what I mean when I say I love you

I decorated my purple bag with this gold ribbon which is now fraying and ready to go.  It was for xmas.  Ready for a new ribbon now.

We went to Red Rock yesterday.  It was beautiful.  I saw trailside snow glistening in the morning light.  I put some on my head and it melted, a blessing.

(I told Ming one time--when you make tea, you're supposed to use water that's fresh, not reboil the old water.  He laughed at me, saying how all the water of the world is being used over and over again.  I said something about the bubbles coming out.  He wasn't buying it.)

I sat on a big rock as Ming hiked and wrote something I'd been thinking about for 20 years.  Not sure why it took me so long!  I guess the moment was finally right.

My friend had her baby today.  He's gorgeous.  He doesn't have a name yet.

I copied a new zine today--it may be the longest I've ever made?  Or tied for longest at 32 pages.  I drew some cute robots.

I have some ideas that feel good.  I think I'm going to cut my hair soon.  Well, I probably won't do it myself--I'll ask someone else to do it.

That reminds me of when I was living in Sacramento and decided to cut my hair.  I asked my friend H to do it.  She used to cut her own hair sometimes, and I admired her bravery.  But she said no--she was brave enough to cut her own hair, but not mine.  So my hair stayed long because I changed my mind.

I was thinking short in the back and slightly longer on top--poofy maybe, like a mushroom?  I really don't know what my hair would do, short, seeing as it hasn't been short since I was, uh, three years old.

My throat hurts, and I remember this book I read once (a coffee table kind of book?) called Shit White Girls Say, and one of the first ones was "I think I'm getting sick."

The other day I told Ming, "Don't be like a white person."  I never said that sentence before.  We were talking about hair color--he said his hair was black.  I know it comes out of his head kind of black, but it turns absolutely brown. 

It always bothered me, white people saying I have black hair when it isn't remotely black.  I have brown-ass hair.

bee emojis ftw

If that's a metaphor, not sure what it means.  I don't have a problem with metaphorical sweetness.  Some people say I'm sweet--less so, as the years pass.  My mom calls me honey baby, and she sends me emojis of bees.

There's a joke that was important to me when I was little.   Something like--how do you hide an elephant?  I think you're supposed to paint its toenails red and put it in a cherry tree?  A joke series, which I enjoy.

A joke can be like a metaphor.  Something pleasurably sneaky is happening.   I'll take it.

I was telling my friend how I described her to another friend.  I said how she was an English major, and I was an English major, so we have something in common.  For both us, majoring was a long time ago. 

That was kind of a joke too, because she and I are both Catholic Workers and have a shitton in common that has nothing to do with whether we've both read Dante's Inferno, Paradise Lost, or Great Expectations.

Yeah, jokes are my favorite.  I would definitely like a Master's degree in them.  That friend's dad was telling us xmas jokes.

How much does it cost for Santa to park his sleigh?
(Nothing--it's on the house.)

That was his favorite, but he begrudgingly told me one I liked better--Why was the letter E the only letter than got a Christmas present?

"I don't know--why?" I asked, after thinking about it a few seconds, sleepy on his sofa.

"Because the other letters were not E."

I laughed, groaning a bit.  An English major joke, kind of.  I want to tell my bestie that one.  She was an English major too.  Well, I'm fibbing--I wasn't an English major.  I was a Literature major, but close enough.

the Hanukkah party

a few basic things I like to know when I wake up
1.  who I am
2.  where I am
3.  what day it is

Yesterday afternoon I took a nap.  Those three hours or so I slept, I was having this horrible repetitive dream about death.  The creepy trainstations, the sophisticated lady, so much darkness.  "No one wants that dream," I told Ming afterward.

I woke up thinking it was the next day.  Ming had to remind me what the hell was going on.  It was Saturday.  He was going to a 8pm party.

I tried to get back into the regular world.  I was not feeling good.  I didn't cherish the idea of being alone.  My good friend was advising me--was there anyone in the compound I could hang out with.  Or someone I could txt with or call.   She's in another time zone and was headed to bed.  I decided to go out and work at a starbux while Ming partied.

So I went with Ming to pick up D at the Worker.  And we traveled across town a bit.  At the starbux, we saw it was closing at 8pm.  Oh no!  I said I would go to the party.

We were the first ones to arrive.  I was the very first, with D.  Then M came.  "This is my husband," D said, hugging Ming, to the host.

"Hey!" I said.

I was trying to figure out the place.  It's a house where lots of events happen for Jewish young people.  The person on the lease gets a rent subsidy, to hold these events.  She was making latkes.  It's not a community house, just an event center that's also someone's home.  It's a big organization, so this was just a manifestation of it.  An instance.

I'm not Jewish or young.  Ming is a pagan Jew.  D is a gay semi-recovered Catholic from Venezuela.  We brought fliers to promote the Sacred Peace Walk and Nevada Desert Experience.  Our nametags had a place for pronouns, which I appreciate.  They were plasticy nametags which we wrote on with dry erase marker and attached to our clothes with paper clips.  Brilliant!  But D's fell off a few times.  He helped me attach mine to my collar.

I met this wonderful philosophy major.  We spoke of her favorite philosopher.  I said I have a friend at University of Glasgow who does aesthetics.  She mentioned what she might like to specialize in, in grad school.  She's returning to Utah to get her GPA up.  She mentioned epistemology--I knew it had to do with theory of knowledge.  I was a philosophy minor, long ago.  I really like ethics, honestly.

We talked about gender in philosophy.  Part of why I quit was that being the only woman wasn't my idea of fun.  So much posturing and self-importance in the room, white guys loving the sound of their own voices.  I loved ideas, but I didn't love how lonely I felt, and I was a B student in philosophy, which felt pointless. 

I think I was good at philosophy, but the professors weren't always good at hearing me.  Like I needed to talk more like a man if I wanted to be understood.  I still feel like that, walking around in the regular world, at times.

But my new philosophy friend is trans, and she's pagan also, from Las Vegas, but was raised a Jew I guess, which is why she was at the party.  She handed me her phone and had me fill out my contact info.  I promised to mail her zines, as she's moving back to Utah on Friday. 

She asked me what fat liberation is, and I was happy to explain.

Not letting others define for us what health is or what we're worth.  Loving ourselves at any size and getting on with our lives.  What do you think?  Not bad for two sentences?

I want a FATTIES AGAINST FASCISM teeshirt and D saw what I was looking at on my phone.   They have sky blue on black in my size, which I guess is an option, but I was hoping for pink on purple or pink on magenta.  They're handmade in someone's kitchen, $20 with shipping included.

D objected to "fatties," and I said I like it.  I told him it's good to reclaim language, like queer.  He asked if I would pose nude for photos at the beach.  He thinks that's great.  He's a regular sized person.

I bailed at the one hour mark, as more and more people showed up until it was really noisy in there, like a club.  I said I would sit in the car for half an hour.  I didn't know it would be so cold.

"Did they say--you're too old, don't come back?" I asked Ming afterward.  I was craving a heated up brownie.  I ate it all before we made it home to the milk.

new motto, hyphenated religions, trusting others to be ok when we're not there

Lately I've been telling Ming a lot, "You don't have to justify shit to me," because he'll start explaining something I've known for a long time.  It's not that I don't want to hear his explanation.  More that I know where's at and that his heart is gold.

I'm not demanding to know any background on why he did a certain thing, or for him to dance for his forgiveness.  I'm ready to let it go quickly, usually.

I realized I want to say this sentence to myself too, and have that same kindness.  So I thought it might be a good motto for 2020.  I wrote it on a paper and asked Ming to draw some squids, his specialty.  

Then I requested a jellyfish also.  He sketched some sample jellyfish, which I rejected.  Then I sketched what I had in mind, and he did that but better, on the special paper where I'd written the sentence.  Isn't it lovely?  Or maybe you just think it's weird.  Maybe it's only appealing to our family.  It can be really hard for me to predict stuff like that.

I like the idea of just letting myself be, trusting myself, not requiring of myself a ton of chatter about reasons.  I have integrity, so I can believe in my good intentions and go with that.

We saw some friends.  I missed taking pictures with one of them.  But for dinner we went to our friend's house near Mt Everest and saw some people who are family-like for us.  Someone made delicious eggplant parmesan.

I talked to a kid I love who has been very quiet much of her life and has a non-language way of talking that consists of some strange little sounds.  I was happy she talked to me in a regular language.

"What did you get for Christmas?" I asked her.

"Binoculars," she said quietly.

"Who gave them to you?  Santa?"

"My grandma," she said.

"What are you going to look at?" I asked.  "Birds?"

She was playing with a little dog.  Ming and I have housesit there before, and petsit, so I kind of know that dog.  There had been three dogs, but Cerilo died, then Bill.  So now they're down to Axel.

"Is Axel lonely?" I asked.

"Only when he's alone," said the kid.  She looked at me seriously, with Axel on her lap, and it felt like an important moment.  I thought that was a beautiful belief she had, about Axel's wellbeing or mental health.  She trusts Axel to be ok, which is something I'd like to learn from.

This friend we saw also, who's moving away, which I don't appreciate.  But we've had some good times.  He's a Quaker-Hindu.  All three of us have hyphenated religions, which is cool.

Here's me in Tecopa writing a poem on accident with Ming's annoying pen.  The bright green blanket was a prop in a civil disobedience.  It's fun to give it another life.  I said we were on a salt flat, but it was actually a hill, with the earth really soft and a crust of salt on it.

Today we're seeing another friend and her cousin.  I'll give her zines, and she'll look at the space where she's invited to paint a mural.  In the evening, we might go to a party.

"I don't mind a holiday that's one day," someone told me yesterday.  "But this just goes on and on!"

The other day, I uttered to Ming the sentence, "This lack of routine is killing me!"  It was hyperbole, and I was letting off steam, but my extreme sentence is noted.

midnight rice

You know, I love almost all of the colors.  I changed a lot--used to hate red.  I understand it a bit better now and use it to bind zines a lot, a sacred color of vibrancy.  All-purpose sacred color.

I used to hate blue.  A really dark blue could be ok.  Now I think I understand blue a bit better also.  Sky color.  Ok color.  A bit basic, but no problem with blue.

I'm having sensory issues--pony tail holders are hurting me too much.  My hair feeling pulled drives me crazy.  Add to that random itchiness, general discomfort, and my mind feeling like a bird that can't find a place to land.  Or it tries to land, but the place isn't right, so it takes off and lands over and over again, frustrated.

I want to wear these hair things that are more gentle.  Stretchy fabric tubes--like a headband but much more fabric than a small strip.

So we went to the store.  There were two-packs.  I wanted black, but then other colors were tempting me.  I saw a wine one, like burgundy?  I realized that's one of my favorite colors lately, to wear especially.

But it hadn't even been considered, on the recent list I made of my favorite colors.  There are colors I like to wear in particular, and colors I like to see.

I wanted some white rice, but we couldn't find any in our house, but I found brown rice and wild rice, so I'm boiling some now, to go with leftover Indian food.  Then I realized my rice would be done at midnight, and I felt silly.

The rain sounds so pretty.  Like a music that's soft and comforting.  Like I can trust it, outside.

Ming has this rice that's precooked--he offered me some.  We used to get that kind a lot, six years ago, in Sacramento at a church that gave away free food every week.

"That plastic rice?" I asked.  "No way!  You insult me, and you insult all of my ancestors." 

Maybe I got too taxed by the poverty rice, which was expired, and this recent stuff Ming has is better. But I'm glad to use the last little bit of brown rice from an old bag I found in the fridge, in the back of the bottom shelf.

There's a little sound coming from the pot of rice on the stove, as steam makes the lid jiggle a little bit, a homey sound I like.  But we need some WD-40 for the door hinges, and we never get past a certain priority.

Too many decisions to make.  I wrote a list, and some possible choices.  I want to care a lot and stay on top of it.  I vacillate between caring and forgetting, some responsible determined feeling and an overwhelmed feeling of giving up.

I accidentally scratched my wrist too much.  The sensory stuff I mentioned, it seems random.  I was telling Ming how I want my body to make sense, but a lot of the time, it seems to do whatever.  I want to believe I have some control over my mind, trying to stay well with a shitton of self-care and other-care, but sometimes I just feel crazy.

"I feel howly," I told Ming.  "I feel like I can't do this shit no more."  I tried to tell myself I don't need to make sense for anyone.  Ming's eating crackers in the kitchen.  My rice will be done kind of soon!

love one another

I like our hair turning gray.  No problem.  I like our comfort with one another.  I like trusting someone--never really did that before.  I like the freedom.  He helps me be a better Laura-Marie.

Not to mention all the kinds of support.  What a cool person.

We went to the hot springs.  I loved my body in the water, the heat of the water, being immersed, being held in the hot, slippery water.  A raven croaked nearby.  There's no roof on the rooms, so the sky was there, great with clouds.  Wow, I really only needed ten minutes--floating, feeling the happiness of it, letting my body relax.

I asked Ming if I could touch his ankles.  He raised a foot to me.  I petted his ankles, the tops of his feet, and his calves a little.  Felt nice.  Then I did the other side.  Then I got too hot and was half in, half out of the water for a while.

They painted over some murals I liked.  They were sweet and chill, with blues and whites--the moon, a naked lady, maybe a dolphin?

Now--ugh!   Garish sunsets.   Very unrealistic garish sunsets in colors I can't even look at.  Dang.

But the datura mural is still there, thank goodness, in the old style.

Things are changing a lot.  Today H knocked on the door.  I knocked back, and by his laugh, I knew it was H.  He handed me a present bag.

"Wow, opening presents.  Feels like Christmas or something!" I said to Ming.  I got some pretty notecards.  Ming got some tea.  We got two kinds of cookies.

On the pass (over the hump to Pahrump), a few snowflakes flew onto our car.  Does that mean we got a white Christmas?  I don't want to google the definition of white Christmas.  Snow is cool.

I want to tell you--love is real.  You could look or wait, date, not date, try a website, try a meeting--whatever.  I know it's probably better to try.

But if you want love, well, eventually you might be at a party, and a gorgeous someone could walk in who you say, Wow--what a pretty person.  He would probably never talk to me.  And the rest is history.

All kinds of love in this world.  If not a partner person, maybe a neighbor or relative.  Or a piece of land, or Mother Earth.  Or just some passing love to someone at the grocery store.  The smallest thing could change everything.

level of risk related to fairy lights

We were at a Dollar Tree in California, running an errand for my mom.  We saw these strands of copper wire with little lights in them, six feet, battery powered.  We got excited.  Ming said we could decorate our car with them.

Ming put batteries into one for me, just now, and I draped the strand around my shoulders, as my lovely light scarf.  "I can put this part in my cleavage, if I wear a bra," I said about the rectangular battery part, and we laughed as I stuck the plastic box in my non-bra cleavage, as it slipped down.

"Do you think it makes a bad EMF?" I asked Ming.

"No," he said.

"Okay, thanks for your nursely advice," I said.

I was sorry it cost a dollar and said something about people working in factories getting paid pennies.  Then Ming told me a news item and made me read the wikipedia current events blurb about it on his phone.

I made a bad sound and handed the phone back to him.

"Do you think it's real?" Ming asked.

"Do you mean like if it was a prank, from someone in England or someone in Asia...?"

"Yeah," he said.

"Who knows," I said.  "I hope it's a prank.  But it's sad because it seems so possible."

He said how they shut down the factory in question rather than address the issue.  It was like they had to cover their asses, the factory owners, so rather than address a problem, they shut it all down.

But I'm familiar with a similar situation, of saying "fuck it all" and then the problem is never solved--it just gets passed around.

"You should write a book about it," Ming said, which was a joke because I'm working on a book kind of about that.

"Yeah, maybe I will," I said, still nervous the light strand had a bad EMF, so I took it off my shoulders when he went back to bed.

I'm feeling extra open to new ways of being, maybe too erratic, but it kind of feels good.

The 1970s glittery Christmas tree ornaments, feeling protective of them, with butterflies and swirlies that have been carefully packed away and brought out again every year for decades.  Things change.

merry cookies

"What are you up to?" I asked Ming.

"Nothing," he said.

"What are you doing?  Why are you just standing there looking weird?"

"I don't know," he said.

"Oh wait!  That's because you ARE weird!" I said.

We laughed.  You know how long relationships can be.  We've been having this conversation for eight years.

"Can you refill my water bottle?" I asked, handing it to him.  "How about if I insult you, then ask you to do stuff for me?"

We laughed more, and he refilled my water bottle.  "I weird," he said, in the kitchen.  "I the weird one."

"We know about that, in our family," I told him.  My subtext was like: I love you exactly the way you are.

Hopefully a community or family is egalitarian enough that it's a living thing we can modify with our presence and customize.  But a lot of the time, someone has way more power, and it's no longer a living changeable thing--it becomes more of a rigid cage.  Or it has a boss, and then maybe you're so dominated you're supposed to pretend you're not being dominated.

I was talking about it with my friend last night and said, "I'll play games, but I need to know I'm playing a game and everyone's out in the open about it." 

But maybe that's not true.  I don't play games much, and I also said how when I was a kid, with other kids, playing monopoly--I thought I had to, that life was about playing monopoly, and that my hating it wasn't relevant--I had to do it anyway.

I felt stuck in a world where those were my options.  So no wonder I'm so into choices, now that I have enough power to mostly do what I want to do, and a big world.

Our friend brought over delicious cookies!

"What are you doing?" I asked Ming.

"I don't know," he said.

"Are you outstanding in your field?  Is that your field?"  I looked at the floor and imagined what kind of crops he'd have growing there.  Probably brassicas, bolting brassicas with gorgeous yellow flowers we could eat.

Then we ate bananas.  I asked him a question, and his answer upset me--I made a weird yell.  Then I slightly chastised him for scaring me, with his idea.

"It definitely evoked a reaction," he said.

"What are you, a reaction evoker?  Is that why you get paid the big bucks, around here?" I asked.  We make a lot of jokes about our disabilities.  My banana had a little bruise, but I wasn't up for walking to the trashcan and throwing that part away, so I just ate it.

Half those cookies are gone now.  I like the approach of putting frosting on things besides sugar cookies.  I imagine those kids having fun together, Christmas happy.

how I spent solstice

I like when Ming takes pictures.  This one I don't understand how the pages of the music book could be so glowy.  We were at the end of the pier.  I was singing in Sanskrit.

Going to the big water at the edge of the continent with a desert friend felt amazing.  I thought by the last day, they would be tired of talking to me.  But they were very open and attentive and could sustain a lot of conversation.  I was surprised.  We both said things to each other we'd never said to anyone before.

I feel a fresh perspective on everything.  Many many things seem possible.  Travel is good for helping me get unstuck, those little stuck places.

Should I eat whatever meal it would be, if I ate a meal now?  Should I go to bed?  Should I do some zine work?  Ming turned on the heater in the bedroom.

facial expression that means why is this guy sitting in my lap all of a sudden

Merry Solstice from Guest Blogger

Happy Solstice from the undisclosed location along the Pacific coast of the Northern Hemisphere. Today we are at a historic inn, on a trip visiting Laura-Marie's mom. We were just here last weekend but the availability of another trip became available, so we took it.

We drove through the night arriving early this morning. Our new to us car is functioning great. This morning we assisted her mom then rested then went back to fetch lunch for her. Costco shopping was next and even I got fatigued from shopping.

Laura-Marie sought out communications with her deceased dad at the spot where his ashes were distributed, at the stroke of solstice. Songs were sung. Palo santo smoke offered. Then we went to the Pacific Ocean and anointed each other with sea water from the high tide.

rainbow pouch

J asked what was in my rainbow pouch.

"A ruby," I said.  Ming and I were at this hippie store I like in Santa Barbara, that day last year that felt like my birthday but wasn't. I bought a small ruby for energy.  It likes being in that little pouch, by itself.

She was giving me a blessing yesterday, as we're leaving again.  I'm dropping out of things, in crisis mode.  I'm supposed to serve in the morning and go to the meeting, but some things just seem impossible.  I'm hoping Ming will go as my emissary. 

When my aunt saw this pouch, she marveled at the smallness of the stitches.  I said my mom did the same.  Made with a tiny crochet hook like a needle. 

She was in her living room, the piano living room, making some slippers out of this colorful yarn my mom had given her.  It was variegated, and I loved the orange in it.

I'm not the best midnight selfier today, but here's the rainbow pouch, bright against the black moon hoodie.

Our friend is driving us all night.  We'll make the trip without a hotel break in the middle, something we haven't done in years.  Desperate times call for whatever.  

I want to go to the beach--the actual beach and the pier.  I need to talk to my dad.  I know he's not really there.  But the cool night air and sealions barking in their sleep, maybe--it seems appropriate.  Oh Dad.  What will we do.

Christmas always makes me cry.  R read out loud the card I wrote to him, which thanked him for the ways he helps people, seen and unseen, acknowledged and unacknowledged.  I didn't mean for him to read that out loud, and it made me cry a little.  I also thanked him for having integrity and for being a good person.

If I'm the black sheep, carrying trauma, saying what I'm not supposed to say--there it was.  We go around serving a lot of hungry people and making music or pretty sentences, joking, running errands, doing our things.  

But thanking R for having integrity--it's the most obvious thing in the world, but maybe it doesn't happen all the time.

He learned his lesson and didn't read the second card out loud.  Who knows what I said in that one.  I usually have no idea afterward what I said to people.  His birthday is coming up.

A person is who they really are, but a person can also be an example.  When I left the Worker, I said, "I love you all," to my community.  Later someone emailed me, saying to be safe.  We'll try.

yeah, xmas, whatever

Well, we survived xmas.  Thank god that's over with, as my dad used to say.  The food was delicious--a baked pasta dish, roasted veg heavy on the brussels sprouts, and veg meatballs for us.  R seemed to like his necklace.  I got some nice hugs.

I'm having trouble with the day cycle.  I think it should be night sometimes when it's not.  Or the morning seems overwhelming with light.  Or afternoon passes very strangely.  Hard to tell if I should try harder or say "this is a very difficult time" and give myself a break.

Ming put up my new poster for me.  What do you think?

I got some green goddess dip and some crackerish cheesy breadstick things.  It's fun to eat something different.  And the special peanut butter cups.  And avocados, which are necessary to life.

It was a really good idea to get some photos printed recently.  Costco charged me nothing for shipping.  So it was just more than three dollars total for a bunch of amazing photos.  Thank you to the confusingness that energizes everything.

standard questions, butter emergencies, other favorite joke

They went on a good hike to see the top of a waterfall they saw the bottom of before.  I asked Ming if there was water.  He said yes.

My mom has her mom's bible, very valued.  "Did she write notes in it?" I asked.  That was the same question my aunt had asked, about the bible.

A time of great pain can be a time of great learning.  I learned that dancing works really well for shaking some knowledge from my head into the rest of my body.  Yeah, got to incorporate it.

I think it's funny how I make shit up, but of course other people have been discovering it since the beginning of people.  If only there was some repository of knowledge.  Oh wait.  There is--I'm blogging on it.

Our friend mentioned the akashic records over breakfast.  I think about that all the time, the knowledge of the oversoul?

I wrote a poem recently that mentions putting knowledge into the sky.  That's what I was talking about.  A giant library in the sky.  An etheric realm I think of as where angels live, and they're kind of in the sky?

At the library, we sat at a strangely-shaped table that looked like it was from the 1970s.  It was squeaky.  Like a triangle but rounded.  If I had WD-40, I could fix the squeak, maybe.  Or my dad could, if he was here and alive and all that.

Mom wanted the special cookies Dad liked.  Then she wanted matzo crackers, which Dad liked also.  I thought I should get her some carrot cake, which Dad liked, but she didn't seem interested.  So maybe I got the rule wrong.

Or maybe she just is a fiend for lemon meringue pie.  We asked at Natural Cafe, but they had nothing lemony.

Mom wanted butter on half a matzo cracker, and I obliged.  She told me she learned that from me, when I was a teenager.  I apologized.

I'd buttered her half matzo cracker on the wrong side.  I was supposed to soften the butter also.  I really don't believe in putting butter in the microwave.  Just seems wrong wrong wrong.  Well, except for emergencies.

Writing a lot about really not the things I'm most thinking about.  Thanks in advance for forgiving me.  I should tell you a joke.  It's one of my very favorite jokes.  (I tried googling this joke and couldn't find it.  Maybe it's a true story, something I overheard at a restaurant, scientists at another table?  Anyway, I love it.)

Two scientists were out in the field, doing some research in nature.  They got lost and didn't come back when they were supposed to.  So search & rescue tried to find them.  A rescuer in a helicopter found two people in a canyon, and the pilot yelled down "Are you the lost geologists?"  They said no, so the helicopter flew away.  Eventually, a few days later, the scientists were rescued.  Someone asked, "Why did you send the helicopter away?"  One answered, "We're not geologists--we're hydrologists."

California dreamin' on such a winter's day

I hugged a tree at Waller Park the other day.  She seemed cool with it...?

We're staying in this earthdome. It's so pretty.

Inside is pretty too.

Yesterday headed south, we had Indian / Nepalese food in Ventura.  From the freeway near Ventura, it's easy to see channel islands.

We talked about moves last night a lot.  I think our friend took the password requirement off my favorite movie Holy Week. 

https://vimeo.com/200284434

crystalline

We were in the hotel room, and I was trying to get going.  In an effort to get out the door, I asked Ming to turn my socks inside out.  They're newish socks my mom gave me, slightly thick and super soft.  I was finishing something up on my computer.

"Like this?" Ming asked.  I watched him turn my socks so the seams were on the outside and wouldn't hurt my feet.  I felt very very cared for.  I wasn't expecting that.  We left the hotel by 6am.

Later that day I was driving and felt hungry for some banana.  Yeah, I don't drive--don't tell anyone I was driving.  Ming peeled a banana for me and fed me some as I drove through a certain gorgeous canyon.

I joked how he was helping me eat, and that meant when I did my next disability requalification form, I could say I needed help with feeding myself.

We talked about executive function.  I thought that was when a bunch of people in suits got together for a conference.  I asked him to read me the first paragraph of the wikipedia article. 

Then I asked him to read me the first paragraph of the wikipedia article on fluid intelligence.  It was really cool to hear about crystalline vs fluid intelligence.

Oh wait, it's crystallized, not crystalline.  Oh well.  Close.  https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fluid_and_crystallized_intelligence

By then I needed to pee, but the place we pee in New Cuyama wasn't open yet.  We tried to think where there was a library or some place I could pee.  I ended up holding it till we got to the coast.

I told Ming my further thoughts about that frozen yogurt night.  The yogurts we chose all represented our personalities or goals. 

I got gingerbread cookie flavor with chocolate magic shell.  The yogurt I got represented novelty, as I'd never had that flavor before, and nostalgia about childhood also, in the form of the magic shell, something I've loved since I was a little kid.  But mostly my treat represented maximum creamy rich intense decadence, extreme comfort, but I got only a small amount.  So basically, I'm looking for extremely rich comfort, and novelty tempered by nostalgia, but trying not to overdo it.

G got a little of everything.  I saw them taking longer to prepare their treat--they seemed thought-ful.  They ended up with frozen yogurt soup and offered I could try it, toward the end.  I looked into the paper bowl and considered it.  G's choice represents exploration and a deep need for variety and learning.  Wanting it all.

Then Ming got fruit, all fruitiness.  He got some tropical fruit flavor--passionfruit?  On top he put strawberry popping boba, which explodes in your mouth (a sensation I find reprehensible).  So his choice was for energizing lightness.  He does like my way of decadence, but he doesn't want to be weighed down.  So he wants all the energy he can get, and that was represented by vibrant fruits.

What do you think?  I could tell people's fortunes, maybe.  Interpreting their dessert choices like dreams. 

You know me--I'm a cheesecake friend.  I try to overwhelm my mouth with flavor and texture, consequences be damned.  I like an intense brownie at times also, heated up if possible.  Ice cream with caramel and chocolateness.  Peanut butter cups--yum.  Yesterday I had some intense chocolate pudding with Mom.

Tomorrow we leave the undisclosed location, headed south toward friends.  I've decided my friend with the earthdome is not a regular man--he doesn't love like a regular man.  He seems way more willing to jump in.  Maybe I'll ask him this evening how he got that way.  Life continues as it continues.

त्वमेव माता च पिता त्वमेव ।

My aunt and uncle had a fire in their fireplace last night.  I couldn't help but take the seat closest to the fire and watch it burn as we were social together.

My uncle asked me a lot of questions.  I liked his curiosity.  My aunt would put another log on, from time to time.

My uncle asked about my music stuff.  I played bassoon for years.  I told them about the punk rock orchestra I wanted to audition for a few years ago, so I rented a bassoon from a place in Berkeley, but then I learned I had been way better than I thought I had, and the little finger on my right hand is not very functional because of my pinched nerve, but I need that finger for a few notes.

My aunt told me my outgoing voicemail message is so pretty, she wanted to call me again and hope I didn't pick up.  I told her a translation of that song, which is in Sanskrit.  She said she'd thought maybe it was Latin.  I liked her guess.

Not sure why all these corn husks were in the laundry room like this, but they looked pretty in the morning light.  I'm guessing they're left over from tamales making day.

We didn't go to the place where Dad's ashes are scattered, but I'm thinking next time.

access intimacy, living in Diverse City, and how I comfort myself writing this blog post at 4:28am in Mojave

Well, guess where we are.  You have three guesses.  Nope, not the surface of the moon.  Nope, not deep in the moon.  Nope, not hell--close, though!  We're in Mojave where the train passes through every hour or half hour or whatever, blowing its whistle like crazy.

I was up writing--poor Ming was sleeping, and the train came, whistling, and he woke up scared, sat up, looked bewildered.

"Train," I said.  He seemed to fall asleep again quickly.

When Ming and I visited Sacramento a while back, our friend said, "Welcome back to the correct state!"  That brilliant sentence of hers stuck with me.  I really did feel for a long time that other states were nice to visit, but really, we knew where statey goodness was to be found longterm.

My birthplace is lovely, and then where I grew up I have my gripes about.  Where I went to school, wonderful--where I went to grad school, less wonderful, but the beach was nearby.  Then Bishop, California was a gorgeous place to suffer two years and learn I need cities.

But Sacramento, that was such a good place for me.  I was delirious with diversity.  I really needed to live somewhere with many kinds of people.  I would go to the big farmers market under the bridge and let all the different languages I heard nourish my soul.

At the park by my first apartment there, lots of Russian people would go for walks.  The ladies wore these kerchief things on their heads.  There were lots of Hmong people too, who went to my mental health clinic.  Lots of Black people.  Lots of white people.  A good amount of the kind of people I was most used to, the Mexican-American people who've been in the US a long time.  Or like my peeps--borders crossed us.



I went to a church that was mostly all Bengali people and other Indian people, with some white people also.  I went to a dentist place for Native American people, though I'm not Native American.  For a while I got doctor services at a clinic for Filipino WWII vets.

Then I met Ming at a party.  I've learned about his Asian-Americanness, Chinese-Americanness, his kids who are mixed, his parents who are not, his sister who has her feelings about all that, the way people think he's Native American, the way people ask him all the time "where are you from?" and he says "the California Bay Area" and that was NEVER what they meant.  They all mean, "Please tell me your ethnic background so I can classify you and be more comfortable as the white person here."

So it's fun to watch them try to think how to rephrase their question, and I judge them super-hard on how they do it.  I've been watching this for almost eight years.  Ming letting them work for it.  Watching them try to think of how to say what they really want, which they kind of actually shouldn't want.  Might as well.

Why do I need diversity?  Not sure.  To me it feels like real life.  All the other stuff feels like a weird experiment that I need to get away from.

I can't think why I told you that story.  I know I've told you before but not as well.  Thanks for allowing me a little repetition.

In Las Vegas, we saw our friend G.  We went to the natural foods grocery store, where I helped them look through discount supplements, which felt like a dream.

If that was my dream, I would think it had to do with finding healing on our own terms.  Helping one another find healing.  I don't know--semi-on our own terms.  Not going all the way to shoplifting the supplements or growing our own herbs in the cat courtyard--finding a middle place with it.

Then we went to frozen yogurt--I'd given them the small zine Laura-Marie's Masters Degrees, and they saw I like frozen yogurt, so somehow the frozen yogurt trip was healing.  It was a delicious treat in an everyday sense, but it was also nurturing to have my love of frozen yogurt honored.

Is that crazy I think that?  That's cool--I'll be crazy, if I get my frozen yogurt needs honored.  And all the other stuff that zines was about.  Wanting to learn, what matters to me, the garlic thing.

No photos had existed of just the two of us.  So here are the photos Ming took.  The first one is about listening, and the second one is about access intimacy.

This friend never made me feel like a weirdo for needing something different, being fat, or being crazy.  That day may come, but for now, I'm praising God for being understood, good times, and people who don't tell me to act normal.  Thank you.

the symbols that appealed to me, life projects, a public apology

I was working on cleaning my desk yesterday.  I went through a ton of envelopes.  I felt tender toward some envelopes with the little windows, like for sending in bill payments.  They seemed vulnerable. 

I want to do some art project with them.  But the world is full of not made, half-made, or unwanted art projects, maybe.

Ming has a bunch of paint to write more icons.  He has plans too.  His seem more legitimate, that he's a real artist.  But yeah, art's just a human thing to do.  Birds sing--people dance.  Right?  And paint on cliff walls, or etch art into that layer of desert stuff.  What do you call that stuff.  Desert varnish?  I wanted to say patina, but I think that's antiques.

Dudleyas have farina--epicuticular wax.  I like coatings.  There's a fork in our silverware drawer that looks like it's made of brass that's showing through, brass with a layer of silver something.  Is brass ok to eat with?  Life is full of so many problems, and I get that fork rarely.  Seems pointless to worry about.

I really prefer spoons--I'm anti-fork unless I really need one.  Spoons with their comforting roundness.  They seem safe and kind.  Tines are too pokey.  You know I hate safety pins, pins, knives usually.  Scissors are so useful.  But spoons are my patronus.

A long time ago I carved myself a big spoon out of some wood.  And I carried it around with me.  Some old thing about nurturing, wanting to nurture myself and others.  I got that down.  I used to wear fertility symbols too, every day, this lady who didn't want to ever have kids, but it was symbolic also.

I was working on that a long time ago.  Then I was working on learning to listen to myself, then slowing down and not being in a hurry.  Then speaking my truth to others, unblocking my throat chakra--my friend said they think I talk just fine, now.  I really respect their opinion.  But I talk a lot to them specifically.

Now I'm working on looseness, letting go, and how to do relationship in ways I really want to.  But maybe I do too much intentionality.  I don't know--controlling not-controlling is a weird idea.  Like maybe I need to let go of letting go.

Ming and I used to argue really bad about locus of control.  Well, I was wrong.  Sorry about that, honey.  I feel responsible for a lot.  But what's all that chaos wafting in through the window.  I didn't do anything to be disabled.  I battled that all the way, so hard, and it happened anyway.

Sorry, you were right.  I give up on my quest for hardcore responsibility, prettymuch.  I love you.

In this pooling water on the roof pic, I see the palm tree that must be making all those palm tree babies in the courtyard.  I never noticed it. 

P swept the water off the roof, and I was afraid he would fall through.  Too much jank.  Oh well.  He was on the roof, not like a reindeer of santa, more like a helpful water sweeper.  Thank you for that.

[title]

Well, the sun is coming up again.  I guess we're lucky. 

But Ming bought some laundry detergent that makes my clothes smell horrible!  The perfume smells like deodorant!  Yuck!

I was at a zine fest in Berkeley five years ago, at least, and some zinester was selling a special book.  I bought it in hopes to support the zinester, and it's really beautiful.  I never really read it, only a few pages here and there. 

I thought I should give it to someone.  So I read it more, in anticipation of handing it off.  It's better than I thought it would be.

[funny conversation about dinosaurs]

[something poignant]

[something ridiculous]

tell us how you really feel, Laura-Marie

I made this meme, but it saved as a weird kind of file, but then I took a screenshot and cropped it.  So I think I can use it now.  Thanks to Ming for helping me by listening to me talk about my difficulties.

the agoraphobia scale
1.  outside wanting to be inside
2.  inside with the door open
3.  inside with door closed and locked
4.  in bed doing nothing
5.  in bed with the light off and covers over my head, doing nothing

I always think of angora rabbits, when I think of agoraphobia--angoraphbia, fear of soft sweaters.

I ordered a poster, and Ming took down for me this poster that was over my desk, that was here when we got here.  The wall looks better now.  I'm enjoying the blank.  And then when the new poster arrives, I hope to enjoy the new beautiful thing to look at.

Thanking God for ideas, music, that I could feel bad but have ok behavior, love of family and friends, and possibilities.

wasp cottage

We have this little wasp cottage, if anyone knows of a homeless wasp...?  Our policy is the three R's--the wasp would need to be respectful, responsible, and fun to be aRound.  Then we would do a contract, like no smoking in the cottage.

We had a lovely meeting.  I trust those people enough to tell my truth.  At first I didn't get Get It Off Your Chest--I thought the microphone aspect was almost silly.  Now I get it way more--just being witnessed.  Speaking my truth to some people who will be loving without being super involved. 

I like asking for no comments on my share.  I just put it out there.  I like releasing it, like a poem or rehabilitated wild bird, back into the wild.  Like--hey world, you gave this to me.  I don't need it anymore; why don't you have it back.

We create a nice temporary culture.  Hopefully it can spread around.  Or we can learn how to do that culture and it can influence us at other times.

Is it just me, or are we hella cute?  I took it for granted, last night, but looking back, it seems a bit magical, the moods we were in together and the kindness we gave and received.

The air has a little edge of dampness this morning.  I feel it, a feeling from when I was a kid, when it was a cool morning with fog.  I'll look outside and see if it's foggy.  But I'm imagining the haziness.

I listened to this song a lot, then stopped for a few years, and now I like it again.  The video is nice too with the dancing.

adventure

We were wearing advent colors on accident--I asked Ming to take a picture.  This is R being dutiful.  His dutiful facial expression.  This is me having too many feelings, trying to get help from purple.

garden day win

"I like my music really smart," I told Ming.  And something about Sufjan Stevens being the smartest.  Ming agreed.



We had Garden Day.  It was lovely.  I would do it even if no one came.  It nourished my soul.

A bed got moved from the back to a better zone.  The compost pile was pulled from.  Ming watered.  We talked about seeds and okra and weeds, weeding.  There were a couple drops of rain.  A grackle in a mesquite tree was nicely squeaking.  Squeak blessings.

Our friend V was here just to change her oil.  She brought her little doggie.  She hugged me twice.  The first hug was a cautious one, and the second hug was warming.  She had been to New York and back.  I felt like I'd just seen her.  I think time is passing a bit wrong for me.

Our friend in the back house thanked me for his present, which was a harmonica.  He said, "Thank you, thank you!  I jumped for joy!"  He spread his arms wide and looked up into the sky. 

I looked at his long arms, the gaps in his smile, and the graying hair in his beard.  I felt tender about him and his mortality. 

He said, "I gave you a big hug!"  He acted out the hug from four feet away.  I felt we had done a good job loving each other.

"You're seeing it clearly," Ming said--we were having a conversation about some difficulty he was having sorting papers.  He held his hands up in front of his face like holding binoculars.

"Thanks for the validation complete with gesture," I said, making the gesture.  "The binoculars of clarity."  We were laughing.

Last night we were lying in bed--Ming was home from a DSA thing.  We talked about his evening, the terrible hat P gave him, had a small argument about a historical fact.  "Can I complain to you about something?" I asked.'

"Yeah," he said.

"You know that cork board in the kitchen?  Well it's been bothering me--someone put a bunch of straight pins in it!  They've been there for a really long time.  And I'm like, why would anyone do that?  So I took out the straight pins, and then I saw right next to them, someone put a bunch of tack nails!  Why in the world would anyone DO that?  So I took those out too."  They were pretty brass tack nails.

Ming confessed he put those things there.  I was astounded.  I told him how push pins, thumb tacks, and map pins are the only appropriate things to stick in a cork board.  For some reason, this was really important to me.  I said how the tack nails were too thick and harmed the cork board.

He said he put the nails there in case someone needed them.  Some tools are by the door, so the nails went with the tools.

He asked what straight pins are for.  "Sewing!  Only sewing!" I said.  "Or getting out a splinter maybe."  Hmm, my rules were breaking down.

I'm telling the story badly, but this house, much of the stuff was here when we got here, and the more I realize I want to stay here a long time, the more I see I can change a lot of it.  Some stuff's got to stay, but not in a certain place, and a lot we could get rid of.

So it was funny to complain about the inappropriate cork board stuff sticker, and then it was him.  Sweet, his confession.  Sweet, our meeting of the minds about cork board policy.  We could write up a cork board policy and stick the policy on the cork board.  Well, that's not necessary.

will the real unicorn please stand up?

I don't like violence.  You know I'm a peace activist--that's my deal.  But I've been listening to this song for a month, I see from the comment I posted a month ago.



Did I already blog this?  It's tough times.  Please forgive me, if so.  My favorite part is "you can keep the house you live in, but we're taking the rest."  I like the attitude of the speaker.  That anger but he still wants the landlord to have a home.  It's sweet, in a way.  Funny combination of angry and sweet.

Some people like that chocolate with chili peppers or curry powder in it.  Wasabi.  Hmm. 

Last night I ate some peanut butter cups that were so delicious, I felt like I could eat a bazillion of them.  Usually four is enough.  The dark chocolate ones from Trader Joe's.

sonic

Ming said something I didn't understand.  "Did you just say something about the Spice Girls?" I asked.

"Spy squirrels."

"Spy squirrels?  Spice Girls?  Is that the same thing?"

Our friend G was over again, binding zines.  I sang them two songs, a Buddha song and a Mother song specific to the sect I did.  We ate candy.  We talked about teaching, what meltdowns feel like.  We played Situation Game.  They are a natural.

I was feeling happy.  I held some rocks.  Two kinds of jasper.

Lately eating is a bit of a challenge.  My appetite comes and goes.  I feel weird about salt.  Salt seems too much.  For the first time, I'm eating avocados without salt.  It's strange.

Ming and I had long conversations about important topics like relationship assumptions, how he likes to interact with different people, death and the responsibilities of parents and spouses to prepare their kids and spouses for life without them.  We have very different perspectives on death.  I think it's way overly avoided, while Ming thinks the opposite, maybe.  Well, I think we're going to make a zine about it. 

How predictable!  Have ideas--make zine.  Have problem--make zines.  Have experience--make zine.  Well, hopefully you don't mind, reader.

Saving seeds is one of my favorite things, so I took a picture of Ming saving okra seeds a few days ago.

happy birthday to a special relative

It's the birthday of a special relative, and I thought I would post some pics of him, but I realized I already posted those pics right after they were taken, and reposting them would be a party foul.  So I'm posting instead this picture of an internet guide.  We can surf with her.

Been thinking about self-validation.  Different ways to do it.  I knew someone who had this council in his head of people who had been helpful to him over the years.  And he would consult with them, in his head, the versions of them he'd internalized.  I think it was an act of the imagination.  But maybe he thought it was spiritually more, uh, real?

He was a harmful person for me, so I don't know if he's the best person to pattern one's life after, but I always thought that was a cool idea.  Or I could think of different aspects of myself and try to separate them out, like archetypes.  And I could get validation from them.

Or some kind of visualization.  Or an art I could make about it, symbolism, vividness.  Ming said we could go to a parking garage and do a ritual with a self-validation machine.  That was a funny idea--I love funny rituals.  It reminds me of when I was a teenager I had that dream about laughter.

We were at the Worker and it became time to meditate.  I was already up in the prayer room.  Listening to the rain for 20 minutes was beautiful.

Everything feels so fluxy, outta whack, and weird.  I think it's ok, but it feels dreamy at times. 

My appetite half-returned.  We borrowed our friend's minivan and ran some errands.  I could eat only a third of my lunch, as it was way too salty.  I didn't know if it was really too salty, or if it was just me, but Ming ate my leftovers later and said it was really salty.

I accused Ming of moving my tape, but then I picked up my purple sweatshirt jacket and it was under there--it fell on the floor.  I had this horrible tape dispenser for a while and didn't cut the tape right, but now I have a better one. 

Life is weird, how you can have a horrible tape dispenser that's a struggle every day.  As someone who sends a lot of mail, I'm taping things all the time.  But they only cost like two bucks, so why did I torture myself with it for a year or whatever.  In a way I didn't even notice I was doing it.  But then I look back and say, oh, I was doing that.

What am I doing now that I'll look back on like that?  Who knows.  I can hear a little rain again, will go back to bed.  Happy birthday to a lovely loved kid.

test

This is a test of the emergency Laura-Marie Broadcast System.  This is only a test.

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This has been a test of the emergency Laura-Marie Broadcast System.  Had this been an actual emergency, the text you just read would have included emergency instructions.  This concludes the test.

Guest blogger types a teaser.

Guest blogger

So many zines. Friend G came over last night and helped bind zines by tying the multicolored binding strings while I poked the holes on the spine of each zine with my wrought iron antler awl. The handmade awl came from a primitive skills gathering long ago in Oregon, when I did such things as go to primitive skills gatherings. It's worn antler handle contrasts with the angular sharp iron tool.

The sweetrice that I ordered a few days ago is still feeding me. Breakfast. Our Short Bus van is indeed dying, its motor going slower and slower as the revs go higher. The transmission is shot too. So much for that highly recommended place of Bob's.

So we Grubhubbed Indian food from our favorite restaurant. I ordered sweetrice as Laura-Marie ordered Malai kofta. Delicious.

But then we got some good news (details to be developed) regarding our transportation.

Life is wonderful.

gendery

"He said all men love bread pudding."  Ming was telling me something our friend said at the Asia at Buffet a week ago.

"Hmm," I said, thinking of raisins.

"R had just come back with some bread pudding.  And I said, I don't like bread pudding."

"Well, the proof is in the pudding," I said.  "Sounds like a provocative statement meant to inspire conversation.  Sounds like he said something controversial for attention."

Ming had just toasted me a bagel.  I was telling him how I need a beading needle.  The eye is the whole length of the needle.  For the bigger beads, I can just put some glue on the end of the stretchy cord.  But the smaller beads--no way.

A long time ago when I worked on the res in Bishop, the Indian Education Center office worker beaded a lot.  I saw a way she did it, leaving the beads in a little tray or dish, and bringing the thread to them.

That was where someone invited me to a BBQ--I said thank you but I don't eat meat, and he said, "Well, you're not going to last long with us Indians."  Twelve years later, I was considering how to procure a rabbit for a Western Shoshone person I loved.  Rabbit being his favorite.

Ming said he was Mr Underbutterer.

"Mixie Underbutterer?" I asked.

"Mixie Underbutterer?" Ming asked.

"Mx.  You know.  The non-binary honorific.  We talked about this.  The terrific honorific?  You don't remember this?"

"No," he said.  And he put more butter on the other bagel half.

"I didn't hallucinate that conversation," I said.

I was waiting for the glue to dry on the end of some pink stretchy cord.  I distrust the plastic stretch cord bigtime, believing the thready kind is more secure.  The glue dried, sticking the cord-end to the plate, which Ming saw.

"Hey, that's cool!" Ming said.

"Are you making fun of my string?" I asked.

"No, it could be art!" he said.

"No strings attached?"

Lately I sleep about two hours at night and take a nap in the day for about three hours.  What do you think?  Whatevs--I'll take it.

"Do you need something?" I asked Ming.  He was standing near.  I looked up at him.  "Oh!" I said, startled.  He was wearing a take out container on his head.  "On your head for a hat!" I said.

He laughed and bent over, laughing.  "That's what I needed," he said.

"Did you get your desired reaction?" I asked, laughing too, willing to try other reactions.

This song has been stuck in my head by a favorite band of mine.  "Stardust" by Eileen and the In-Betweens.  They were here--they gave a concert in the cat courtyard.

what i learned while dancing

I went to an ecstatic dance event.  I learned some important things.

1.  I'm a total hippie.  There's an opening circle, mini-therapy, drumming, positive messages, and then the didgeridoo comes in.  I was like, wow.

2.  I have more health than I thought I did.  There were 20 or 25 people there--I danced more than anyone.  I was dancing almost all the dance moments.  Many other people were sitting down half the time.  I was there to dance, though.  I didn't know I had the energy.

3.  Our house is way too crowded.  I loved the spaciousness of the room we were dancing in.  Having space to move in felt great and things seemed very possible.

4.  I like dancing in dresses.  My skirt having a swing to it felt delightful and motivating.

5.  I am the intended audience for some things.  That event was perfect for me.  I loved it and all its aspects.

I met a young person--at the beginning, we were supposed to answer three questions while partnered with a stranger.  It was like lovely to answer those questions--what we want to shed, what we want to bring in, and what we're grateful for.

I want to shed fear, want to bring in looseness, and I'm grateful I might have a lot more time on Earth--decades.  Sounds luxurious.

I took a nap yesterday and woke up sad.  Feel fed up with my difficulties, trying, who I am, what I need, being a person.  The whole Laura-Marie experience.

Holidays are supposed to be a treat, but we have our life set up ok, so the disruption to routine feels like punishment, almost.  Sometimes.  I like giving presents to people.  But I do that any time.

Ming was on hold with the pharmacy for ten minutes.  I called and got through right away, handed him the phone.

Our friend put a clove-star in the middle of the vegan sweet potato pie.