booth after booth of unquestionably stolen merchandise being unabashedly displayed at every turn by people whose lives I couldn\u0026rsquo;t possibly imagine. Men walked bikes down the aisles calling out \u0026ldquo;I\u0026rsquo;ve got a bike for sale here! Bike for sale!\u0026rdquo; One booth had an entire table covered in large, used, plasma screen T.V.s and another boasted a huge, mountainous landscape of expensive looking cellphones in conditions varying from new to barely recognizable. Many of the food carts did not have a single item for sale that I recognized. This surprised me because I love cultural foods, and I\u0026rsquo;m from the bay area, a giant, touristy place that\u0026rsquo;s always taken great pride in it\u0026rsquo;s multicultural heritage! It was scary; I was enchanted.\nAfter searching table after table, truck after truck we finally decided that Ben\u0026rsquo;s bike was not at today\u0026rsquo;s market and decided to relocate to a place where we felt there was less risk of getting our pockets picked or our vital organs charred by under-the-table laser guns.\nStill, I could not help but love our experience at the Oakland Swap Meet today, and I think Ben agreed. There\u0026rsquo;s nothing like a quick waltz with the sketchier side of society to renew your sense of excitement and adventure. Being able to do so in a large crowd on a bright, Sunday afternoon, rather than in a dark, smelly alley at 3:00am makes it all the better.\nI don\u0026rsquo;t like that Swap Meets are often a favorite resource to thieves hoping to pawn stolen merchandise in a place where it can often not be traced to it\u0026rsquo;s original source. But still, I have to appreciate the invention of the Swap Meet. It has created a space for us to interact, to share our stories and our possessions, and to catch a momentary glimpse of our world through another\u0026rsquo;s eyes.\nThank you, Swap Meets, for adding color and interest to our culture.\n","date":"2010-03-07T22:53:07-08:00","permalink":"/2010/03/07/swap-meets/","title":"Swap Meets"},{"content":"Ben and I just got home from Hawaii. Which may lead to you to ask \u0026ldquo;Why isn\u0026rsquo;t this post entitle \u0026lsquo;Hawaii\u0026rsquo; ?!?!\u0026rdquo; To which I would respond that this is MY freakin\u0026rsquo; journey, buddy, and if I\u0026rsquo;d rather be grateful for garlic that is my prerogative. If you don\u0026rsquo;t like it you don\u0026rsquo;t have to read it. Got it?\nNow that we\u0026rsquo;ve got that straightened out, let me continue. In Hawaii we were listening to a radio talk show about a guy who wrote a book called Grow Your Own Drugs. After the obligatory jokes about how often that book is probably mistakenly purchased, we got back to listening to interview. James Wong\u0026rsquo;s book is full of recipes for natural remedies for everything from bug repellent to athlete\u0026rsquo;s foot. Almost all of his recipes use only herbs and essential oils and none of them have poisons or toxins in them. Towards the end of the interview, the question was asked \u0026ldquo;What is your favorite herb/natural remedy?\u0026rdquo; to which the author replied \u0026ldquo;Garlic\u0026rdquo;.\nAlthough not exotic or rare, I can understand why someone would choose garlic as their favorite herb. I\u0026rsquo;m not a doctor or an herbalist, but I\u0026rsquo;ve read enough to know that garlic is good for all sorts of ailments. It\u0026rsquo;s an anti-fungal, it\u0026rsquo;s reputed to be amazing for the the immune system, and if you eat enough of it it\u0026rsquo;s supposed to keep mosquitoes (and most people) away. I even recently read that there have been studies recently that show that there\u0026rsquo;s a possibility that garlic could help with heart disease, high blood pressure and even cancer.\nIt thrills me to read about all the health benefits of garlic. Perhaps this is because it\u0026rsquo;s such a pleasure to eat and the thing I love best about garlic is it\u0026rsquo;s contributions to the culinary world. Ever since it \u0026ldquo;sprouted out of Satan\u0026rsquo;s left footstep as he departed from the Garden of Eden\u0026rdquo; garlic has been enriching our lives with it\u0026rsquo;s wide variety of flavors, from the spicey, pungent taste of raw garlic; to the complex, savory taste of sauteed garlic; to it\u0026rsquo;s sweet, almost candy-like taste when roasted. I love that I can always count on this beautiful, pearly bulb with it\u0026rsquo;s adorable, individually wrapped, little cloves to add flavor to almost any dish I make. When I cook, garlic will often be the primary spice that I use, if not the only spice.\nI must say I\u0026rsquo;m not surprised about fantastic medicinal properties of garlic. This little hero of a plant has always had a special place in my heart. It brings back memories of sitting around the table with my family, enjoying a wonderful, home cooked meal. And, although I\u0026rsquo;m far from being a master chef, I can throw a little chopped garlic in with some olive oil and spinach and get a fragrant dish and looks and feels truly gourmet. Garlic is a health booster, a self-esteem booster in the kitchen, and I\u0026rsquo;m very grateful for it\u0026rsquo;s existence in my life.\n","date":"2010-03-06T18:57:05-08:00","permalink":"/2010/03/06/garlic/","title":"Garlic"},{"content":"This blog came to be because I used to enjoy writing, and I had a lot to say, even if some of it wasn\u0026rsquo;t terribly interesting. I let this blog peter out because I felt it had served it\u0026rsquo;s purpose and my inspiration had moved in other directions. Now I\u0026rsquo;ve decided it must be revived to serve a new purpose. It\u0026rsquo;s not that I enjoy writing anymore, in fact, these days there\u0026rsquo;s very little that I enjoy, and this is the point. For unknown reasons, my world has darkened. This confuses me, because although I\u0026rsquo;ve seen others go through this, I\u0026rsquo;ve never had it happen to me. It\u0026rsquo;s a mysterious phenomenon to discover that nothing sounds fun anymore. It\u0026rsquo;s puzzling to notice that, though you used to fill your days with new, exciting things, you suddenly don\u0026rsquo;t even have the energy to get out of bed and get dressed. It\u0026rsquo;s like someone holding a big gray pillow over my mind, suffocating all the emotion and life out of my days. I\u0026rsquo;m finding myself frantically trying to find ways to distract myself from this mood, shake myself out of this state, but it doesn\u0026rsquo;t feel like something I can control. It feels like something is holding the exit shut.\nBefore I take the chemical approach to halting my downward spiral, I thought I\u0026rsquo;d try to break myself out of this funk in a natural, less invasive way. I\u0026rsquo;m working out, adjusting my eating habits, learning new things, and I\u0026rsquo;m starting a Gratitude Journal. Each entry will be about one thing for which I am grateful. In doing this I will be taking time every day to appreciate the wonderful things in my life. My constant need for material to write about will keep me constantly thinking about things for which to be grateful. In addition, this need will likely force me out of bed and into new situations, where I will meet people, and learn more about the world and myself. I thought this blog would be a perfect place to record this experience. Knowing my gratitude journal is public will make me more conscientious about keeping up with it. And perhaps, if I do a good job, it will provide encouragement to a few world weary, web-surfers that accidentally stumble onto it someday! If I don\u0026rsquo;t do a good job, at least I can still consider it a good use of time for this world weary web-surfer.\nHere we go!\n","date":"2010-03-06T18:00:00-08:00","permalink":"/2010/03/06/new-journey/","title":"New Journey"},{"content":"Calmly walk into a room with a dog in it and she might wag her tail and come up to lick your hand. Calmly walk into a room with a cat in it and if you’re lucky, your existence might be acknowledged. Calmly walk into a room with an unprepared rabbit in it, and you might as well have leaped in, flailing your arms while blasting an airhorn and firing a machine gun.\nPlace your hand in front of a dogs nose and he’ll smell it and possibly let you pet him. Try the same thing with a cat and she might give you a few sniffs before she turns disdainfully away. Put you hand in front of a rabbit and you’ve entered a blind spot. He’ll sense you, growl, and either lunge or back up and run away.\nHow often do you think about the fact that the two most popular types of pets in the United States are predators, more accustomed to hunting than being hunted? Probably not at all until you adopt prey. It’s one of the first things you learn about rabbits when you become an owner. Websites, books, information packets, everything is peppered with the bolded warnings that rabbit are prey animals, and therefore not at all like the cool, confident, predatory pet you\u0026rsquo;re probably used to. You see this both in rabbits\u0026rsquo; behavior, and in their painfully delicate bodies. They are surprisingly light for all their chubbiness. Their bones, especially their backbone, are fragile and easily crushed. They are like rodents, whose only purpose it would seem, is to provide nourishment for larger animals. Sadly, it’s become apparent that Rory knows his role in the world, and so he is always on, always aware in case the barking dogs and the shot guns have finally caught up with him.\nWhat this means is that for the last three months, Ben and I have had to learn to become bunny people. I wake up every morning to my husband softly saying \u0026ldquo;Ok, Rory, I’m coming around the corner now,\u0026rdquo; as he enters the Living Room. When I was about 3 or 4, my grandparents made up the term \u0026ldquo;hiker’s walk\u0026rdquo; to teach me to raise my feet when I step instead of dragging my shoes. But, sadly, this habit is dying off in our household as Ben and I loudly scuff our way from room to room so that our little roommate knows where we are and whether we are about to turn a corner.\nHowever, the most startling and life changing part of living with a prey animal is discovering how much time they spend being curious, comfortable, playful and even exuberant. Fear and hesitation aside, I’ve lived with few pets that displayed the kind of curiosity and excitement I see from Rory on a regular basis. Even as I write this, he’s been nudging my arm, walking across my computer (ex][-=po\\ \u0026lt;this is from him), and settling down into a happy, purring (yes, rabbits purr) bunny puddle when I scratch his neck or massage his ears. Yesterday, he spent about a half an hour chasing me around the house, allowing himself a joyful and disorganized leap every few hops (I guess just because he was SO happy).\nI watch Rory binky through the obstacle course he made himself, or attack a phone book and I think \u0026ldquo;How can you be so cheerful and determined knowing how much you have to be afraid of and how many obstacles are in your way?\u0026rdquo; and I hear the question echoing back to me. Whatever made me think that just because there are fears and obstacles, we shouldn’t be cheerful and determined?\nAnd as I feel him ramming his head against my leg, arm, any part of me he can reach, in hopes of getting a goody, I think \u0026ldquo;How can you be so trusting, knowing how much I could hurt you?\u0026rdquo; and I hear him answer as he butts his head against my nose, \u0026ldquo;What a dumb question! How am I going to get any raisins if I don’t even try?!\u0026rdquo;\n","date":"2009-03-27T13:55:49-08:00","permalink":"/2009/03/27/living-with-food/","title":"Living with \"food\""},{"content":"Ben and I are now proud parents. Our first child has turned out to be much fuzzier than I would have expected, and his ears, well, he would do best to wear a hat in public if he doesn’t want people staring. He is already eating whole raw carrots, which I’m glad about because his teeth are pretty intimidating. Ok, fine, he’s a rabbit. On that note, have any of you guys heard about that woman in the renaissance who tricked a royal doctor into believing that she regularly gave birth to dead rabbits? Well, that’s not what happened here. Rory is neither dead, nor anything that came from me, which is good because I think in that case my husband might have some questions. Rory is a 3-year-old, Holland lop who is under-socialized and has a history of neglect, which I think means he was a hutch rabbit (and for the militant bunny lobbyists, this is about the worst thing you can do to a rabbit). He has also developed the unfortunate habit of shoving out the contents of his litter box every time he uses it. I’ve told him time and again that this defeats the purpose of a litter box, but he seems determined to do it and then complain and walk around disgruntled about his urine soaked paws and tail for the rest of the day. Sometimes I wonder if this experience with Rory is a lot like how it will be to have kids. Will I gaze adoringly at them for hours on end, cooing while they roll around on the floor, only to moments later, fantasize about “accidently” leaving the door open, allowing them to escape so I can vacuum and reclaim a rather large corner of my living room? Will I one moment be worrying about the scared noises they are making, and the next be furious with them as they fling poop all over my living room rug? I’m starting to think so.\nI’ll tell you what I hope WILL change when a baby comes along: the quality of the food and diet information available. I’ve never adopted a rabbit before so my first stop on bringing Rory home was the good old internet; the perfect source of any kind of information you could want; the thing that got me through school, my wedding, multiple moves, wars with various invading insect, etc.; only to discover that apparently no one actually knows what rabbits should be eating. Or actually, it’s more like EVERYBODY has an opinion about what rabbits should be eating, and all of them contradict each other. The science sites might tell you that rabbits should only be given a small amount of pellets and hay everyday and maybe a little bit of fresh produce as a treat, the bunny breeders and bloggers will tell you that rabbits should primarily eat fresh cabbage, romaine lettuce and timothy hay, and that they should be given little to no pellets at all. Wikipedia and Yahoo Answers will ramble on about how lettuce and cabbage is lethal to rabbits, and that mostly they should be fed hay, parsley, and celery (other sites will swear rabbits should never eat celery under any circumstances). The pamphlet I received from the place we got Rory talks about how much bunnies love bananas and that a small piece is the perfect treat, while another place will tell you bananas are addictive and that rabbits shouldn’t be given any at all. I am well aware of the fact that even for people, “healthy” eating habits go in and out of style, but never before in my life have I experienced this kind of frantic fervor about food. The people who say “yes” are screaming it and the people who say “no” are screaming just as loudly. What every side seems to agree on is that a healthy diet is the most important part of taking care of a rabbit. That feeding a rabbit the wrong kinds of food in the wrong amounts will almost certainly lead to an uncomfortable and untimely demise. That a rabbit can and will die within days of eating whatever it is the other site said rabbits should eat on a regular basis. Imagining that when I’m weaning my first born, I could be reading books that alternately claim you should be feeding your baby this vegetable, and that if you feed your baby this vegetable it will kill them within 24 hours, is enough to make me want to postpone pregnancy indefinitely.\n","date":"2009-01-17T11:53:13-08:00","permalink":"/2009/01/17/the-new-addition/","title":"The new addition"},{"content":"A good conscience is a continual Christmas. *-*Ralph Waldo Emerson\nWe\u0026rsquo;re reaching the end of the line now, folks. At this point it\u0026rsquo;s too late to order gifts over the internet without paying shipping fees that cost more than the items themselves. Stores are packed with people and sadly short of desirable presents. You\u0026rsquo;ve got basically three choices now: the Macy\u0026rsquo;s slippers in the ripped box, the boring \u0026ldquo;Tractor-a-day\u0026rdquo; calendar that no one else wanted, or you can look behind door number three; my door, the right choice.\nA few months ago I was reading National Geographic’s and came across some disturbing news. Because Haiti is now so impoverished that many cannot afford to even buy rice, people have started eating baked cakes made of clay, salt and lard, in order to stave off hunger pains. After I got over my initial reaction of “Whoa, I wonder what those taste like and whether you can buy any online” (you can’t, by the way), the full impact of what I’d just read hit me. There are people, right now, who are so hungry that they are eating dirt just to keep from feeling the burning emptiness in their stomachs.\nI don’t tell you this because I want to get you good and depressed for Christmas. I tell you this because, if you’re out there searching in vain for a gift to give someone who already has more than they need, I’d like you to consider an alternative: Charity.\nMwahahaha, now you see how my evil plan has come full circle!\nThis time of year it is exceptionally easy to track down charity organizations accepting donations in your area. Large book stores, like Barnes and Noble, usually begin book drives shortly after Thanksgiving and often take donations until Christmas Eve. Most grocery stores have those big cardboard food donation tubs by their exits, and many local Colleges and Universities host non-profits, like Toys for Tots, around the holidays. My method, when giving a donation in someone\u0026rsquo;s name, is to buy some festive cards (or small boxes of candy), and in them write what was donated and to whom. That way there\u0026rsquo;s still something to open on Christmas day.\nDon’t have the time or desire to brave the winter weather in search of book, toy, clothing or food drives? Lela’s got your back:\nGifts that give more - This is a part of a larger online store called Greatergood.com, which sells beautiful, fair-trade merchandise. Gifts that give more, however, is strictly for those choosing to give a donation as a gift. And they\u0026rsquo;d be hard pressed not to find one they liked on here. This website includes an enormous range of important causes, covering all the basics: food for the hungry; shelter for the homeless; medical care; help for abandoned, orphaned, or wild animals; preservation of the rainforest; educational programs for the needy; this place had got it all! What I like best about this website is that it pre-packages it\u0026rsquo;s donations into nice, neat items. For example, you can add \u0026ldquo;feed a Haitian student for a year\u0026rdquo; to your cart for $50.00. For $20.00 you can buy a stove for a refugee in Darfur, and for a mere $10.00 you can provide vaccinations for 5 children in Burma. Gifts that Give More also generously emails pretty certificates confirming your purchase, so no one can accuse you of donating to \u0026ldquo;The Human Fund\u0026rdquo;.\nHeifer International - An extremely famous, and inspiring donation-as-gift website, Heifer International also offers pre-packaged donations. Through Heifer International, you can donate flocks of chicks, hives of bees, tree seedlings, goats, llamas, cows and much more to struggling families in need of food and an income. And the prices are very reasonable. A donation of an entire flock of ducks is a mere $20.00. That\u0026rsquo;s a lot of duck for your buck! After making your donation, you will have the option of downloading a pretty gift card to email or print out so you have something to give your friend or loved one.\nMicroPlace - \u0026ldquo;Invest wisely. End poverty\u0026rdquo; Know someone who\u0026rsquo;s really into business? Or playing the stock market? This is the perfect gift for them. Microplace let\u0026rsquo;s you choose the social (how much are they starting with?), financial (how quickly do you get the money back?) and geographical (where in the world do you want to invest?) details of the type of business you\u0026rsquo;d like to invest in, and let\u0026rsquo;s you invest ($20.00 minimum) in a business that meets your criteria. It\u0026rsquo;s a good cause, and you (or your gift recipient) could end up getting more back that you originally gave!\nCarbon offsetting - I realize this isn\u0026rsquo;t exactly donating to charity, but I think it would be a pretty cool gift to give someone. \u0026ldquo;Merry Christmas! You can be at peace, knowing that no driving, or flying you did in 2007 has had any effect on the air quality of this planet. You are carbon neutral!\u0026rdquo; Doesn\u0026rsquo;t that sound cool? If you think I\u0026rsquo;m not crazy, here is a link with a quick, easy carbon calculator to help you figure out just how much a year\u0026rsquo;s, month\u0026rsquo;s, week\u0026rsquo;s, etc. worth of carbon offsetting would be and here is a list of places from which to purchase carbon offsets. Terrapass is my favorite because they use the methane they burn, as fuel. They sell carbon offsets at $13.12 per ton. Carbon Fund is also nice and easy too, and it\u0026rsquo;s a little cheaper at $20.00 for two tons.\nSo you put off shopping to the last minute, that doesn\u0026rsquo;t mean you\u0026rsquo;re too late to grab the good gifts. You still have the opportunity to give the most wonderful gift of all: Hope to those in need, and joy to those you love. I guarantee that your loved one will be deeply touched and grateful when reading that they\u0026rsquo;ve donated a hat and scarf to a homeless child; as opposed to the reaction you\u0026rsquo;ll receive when you give them that smelly, Christmas candle, with the fingernail scratches in it, that you found on the back of the shelf at Walmart. Trust me.\nI wish you a happy holiday season, filled with warmth, generosity, and peace.\n","date":"2008-12-20T15:31:00-08:00","permalink":"/2008/12/20/lelas-favorites-part-ii/","title":"Lela's Favorites, part II"},{"content":"A few weeks ago Ben and I sat in a small Mexican restaurant drinking disappointing margaritas and discussing, what else, but the Mormon Church. In particular we were talking about how the church encourages each member to speak before the congregation at least once. For someone like me, who couldn’t wait until the next public speaking assignment in college, this sounded like a thrilling adventure. On expressing my enthusiasm, Ben had the audacity to tell me that he suspected any lecture from me would be \u0026ldquo;like wearing flip flops to Church” (an analogy we use to describe seemingly innocent mistakes perpetrated by someone who knows better). To drive the message home, Ben looked at me and said “Sister Lela, would you like to give a talk on charity?”\nMaybe it was the tequila, or the fact that I’d spent the whole day lying around the house watching Ben study for a math test, but suddenly there was nothing I wanted so much as to give a talk on charity. And because I’m not a member of the church, you get to be my lucky audience.\n(\u0026ldquo;Ahem\u0026rdquo; shuffle, shuffle, someone coughs in the background, and we begin)\nIn November of 2005, at the World Summit on the Information Technology, a man named Nicholas Negroponte presented a prototype of a $100 laptop dubbed \u0026ldquo;The children\u0026rsquo;s machine\u0026rdquo;. It was his dream to distribute these inexpensive computers to children in developing nations worldwide. Shortly after, the One Laptop per Child project was formed and many software gurus and Silicon Valley bigwigs teamed up together with the goal of turning this dream into a reality. Within a year the $200 XO-1 had been born.\nAlthough $100 more than originally planned, these rugged, colorful little computers made up for the price with all sorts of interesting software, ebook capabilities, very low power consumption, and the ability to connect to the internet through other XOs, which means that even if only one family in a village has internet access, every child in the village will be able to get online.\nBefore long, everyone wanted one of these adorable little computers. Countries that could afford to buy them in bulk, did so, while other countries worked to fit them into the budget. Because of the interest among individuals (especially those involved in technology), the OLPC created a special website where people could choose to donate $200 to send a computer to a child in a developing nation, or they could donate $400 and receive a laptop for themselves in the bargain. The idea was embraced with enthusiasm. Suddenly hundreds of children worldwide found themselves with a bright, shiny computer to call their own, due only to the kindness (and geekiness) of a stranger living thousands of miles away. Nicholas Negroponte has been celebrated as a great humanitarian and visionary.\nHowever, not everyone is so thrilled with the vision of OLPC. People criticize this foundation’s mission as being an unnecessary luxury. Where is the logic in distributing laptops to struggling nations when many people in these same countries are lacking clean water, adequate healthcare and nutritious food? The critics make a good point, and their concerns are worth considering.\nWhenever we decide to donate time, money, or energy to a charity organization, we must reconcile ourselves with the fact that there are millions of other good causes that we do not have the resources to support. Whenever we help someone in need, we know that this means we will not be able to give to others in need. How do we resolve this with ourselves, and how do we resolve the fact that OLPC is giving out laptops instead of water purifiers and bags of rice?\nConsider this story. A poor family in Uganda is struggling to earn even enough money for one meager meal a day. A non-profit steps in and give them a flock of chickens. Now this family not only has a source of food, but also a regular income, as they can sell eggs and occasionally meat at the local market. Having successfully provided the family with the means to survive, the non-profit moves on.\nBut what happens to the family? Do they know how much to sell the eggs for in order to make a profit? Can the parents afford to send their children to school or are they only making endsmeat? What happens if the chickens die? If everybody worked only to fill the most basic needs of those who are struggling, who would make sure the solutions could be maintained? It’s important to give to the hungry, but it’s equally important to make sure that those who have been helped need never be hungry again. OLPC may not be working directly with those on the brink of starvation, but they are working towards ensuring that children born with little opportunity have access to an education that will keep them from ever being on the brink of starvation themselves.\nThe question now is how to figure out who needs you most. But it’s ok, because you were born with the answer. You’ve spent years honing and carefully perfecting the answer. As with most areas of your life, it’s all about talent. OLPC is a foundation full of scientists, software engineers, and developers. They donated their time in a way that perfectly coincided with their skills and interests, which makes the quality of their product higher, and their foundation that much more successful. Is reading your passion? How about donating some of your favorite children’s books to Toys for Tots? Or reading to kids at the battered women’s shelter? Have you always been good with animals? There are hundreds of organizations in the bay area alone, dedicated to providing medical care, healthy food, and happy homes to animals in need. Are you gifted at interacting with those in emotional turmoil? The suicide prevention hotline would love to have you.\nThe most wonderful thing about charity is that it allows us to use our talents, interests, and skills to improve the health of our global community and therefore ourselves. When you are donating the qualities about yourself that you love best, and of which you are most proud, charity is no longer a thing you are doing, it becomes a part of who you are.\n","date":"2008-12-13T13:39:17-08:00","permalink":"/2008/12/13/about-charity/","title":"About Charity"},{"content":"The Holiday season is upon us and I know what you are thinking, \u0026ldquo;What are Lela’s favorite things for Christmas 2008?\u0026rdquo; I’m sure the questions began in early October as a tiny gnawing sensation in your stomach (or was that the tapeworm?) and it’s now become a full-blown, fingernail-biting fiesta of unbridaled curiosity consuming your every waking hour. Well, suffer no longer, my friends! Because here it is, Lela’s Favorite Things 2008!!!\nFavorite gifts for your sassy, teenage sister Nepali hand-knit stocking cap: $12.95 (http://theanimalrescuesite.com/store)- A cute and goofy looking hat that sends the message \u0026ldquo;I\u0026rsquo;m so cool, I can wear earflaps and get away with it.\u0026rdquo; Which is, of course, the goal of every teenager, right? I mean, right? That wasn’t just me, was it? Anyway, this gift comes with a bonus. For every hat purchased, 14 bowls of food will be donated to an animal shelter or sanctuary, which is sure to win you an additional squeal and a hug.\nRecycled rice bag tote: $18.99 (http://www.globalgirlfriend.com/)- These chic and stylish tote bags are made by a women’s coop in Cambodia working to abolish human trafficking. They are beautiful, functional, and purchasing one will support efforts to end sex slavery.\nFavorite stocking stuffer Survival kit in a sardine can: $11.99 (http://thinkgeek.com)- It’s small, it’s thorough, it floats, and it’s got an “energy nugget” in the form of a tootsie roll! If there’s a cooler stocking stuffer out there, I haven’t found it.\nFavorite gifts under $10.00 Titanium spork: $8.99 (http://thinkgeek.com)- thinkgeek.com is hilarious and wonderful and always worth browsing. But if you’re too busy, and need a cheap gift for a guy, one that will make almost any man immediately happy, this is it. It seems the powers of titanium and sporkiness combined creates the masculine ideal of silverware. It’s like the Captain Planet of the eating utensils.\nMini pet cactus: $9.99 (http://thinkgeek.com)- So I realize that after shipping this isn’t exactly under $10, but I think these little cacti are really clever, adorably fuzzy-looking, easy to take everywhere, and still very affordable.\nFavorite gift for your Mormon neighbor Vinjus gourmet grapejuice: $14.50 (http://www.grapeseedoil.com/)- They already don’t get to drink wine, why also deny them the pleasure of receiving one of those tall, thin bags with a bottle neck sticking, enticingly, out of the top? This juice is pretty, organic, all natural, and has an interesting and complex flavor that may even rival the fermented stuff.\nFavorite gifts for your (cave)man Swedish firesteel: $15.99 (http://thinkgeek.com)- Pretty early in our lives, we women realize that men have never really “gotten over” the invention of fire. This year, why not give him the gift that keeps on giving? He’ll thank you for it (though possibly in grunts) once his mind has returned from prehistory.\nWild soap bar shaving kit for men: $23.40 (thegreatergreen.com)- I confess I haven’t seen this kit in person, but all the components (wooden bowl, natural brush, sassafras soap and burlap storage bag) look absolutely lovely and classy, the rating is great, and the “wild” in the title may make your hairy man feel a little better about being given this not so subtle hint.\nFavorite gift for families Set card game: $10.99 (http://www.amazon.com/)- This game is awesome. It’s just awesome. And 1 to however-many-people can play it. So even if your family is not so awesome and went to the movies without you, you can still play this fun family game all by your lonesome, with the added benefit that you never have to lose!\nFavorite gift for your nerdy, dungeons and dragons playing, cousin Larry Wizard Paste: $24.95 (http://rawguru.com/)- This “alchemically blended” raw chocolate paste is composed of 21 superfoods making it the ideal snack, be you riding dragons or rolling dice. I won’t say it’s fantastic tasting, but it’s not bad, and when your cousin’s waste deep in the Smarmy Marshes of the Forsaken Forest, do you really think he’ll notice?\nFavorite gifts for your classy lady Leaf pendant w/green sapphire: $90.00 [$175.00 for earrings] (brilliantearth.com)- Jewelry is lovely. Fair-trade, eco-friendly jewelry is heavenly, and surprisingly affordable.\nBrilliant Earth Diggers Pendant: $130.00 (brilliantearth.com)- This pendant features the imprint of a miner’s palm and includes a small, sparkly, Canadian diamond. It’s an artful reminder of the exploitation of the African diamond miners, and also that we have the choice to not buy into this violent industry.\nFavorite gift for your weird, hippie friend Yoga sandals: $30.00 (gaiam.com)- You know those cheap-o flip flops that only separate your big toe from the second guy in line? Tell your psychedelic sidekick to toss those one-strap wonders right out the window cuz these puppies have dividers for each and every toe! Gaiam\u0026rsquo;s yoga sandals are supposed to improve balance, flexibility, and ability to run across streets without suddenly sending a shoes soaring across a busy intersection.\nFavorite gifts for the kids in your life Jamtown Jr. multicultural rhythm pack: $44.95 (http://worldofgood.ebay.com/)- A fantastic gift from an equally fantastic website. This pack includes three fair-trade, gorgeous rhythm instruments made for small hands, a rhythm CD, some instructions cards and a book. You have to look at this if you’re doing any shopping for little ones, and while you’re there, check out the stunning clove boxes. They’re lovely and smell wonderful!\nClassic jumprope: $16.00 (http://globalexchangestore.com/)- A lovely twist on a classic toy, this fair-trade jump rope is handmade of wood, vegetables dyes and plant resin. A portion of the profits made goes towards an organization dedicated to supporting and educating impoverished women living in the slums near Madras, India.\nFavorite gift for your crazy uncle Stainless steel table torches with colored-flame oil: $24.99 (http://thinkgeek.com)- Help your uncle’s sci-fi action figures and Princess Leia posters really shine with these stainless steel torches and included lamp oil that burns in color (red, green or orange). If you like the colored flame idea, but are not so keen on making your house look like an alien dungeon, thinkgeek sells tea candles (red, green or purple flamed) with this feature.\nGifts finer than a frog’s hair split three times Georgia Ice Cream (speckled grits): $3.95 Hushpuppy mix: $5.95 Sorghum syrup: $9.95 Peach syrup w/cinnamon stick: $6.95\n(noramill.com)\nYou might could give some these to anyone with an appreciation for southern food. All of these are really tasty, beautifully packaged, and delightful to receive at Christmas.\nFavorite gift for your clingy, overbearing girlfriend or boyfriend 7-day Jungle boogie tour: $492.00 + airfare to Cancun (greentortoise.com)- Give yourself a break and your significant other a chance to get hopelessly lost in the jungles of Mexico. Green Tortoise is a travel company that offers eco-friendly, low-cost tours around North and South America. Can’t afford this trip? GT offers local trips to state and national parks and festivals starting from $99.00.\nFavorite gift for your obnoxious roommate who’s always hogging the house phone Lanka Gift Pack: $15.00 (http://mrelliepooh.com/)- A beautiful, boxed stationary set featuring 8 cards with envelopes, a little matching notebook, and some sheets of writing paper all handmade in Sri Lanka. Want the punchline? All these products are 100% recycled and 75% elephant poop, mostly from orphaned Sri Lankan elephants. To drive your message home, I recommend getting the natural white version of this gift pack, as all products on this feature an oddly adorable picture of the paper’s bodily origin (who knew elephant butts could be so cute?). Seriously though, all the products on this website are wonderful. I think they’re clever and quirky and I’m dying to buy this pack for myself!\nThus concludes this edition of Lela’s Favorites for 2008. I realize I haven’t covered your cat-loving Aunt Margery, or that sort of stinky co-worker that sits across the hall from you, but come on, I can’t make all your decisions for you! Next thing I know you’ll be expecting me to trek over to your house every morning to pick out your clothes and I just don’t have time for that. If none of these gifts quite fit the people you’re shopping for I highly recommend browsing the sites posted after the items on this list as they are all chock full of wonderful and unique gift ideas. Here are a few more sites you may want to check out while you’re at it:\nwww.intrepidtravel.com- for the serious eco-adventurer www.goodcleanlove.com- for the amorous www.beeswaxcandleworks.com- for your sister-in-law www.starterkitforchange.com- for the reluctant www.makershed.com- for the well-meaning, but guidance-needing DIYer’s in your life\nHappy hunting and Happy Holidays!\n","date":"2008-11-30T16:42:11-08:00","permalink":"/2008/11/30/lelas-favorites-2008/","title":"Lela's Favorites 2008"},{"content":"In September of 2008 three San Franciscans disappeared (for the night) into Preston Castle near Ione, California, while hunting for ghosts\u0026hellip;A few months later Diana finally handed over her journal so Lela could post it on myspace\u0026hellip;\n[Because this journal changed hands throughout the night, names of the writers will be posted above the section they wrote. This writer\u0026rsquo;s additions will be posted in brackets]\n[Journal begins]\n[Diana]\nSeptemeber 20, 2008\nGhost Hunt at Preston Castle (Lela, Diana \u0026amp; Ben)\n[Lela]\nThis morning Ben spent, like, two hours practising drums, then right when he stopped, our downstairs neighbors turned on their crappy chinese pop really, really loudly and it made the floor shake. We just loaded Diana\u0026rsquo;s car, which was parked in front of 540 and on the 540 patio there were four hippies pounding beats on the tables while singing some awful, off-key blues song. So I\u0026rsquo;m hoping these ghosts aren\u0026rsquo;t drummers or I\u0026rsquo;ll have to kick some ectoplasmic a\u0026ndash; [edited]\n[Lela- a few hours later]\nAhead on the hill, glowing bright red in the light of the setting sun, sits out destination. And we\u0026rsquo;re only an hour late. Hope we haven\u0026rsquo;t missed our free buffet dinner!\n[Diana turns on the theme song from Tales from the Crypt, and the theme song from The Adams Family, as we make our way up the hill, only to find the gate locked. So we drive around for awhile to discover that\u0026rsquo;s the only way in. The fourth time we drive back up there someone is finally headed down to let us in, whew!]\n[Diana]\n7:30-Just arrived (Late!) \u0026amp; the bathroom has very fancy T.P.!!!\nSo far looks spooky\u0026hellip;here we go! Whooo!\n[Diana]\n8:45pm-Infirmary\n*This is a very scary room. The beds are old and rusty + it smells funny.\n*Alternating btwn cold \u0026amp; hot. Lela just said \u0026ldquo;you\u0026rsquo;re writing in the dark\u0026rdquo; accusingly.\nThis room scares me\nI keep getting headachy\n[Diana]\n9:00-Single apartment, Anna\u0026rsquo;s room. Anna was the head housekeeper. She was killed \u0026amp; left in the cupboard in the kitchen. One min she was seen on another floor \u0026amp; very soon after was found bludgeoned to death in the cupboard of the kitchen w/ no trail of blood from being dragged.\nWe\u0026rsquo;re in her room now.\nI feel no scary energy.\nThe infirmary was a much diff kind of energy, scary.\nOk, we\u0026rsquo;re going to try to speak w/her (well, communicate)\n[Diana]\n9:15- tried lying down w/hands in the air to engage Anna in acrobatic yoga. Didn\u0026rsquo;t work.\n[Diana]\n11:31- EVP in the kitchen where Anna was found, we asked for communication \u0026amp; after awhile there was a soft knock from the hall area. Then it came again from another part of the room. Then again from the cooking area. We examined, tested the sounds \u0026amp; found they matched the knocking on the door frame. Almost each place we heard it from was near a door frame. It was also responding when we asked it to, but then it stopped.\nThe whole basement level made Lela uneasy. At one pt. I felt suddenly warm on one side that wasn\u0026rsquo;t touching anything (my body, I mean) \u0026amp; then it got cold again.\nBen asked once \u0026ldquo;If someone touched me, can you do it again?\u0026rdquo; When I asked him about it \u0026amp; where he\u0026rsquo;d felt it, he said \u0026ldquo;inappropriately\u0026rdquo; Ha ha ha!\n[Diana]\n12:45-sitting in the room where they have food for us, \u0026amp; 2 women heard moaning from the bathroom area, so Ben \u0026amp; I went 2 look w/ the thermal camera. I thought maybe the moaning came from someone using the toilet, \u0026amp; sure enough the toilet seat was warm! Ha ha!\nEarlier in here we heard noises also, but who knows\n[Diana]\n2:30-Lela is being skeptical \u0026amp; mean, \u0026amp; not being a good, fun ghost hunter. She just wants to go 2 bed, but I don\u0026rsquo;t know b/c there\u0026rsquo;s a lot of snoring going on in there. I\u0026rsquo;m hoping to be visited by ghostly presences in the middle of the night-oh wait-it already is\u0026hellip;\nLela is reading over my shoulder-how rude\n[Lela]\nLela\u0026rsquo;s not being mean. She\u0026rsquo;s being realistic. If you don\u0026rsquo;t hold these ghosts accountable for their reactions, they\u0026rsquo;ll always think it\u0026rsquo;s perfectly acceptable to give tiny taps in an old, creaky house. This doesn\u0026rsquo;t do anyone any good. Calling old settling creaks what they are makes it clear to the ghosts that it they want to be taken seriously they\u0026rsquo;ve got to do better than that. Come on, guys, creaks happen everywhere, stop making us all look like naive kooks and give us something solid to work with. Speaking of solid, Ben and I just found a huge load of bat dung.\n[Diana] P That\u0026rsquo;s all I have to say\n[Diana]\n9/21/08- Ghost tour/hunt over. I had a conversation w/a ghost (apparently). Lela heard me answering ?\u0026rsquo;s this morning. I was dreaming that she kept dying \u0026amp; coming back to life.\nNow we\u0026rsquo;re sitting in IHOP for the full hick experience (ha ha I\u0026rsquo;m such a b\u0026mdash;-!) [edited] waiting for our food. Let\u0026rsquo;s find out what our fellow ghost hunters have to report:\nLela-\n11:08:07 9/21/08\n[Lela]\nI saw a chicken eating a skunk on the side of the road yesterday. I know I\u0026rsquo;m announcing this a little late, but I forgot to mention it earlier and it seems noteworthy. It\u0026rsquo;s not often you see chickens pecking at anything visable let alone a dead skunk. Anyway, this morning Ben and I got up at 8:00 and went to the visitors center to go to the bathroom. When I walked towards the bathroom, in the hall, I heard the soft, high tones of women talking in low voices. When I got to the bathroom, there [wasn\u0026rsquo;t anyone there, but there] was electric humming and I assumed it was creating the illusion of low talking. I stood by to listen and realized the tones were way deeper than what I had heard in the hall. I waited to see if it ever varied to that tone. It didn\u0026rsquo;t during the 10-15 minutes Ben \u0026amp; I spent there. Weird! Shortly before we left I heard the notorious moaning. It sounded so much like wind. It wasn\u0026rsquo;t very windy, but w/pipes facing the right way with the right wind, it might not take much.\nBen\u0026rsquo;s Report:\n[Ben]\nWhy couldn\u0026rsquo;t they put the directions on their website?\nUsing the thermal imaging device was the best part. My eyes were on it the entire time. Bats flew everywhere, sometimes startling us. There were feces in half the rooms, and I woke up disgusted. The castle, despite holes and the broken windows was very solidly built. There was no noise from the castle settling, which made the noises we did hear very exciting.\n[end of Preston Castle journal]\nIf you think you\u0026rsquo;d like to go to Preston Castle, I believe they will be offering more tours this spring.\nPreston Castle Tours\nBut be warned, Ben wasn\u0026rsquo;t lying, it\u0026rsquo;s really pretty filthy in there, though it may be much cleaner by this spring as there is a group working to fix it up. Also, only parts of the basement and the visitors center have electricity, so if you plan on exploring, know that if you venture into the far reaches of the basement (where the horrid kitchen is) or the upper floors (where Anna\u0026rsquo;s room is) you will be doing it in the dark and you will need a flashlight.\n","date":"2008-11-08T20:20:14-08:00","permalink":"/2008/11/08/the-preston-castle-project/","title":"The Preston Castle project"},{"content":"Long, long ago (1994) in a land far, far away (about 30 miles), Lela was enjoying her last day as a sixth grader at Sequoia Middle School. The choir teacher was retiring that year and Lela, being the goody-goody that she was, spent part of her day helping Mrs. Masters pack boxes and sort through papers. By early-afternoon, most things were sorted out of desks and off shelves and the student helpers turned to the cupboards and closets along the back wall. Suddenly, as Lela reached back into the farthest, darkest corner of the (three feet deep) broom closet, she made the most important discovery ever (in that particular room, on that particular day).\nIt was a 1987 yearbook that belonged to a girl who I\u0026rsquo;ll refer to as Buttercup in honor of the most awesome movie released that year. I was 6 in 1987, barely old enough to remember I had to remove my pajamas before putting on my clothes in the morning. In 1987 I spent my days struggling through \u0026ldquo;chapter\u0026rdquo; books that had about 3 sentences per page, and making ceramic sculptures that, no matter what I was trying to make, always turned out looking like big, blue blobs with eerie, black eye-sockets. And here was Buttercup. A girl who had been in Middle School at the time I was still occasionally showing up to class with a Rainbow Brite nightgown sticking out from under my dress. I was deeply impressed with her and her yearbook. Mrs. Masters, on the other hand, had probably spent her 1987 exactly the same way she had spent her 1994, and she had no interest in holding onto this book. When she told me to throw it away, I asked her if I could keep it and she said yes.\nOver the next several years Buttercup\u0026rsquo;s yearbook roamed from closet to bookshelf to garage to storage space to garage to closet to pile of books on the floor next to the slowly deteriorating ikea shelf. Every once in awhile I\u0026rsquo;d come across it and think \u0026ldquo;why am I holding onto this thing? Do I really think I\u0026rsquo;ll ever be able to find Buttercup? I\u0026rsquo;m going to toss it out.\u0026rdquo; But every time I put it in the toss pile, I\u0026rsquo;d pull it back out at the last minute. It wasn\u0026rsquo;t taking up that much space, and how could I throw away someone else\u0026rsquo;s memories?\nLast week, while I was making yet another naïve attempt to create more space by rearranging the clutter (as if I\u0026rsquo;m going to shift a pile of books and suddenly discover 50 square feet of extra space I never saw before) I came across Buttercup\u0026rsquo;s yearbook. It struck me that I\u0026rsquo;d never tried to find her online before and that this may be a more productive way of spending my evening than to continue pushing books around the livingroom floor. So I went to myspace, typed her name into the search area and discovered, to my astonishement, that there was a Buttercup Last-Name on Facebook and she lived in the East Bay!\nSo then I had to make a tough choice, do I want to register for facebook so I can message her or do I want to drop the whole thing? Being the hermit that I am, it was a tough call for me to make. But I couldn\u0026rsquo;t really turn back now that I\u0026rsquo;d come this close, so I, urgg, registered for facebook, and wrote Buttercup an awkward letter, explaining the situation and trying, delicately, to provide enough information about myself that she wouldn\u0026rsquo;t think I was a serial killer, and yet not enough information to put me at risk if she was one (What can I say? I am my mother\u0026rsquo;s daughter, and my mother happens to have worked for the public defenders office for many, many years).\nThe next day I nervously checked my email and was thrilled to discover I had a message from Buttercup. Not only did she not think I was a psychopath (which definitely would have been my first conclusion), she was thrilled to learn that her seventh grade yearbook, after going missing 21 years ago, was safe and recoverable. She was also impressed that I had held onto it for this long. We\u0026rsquo;re currently working out a suitable way to return the book to it\u0026rsquo;s rightful owner and Buttercup is looking forward to reading all the long forgotten signatures and messages.\nTo reach out to a stranger and hand them back a piece of their past is a surreal and wonderful experience, as is knowing that I was right to not throw that book away.\nAnd, of course, I\u0026rsquo;m always grateful for the opportunity to score another point in defense of packrats. Go us!\n","date":"2008-11-05T20:19:14-08:00","permalink":"/2008/11/05/my-amelie-moment/","title":"My Amelie moment"},{"content":"A few months ago I was spending a quiet afternoon typing things like \u0026ldquo;recipe lembas\u0026rdquo; and \u0026ldquo;bat boy sightings\u0026rdquo; (I mean, whatever happened to that guy?) into google, when suddenly, up pops this article about a man who was arrested for possessing a toad which authorities suspect he intended to lick.\nSo naturally, I ditched my searches on elven waybread and the whereabouts of that notorious nocturnal celebrity to focus on the whats, hows and whys of my google discovery. One page led to another and before I knew it, I was taking a magnificently disgusting tour through the murky world of stupor-inducing drug alternatives for the desperate and the thrifty. And of course, what\u0026rsquo;s the good of doing all that clicking and reading if I don\u0026rsquo;t share it with others?\nContrary to popular belief, you can\u0026rsquo;t just go out there, lick any old toad you come across, and expect to see Lucy in the sky with diamonds. Only the Bufo Alvarius, otherwise known as the Colorado River toad, which lives in the southwestern United States, has the right stuff. But even if you do happen to come across one of these guys during your Louis L\u0026rsquo;amour tour next summer vacation, don\u0026rsquo;t give in to your temptation to lick the milky slime oozing out of its neck glands. Not only is this profoundly disgusting it\u0026rsquo;s also incredibly dangerous. Colorado River toads produce two kinds of toxins which are both secreted through neck glands when the animal gets scared, as we all do when we find ourselves picked up by giants, or suddenly lodged in the mouth of monstrous dogs. Let\u0026rsquo;s refer to these two toxins as Bill and Ted. Bill is the \u0026ldquo;happy\u0026rdquo; toxin that makes this guy so popular at places like raves and burning man. Ted, however, is the toxin found in all toads that makes them taste bad and occasionally lethally poison curious canines. The amount of Ted in the Colorado River toad may not be enough to kill you, but it could lead to a not so excellent adventure to the hospital. There are some \u0026ldquo;safe\u0026rdquo; ways to enjoy toad goo without accidentally poisoning yourself but I\u0026rsquo;m not going to post them here. Honestly, if anyone is reading this and thinking \u0026ldquo;Mmmm, slimy, toad secretions! Sign me up!\u0026rdquo; you\u0026rsquo;re on your own, man.\nBut let me tell you, toad slime seems positively elegant compared to my next drug discovery: Jenkum. I\u0026rsquo;m not going to delve deep into this topic because, um…I don\u0026rsquo;t want to. If you REALLY want to learn more, there\u0026rsquo;s plenty on the internet.\nIn short, jenkum is the gas created by fermenting human waste. Generally it is captured using a balloon placed over a soda bottle full of sewage that is set out in a warm place for a few days. When the gas from the balloon is huffed, it is supposed to initially knock the person out, and then create a calm euphoric feeling that could last hours or even days. In 2007 a county in Florida was warned by the police department that jenkum had become a popular drug at a local high school. Later, there was a news report that claimed jenkum has caught on with teens nationwide and was now a \u0026ldquo;drug of choice,\u0026rdquo; sending millions of parents into a disgusted panic. Breath was smelled every night, rooms were checked for bottles of murky liquid, and the internet abounded with pictures of teenagers drinking yoohoo, until somebody realized that most American kids hadn\u0026rsquo;t even heard of jenkum and those that had reacted not so much with a \u0026ldquo;Really? Sounds like it\u0026rsquo;s time to \u0026lsquo;clean the toilet\u0026rsquo; if you know what I mean\u0026rdquo; as a \u0026ldquo;I think I\u0026rsquo;ll go throw up now\u0026rdquo; kind of attitude.\nSo, think what you want about American teenagers, but remember that to them, the idea of free hallucinogens is not so enticing that they are willing to huff their own poop. Based on my experiences as a teenager, I\u0026rsquo;d say that if there are friends around with camera phones, it\u0026rsquo;s unlikely anybody will be licking any toad slime either.\nIf that\u0026rsquo;s not a comforting thought, I don\u0026rsquo;t know what is.\n","date":"2008-10-20T20:18:43-08:00","permalink":"/2008/10/20/truly-desperate/","title":"Truly Desperate"},{"content":"The other night I was talking to Ben about how much I had wanted to post an angry rant about Prop 8. But that as I thought about it I realized angry rants are hardly the sort of thing that change opinions, and that most likely anyone who read my post who was planning on voting yes on Prop 8 would just end up feeling defensive, alienated, and like I was immature and misguided. So what would be the point? Instead I have decided that, as long as we\u0026rsquo;re adding religious propositions to the ballot of our separation-of-church-and-state government, I\u0026rsquo;d like to suggest a few more, just to make sure everyone gets fair representation (with the exception of the gay and lesbian community, of course).\nProp 5/24: In which five times a day, everyone must stop what they are doing to kneel on their prayer rugs and praise Allah. (If you\u0026rsquo;re not the religious type, you may put your head on your rug and sit quietly)\nProp one (is-the-loneliest-number): because we all know that housework goes much faster when there are lots of wives helping out. Various cultures and religions in all parts of the world will agree!\nProp Zen: Mandatory meditation (you know, I actually don\u0026rsquo;t think this one is such a bad idea)\nProp screaming children: Let\u0026rsquo;s put animal sacrifice back into our schools. It\u0026rsquo;s shocking how little these kids know about our religious and cultural roots.\nAnd my personal favorite:\nProp Volcano Virgin toss: Which, I think, needs no explanation.\nOk, so I\u0026rsquo;m not writing this to express my opinions about gay rights, though if anyone wants my opinion I\u0026rsquo;ll tell you that I think real love is always a blessing. I define real love as love between two rational, mature, equal adults. With all the economic and ecological disasters and the heartbreaking human rights violations going on in the world right now I\u0026rsquo;m baffled as to why so many are choosing to focus their energies on telling people who are in love that they are wrong and bad for feeling that way.\nBut I digress. I\u0026rsquo;m not writing to wax eloquent about gay rights. I\u0026rsquo;m writing to point out, to anyone who might read this, that the greatness of the USA is found in the freedom and the rights our constitution offers to all of this nation\u0026rsquo;s citizens, regardless of race, religion, ethnicity or sex. This country is celebrated for its freedom and it\u0026rsquo;s commitment to working toward equality. So if you\u0026rsquo;re planning on voting yes on Prop 8 for religious or personal reasons rather than constitutional ones, please take a moment to consider what this county is all about.\n","date":"2008-10-10T20:18:35-08:00","permalink":"/2008/10/10/not-a-rant/","title":"Not a rant"},{"content":"I spent all day Wednesday hanging out in the house, waiting for my work laptop to be delivered by the mailman. After waiting patiently all day for my doorbell to ring, I decided I must have misjudged when my package would arrive. Then Ben came through the door and handed me a \u0026ldquo;Sorry we missed you\u0026rdquo; slip informing me that because I wasn\u0026rsquo;t, I don\u0026rsquo;t know, standing right next to my mailbox when the mailman came by, I now had to walk over to the post office, pick up my package and carry it home myself.\nMy experiences at the local post office have been bewildering at best, so I wasn\u0026rsquo;t in a hurry to put myself through all the lines, confusion, pointless questions and language barriers. Finally, this afternoon I decided it was time to bite the bullet. I reminded myself that just because every other trip has been annoying doesn\u0026rsquo;t mean this one will be.\nSo I walk the 9 or so blocks and entered the ominous looking gray building. Of course there was a long line at the service counter and only one person working there. So the first decision I had to make was whether to stand behind the guy getting helped at the \u0026ldquo;packages to pick-up\u0026rdquo; counter, where the one employee was stationed, or get in the long line that ended at the empty counters. Previously I\u0026rsquo;ve been snidely insulted when I needed to pick up a package and didn\u0026rsquo;t go to the \u0026ldquo;package pick-up\u0026rdquo; place but I wasn\u0026rsquo;t going to cut in front of all these people who\u0026rsquo;d been waiting longer. I chose the happy medium of standing an equal distance between the pick up counter and the end of the long line to nowhere. This turned out being a good choice because one of the other guys in line also needed to pick up a package and a lady came out from behind the curtains to helped us both.\nI noticed the lady paused when I showed her my ID and I suddenly remembered that at work I go by my married name, Lela Gutierrez, but I haven\u0026rsquo;t changed my Driver\u0026rsquo;s License yet. I figured the matching first names and addresses would clue her in to the situation but I was starting to get a little worried until she wordlessly handed my card back to me and took off into the bowels of the post office (a land I don\u0026rsquo;t even want to imagine). When she returned I had to sign my name and, thinking this would make it easier for her to understand the situation, I signed \u0026ldquo;Lela Hubert Gutierrez\u0026rdquo;. Big mistake. Apparently, she had thought I was an \u0026ldquo;agent\u0026rdquo;, given permission to pick up a package for someone else. I can\u0026rsquo;t imagine why this would be a better alternative than to be the Lela, who just hasn\u0026rsquo;t changed her license yet, but apparently it was.\n\u0026ldquo;You\u0026rsquo;re Gutierrez?!\u0026rdquo;\n\u0026ldquo;Yes. I just got married and haven\u0026rsquo;t changed my driver\u0026rsquo;s license yet.\u0026rdquo;\n\u0026ldquo;You shouldn\u0026rsquo;t have things sent to you under that name if your ID doesn\u0026rsquo;t show it!\u0026rdquo;\nI looked at her and then looked at the package. The addresses were hand written in sharpy and the box was liberally decorated in toddler scribblings. I thought it seemed pretty clear that, unless Dell has started employing 3-year-olds, this was not something I ordered and had sent to me directly from the manufacturer. The more obvious conclusion was that this was something shipped to me from the home of a coworker, who, knowing I am married, used my married name.\nShe went on, \u0026ldquo;Now I just have to take your word that you are who you say you are!\u0026rdquo;\nI had to press my lips together to keep from asking her how many Lelas she thought lived at that address and how likely was it that one of those other Lelas wouldn\u0026rsquo;t notice that I mysteriously had a new laptop when they had been waiting for one?\nI would have been kidding, of course, but I figured suggesting I wasn\u0026rsquo;t the right person would hurt my chances of getting my package, and then I\u0026rsquo;d have to go home and return another day with my marriage license, or my husband, or a hit man. I just wasn\u0026rsquo;t sure I\u0026rsquo;d be able to steel myself to go back there any time soon, even if I had a hit man in tow.\n","date":"2008-08-21T20:18:15-08:00","permalink":"/2008/08/21/lela-the-lela-impersonator/","title":"Lela, the Lela impersonator"},{"content":"If there was an oscar category for \u0026ldquo;most popular horror movies monster\u0026rdquo;, these guys would probably win. If they aren\u0026rsquo;t starring in a legitimately terrifying film like 28 days later (which, for MONTHS had me too scared to even take out the trash after dark) they\u0026rsquo;re playing the antagonist in some mock horror movie or disgusting video game. They\u0026rsquo;re zombies and what many people don\u0026rsquo;t realize is that unlike many other monsters, zombies actually exist.\nIn April of 2005 the \u0026ldquo;BBC\u0026rdquo; released an article about a new strain of malaria discovered in a small town in Cambodia. The really interesting qualities of this strain was that it not only had a 100% mortality rate, but it also had the disturbing ability to restart the victims heart a couple of hours after death. Because of the brain damage resulting from their hour or two of not breathing, the undead were reported to be extremely violent.\nThis is not an example of real life zombies, it\u0026rsquo;s an April fools joke. I just came across it while researching and thought it was funny. Real zombies are created, and primarily exist, in Haiti. And amazingly enough, information about them can be both esoteric and sort of boring. So I\u0026rsquo;ll try to stick to the cool stuff.\nThere is quite a lot of evidence to suggest that there are people in Haiti that can, and do make and keep zombie slaves. In fact, in 1835 the Haitian Penal Code added an article that \u0026ldquo;classifies the administration of a substance that creates a prolonged period of lethargy without causing death as attempted murder. If the substance causes the appearance of death and results in the burial of the victim, the act is classified as murder.\u0026rdquo; (http://science.howstuffworks.com/zombie.htm) in attempt to end zombification. Notice this appearance of death. Zombies are not actually the undead, but rather living people who have been given a certain mix of chemicals that slow down the heartbeat and breathing of the victim to the point that it\u0026rsquo;s almost undetectable. Haitian village doctors don\u0026rsquo;t have a lot of fancy scientific tools to detect life, so the victim is quickly declared dead and because the humidity of Haiti causes rapid decomposition, burial takes place very shortly after. It\u0026rsquo;s believed that the victim is completely conscious though all of this. A little while later the victim is dug up and given another kind of poison that ends the paralysis but places them under the control of the poisoner, usually a houngan (voodoo priest). Of course, this is only if it\u0026rsquo;s done right. There is no \u0026ldquo;granny\u0026rsquo;s old-fashioned zombie brew\u0026rdquo; written on a recipe card somewhere and even if a houngan has a vague idea of how to do it exact measurements are never used. Because of this many powders either don\u0026rsquo;t do anything or cause immediate death.\nWhat many researchers don\u0026rsquo;t understand is why anyone wants to create zombie slaves in a country so impoverished that labor costs next to nothing. According to Wade Davis, who spent years researching zombification in Haiti, making zombies is most often done as revenge against an enemy or used as a means of political control. He also says it\u0026rsquo;s the Haitian culture and government that makes the powder work the way it does. The main ingredient in the zombie mix is a psycho-active drug taken from the puffer fish. Davis believes that this psycho-active drug will affect people the way they believe it will affect them, and the people of Haiti believe that it will put them under the control of the people who gave it to them. Many people hate this theory, but I think it makes sense. Why wouldn\u0026rsquo;t a psycho-active drug, which affects your mind, do to your mind what your mind thought it was going to do to it? But what is especially awesome about this theory, is that OUR culture has no history of believing this drug will enslave us. Which might mean that we can finally breath easy, take those boards off our windows and doors, put away the hand grenades and bask in the relief of knowing that we will never have to worry about becoming a part of any sort of undead army.\nBut just in case you\u0026rsquo;d like to try your hand at commanding an army of your own:\nGranny\u0026rsquo;s Old-fashioned Zombie Brew (a variation from http://rexlcamino.blogspot.com/2006/10/how-to-build-your-own-bona-fide-real.html)\n1 puffer fish\n1 marine toad\n1 hyla tree frog\nsprinkle of human remains (optional)\nhandful of Zombie cucumber\u0026rsquo;s (otherwise known as jimson weed)\ndash of salt\nMix the first four ingredients into a fine powder. No one on the internet seems very clear on how to do this so I\u0026rsquo;d just consult your local witch doctor for suggestions. Next have some fun and get creative as you try to figure out how to sneak your zombie powder into your victim\u0026rsquo;s (or victims\u0026rsquo;) food, beverage, community water source, etc.. Don\u0026rsquo;t forget that this is poison! It\u0026rsquo;s not a good idea to just dump the stuff willy nilly. Remember the teachings of the Buddha \u0026ldquo;between extremes the balanced path is established\u0026rdquo; and now please forget that I used the teachings of Buddha as an example for how to correctly poison people.\nOk, so assuming you\u0026rsquo;ve done this correctly, your victim has now been buried alive. What are you waiting for? Go dig them up before they suffocate and all your hard work is wasted! Not to mention that expensive puffer fish poison that maxed out your credit card and the black market tree frog you had to pick up down that dark alley in the sketchy part of town. Understandably your new slave is going to be a little out of it and, well, dull, don\u0026rsquo;t let it get you down. They\u0026rsquo;ll perk up after you give them their Zombie cucumbers. The cucumbers will also ensure that they remain your unquestionable slave for as long as you want to have them around. When you\u0026rsquo;ve finally grown tired of your zombie, or when your \u0026ldquo;undead army\u0026rdquo; has successfully managed to take over the world and you are now emperor of Earth, how about showing your appreciation and cooking them a nice, big meal topped lots of gourmet sea salt. Not only will the salt end their servitude and allow them to remember who they are, but once they fully awaken and see the wonderful meal you prepared just for them, they might be less likely to want to break every bone in your body.\nStill, you might want to consider entering the witness protection program to avoid retaliation. Or next thing you know, you could find yourself being dug up and force fed unsalted cucumber. And everyone knows unsalted cucumbers are the worst.\n","date":"2008-07-23T20:18:04-08:00","permalink":"/2008/07/23/braaaiiins/","title":"Braaaiiins"},{"content":"I realize that traditionally an event sponsored by a beer company is more the territory of fraternities than it is a place responsible parents take their children. Yet as Ben and I walked around Tour de Fat last Saturday, I had to admit that experiences like this make me seriously consider raising kids in San Francisco. It wasn\u0026rsquo;t that the music was wonderful and creative, or that the food court offered vegan, organic, and cultural options, or that the activities were free, fun, safe and intellectually stimulating, though all of this was true. It was that, contrary to so many other festivals I have attended, there were no radio stations blasting teeny bopper music and passing out bumper stickers. There were no \u0026ldquo;win a free trip to Hawaii\u0026rdquo; stands, or \u0026ldquo;taste our new sports drink\u0026rdquo; tables, and the \u0026ldquo;We\u0026rsquo;ll show you how to lose weight so you can look like all those emaciated movie stars\u0026rdquo; booths were no where to be found. All of that was mysteriously missing.\nIn case you are unfamiliar with Tour de Fat, it is a festival that goes on tour every summer, stopping at 11 or 12 cities in the western part of the United States. The focus of the tour is to encourage people to adopt a healthier lifestyle and reduce their carbon footprint by driving less and riding their bikes more. But this is not a festival run by the militant bicycle weirdos who create enormous traffic jams monthly and insinuate that it\u0026rsquo;s a \u0026ldquo;critical\u0026rdquo; part of the bicycle movement instead of just a power trip and a reason drivers hate bicyclists. The message of Tour de Fat is that we\u0026rsquo;ve all loved and relied on cars at some point in our lives, but cars are no longer an economically or ecologically viable mode of daily transportation, so it\u0026rsquo;s time to move on to the awesome bicycle! To bike the message home (haha) the festival had a New Orleans style funeral procession complete with the four horses of the \u0026ldquo;carpocalypse\u0026rdquo;. Members of a marching band carried a toy SUV, decked out with black curtains and flowers, all around Speedway Meadows while the crowd cheered. Shortly after this a dance troupe called the Sprockettes performed. As I watched these women of all ages, all shapes and all sizes dancing together and riding their tiny bicycles I realized that Tour de Fat was sending more than one message. If I wasn\u0026rsquo;t already convinced that was the best festival I\u0026rsquo;d ever been to, I was when it was announced that all beverage and food containers and utensils were compostable and further announced that the festival, as of yet, had not created ANY garbage that day (only compost and recycling). The most amazing part of the day was that, despite the fact that Tour de Fat is sponsored by Fat Tire, which in my experience is the college beer of choice, the crowd was not composed of rowdy, drunken college jocks. In fact, I barely saw any. Instead, the crowd consisted of people all ages, dressed in all sorts of ways (including costumes) and everyone seemed happy, respectful, and proud to be there.\nI worry a lot about raising kids with our current culture being as weight centric, media fixated and consumer driven as it is. Even if a child doesn\u0026rsquo;t choose to go the way of cute, blond, airhead starlet or cold, tough gangster or, I don\u0026rsquo;t know, naked, abercrombie model, I don\u0026rsquo;t think our counter cultures of goths or hipsters or punks are any less limiting. I had yet to come across a cultural alternative that embraced the self confidence, thoughtfulness, freedom, health (mental and physical), humor and curiosity that I want to foster in my children. Tour de Fat gave me hope that that culture is not too far off.\n","date":"2008-07-21T20:17:41-08:00","permalink":"/2008/07/21/tour-de-fat/","title":"Tour de Fat"},{"content":"It\u0026rsquo;s a pretty common belief that men wearing wedding rings are extremely attractive to single women. If a guy has a ring it means he can make a commitment, and some women like this so much that they will flirt shamelessly with him (which seems ludicrously illogical to me). But illogical as it is, part of me understands. I worked at Barnes \u0026amp; Noble for years and regularly tidied up the always disheveled shelves of self-help books bearing titles like Why Men Marry Some Women and Not Others, How to Attract and Marry the Man of Your Dreams, and (my personal favorite) How To Get Your Man to the Alter in 1 Year.\nAt no point during all my years of straightening and shelving did I see a single book of this type written for straight men. This being the case, can anyone explain to me why it is that ever since I got married, random guys have been crawling out of the woodwork to ask me out to lunch, or for my phone number, or (I swear this is true) for my home address? Seriously, over the past two months I have had more guys hitting on me than I did during my almost 27 years of being single. Though to be honest, this isn\u0026rsquo;t saying as much as you might think. Previous to getting married, I could count on one hand the number of times anybody obviously hit on me. On two hands I could count the number of times I noticed being noticed. For years I wondered why all of my friends got ten times the amount of attention I received when we all went out on the town (for goodness sake, I\u0026rsquo;m not bad looking!), but after awhile I stopped caring. Unfortunately, this total lack of experience has left me completely unprepared for this sudden barrage of attention. Every time some guy walks up to me in a store, or on the street, I start out by thinking he\u0026rsquo;s trying to sell me something so I\u0026rsquo;ll put on my \u0026ldquo;busy and unreceptive face\u0026rdquo;, but in these cases that never works. Thirty seconds into the conversations, I\u0026rsquo;ll start to get suspicious and try to move my hand to a more noticeable position. Once he gets to the part of asking me out to lunch, or if I\u0026rsquo;d like to go jogging with him on weekend mornings, I\u0026rsquo;m blushing stupidly, and frantically trying to craft a sentence with the phrase \u0026ldquo;my husband\u0026rdquo; casually thrown in that I hope will end the conversation quickly and seamlessly. It almost always does.\nWhat I don\u0026rsquo;t get is why these guys aren\u0026rsquo;t looking for my wedding ring BEFORE they decide to ask for my number? Furthermore, what is it about married Lela that is suddenly sparking such interest in the men of San Francisco when previously I was barely worth a first glance? Lastly, how on earth do other girls deal with this all the time?\nAll those years I felt sort of bad about the total lack of interest I inspired! Now I realize what I should have been feeling was gratitude!\n","date":"2008-07-07T20:17:30-08:00","permalink":"/2008/07/07/notice-the-ring/","title":"Notice the ring?"},{"content":"We citizens of Europe and North America gladly indulge in the eating of all kinds of foods considered taboo in many other parts of the world. While for us Lobster is a gourmet dish, in other countries it is understandably avoided as a dirty garbage eating creature not meant for consumption. Pork chops are eaten regularly in our culture when in others it is forbidden as being dangerous and regarded (correctly) as extremely unhealthy. What we have fail to notice, besides the fact that pork is a really bad thing to eat, is that Europeans and Americans are missing out on one of the longest and most sensible food traditions of the world: Entomophagy, the eating of bugs.\nAccording to National Geographics, humans have been eating bugs since we first came to be. It is believed we learned it from watching animals. Even after civilization developed bugs remained a regular part of everyone\u0026rsquo;s diet. Aristotle, when not crafting esoteric lecture notes for future generations to puzzle over, wrote advice on how and when to collect cicadas for eating. According to him it was best to get them right after they reached the nymph phase, when the males are the tastiest (after mating, the females are more desirable as they are then filled with eggs). The Bible describes all sorts of bug-eating situations, the most famous being the story of John the Baptist and his steady diet of locust and honey. Even in the new world bugs were a staple food. The Paiute Indians hunted and burned Mormon Crickets by the thousands in order to pound them into flour for bread according to www.nationalgeographics.com.\nIn the western world these days, eating bugs has become taboo, but we\u0026rsquo;re the minority in this regard. Over 50% of the population of the planet still regularly cooks and enjoys such dishes as termites in cornmeal, ant egg burritos, dragon flies simmered in coconut milk, and fly larvae in sweet soy sauce. And slowly but surely, this tradition is seeping into the United States.\nExperts like Manfred Kroger suspect that bug eating became unpopular in the west when agriculture began. As insects ate the crops, farmers began seeing them as pests that needed to be killed rather than as a plentiful food source. When Europeans arrived in the new world, they brought their bug prejudices with them and eating bugs is now seen as disgusting and dirty in our culture. However, bugs are not actually any dirtier than many other foods we eat already including crab, shrimp and lobster and the benefits of eating bugs are incredible. In fact, using bugs as a protein source is not only better for us, it is far better for the environment than raising livestock, a practice responsible for about 18% of the greenhouse gases in the atmosphere. According to the article Eating Bugs at www.time.com, bug ranching requires less water than raising cattle, pork, or poultry. Bugs are cold-blooded so they waste no energy in keeping their temperatures up, unlike our current warm-blooded sources of protein. Water bugs contain four times as much iron as beef. Bugs offer slightly more protein per pound than livestock and a LOT less fat. Plus, unlike pork, the fat insects do have is much healthier and easier to digest. These facts have not escaped the notice of the United Nations which recently held a convention on Entomophagy.\nBefore you chuck that hamburger you\u0026rsquo;re eating out the window, dash outside and start stuffing live cockroaches and earthworms into your mouth, let me tell you that most websites recommend both washing and cooking your bugs before you ingest them, and discourage collecting them from the street. Not only do we have a tendency to dump poison an anything that crawls on six legs, but many bugs have parasites. It\u0026rsquo;s best to either raise bugs yourself, or buy them from a reliable market. For advice about bug vendors I suggest you visit this awesome website created especially for bug-eaters of the San Francisco Bay Area! www.planetscott.com/babes.\nAnd just because I want to help you all get started on your crunchy journey into a new world of flavors, I\u0026rsquo;ve crafted a complete dinner menu for you to try some night when you\u0026rsquo;re feeling adventurous:\nAppetizer:\nGarlic Butter Fried Grasshoppers 1/4 cup butter\n6 cloves garlic, crushed\n1 cup cleaned insects (wings and legs removed)\nMelt butter in fry pan. Reduce heat. Sauté garlic in butter for 5 minutes. Add insects. Continue sautéing for 10 - 15\nminutes, stirring occasionally. From Orkin\n(http://www.faculty.de.gcsu.edu/~cbader/ghprecwithinsects.htmlAppetizer)\nMain Course:\nAnt Brood TacosBroodAnt Brood Tacos\n2 tablespoons butter or peanut oil 1/2 pound ant larvae and pupae 3 serrano chilies, raw, finely chopped 1 tomato, finely chopped Pepper, to taste Cumin, to taste Oregano, to taste 1 handful cilantro, chopped Taco shells, to serve Heat the butter or oil in a frying pan and fry the larvae or pupae. Add the chopped onions, chilies, and tomato, and season with salt. Sprinkle with ground pepper, cumin, and oregano, to taste. Serve in tacos and garnish with cilantro. (Not living in an area exceptionally prolific with ants, I have never been able to try this recipe. But it sounds perfectly delicious! I found it in \u0026lsquo;Creepy Crawly Cuisine\u0026rsquo;, an excellent recipe book.)\n(http://eatbug.com/recipes.htm)\nDessert:\nChocolate Mealworm Chip Cookies\n2 1/4 c Flour\n1 ts Vanilla\n1 ts Baking Soda\n2 Eggs\n1 ts Salt\n1 Bag Chocolate chips\n1 c Butter; softened\n1 c Chopped Walnuts; (optional)\n3/4 c Sugar\n1/2 c Dry-roasted mealworms\n3/4 c Brown Sugar\nTo prepare dry-roasted mealworms, first drop them in boiling water for one minute. Next, drain them on a paper towel. Finally, bake mealworms at 200 degrees for one to two hours, depending on the size. When cooked, mealworms can easily be crushed with a spoon. Preheat oven to 375 degrees. In a small bowl, combine flour, baking soda and salt; set aside. In a large bowl, combine butter, sugar, brown sugar and vanilla. Beat until creamy. Beat in eggs. Gradually add flour mixture and insects, mixing well. Stir in chocolate chips and nuts (optional). Drop by rounded teaspoonfuls onto ungreased cookie sheet. Bake for eight to ten minutes. Recipe Source: Home \u0026amp; Garden TV \u0026ndash; Home Grown Cooking - Episode 139 Formatted for MasterCook by Nancy Berry - cwbj78a@prodigy.com Converted by MM_Buster v2.0l.\n(http://www.bigoven.com/147429-Chocolate-Mealworm-Chip-Cookies-recipe.html)\nFor those of you freaking out and making gagging noises, let me remind you that although we don\u0026rsquo;t intentionally eat bugs, we actually eat a lot of them. And no, I\u0026rsquo;m not talking about the spiders you supposedly eat in your sleep. The FDA laws are not so strict that bugs and bug parts don\u0026rsquo;t still make their way into our food in startlingly large numbers. We eat insect waste, eggs and fragments, mites, larvae, worms, aphids and many others regularly. We eat them in canned corn, frozen and fresh vegetables and fruits, wheat flour, hops, herbs, peanut butter, and chocolate just to name a few. So maybe it\u0026rsquo;s time we all stop living in denial, except the inevitable, and enjoy the six-legged bounty of the earth! Gnat burger anyone? Caterpillar pie?\n","date":"2008-06-23T20:17:11-08:00","permalink":"/2008/06/23/its-whats-for-dinner/","title":"It's what's for dinner"},{"content":"It\u0026rsquo;s late and I should be sleeping because if I don\u0026rsquo;t, I\u0026rsquo;ll sleep through half the day tomorrow, which I hate to do. But still I\u0026rsquo;m here writing this because I know that if I wait until tomorrow, I probably won\u0026rsquo;t write it at all. Already I can think of a million reasons not to, so I\u0026rsquo;ll have to write fast!\nTonight Ben and I went to see Get Smart. Which was a pretty ok movie. But this has nothing to do with why I\u0026rsquo;m writing so let\u0026rsquo;s move on. After the movie we decided to catch a cab home because MUNI is a bummer at that hour. About halfway to our house Sarah McLaughlin\u0026rsquo;s Angel started playing on the car radio. This song has always annoyed me. Don\u0026rsquo;t get me wrong, it\u0026rsquo;s pretty and it\u0026rsquo;s fun to sing, but let\u0026rsquo;s face it, it\u0026rsquo;s the poster song of the self-pitying. But this time of year I\u0026rsquo;m always a little more emotional and weepy, so I decided to listen to the song instead of rolling my eyes and tuning it out.\nSo it began \u0026ldquo;Spend all your time waiting for that second chance, for the break that will make it ok. Always some reason to feel not good enough\u0026rdquo; and suddenly, like a brick to the face I realized \u0026ldquo;HEAVEN ALMIGHTY! This song is about ME!!!\u0026rdquo;. Now, before you smack me on the forehead with the label \u0026ldquo;Queen of the self-indulgently sad\u0026rdquo; let me explain that this wasn\u0026rsquo;t a tearful cry for attention. No, this was a rebuke. \u0026ldquo;Lela, you spend all your time WAITING, for that second chance, for the break that will make it \u0026lsquo;OK\u0026rsquo;. There\u0026rsquo;s ALWAYS some reason to feel not good enough, so stop being such a whiny little wuss and do what you\u0026rsquo;ve always known you were supposed to be doing\u0026rdquo;. It\u0026rsquo;s not that my mind has never said things like this in the past, it\u0026rsquo;s just that it\u0026rsquo;s never managed to project it\u0026rsquo;s voice into a car stereo before. Also it\u0026rsquo;s never been quite so articulate.\nSo now I\u0026rsquo;m making a confession, and asking a favor. I\u0026rsquo;m a talented singer with crippling stage fright, and the sad fact is that I probably won\u0026rsquo;t force myself to perform in public unless I make this fact known to people who might be up to the task of encouraging me (on a regular basis or not) to sing. How about it, anyone? Many of you who read this are good friends of mine, and many of you already know that I used to consider myself first and foremost a musician and this is why I\u0026rsquo;m asking for your help on this. I\u0026rsquo;ve never made a request like this before because previously it always seemed like cheating to overcome my stage fright in any way other than silent self-reproach paired with unsympathetic force. But my voice teacher (who I admire as if she were Yoda himself) said that I\u0026rsquo;m being ridiculous and that the best way to overcome my problem is to let it be known that I\u0026rsquo;m a singer, and that I want to sing. I\u0026rsquo;m not trying to become wildly famous. It was never my goal to be a star, but it was also never my goal to spend my life privately despising myself because I want to sing and I\u0026rsquo;m too afraid to take those initial (and uncomfortable) steps necessary to overcome my fear. So there you are and believe it or not, my hand are shaking as I write this because I\u0026rsquo;m afraid someone will decide to take me up on this request. But I am pretty sure I\u0026rsquo;m more afraid that no one will. It\u0026rsquo;s very late and I\u0026rsquo;m tired, so I hope you\u0026rsquo;ll all forgive the drama, instead of rolling your eyes and humming Angel sarcastically under your breath. Good night\n","date":"2008-06-20T20:17:00-08:00","permalink":"/2008/06/20/ill-only-fail-if-i-fail-to-try/","title":"I'll only fail if I fail to try"},{"content":"The Jivaro Indians of the Amazon are best known for their practice of shrinking the severed heads of their enemies to about the size of an orange. They believed that a shrunken head would capture the soul of their enemy thus making the head-taker more powerful. Due to cultural restriction, making shrunken heads was a rare practice until the 1850\u0026rsquo;s when the western world came across these tribes and this strange ritual. Once news of the heads got to Europe and North America, everyone and their mother wanted one. Suddenly, the Jivaro tribes had themselves a monopoly in a booming shrunken head trade. As demand for these creepy things increased the Jivaro began trading heads for guns to make their work easier and faster. That\u0026rsquo;s right, the western world is probably responsible for the deaths of hundreds of innocent people who did nothing wrong except have a head that could be shrunken and sold to some guy who wanted to display it in his parlor or library. At some point this got to be a little too much for the government in Ecuador and the head trade was prohibited. Because demand for heads was still considerable other people took up the trade in hopes of cashing in. Heads were illegally stolen out of morgues or skillfully crafted out of leather and sold as genuine Jivaro shrunken heads.\nI know what you\u0026rsquo;re all thinking now \u0026ldquo;Oh no! What if my shrunken head is a counterfeit?!\u0026rdquo; Never fear! After long, careful research and meticulous study I found, five minutes ago in a google search, a nifty list of ways to tell whether your shrunken head is the real thing ( www.head-hunter.com):\n\u0026ldquo;In order to identify genuine shrunken heads, careful inspection is required. The following illustrates the most common characteristics of how to distinguish between authentic Jivaro shrunken heads and counterfeit shrunken human heads.\nThe head is less thoroughly shrunk and tends to exude a certain amount of oil\\ The lips show no sign of perforation which results from the \u0026ldquo;chonta-wood\u0026rdquo; pins used by the Shuar during the preparation, as well as the lips are sewn with light threads instead of a heavy cotton string\\ The top of the head is not pierced for the suspending cord\\ The facial hair has not been singed off, or the skin polished ( G. E S. Turner. Counterfeit Tsantsa in the Pitt Rivers Museum Man: A Record of Anthropological Science 1944 p.57 )\u0026rdquo; So I wish you the best in your inspection of your shrunken head and hope that this bit of trivia made your day a little more interesting, thought-provoking, and nauseating, as it did mine.\n","date":"2008-06-19T20:16:34-08:00","permalink":"/2008/06/19/important-information/","title":"Important information"},{"content":"http://www.epochvideoproductions.com/Site/Home.html\nBen and I weren\u0026rsquo;t actually planning on doing the whole wedding video thing. At the time it seemed frivolous, like something we\u0026rsquo;d be unlikely to ever watch. But since it was offered, how could we refuse? And now I\u0026rsquo;m so glad we decided to go for it. After crying through the first viewing like the sentimental sop that I am, I managed to pull it together enough to watch it through again and I was overwhelmed by all the memories and emotions the video brought back. Pictures are great but they have not brought me back to that day the way this video did. It was pretty amazing.\nLet me know what you think!\n","date":"2008-06-10T20:16:14-08:00","permalink":"/2008/06/10/a-lovely-thing/","title":"A lovely thing"},{"content":"Sometimes it seems to glow with it\u0026rsquo;s own light. Other times, like last night, it seems to suck all the light into it, making it a dark, shadowy figure over by the door, hanging off the door. I\u0026rsquo;ve become almost obsessive about not brushing against it as I walk past. Whenever I\u0026rsquo;m in the bedroom, my eyes are automatically drawn to it like a television set, and while I haven\u0026rsquo;t seen it move of it\u0026rsquo;s own accord yet, I suspect that after I fall asleep at night, it rustles over to me and whispers things in my ear. \u0026ldquo;You\u0026rsquo;re day is over and now there\u0026rsquo;s nothing left to look forward to\u0026rdquo;, \u0026ldquo;You have no other plans for your life\u0026rdquo;, \u0026ldquo;You have to get me cleaned soon or those muddy foot prints and that lipstick smudge will stain permanently\u0026rdquo;. It could be that\u0026rsquo;s why I\u0026rsquo;m having trouble sleeping these days and all the sleep I get is accompanied by boring dreams of me working at an office, filing the same paper over and over again, or me walking down a hallway, then walking down that hallway again, then again.\nI wouldn\u0026rsquo;t say I miss the pre-wedding days exactly. I remember the moments of freak-out, the angry phone calls and the constant feeling of anxiety, which mutated into nausea towards the end. But at least then I was working for something that was important to me, and headed towards an achievable goal. Back then I spent a lot of time browsing through the wedding section of craigslist and repeatedly came across the term \u0026ldquo;Trash the dress\u0026rdquo;. Do you know about this trend? I suspected at the time that it was a conspiracy of the wedding industry attempting to limit the number of second had dresses being sold. The idea is that you have your wedding day, then after you return from the honeymoon, you hire a photographer to take pictures of you destroying your wedding gown. Women paint a mural in it, or go to fields of greasy old broken down cars and lounge around in them, or go swimming in the ocean, and I even came across a frightening photograph of a women wearing a dress that\u0026rsquo;s on fire. I was completely disgusted by \u0026ldquo;trash the dress\u0026rdquo;. I thought it was horribly irresponsible and wasteful until I read an article written by some TTD photographers who said that generally after a shoot the dress isn\u0026rsquo;t so damaged that a good cleaning wouldn\u0026rsquo;t fix it (unless of course you were the women who set the thing on fire). And the fact is the pictures that result from these photo sessions are absolutely breathtaking. I understood it better when I considered it from an artist\u0026rsquo;s perspective, but I still didn\u0026rsquo;t understand why brides felt compelled to ruin dresses that could be donated, or saved or sold. After two weeks of having it stare at me from the corner of my bedroom, it\u0026rsquo;s become mind-bogglingly clear, and I want that dress destroyed. I want to dowse it in gasoline and watch it explode. I want to tie it around a boulder and hurl it off a cliff into the ocean, I want to abandon it across some railroad tracks, or down a urine soaked alley of San Francisco. I want it so thoroughly out of my life that it\u0026rsquo;s not even an object anymore, it\u0026rsquo;s an unrecognizable shred of something that used to exist.\nBefore anyone starts getting nervous, let me assure you that this is just a desire, not a plan. I realize that actually chucking my wedding gown in front of a moving BART train would, and should, make people a little concerned about my sanity. If I were reading this a month ago, I know I would wonder about the person writing it. And even now my cognitive powers fall a little short of grasping why this impulse is so strong. But I\u0026rsquo;m smart enough to know that it\u0026rsquo;s massively idiotic to ruin anything that could pay for at least one months rent should I decide to sell it someday. Still, before I get it cleaned, I might take it for another whirl. Visit the farmers market, go for a run on the beach, wait at a bus-stop for awhile (actually taking the bus would be torture though), buy an ice cream cone, walk across the Golden Gate bridge, go do my laundry (\u0026ldquo;Hey, I was out of clean clothes, ok?\u0026rdquo;). Sometimes I think people need a little more surreality in their lives.\n","date":"2008-06-01T20:16:11-08:00","permalink":"/2008/06/01/the-ghost-in-the-corner-of-my-room/","title":"The ghost in the corner of my room"},{"content":"My favorite mistakes from May 2nd. I think all of these made the day even better:\nHow the car I was in got lost on the way to both the rehearsal AND the wedding, in the exact same way!!! (I think my stepdad was horrified. I thought it was funny)\n-How I almost tripped on my way down the gravel slope to the bridge that marked the beginning of the aisle and my MOH was having a time trying to keep from slipping and sliding down that slope as well\n-How the changing room at the gardens was tiny and filled with tables and chairs, making it almost impossible for me to move around in my wedding gown when there were always about 6 other people in there (and about 20 people at the door trying to get in)\n-How the ringbearer, bored at the beginning of the path (aisle) to the amphitheater, decided to entertain himself by throwing handfuls of gravel on my train (he actually meant to throw them into the creek, but he\u0026rsquo;s two and doesn\u0026rsquo;t have great aim yet)\n-How the flowergirl continued to throw petals on the ground after she\u0026rsquo;d made it to the front, and kept at it throughout the entire ceremony\n-How the ringbearer, fascinated by the little bows on his pillow, couldn\u0026rsquo;t stop pulling on them and ended up dropping first Ben\u0026rsquo;s ring (along the aisle), and then my ring (up at the front). That\u0026rsquo;s right, we put the real rings on there. In hindsight, it was sort of a crazy thing to do.\n-How, after we left that night, chaos reigned and the most random people ended up with the most random stuff in their cars, despite the carefully crafted plans and duties I gave to everyone the night before.\n-How no one wanted to dance with me when the \u0026ldquo;advice dance\u0026rdquo; started. Ben had this huge line going halfway down the building and I was up there dancing with myself, trying to look pathetic enough that someone would step up and rescue me. Jarrod, my little brother, finally did.\n-How the best man and one of the groomsmen invented this \u0026ldquo;new and better\u0026rdquo; way to blow bubbles and ended up spitting bubble solution all over my face several times during the last dance And my very favorite of the night:\n-How I lost my brand new wedding lipstick and because I never went up to claim it (I didn\u0026rsquo;t know it was mine!) it was used to write on the windows of our car. We didn\u0026rsquo;t actually realize this until we were leaving for our honeymoon and I looked at the windows and thought \u0026ldquo;You know, that color looks familiar\u0026hellip;\u0026rdquo;\nWhat\u0026rsquo;s a wedding without a ton of goofy stories?\n","date":"2008-05-23T20:15:29-08:00","permalink":"/2008/05/23/perfect-imperfections/","title":"Perfect imperfections"},{"content":"In January of 2002 I was a sophomore in college. It would be two and a half years until I met my future husband and an additional three and a half before I married him. And yet, this is about the time my grandmother happily announced to me that she had bought my wedding gift. \u0026ldquo;I\u0026rsquo;m going to leave it under my nightstand and put a note on it so that in case I die, people will know who it\u0026rsquo;s for\u0026rdquo; \u0026ldquo;But Grandma, how do you know I\u0026rsquo;m ever going to get married?\u0026rdquo;. She never answered that one. Over the years, when my mind wasn\u0026rsquo;t occupied with various other things, sometimes I would ponder what it was that was sitting under my grandma\u0026rsquo;s nightstand waiting for my wedding day. I\u0026rsquo;ve always thought it was probably some sort of fancy bible.\nSunday afternoon, after a good nights sleep in our own bed, Ben and I decided it was time to open our wedding gifts. Wedding magazines and guides always say that a couple should register for more gifts than they have guests, so I felt bad breaking the rules and registering for fewer. As it turns out, this was ok as many of our guests decided to give us gifts off the registry, money, and cards, all of which were awesome. As my mom had predicted, it was just like Christmas. No, actually, it was just like being a kid at Christmas, except I doubt there are many kids that would get so excited about mixing bowls, iron skillets and camping stoves. To add a little surreality to the situation, Ben and I received a few unsigned and puzzling gifts. One turned out to be a mail organizer hand painted with large pink flowers and vines. I kept this by my side, joyfully basking in the mystery of the thing. Someone else left us an unsigned card with a very generous gift inside. My only wish is that these people, if they had desired to remain unknown, had signed their gifts \u0026ldquo;The Phantom\u0026rdquo; or maybe \u0026ldquo;Kilroy was here\u0026rdquo; so we didn\u0026rsquo;t have to feel obligated to track down the mysterious gift givers to thank them. I hate to think of some aunt or uncle out there feeling bad about not receiving a thank you card, never knowing that it was because they failed to tell us who their gift was from.\nThere was one gift that kept catching my eye while we opened cards and waded through packing material. It\u0026rsquo;s paper fragile and the bow huge and slightly worn. When I got a little closer to it, I noticed the strong smell of my grandma\u0026rsquo;s perfume. We opened it carefully, and lifted the lid off of the Styrofoam box. My mind expected to see golden letters spelling out \u0026ldquo;Holy Bible\u0026rdquo; so it took me a second to take in what I was seeing. It was a little yellow tea set painted with flowers. On the bottom of every piece it says \u0026ldquo;Crystal Cathedral, 1970-2002.\u0026rdquo; along with a line from Corinthians 13:4-8. Ben and I are looking forward to dressing up in our nice clothes and sending her a picture of us using it. To my slight disappointment, we\u0026rsquo;re pretty sure the card attached to her gift wasn\u0026rsquo;t 6 years old. Although I suppose one could make the argument that she just correctly guessed that the name of my future husband would be Ben.\n","date":"2008-05-20T20:14:31-08:00","permalink":"/2008/05/20/the-great-unveiling/","title":"The great unveiling"},{"content":"After an amazing honeymoon we got home yesterday to discover that our landlords decided to enhance the mail box system by adding a gigantic bookshelf to the landing. This left us with about 1.5 feet of space between shelf and railing with which to maneuver our way to the second flight of steps with our billions of suitcases. awesome. When we walked into the kitchen we noticed a strange and pungent food smell. Then we noticed we couldn\u0026rsquo;t turn on any lights. Apparently our circuit breakers had been mysteriously tripped two days before. We had to throw out much of the contents of our fridge and freezer. It\u0026rsquo;s really too bad we didn\u0026rsquo;t have a pet who could have left us a nice, steaming pile in front of the door. Oh well, maybe next time.\nAnyone know of any good one-bedrooms available in San Francisco right now?\n","date":"2008-05-18T20:14:10-08:00","permalink":"/2008/05/18/the-honeymoons-over/","title":"The honeymoon's over"},{"content":"Sadly bidding farewell to:\nGoobert\nWhobert\nBoobert\nHudirt\nAnd, of course, my all time favorite,\nPubert\n","date":"2008-04-25T20:13:22-08:00","permalink":"/2008/04/25/my-last-friday-as-a-hubert/","title":"My last Friday as a Hubert"},{"content":"Important: picking up my dress\nNot important: making sure each bow on every favor is perfectly tied\nImportant: buying drinks for the wedding\nNot important: having a spotless house before the wedding\nImportant: finishing our song for the first dance\nNot important: finishing a huge lists of songs we might possibly want to hear that night\nImportant: paying all the final bills\nNot important: worrying about who my dad is going to sit with at the rehearsal dinner\nImportant: getting chairs for the musician at the wedding\nNot Important: having perfect fingernails for the wedding\nImportant: eating\nNot important: tying ribbon around the bottles of bubble blow\nWhy do I need reminding of this? Nine more days. Hope I\u0026rsquo;ll make it\u0026hellip;\n","date":"2008-04-23T20:13:15-08:00","permalink":"/2008/04/23/perspective/","title":"Perspective"},{"content":"With 23 days left to go, Ben and I decided it might be a good idea to take care of the actual \u0026ldquo;getting married\u0026rdquo; side of the giant party we’re throwing. This, after all, is the whole point. You’d be amazed how easy it is to lose sight of that fact. So yesterday we headed out to get our marriage license. We arrived at city hall a little late, got fabulously lost, shyly hung back from the information desk while the receptionist stared at us in an expectant though condescending way and, having been turned in the right direction, half skipped half ran to the county clerks office in an attempt to make it there before they canceled our appointment, stole our $60 and declared us too immature to be wed. While dashing down the dark hallway I remember thinking that I neither felt, nor looked like the adult I planned on being by the time I was ready to obtain a marriage license.\nWe made it on time and soon we were seated on a bench holding an official-looking form. As Ben filled out his section, we cracked stupid jokes, attempting to ease the tension.\n\u0026ldquo;ok, so what did you say your name was again?\u0026rdquo;\n\u0026ldquo;After this we should go buy t-shirts that say ’I went to city hall and all I got was this crappy marriage license’.\u0026rdquo;\n\u0026ldquo;Hey Ben, what if they give us a fishing license by mistake?\u0026rdquo;\n\u0026ldquo;Look at that couple. They’re getting married here, I bet. Wouldn’t it be funny if we got married in what we’re wearing?\u0026rdquo; I looked at our raggedy jeans and old t-shirts and had to agree. It hadn’t occurred to me that it might have been proper for us to dress up a little for this occasion. We could have had our picture taken on the marble staircase- Ben and Lela looking like the responsible adults they are. Instead we looked more like a couple of grungy teenagers who decided to cut class that day to get a marriage license. \u0026ldquo;Hey lady, could you hurry it up? I’m late for gym.\u0026rdquo;\nThen it came time to fill out the Bride section of our form and I lost my mind and forgot how to spell both Minnesota and my father’s first name. Fortunately, Ben kept his cool (as always) and spelled the state out for me, though he couldn’t help me with dad’s name. In my defense, I’d like to say that usually I just write Dad when I’m writing to or about him. When an actual name is needed, I write Randy. I can’t remember the last time I had to write his whole birth name, so I made an educated guess and wrote that. I was nervous when we had to swear that the information on our license was correct. Thank goodness she added \u0026ldquo;to the best of your knowledge\u0026rdquo;. The last thing in the world I need right now is to be struck down by lightening for lying about a swear.\n","date":"2008-04-09T20:12:43-08:00","permalink":"/2008/04/09/adventure-at-the-city-hall/","title":"Adventure at the City Hall"},{"content":"When did this whole \u0026ldquo;write your own vows\u0026rdquo; thing start, anyway? This is a 1960’s thing, right? Begun back in the days of free love and anarchy, when everyone was writing poetry about the colors of their lovers\u0026rsquo; auras? But more important than when is why. As in, why am I reading these stupid magazines that are brainwashing me into thinking this is something I ought to do? Lately, while walking to the grocery store, or riding on the bus, I find myself worrying about whether the fact that I don’t want to write my own vows means I don’t love Ben as much as those other brides love their fiances. I know it doesn’t. But those magazines are devious. I can’t even figure out what’s in it for them. It’s not like they’re advertising creative writing classes or something.\nThe idea of self-written vows makes me shudder. Probably because it always conjures up images of me standing in front of a huge audience, holding this wrinkled little index card and, in a monotone voice, reading \u0026ldquo;Ben, I love you more than anything. I will never\u0026hellip;(crinkle, crinkle)\u0026hellip;get tired of, uh\u0026hellip;looking into your eyes. You complete me. the end\u0026rdquo;. Ok, I could probably do better than that. But I don’t think I could do better than the vows that already exist. These are the vows that have been said for decades. Said by my grandparents and maybe even their parents (not my own, however. They were married in the early 70’s). How arrogant would I have to be to think I could improve them?\nIf I were to write my own vows, they would never be the sort of vows you could say at a ceremony without people thinking you’re being disrespectful:\nBen, I promise to only lie to you when it’s obvious that I’m doing so. I vow to only try to stick things up your nose when you are awake and capable of stopping me. I promise I will call you \u0026ldquo;butthead\u0026rdquo; only when I’m trying to make you laugh and never when I actually think you’re acting like one. I will never force you to wear a creepy mesh tanktop in public, however funny I think it might be. When you barf, I vow to take care of you, instead of run from the room screaming. I promise that if the lyrics allow, I will replace \u0026ldquo;You\u0026rdquo; with \u0026ldquo;Ben\u0026rdquo; in all the songs I sing whenever you’re around. I solemnly swear I will never, ever post naked pictures of you on the internet.\nIf we had decided to elope, I might have considered writing my own vows. But I think in the end, I probably still would have tacked on the traditionals. Love, Honor, Cherish, it’s really best to cover all the bases. After all, Ben’s bound to notice I didn’t mention anything about sticking stuff TO his nose\u0026hellip;\n","date":"2008-03-29T20:12:38-08:00","permalink":"/2008/03/29/i-vow/","title":"I Vow"},{"content":"At the post office today, while checking out, I noticed I had been charged an additional two cents on a letter already stamped with one of the last of the batch Ben and I bought a few weeks ago.\n\u0026ldquo;oh, when did the price of stamps rise again?\u0026rdquo;\n\u0026ldquo;May 12\u0026rdquo;\n\u0026ldquo;\u0026hellip;umm, you mean of last year?\u0026rdquo;\n\u0026ldquo;No, this May\u0026rdquo;\n\u0026ldquo;But it’s March\u0026rdquo;\n\u0026ldquo;That’s right\u0026rdquo;\n\u0026ldquo;I sent a bunch of letters out a few weeks ago using these same stamps, and it sounds like they made it.\u0026rdquo;\n\u0026ldquo;This letter will get there in 2-3 days\u0026rdquo;\n\u0026ldquo;Fine, but when in the last few weeks did the price of stamps rise to two cents more?\u0026rdquo;\n\u0026ldquo;May\u0026rdquo;\n\u0026ldquo;But this is only March\u0026rdquo;\n\u0026ldquo;Yes\u0026rdquo;\n\u0026ldquo;So how come you’re charging me two cents more?\u0026rdquo;\n\u0026ldquo;Because the price of stamps rose\u0026rdquo;\nAt that point I realized that this conversation was not worth the two cents that inspired it. I took my receipt and walked away feeling thoroughly beaten. Beaten as only the US Postal Service can do.\n","date":"2008-03-25T20:11:27-08:00","permalink":"/2008/03/25/my-two-cents/","title":"My two cents"},{"content":"Recent events have thrown into stark realization the fact that I don\u0026rsquo;t have as many friends as I used to, nor as many as I would like. Frankly, it\u0026rsquo;s depressing me. So now I have to wonder, why do I judge my value based on the number of friends I have? I blame the Wizard of Oz. The first time I watched the movie I heard him say \u0026ldquo;A heart is not judged by how much you love; but by how much you are loved by others.\u0026rdquo; and I\u0026rsquo;ve never forgotten that. Well, that\u0026rsquo;s a pretty tough bind, isn\u0026rsquo;t it? It\u0026rsquo;s like, love all you want but unless someone cares that you love them, you\u0026rsquo;re pretty worthless. If anyone but the Wizard had said it, I\u0026rsquo;d question the logic of that statement. What if you\u0026rsquo;re surrounded by narcissists? They might be pleased that you loved them, but they keep all their love for themselves. What if you choose to love all the wrong people? Well, then there are a number of self-help books out there for you. What if you just love from afar so as not to burden anyone who isn\u0026rsquo;t interested?\nA friend of mine told me awhile ago that for women, having friends is instinctual. It\u0026rsquo;s an inherent need passed down from the time we all lived in tribes. In tribes the women were usually responsible for much of the food, all of the childcare, and most of the shelter of the entire group. If these women couldn\u0026rsquo;t form relationships, the tribe wouldn\u0026rsquo;t have survived very long. Thus, friendship was born. And it\u0026rsquo;s been stressing out women of all ages ever since, especially those in junior high.\nSince we no longer have to depend on each other for survival, I feel that the idea of friends has become much more complicated. Now people can be choosy about who they want to spend they\u0026rsquo;re time with and I, being infinitely courteous and shy, would never presume that they\u0026rsquo;d want to spend it with me. This feeling has probably resulted in dozens of lost opportunities for friendship. It could be I\u0026rsquo;m thinking about it too much. Which is why I must now resort to drastic measures. I pledge to be oblivious and obnoxious in every social situations from here on out. Completely, utterly annoying, that\u0026rsquo;s my plan. I figure at the point I see myself as being irritatingly loud, other will probably see me as being normal and maybe even a tiny bit outgoing. It might take me awhile to get up to speed on this, so don\u0026rsquo;t expect that the next time you see me I\u0026rsquo;ll come bounding into the room smacking people in the back of their heads, and saying \u0026ldquo;would you like fries with that?\u0026rdquo; to every request they make. But give me time. I\u0026rsquo;ll get there. Then I know the friends will be flocking.\n","date":"2008-03-04T20:11:00-08:00","permalink":"/2008/03/04/friends/","title":"Friends"},{"content":"Shopping for wedding gowns is an amazing experience. You walk into a little boutique lined with beautiful dresses made of satin, silk and lace, and embroidered with sequins, seed pearls, and little flowers. You know that you\u0026rsquo;ll be walking out with one of these gowns, if not today than someday soon. It\u0026rsquo;s exciting and magical. It\u0026rsquo;s like being a little girl again. Now imagine if you actually were a little girl.\nLast December I talked to Ben\u0026rsquo;s 3 year old little sister, Lucy, about being our flower girl. She\u0026rsquo;s pretty shy and quiet, and answered with a barely audible \u0026ldquo;yes\u0026rdquo; when I asked if she would like us to take her out and buy her a new dress and tie flowers in her hair for the wedding. After I confirmed we\u0026rsquo;d be doing this, she went racing down the hall where I could hear her excitedly telling her mother all about how I was going to buy her a dress and fix her hair. I knew at that moment that shopping with Lucy was going to one of the highlights of preparing for the wedding.\nI was right. Yesterday\u0026rsquo;s shopping trip was a completely charming. Lucy started glowing the moment we entered the girls dress section of Macy\u0026rsquo;s. If I could have, I would have had Lucy try on every floufy, puffy, pink dress I could find, but I knew we had one shot at this and if I didn\u0026rsquo;t find the dress by 5pm, I was going to be shopping alone. Never the less, I think we all got our fill of flouf, especially me and Susan (Ben\u0026rsquo;s stepmom) who had to battle the tiny buttons and obstinate bows while Lucy skipped, twirled, hopped and danced around the dressing room in a variety of fluffy dresses. Ben spent this time waiting outside, bonding with his youngest sister Cayenne. I might add here that this is the only shopping trip I\u0026rsquo;ve ever seen Ben enthusiastic about and I think he had a great time admiring Lucy as she modeled each dress for him, and playing \u0026ldquo;pound on the stroller tray\u0026rdquo; with Cayenne.\nAs usually, I had difficulty finding something I thought was right. Everything was either the wrong color, the wrong size or just unattractive. I was getting a little discouraged by 3pm when we decided to try out Neiman Marcus. Two minutes walking around the dress section and I gave the gasp that Ben later said was how I\u0026rsquo;ve reacted every time I find the perfect thing for the wedding, be it dress, cake or flowers. How embarrasing! Anyway, that was that. The dress. Perfect.\nI think the dress we ended up with was rather underwhelming from Lucy\u0026rsquo;s perspective. It\u0026rsquo;s ivory and although it still has the organza overlay and some lace detailing, it\u0026rsquo;s not like the over-the-top dresses she tried on before, with their shimmery skirts, gauzy rose buds and giant pink bows. However, I think both Susan and I agreed that this was far better. This dress is elegant, and super soft inside (\u0026ldquo;I\u0026rsquo;m jealous!\u0026rdquo; Ben said when I called him in to feel the lining after we got home last night) and it\u0026rsquo;s natural fibers. I feel much better imagining Lucy running around in a soft, breathable dress rather than itchy polyester, which helps to justify the triple figure price tag. We finished yesterday with enough time to not only complete the look with a comfortable pair of leather ballet style shoes and some ivory tights but also to squeeze in a trip to the awesome play ground by Yerba Buena Gardens. Lucy even got to watch some ice skaters practicing for a show! Sometimes I wonder if experiences like this will make planning the wedding such an amazing memory, that my memory of the actual wedding will seem dull in comparison. I guess worse thing have happened, right?\n","date":"2008-02-24T20:10:52-08:00","permalink":"/2008/02/24/flower-girl-check/","title":"Flower girl? Check!"},{"content":"As of today I\u0026rsquo;m under strict doctor\u0026rsquo;s orders to not do any strenuous exercises until I see a cardiologist. I\u0026rsquo;m thinking I\u0026rsquo;ll call to make an appointment in about 2 or 3 months, what do you think? It reminds me of when my mom was on this crazy diet for her allergy testing. For two days all she was allowed to eat was fish \u0026amp; chips.\nSo often doctors tell us things we don\u0026rsquo;t want to hear- you need to lose weight, your blood pressure\u0026rsquo;s too high, you\u0026rsquo;re eating too much sugar etc. that when a doctor gives you instructions you\u0026rsquo;re happy to follow, it has a surreal feeling to it. No one wake me up! I\u0026rsquo;d much rather not go jogging tonight!\n","date":"2008-02-24T20:10:27-08:00","permalink":"/2008/02/24/doctors-orders/","title":"Doctor's orders!"},{"content":"While I wait for the nauseatingly foul odors in the kitchen to die down so I can wash more dishes, I thought I\u0026rsquo;d fill you in on a little secret- I never expected anyone to actually read this blog. My friend, Diana, stated it best when she said \u0026ldquo;I assume that no one ever talks or thinks about me when I\u0026rsquo;m not present\u0026rdquo;. Lately though, it\u0026rsquo;s come to my attention that people do read this blog. Some leave comments, offer advice, and occasionally kudos, mmmm. But most flit through silently, leaving little evidence that they were ever here except for with counts in my Views. Since I\u0026rsquo;ve realized this I have begun to feel responsible for the substance of my entries. My only goal when I created a blog was to force myself to start writing again and, thinking no one would read it, I wrote only about what was on my mind at the time. Sadly, pretty much the only thing on my mind lately is the enormous event I\u0026rsquo;m planning. It\u0026rsquo;s consuming my thoughts, my time, all my anxiety, and many of the hours when I should be sleeping. Don\u0026rsquo;t get me wrong, for the most part I\u0026rsquo;m enjoying this experience however time consuming it\u0026rsquo;s becoming, but I\u0026rsquo;m afraid this might have made my blog entries a little dull, or a lot dull. Unbelievably, lethally dull? My mom told me the other day that my stepdad asked her what I was going to do with myself when this thing was over. Ok, I was offended at first. I mean I had a life before this, you know? I was doing other things. But wait, \u0026ldquo;had\u0026rdquo; \u0026ldquo;was doing\u0026rdquo;, past tense? uh, oh.\nSo I\u0026rsquo;m posting here a list of future topics- things I want to explore, goals I want to reach, ideas on which to focus, other than the big day, and places to turn after the dress is retired. Hopefully, these will become topics I can write about when things get tedious, and hopefully they\u0026rsquo;ll make for slightly more interesting reading than previous posts. Thanks for making me feel like writing! It obligate me to do something fulfilling instead of lazing around the house rereading Lord of the Rings or Harry Potter, which is what I\u0026rsquo;m inclined to do otherwise.\nLela the Diva\n-The secret; bending the universe to my will, mwahahahaha!\\ Around the world in, uh, I don\u0026rsquo;t know, 30-40 years\\ to eat meat, or not to eat meat?\\ Have I suffered enough that I could be a great artist yet?\\ I want a crappy garage band\\ capturing Om\\ Do I like the education, or the status of grad school?\\ It\u0026rsquo;s not easy being green\\ clearing out the demons\\ Philosophy, that torrid and torturous love affair of my wild years.\\ Anyone up for some spoon bending? Ghost hunting? Mind-reading? Exorcising? JK\\ last but not least, FIJI!!!! ","date":"2008-02-21T20:09:56-08:00","permalink":"/2008/02/21/belated-resolutions/","title":"Belated Resolutions"},{"content":"I\u0026rsquo;m going to gouge my eyes out with it.\nBen and I registered last weekend. When I told my mom about it today, she said she thought it would be like making a list for Santa Claus. Exciting, fun and hopeful. Not so much. This year I have had many new and awkward experiences. I have had to strip down to my underwear in front of a number of strangers. I have had to try and eat cake while being attentively watched by a cake consultant sitting right next to me. I have even been corset shopping with my mom and future mother-in-law. But nothing so far has been as awkward as registering for gifts. It\u0026rsquo;s expensive, it\u0026rsquo;s tedious if you\u0026rsquo;re doing it online, and the possibilities are endless! Plates alone present hundreds of options and prices, even if you\u0026rsquo;re only looking at one store! It\u0026rsquo;s really mind boggling. Knowing this was going to be a long process, Ben and I started fairly early in the morning and proceeded to take turns being the \u0026ldquo;oh my gosh, it\u0026rsquo;s too EXPENSIVE!!!\u0026rdquo; guy. He took the morning shift, worrying about the absurdly pricey measuring cups and mixing bowls. At lunch I explained (to both of us) that it would be better to register for nicer things that will last longer, and hope that people will put in together. \u0026ldquo;fewer, nicer gifts, instead of many, inexpensive ones that will have to be replaced in a few years\u0026rdquo;. Then we got home and I chucked all my advice out the window and proceeded to freak out about the silverware sets that were selling for $49.95 and the pot we wanted that was $240.00. Ben, on the other hand, seemed oddly re-assured by my lunchtime lecture, which forced me to act like the mature, rational adult he thinks I am. After many, MANY hours of deep contemplation about which green dishes we wanted to live with for the rest of our lives, whether cache gold, or alexandra ice silverware were more suitable for our lifestyle, and if it would be appropriate to register for a 24 roll package of toilet paper (sadly, Ben decided it wasn\u0026rsquo;t) we both began to feel our brains turning to mush and we decided to stop.\nEveryone says registering is the nicest thing you can do for your wedding guests. And I completely understand. It\u0026rsquo;s the only reason we did it (well, that and I didn\u0026rsquo;t want to end up with things I had to return because we got multiples or already had one). Had it not been for the very serious advice from married relatives and friends, I never would have done it. Doesn\u0026rsquo;t it seem more than a little cheeky to offer your guests suggestions on the price range of wedding gifts? How do you not feel awkward thinking about your grandmother\u0026rsquo;s reaction to the $350 mixer on your registry? Part of me wanted to search through every online store to find the $$$$ items and add them in hopes of easing my discomfort by throwing absurdity into the mix. In a way my mom was right, this experience was like making a list for Santa, except I\u0026rsquo;m an adult and I know who\u0026rsquo;s really checking the list this time.\n","date":"2008-02-20T20:09:37-08:00","permalink":"/2008/02/20/if-i-have-to-look-at-one-more-fork/","title":"If I have to look at one more fork..."},{"content":"Ok, so I\u0026rsquo;ve spent the whole day trudging through websites. Websites like massive sugar-sludge swamps, trying to suck me down into their frilly world of sweeping fondant \u0026ldquo;curtains\u0026rdquo; and powder pink, gumpaste roses. Can I just say that I find the wedding industry more than a little nauseating? If the prices aren\u0026rsquo;t enough to make me barf (how many slices of cake have you seen that sell for $10 a mouthful?), and I manage to quell my gag reflex during the gooey \u0026ldquo;isn\u0026rsquo;t your very special day just soooo romantic?\u0026rdquo; intro\u0026rsquo;s to every site, I could never force myself past the mountainous piles of frilly cream, avalanches of flowers, candy starfish, and enormous flocks of oh-so-cute birds that decorate half the cakes out there. From what I could tell, the only alternative to over the top decadence these days is a cold, aloof, perfectly smooth, straight up and down style that looks like the walls of a prison. As dreary as these puritanesque cakes are I find their simplicity much more enticing than the gaudy cakes my three year old self would have chosen back when I was still hoping to be a pink, bunny rabbit when I grew up.\nOh wait, I forgot the new modern style cakes. You know, the kind for the \u0026ldquo;unique\u0026rdquo; bride that wants her special day to be different from all those other generic nobodies that want all their weddings to be the same. The wedding industry likes to imply that the world is full of these clone brides and that you alone are out there looking for a creative new option. In case you were wondering, unique cakes aren\u0026rsquo;t as cool as they sound. They cost a pretty penny more than the pretty penny it takes to buy any wedding cake and they are just as heinous as the fairy princess numbers. Instead of the dangling hearts and silver pearls, these are often painted with neon yellow food coloring, wrapped with hot pink fondant ribbons or bright green polka dots, or my personal favorite, made to look like the bride (the layer cake is the skirt of the sculpture\u0026rsquo;s wedding gown). I confess that last one was emailed to me, I didn\u0026rsquo;t just come across it. But I have to say, as creepy as that cake looked, the bride definitely made her cake unique, unlike the frothy, bright eyesores I\u0026rsquo;ve been gawking at all afternoon.\n","date":"2008-01-07T20:09:10-08:00","permalink":"/2008/01/07/have-your-cake-and-hate-it-too/","title":"Have your cake and hate it too"},{"content":"As Ben and I were getting in the car after visiting with his Uncle Mike, one of about a zillion relatives we saw during our trip to Delano last weekend, I told him \u0026ldquo;I dated you for you. I\u0026rsquo;m marrying you for your family.\u0026rdquo;\nHe just laughed. He must have thought I was joking\u0026hellip;\n","date":"2008-01-02T20:07:36-08:00","permalink":"/2008/01/02/the-confession/","title":"The Confession"},{"content":"As of last night, I have had at least one dream per ex-boyfriend in which I\u0026rsquo;m engaged to him instead of Ben. Guys I\u0026rsquo;ve only briefly dated are included in this list. Two exception are a guy I dated briefly in high school (whom I\u0026rsquo;m expecting an appearance from any night now) and a guy I went on one date with, whom Jessica nicknamed \u0026ldquo;Dan the man\u0026rdquo; when at the end of the date, he insisted I pay him back for dinner.\nOddly enough, the list doesn\u0026rsquo;t ONLY include exes. For example, it also includes my best friend (and maid of honor), which she got a big kick out of when I told her about it the next day. I can say without a moments hesitation that this dream was the best of the lot, because while the marriage wouldn\u0026rsquo;t have been quite what I expect to have with Ben, I like Diana and I think it would be fun to have her as a life long roommate. And besides, marrying her would be far preferable to marrying any of my ex-boyfriend (no offense to the only one I\u0026rsquo;m still in communication with).\nWhat\u0026rsquo;s exceptionally weird about these dreams is how often Ben shows up in them. I\u0026rsquo;ll be at a party with my fiance, wondering why on earth I decided to marry this guy and feeling generally annoyed and suddenly, Ben will walk into the room, grab a soda, and start watching a movie or something. I\u0026rsquo;ll pause in the middle of a sentence and stare at him like he\u0026rsquo;s got some important message written on his forehead. There\u0026rsquo;s always this feeling of total confusion like \u0026ldquo;You know, that guy looks awfully familiar. Where have I seen him before?\u0026rdquo;. Or I\u0026rsquo;ll be waiting in line at the movie theater, with my future husband, and feeling like this just isn\u0026rsquo;t right, that I remember actually being in love with the person I was engaged to, and suddenly Ben will walk out of a nearby ice cream store and I\u0026rsquo;ll think, \u0026ldquo;now, wait a minute, wasn\u0026rsquo;t I engaged to THAT guy?\u0026rdquo;\nOne theory as to why this is happening is that my brain just wasn\u0026rsquo;t prepared for me to fall in love so quickly and it\u0026rsquo;s having a hard time adjusting. It wants to say \u0026ldquo;Now hold on, weren\u0026rsquo;t we going to have a few practice marriages first? Just to get a feel for it before trying it with someone you love?\u0026rdquo;\nSecond theory is that my subconscious hates me and enjoys watching me muddle through my dreams in utterly lost and helpless confusion.\n","date":"2007-10-17T20:06:05-08:00","permalink":"/2007/10/17/why-must-i-torture-me-like-this/","title":"Why must I torture me like this?"},{"content":"Well, I\u0026rsquo;ve been trying to think of something to write about for awhile now. But everything I\u0026rsquo;ve thought of seems pretty self involved and boring. I\u0026rsquo;ve noticed that even when people don\u0026rsquo;t think they have anything to talk about with someone, for some reason, they can always manage to have a good conversations about things that annoy them and most people seem to enjoy talking about that anyway. My conclusion is that as destructive as people may tell you it is to talk about things that annoy you, it can be very good if you\u0026rsquo;re trying to make friends. So here we go:\nIt annoys me when dogs have eye crusties\nI hate stores with names like Baby Love Munchkin\nI hate the book Garden of Eden. In fact, does anyone want my copy? I\u0026rsquo;d sell it at Green Apple, but I don\u0026rsquo;t want it that close to my house.\nFleas annoy me\nIt annoys me when I\u0026rsquo;m talking to someone, and they\u0026rsquo;re trying to steer the conversation towards a certain topic, but they don\u0026rsquo;t want to bring up the topic themselves. I\u0026rsquo;ll act completely clueless for as long as humanly possible.\nI hate wet jeans\nI hate excessively negative people (had to throw that in there as a tribute to Calvin and Hobbes)\nLoud motorcycles annoy me.\nI hate Thursdays\nMy job annoys me\nIt annoys me when people hock giant loogies on the bus and then spit them out on the floor.\nThose little bunches of flies that fly around in circles like little bug tornadoes annoy me.\nThe way my house smells the day after I\u0026rsquo;ve cooked fish annoys me\nI hate Fleet week.\nIt annoys me that my lunch is over. But I\u0026rsquo;m happy it\u0026rsquo;s Friday!\n","date":"2007-10-11T20:05:11-08:00","permalink":"/2007/10/11/things-that-annoy-me/","title":"Things that annoy me"},{"content":"I bought my veil yesterday. Or, I guess it might be more accurate to say I bought A veil. It\u0026rsquo;s very, as my mother would say, frou frou. At first I didn\u0026rsquo;t care because I\u0026rsquo;m going to wear it for, what, maybe 2 hours ever? But then I remembered that there will be pictures. hmm.\nStill, I bought it. I think that with some work, I can make the thing look a little more like something a normal person would wear. You know, someone who at the age of 26, is no longer fantasizing about being a fairy princess. Besides, it was $15 dollars on craigslist. How could I say no?\n","date":"2007-10-01T20:04:27-08:00","permalink":"/2007/10/01/another-step-complete/","title":"Another step complete?"},{"content":"Had Harry Potter been given the opportunity, I\u0026rsquo;m sure he would have learned as much as possible about wands before his trip to Diagon Alley. He probably would have spent hours and HOURS looking through wand websites, surfing wand designers webpages and boring his friends (if he\u0026rsquo;d had any) with facts about the practices of the wand industry. He may have formed opinions like mahogany wood is too pretentious, and hawthorne wood too old fashioned, unicorn hair too girly, and ebony is for posers etc. After all this research and comparison shopping he would have arrived at Ollivanders with a pretty good idea about what he wanted. I think he would have gone with Bamboo, 7 inches, dragon heartstring core. Bamboo because it\u0026rsquo;s so ecofriendly, 7 inches because it\u0026rsquo;s not too flashy, and dragon heartstrings because dragons are awesome. However, my guess is that regardless of how much research he did before he went into the wand shop, he would have walked out with the same holly and phoenix feather wand he ended up with in the book (despite whatever the price tag read).\nThis is because the wand chooses the wizard, not the other way around.\nAfter this weekend I\u0026rsquo;ve reached the conclusion that the same applies to the bridal gown and the bride.\n","date":"2007-08-28T20:03:24-08:00","permalink":"/2007/08/28/my-dress-found-me/","title":"My dress found me!"},{"content":"This morning I was staring at my computer trying to figure out what I\u0026rsquo;d just been doing when the phone rang and I picked it up and said\n\u0026ldquo;Chronicle Books, isn\u0026rsquo;t\u0026hellip;this Lela?\u0026rdquo;\nHalfway through the sentence my brain suddenly turned on the \u0026ldquo;system malfunction\u0026rdquo; alarm and tried to shut things down and reboot but my mouth wasn\u0026rsquo;t having it, so the questions ended on an uncertain note that would have sounded perfect if the person on the other end of the line was named Lela. He wasn\u0026rsquo;t. But he was confused and I don\u0026rsquo;t blame him. How often do you call a customer service department and find yourself immediately asked to confirm the identity of the stranger on the other end of the line? Later this afternoon I thought about how often I used to forget that when I call companies (particularly banks), the voice that answers is a human being and not just a robot that gets turned off at closing time, no matter how much some of them might sound like they are. Since I started this job I don\u0026rsquo;t forget that anymore and I hope I never forget it. Course, it would be even easier to remember if they all took a page out of my book and started out the conversation by asking me who they were.\n","date":"2007-08-23T20:02:38-08:00","permalink":"/2007/08/23/been-a-long-week/","title":"Been a long week"},{"content":"This Blog entry was going to be called \u0026ldquo;Going Bridal\u0026rdquo; and I was going to share the horror and anguish of the last few days during which Ben , my mother and I have been dealing with reserving our reception venue.\nBut I think this is better\u0026hellip;\nLast weekend I had a dream that it was the day of my wedding and I was running very late. I ran into the dressing room, at the ceremony site, where all my Bridesmaids were getting ready and glanced around the room to discover that not only had I forgotten to bring my wedding gown, I had forgotten to buy one. But, whatever, I was just going to have to wear the metallic blue plastic suit jacket and lemon yellow mini-skirt I had put on that morning. What I did seem to be concerned about was that I also neglected to buy myself a veil. Fortunately, there happened to be a roll of tulle in the corner of the room, which I grabbed and stapled to one of those cheap plastic kids tiaras that also happen to be there. The last thing I remember about the dream was dashing out the door towards the ceremony hoping that in last few hours, my mother and Diana had managed to find and purchase a fluffy pink flower girl dress for Lucy.\nThe night before last I had a dream that Ben and I decided to spend the night before our wedding camping out in the parking lot of a storage rental facility. No reason for it, I guess we just thought it\u0026rsquo;d be fun. After trying and failing to find a comfortable place to sleep on the gravel in the parking lot, we decided it might be a better idea to sleep INSIDE one of the storage units, which proved to be a little more comfortable. As in all my wedding dreams, the next morning I was running late and sped to the ceremony site, stopping only to buy a bouquet. After I got there, I realized I had never gotten around to hiring a caterer or a florist. At the time I was much more concerned about the lack of flowers than I was about the lack of food so I walked around to the sad empty tables and put one tiny flower from my bouquet on each one, hoping that people would see this as a very tasteful centerpiece, if they saw it at all, as the flowers were about the size of a thumbnail.\nI\u0026rsquo;m glad that my mind freely offers these worst case scenarios, so that I can feel like no matter how badly I screw up during this whole huge wedding project, I\u0026rsquo;ll never screw up as bad as that nutcase in my dreams.\n","date":"2007-08-03T14:00:23-08:00","permalink":"/2007/08/03/dumb-dumb-da-dumb/","title":"Dumb Dumb da Dumb"}]