Linda Land

Birthdays and Anniversaries

2012-01-05T14:53:00.002-05:00

Today is my sister's birthday and it's the anniversary of the day that I bought my favorite car, my Saab Turbo 9000 convertible. I was living in South Florida at the time and taking long slow drives up and down the coast was my favorite way to pass the time on my days off.

Today when I awoke, the first thing I thought of was that car and how much fun I had listening to the best tunes cranked on my stereo. Yes, I was one of "those" people! Music is my fist language and the one that fills my soul the most. Living in Brooklyn and having a car just don't go hand-in-hand. The insurance and constant search for parking for 24 hours and the worry that someone will break-in...well, it's just too many headaches for this gal. But I still think about it.

When I went outside for my walk today, there parked in front of my house was the same year and model of my car. I had to smile at the Universe for delivering it to me again, on its anniversary. Thank you Universe. I love you. It's too cold to put the top down today and take a long slow drive down the coast, but I know I'll be doing that again some day.

So much love,
All the way from
over here,
Linda

Kitchen Dominatrix Launched

2012-01-01T09:41:00.000-05:00

How many blogs can one girl have?

I just started my weight-loss blog as a place where I can put videos, recipes and anything else that comes to my mind as I continue to lose weight and stay on a healthy-lifestyle path.

I've posted some old photos of me, back when Anne graduated from college and when I was at my biggest or heaviest weight where I allowed myself to be photographed.

Here are some things about my journey....I was lucky. I was diagnosed with a thyroid disorder in 2005, Hashimoto's Disease, where my thyroid completely shut down...probably melted down due to my over-exposure to radiation (I'm from Three Mile Island and lots of people have this condition in areas of high radiation concentration for some reason.) The good news was that my disease was diagnosed because I was trying to lose weight but nothing was coming off and I kept being treated for depression which is a side effect of the disorder.

I am not the type of person who is depressed. I have a sunny disposition....but when doctors and psychiatrists wouldn't listen to me but instead accused me of over indulging but I was eating less than 1000 calories a day and still gaining weight...well...it was super frustrating.

Once I found a doctor who would listen to me and knew from the numbers that I was not responding from traditional thyroid disorder treatment, I started a radical treatment to "jump start" my metabolism. But this was all done under doctor's supervision so if you are interested in losing weight....seriously, find a good doctor who is able to LISTEN to what you are saying and work together on getting yourself on-track.

So, here we are....a new year. A new blog. A new me.

Sending you so much love,
All the way from
Over here,
Linda

Friendship Lost

2011-12-29T12:56:00.001-05:00

http://cancercabanaboy.blogspot.com/

My college best friend, Meagan Ann Barnard MacPhee died, December 5th, 2011.

I was a terrible best friend for her. I could not accept the love that she gave me and I was foolish in my insecurities feeling judged by her...but it was really me, judging myself.

She severed our friendship in 2001 with good reason. I wrote her begging her to forgive me in 2003 or 2004 but too much was lost by then...too much hurt...too much pain...too much betrayal.

I have begged many of my friends to forgive me for my bad behavior. I have too many former friends that I hope will forgive me one day. I guess that must start from within, first. Forgive myself for what a terrible person I have been to so many people.

Anne, my sister, wrote at the age of 8 what forgivness means. She wrote:
"Forgiveness means I give up my right to hurt you the way you have hurt me."

Meagan, I am glad you made it to your 50th year on planet earth. I am glad that you were surrounded by your loving family during your whole life, not just during your dying days. May your spirit be bright in the night sky and may our true love for each other live on.

So much love,
Linda

Reprogramming

2011-12-29T05:59:00.001-05:00

I've been reprogramming my brain and reconnecting my pathways. Abraham-Hicks works for me. It does not matter what others think of my reprogramming beliefs and rebuilding my self-worth has been a awesome. A good Re-booting is important....so that is what is going on with me. Revise, reboot, renew my soul.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?NR=1&v=7UJvOknVTmw&feature=endscreen

So much love,
All the way
from inside,
Linda

Online Dating....

2011-12-28T06:34:00.003-05:00

I've tried it and am ready to admit that it doesn't work for me.

The last straw was this handsome man who wanted to know if I wanted to get lucky. By golly, I thought, I could really use a little luck these days...heck, maybe he wanted to take me to Atlantic City to spin the Roulette wheel!

But no, he just wanted to have an afternoon sexual encounter. I told him if he could turn me on and I get turned on in my brain, that he could fawk me all night long...but he took that as a "NO". When actually, I had said "YES".

Yes, I said. I do want to get lucky and if you are lucky enough to turn me on than that would be awesome! I mean, you have no idea what one conversation can do to me and if you feel that lucky, then that would be something!

I guess I sound angry or bitter....the problem is that these guys who approach me like I'm looking for a quickie, think that it feels as good to me as it does to them. See, that's the problem. I haven't felt "turned on" by anyone in quite a while.

That is because I have an enormous brain. The ultimate sex organ.

So I finally deleted my profiles. I feel freer, somehow.

Now, let's see how free I really feel! How about I stop trying all together and just enjoy who I am with, wherever I am and stop all this wanting for the future! That sounds like it will take come courage, and I got that in spades.

So much love,
All the way from
Over here,
Linda

Videos...

2011-12-27T07:19:00.000-05:00

Making Christmas Dinner with some awesome friends!

Grilled Marinated Chicken Breasts
Grilled Marinated Tofu
Twice baked cheesy polenta with Italian truffles
My incredible tomato sauce
Broccoli Raab with balsamic red onions, garlic and shallots

Chocolate for dessert

Linda's To Do List

2011-12-26T08:48:00.001-05:00

Linda's To Do List:

Meditate

Listen to the guidance from within

Follow the guidance received

Repeat

If there is extra time, consider adding one of these other items:

Exercise
Stretch
Breath deeply
Drink lots of water
Trust all is well
Slow everything down
Relax into divine bliss
Trust the Universe
Let go
Surrender

So much love
All the way
From over here,
Linda

Here's what I know for sure....

2011-12-22T11:58:00.001-05:00

Here is some stuff I know about myself, for sure:

I am a morning person
I love coffee
Moisturizing makes me feel better
I require a lot of water and love drinking it
Daily movement keeps my soul alive
Schloop always brings bliss. So do avocados.
Each day reequires quiet meditation for optimal happiness
Acupuncture always works on my nervous system
I never put a knife (except butter knives) into a dish washer
I snore
Music is my first language
I am unlike most people
And I am exactly like everybody else

Some days you gotta write down stuff or else you might forget. I almost forgot some of those things...

So much love,
All the way
From over here,
Linda

In the old days

2011-12-19T07:10:00.002-05:00

Once upon a time, Blogs were created as online journals like a daily journal that you could type into rather than write into some big spiral bound notebook...or if you're like me, some Mole Skin notebook.

But with my recent separation of my advice blog and my poetry blog, I now wonder what Linda Land is all about.

The blog is supposed to be thoughts about this and that from someone who has thoughts about that and this, and that is where I'd like it to return.

So, today my thoughts are about my inner light

Where is it?

Where'd it go?

Is it really gone or is it merely a cloudy vision...clouded by others' opinions and perspectives? That feels like the right answer.

My inner light, my inner beauty is still alive despite what others think of me.....in fact, one of the smartest women I've ever met and who was a brilliant teacher/friend once told me, "It is none of my business what anyone else thinks about me." Thank you Anne Rainbow Sister Shepard Crary and also Joan Casey. Brilliant teachers in their own right.

And that message is important for me today.

I don't care what anyone thinks about me. My only obligation is to myself and what I think of myself first... From there, joy can emerge and life begin again.

Hospital stays do a real number on the brain. They are no place to heal.

That is true enough!

So, part of my healing process today from my recent hospital stay is to be true to myself first today and go with my flow and surrender to the beauty that lives inside of me.

And also, try to figure out how to set up this whole new microphone/stand/phantom power sound board thingy so I can hear my own voice. For real!

Sending you so much love,
All the way from
Downstairs,
Linda

Here's What's Happening

2011-12-12T19:03:00.002-05:00

So I had a little life event that helped me to streamline my writings a bit. So, on Linda Land you 'll find mostly my creative narrative non-fiction and m aybe some helpful guides. I've started two new blogs for the Advice Column stuff called:

Linda Land: Advice Lady

Also, I've put all the poetry in one place called:
Linda Land: Poetry

Genius idea, really...tidying up the writing. There's more to do, but that's what I'd like to be working on...these three ideas. Advice, Poetry and Blog....blog-stuff, that is.

So Welcome to the new and improved Linda Land.

Hope you are well...I'm so glad you dropped in. Feel free to become a follower of any of my other blogs. People do that sort of thing now...it's not dangereous, I don't think. Not yet, at least.

So much love,
All the way
From my
Brooklyn Kitchen,
Linda

Nicknames

2011-11-12T21:53:00.001-05:00

I love the East Coast.

East Coasters are famous of meeting you and tagging you with a nickname.

It has been my observation that people from New Jersey are at the head of the pack with this trend. Why? I think it must be they are like me....I am terrible with names. It doesn't matter if you have a title in front of your name like President, or Mister, or Doctor or Hulk....I won't remember if you are Jack or Rodgers or Hogan or whatever you are calling yourself in this lifetime.....

What I do know? Is that if you and I have *collaborated* on any sort of physical or astral plane, well, you have met Lola. For confirmation, whatever Lola wants, Lola gets. Jan taught me that message. Thank you Jan, for all that you have brought to my life. I love and adore you forever.

Here's a song from my favorite nick-a-name ever, Lola....

So much love,
All the way...
from over here.....
Linda

Melting

2011-11-12T19:20:00.001-05:00

Note: this is an older piece of writing that I did in 2007/2008 when I was still in the grocery industry. The good news is that I am no longer in any *business* to speak of. The even better news is that this old piece of writing is a good starting point (if I were going to tell the story about me jumping off the corporate ladder and landing smack-dab in Alex Grey's lap.....which is a story that I may want to tell soon!) And the best part of all, is that I have faced all the fears that were in front of me when I originally wrote this....and the best thing of all is that, All Is Well.
So much love,
All the way from
Over here.....
xoxo
Linda

Originally written November 28, 2007

Dear Faithful Readers,

I had no idea so many of you existed. I really thought no one read this blog so please imagine my surprise by your phone calls of concern for me.

I am really just fine. My doctor says that I don't have pneumonia but I have a bronchial infection for which I am on some powerful drugs, and due to my level of exhaustion the symptoms are a bit more intense.

That goes for my writing too.

I've had an infection or an illness in my belief system and especially around fear of being loved. That's the real issue. I am terrified of someone loving me forever....

But if Karen were here, she'd ask me if that were true.

So, is it true that I am terrified of being loved?

No.

I am terrified of rejection.

Love is easy.

It is everywhere and I feel it everyday.

Rejection.

It has been my behavior to put myself out there before rejection has a chance to hit me. A phrase that Karen and I came up with, or maybe I came up with this but I'm pretty sure we did it together, was the phrase:

I humiliate myself so you don't have to.

Fear.

Funny shit.

So now what?

I just woke up from a 12 hour nap. I'm having iced coffee at 5 Am in the Florida room with the kitties at my feet...Puff choosing to stay lingering in bed because it's warm there....she's a little thing you know....

Today my mission is to sleep more, eat more, drink more water, breathe in deeply and allow my body to relax.

I'm gonna take a couple of baths and talk on the phone to all my friends who don't work in the grocery business...today's the biggest day in the grocery store industry...Thanksgiving is a big holiday for retailers and it is awesome that I get to stay at home away from the crowds and noise.

Peace is here, in my home.

I have everything I need...

Do not worry dear sisters...I'm finally letting people know when I'm crashing and that's something I haven't done before...but all is well. Truly.

I am firmly placed on this planet and a couple more 12 hr. naps, a couple of smoothies, and baths and I'll be good as new.

I do have a request: If you live in my area and you know of a good massage therapist who travels, please give them my number. I could really use a full body massage.

Again, I'm sorry if I caused you any concern. You know how I love the theater and drama. I remembered a very powerful lesson I learned from a couple of waiters in Seattle(who turned out to be great friends for a long time) back in the day when I worked for Stouffer Hotels...these guys taught me that sometimes it's important to have a melt-down, a hissy-fit, or a scene...especially for me (as they said) because I tend to do so much myself I give the impression that I don't need anyone else around me....but if I throw a fit or have a melt-down then people will see that I'm not able to do anymore and they'll pay attention.

Granted, they used this technique with me to score more tables so they'd make more money and they both ended up becoming high-end real estate brokers in Seattle and are multimillionaires now. I know a lot of millionaires somehow.... odd.

But the point of their lesson is that I let people think I have my shit together all the time. That's because, most of the time, I have my shit together. When I don't or when others don't respond to my ways, I do what I always do: I change my behavior or my approach so they'll pay attention. Take my boss for example: Me being out sick for a week following the 3 hour horrific conversation we had on Friday was no accident. I can no longer work under these conditions.

My boss must experience the work I do by doing it himself for a little while so he can appreciate me. My doctor gave me a quote yesterday that really resonated with me:

Great Love and great achievement require great risk.

I am willing to risk it all. I am willing to be rejected. I am willing to walk away from my career.

I've stopped talking about my love life because the risks I am taking make my friends uncomfortable.

I am willing to give it all up if that is what is required.

That being said, let's recap today's to do list:

Today's events:
Nap
Snack
Movies
Nap some more
More snacks
Bath
Shower
Pool
Beach?
Okay...no pool or beach today...but maybe tomorrow?

Many blessings and loving thanks to you.
I adore you.
Patsycat
[A.K.A. Linda]

P.S. I am in search of an editor. Ar\e you good at proofing and editing text without changing the feeling of the words? If so, please email me: patsycat@gmail.com
It is time for me to write the book.

Collection

2011-11-10T08:02:00.001-05:00

I collect cigar boxes. I have about 100, maybe less. It's nice to have a collection of something. It isn't an obsession, but when I'm out, in the back of my mind I think that maybe I'll be able to find a cigar box here. And about once a year, a box appears.

The goal is not quantity. It is purely attraction. Something about the box speaks to me, be it the logo, script, or duty verification stamps from customs. It could be made of cedar or just lined with cedar. Some have latches, others have tacks. It doesn't matter as long as it speaks to me, winks hello and tempts me. That's the cigar box I collect.

In each of my boxes is a little treasure. Open any one and you'll find something inside it. It may not always be a prize, but there's something. Pictures of myself in the 5th grade, my father's dog tags from his army days, my all access pass to the bicycle racing pavilion at the 1990 Good Will Games...I'll never forget the day I served espresso to the Italian racing team. I thank god, daily, for that week! Life has been good to me.

While rummaging through yesterday, I came across a letter written to my father from my grandfather (his dad.) Reading it I am reminded of my grandpa's strong, quiet sense of humor.This exactly what he wrote:

March 15, 1987

Dear Jack,

Thanks for coming over---I love you. Be good!! etc...

Pop

P.S.

The Cadillac is yours for $1.00 (In my will you get it for nothing!!)

My dad loved that Cadillac and he drove it for several years after grandpa died. I'm pretty sure Dad shelled out the dollar, but it's hard to tell with the men in my family. They die so young! What does that mean? That once a man hooks up with one of these fiery women they need no more? Are they happy when they die? Is the rebirth worth it?

So much love,
All the way from over here,
Linda

A VW CAMER GUIDE

2011-11-09T20:27:00.001-05:00

I am a romantic woman. Living on the road is not for everyone, but if you have ever wanted to abandon your life and move into a VW bus and live on the road I say do it. It is an incredible way of life. The beautiful thing about having a VW camper is that you don't have to stop at a campsite to camp. With a camper you can simply pull over and park, put up the privacy curtains and then you are good to go for the night. If you have traveling companions and you need to pop the top, then you need to find someplace where you won't be hassled by the police. That is one of the risks owning a vehicle with a "hippy" connotation. Police don't like hippies. Nobody does anymore. Poor hippies.

Okay. You've decided you want to take the plunge and purchase a VW camper. You have had your head examined and your doctor releases herself from all responsibility for your decision and you are ready to go. What do you need to do first? Find a mechanic. Yes. You need to have a mechanic first especially if you are buying a VW bus that was built before 1990. After you have a good mechanic, then you need to join AAA. Get the deluxe package. It's only about $20 more a year and includes unlimited towing. You will need it. I became great friends with my tow truck drivers in and around the Seattle area.

There are three generations of VW buses. The first is considered the only choice from VW gear heads the type II air cooled engine. The pictures below are the second generation type II buses from the 1960's. The pop-top and nickname "Westy" comes from the camper manufacturer that VW collaborated with to create the ultimate RV. Westfalia created the pop-top design and interiors. The center pop-top was one of the first designs and then it went to the angled pop-top. Here is an excellent example of a 1960's bay window Westfalia pop-top camper.

And here are a few more pictures of the 1960's to 1979 varieties.

These are the first generations of VW Westfalia campers.

Disclaimer: People, I am not a mechanic. I am a novice. I may make a few mistakes here and there describing the engines and parts. I am not and never have been a gear head but I have slept with them. I know that the VW community is as full with nerds and geeks as intense as the software world. In fact, many of the software geeks of this world own VW bugs and buses, so please don't start spamming my email with all my mistakes. Okay?

The Malibu Stacey Funtime Camper was not of this generation, rather she was born in 1981. Picking a good bus is like buying a fine wine. Every year there are grapes does not mean that is a good year for wine. Same thing goes for buses. In 1980 VW changed the design and engines of their Westfalia Campers coming up with a bigger living space and these buses are called Vanagons. The advantage to the Vanagon is that there is larger living space, roomier and more creature comforts which is especially important to those of us over six feet tall. You get a few extra inches in the bed so you can really spread out...such a nice feature in the woods too. But be warned if you choose this type. 1980-1982 were the worst years for these engines. They are still air-cooled but some are oil-cooled with a little catheter on the side of the bus and oil cooled engines are really not a good idea, especially if you want to go into the desert. It's hot in the desert. Oil gets hot and likes to catch on fire. I learned that from watching Operation Desert Storm. What will happen is that your engine will over heat crossing some mountain pass and you'll be on the side of the road for a long time waiting for it to cool down enough just to put it in neutral to coast down the side of a mountain. Be warned...only buy this engine if you are prepared to do a lot of work on it....wait. That is the same warning for all the buses, so forget it! If you love it, buy it!

This picture is a 1984 Vanagon. Very sexy, if you ask me. Malibu Stacey was sky blue, not this Tiffany blue, but very sexy just the same. Ooooohhh lalalala! This is the second generation and the birth of the Vanagon. These campers were made until the early 1990's and then they kept a similar design but put in a different engine like the Sciricco engine. The thought was that it could be faster than the Vanagon but I heard a lot of grumbling from the VW gear heads about this engine too, so I don't really know if it was a winner. I will say the interior designs of the Vanagon are my favorite. I've owned two buses: Stanley the Manly Westfalia was born in 1976 and he was sweet pickle green with a new engine but I let my 21 year old gear head put the engine in instead of using my awesome mechanic and it was never a good vehicle.

Malibu Stacey was a stubborn bus and fickle too. So when she wanted to stay in one place for a couple of days, she just wouldn't start-up. That's part of the fun too. That would mean that she wanted to stay wherever we were and there was more exploring for me to do. Once it meant sitting by a fire pit for two days in the back woods of Idaho writing poetry next to a stream. You do what god tells you to do when in a camper.

Below is the Eurovan...considererd a piece of shit from all true VW affeciandos. Oh sure it's great if you want to go over 55 MPH or have AC and be able to travel on a schedule. If you want to have some kind of dependiblity, I guess this would be a good choice, but be prepared to shell out about $25/K...even for this one below! Look at its dents and it doesn't even have a kitchen!
Let's review what you've done so far:

You have a mechanic
You have an awesome towing package from AAA
You have had your head examined
You have unlimited resources...oh didn't I mention that this was going to waste all your savings? Well it will so you better have a lot of cash stashed because this thing bleeds money not to mention the lousy gas mileage and unexpected mechanic bills while on the road...just be warned. You need a ton of cash.
You picked the van of your dreams and are in love. You should definitely make this an emotional choice and not a practical one since love will get the bus going when you are out at some rave in old growth forests and you are done praying. Love will be all you need.
You have a storage unit filled with back-up parts. I didn't mention that either? Well, time to get familiar with the temperature sensing unit that tells the thermometer what the engine temperature is because when you blow through one of those, trying to find one in Bumfuck Montana is a true test in patience. Especially when the mechanics won't believe you that you have an extra one ready to install.

Now it is time for the naming ceremony. All buses need a name. If you don't believe it, then you are not listening to your camper. It will tell you what his name is or her name. They are gender specific and respond to having their name called. Building a psychic personal relationship with your camper is half the fun. It gives you someone to talk to while you are on the side of the road.

Oh, I also recommend buying a lot of old panties or just saving those from your old girlfriends. I've recently discovered that many men have drawers of old girlfriends panties. If you happen upon a boyfriends drawer, clean it out and put it in the camper. I use the old panties to check the oil on the side of the road. It is a sure way to get a stranger to stop and help you. It works too! State troopers are much nicer if you are using old panties to keep your hands clean when you are reattaching the fuel-injection lines that popped off while flying down the mountain in neutral.

Here are a few things that you do not have to do if you decide to own a VW Bus:

You do not have to listen to the Grateful Dead. I've never been a dead head and really hated that people expected me to only have on that boring, monotonous music. It is totally uninspiring in my book so feel strong people. Walk away from the Jerry Garcia. It is okay!
You do not have to pick up hitchhikers. Unfortunately, all hitchhikers will expect you to stop for them, but you are not required to by law. Luckily, fewer and fewer people are hitchhiking because of crime so the obligation is less than it used to be. However, if you are traveling between towns in the backwoods of Colorado like between Gunnison and Crested Butte, there is only one place the stoner skiers are going and if you are inclined to pick-up a hitchhiker there, you'll be pretty safe.
You do not have to smoke pot to have a camper. Remember that everyone will assume that you are a pot smoker if you have a bus and will expect you to be holding out on some bud. Don't fall for the pressure kids. Drugs are bad, m'kay?
You can have a job and own a bus. It is just rare to find the two combinations together.

Thank you for reading. I must say it has helped me through my wilderness urge. I don't have enough money today...but boy, she was a lot of fun.

So much love,
All the way from over here,
Linda

What's Inside?

2011-11-09T07:28:00.001-05:00

Spirit asked me what I was building inside today. Then this song came on....

So much love,
from inside
today,
Linda

Mighty Isis

2011-11-08T11:04:00.000-05:00

Oh Mighty Isis,
Somewhere....there's a place for us....

This poet says it best.

So much love,
All the way from
Inside of
Here,
Linda

STOPPING POINT...WAIT A SECOND HERE....

2011-04-04T21:33:00.004-04:00

I just realized that I was not having any more fun. I know...kinda late in the game, but I might not have mentioned...I appear very smart but I'm not really a smarty-pants. I mean, I'm not having fun in life and that wasn't the agreement that I made with planet Earth. See, I was having a good time with life and then it all stopped. I stopped having fun and that is now what I signed up for during this lifetime.

I had an incredible experience in 1995 or 1996. I really don't remember the exact date and if Quincy was here with a corpse dating back to that timeline, then maybe we'd have an hour-long episode but for now it's just you and me and there ain't no Quincy around so ahead we forage....to the point.....

During 1995-96, Karen Sevenoff and I headed onto a road-trip inspired by a glance then a nod at the fountain at an obscure park off of Broadway in Seattle Washington. This park is on Pike or Pine and Broadway, (or sometimes I call that area "Pink and Broadway because I can never remember which one is which), so if anyone one reading this who knows that park's name could email that to me, well...that would be super swell.

Karen and I were sitting in the grass at the edge of the fountain and we looked at each other, and I swear I felt the ground move like a 10.0 earthquake...like I never knew the sunrise until this exact moment...like RIGHT FUCKING NOW, WE GOTTA GO, SISTER! Kinda energy. Okay?Crazy, NOW, urgent energy!

That look was all it took and from that glance we stood up and left quickly from that park and headed to the car. First stop was Karen's beautiful Pioneer Square apartment. We took a few things from her place and High-Tailed it out of Seattle Washington onto a road-trip that was beyond belief. I am certain many parts of this tale will be hard to believe but we were guided from above. For 7 days I drove in a spiral through the southwest. The first day we traveled 1000 miles in less than 24 hours and the stars parted and the Universe spoke to us in ways that I have never experienced before.

At that time, in the 1994 blue Jetta, I discovered that we are (indeed!) on a Vacation Planet. This atmosphere, ambiance and environment are here for our pleasure and we have been wasting our time in illusionary battles. There is no way up some cosmic or corporate ladder. There is no uphill battle. The time is now. We are here to have FUN! Listen up,ego. Time to lay down the drum of competition and judgement. Now is the time for witnessing the planet we are on!

This is the message that I continue to receive and it is one of hope, beauty and bliss. I feel I should warn you, like an apology, but I am sorry to report that my vision of the future is absolutely beautiful!

Don't believe me? Take a look around you.

Do you notice something lovely? A kitty perhaps, or a sandwich, or beverage, or pillow, or bracelet, or something that makes you gaze upon and feel good?

NOTE: I realize that this is a purely physical and superficial response to the beauty that surrounds us, but how do you expect anyone to reach a quantum level of cellular appreciation without witnessing and appreciating the superficial, cellular physical being in front of you? So I kindly ask...please hold your judgements onto the physical, superficial beauty of life until the end of the program. Thank you very much....

But let us agree that there is something within your gaze that you look upon that makes you feel good. For me, right now, it is the four flickering flames of the scented candles that I bought for myself the other day. Their rounded glass holders in a diamond formation with the lavender and midnight blue wax calm my spirit and soothe my soul.

My point is that be it a human being or kitty or puppy or scented or whatever, it is possible to fixate our gaze onto an object or thought or memory of something that feels better than the sadness of life and its consequences.

Spirit spoke to me and said, "Linda, you are on a vacation planet. Look all around you. See the beauty in everything and then glory in all that is." And I said, "You are fucking crazy." And spirit said, "Nu-huh." And I went, "Uh-huh" and it went on like that for a long time, like 700 miles or so, but at some point before 1000 miles, I realized that Spirit wasn't kidding; that beauty WAS all around us and that I was at that exact moment surrounded by beauty. It was my job to witness BEAUTY all around me. And then Spirit said, "Remember, dear one, you are on a vacation planet and you are on a 'Working Vacation'. Okay?" I agreed, "Okay." And clearly remember thinking to myself that I was indeed on a vacation planet and all chores are of my doing.

So I have approached my career since that time as a "Working Vacation" and when I am not feeling that way, then I know that it is time for me to move into another direction.

What does all that mean? Means I need to take a break and see what all that means, is what it means, Mister!

And that is where we are...me realizing that we are indeed on a vacation planet and I do know what one of those is and I'm happy to tell you all about that tale but maybe tomorrow because I gotta heed cold and am tired and my nose is stuffed up and I gotta headache and my body aches ad I wanna rest right now but I do really want to tell you what I'm understanding...but maybe it will happen tomorrow or the next day, but one day soon. Okay?

So much love
All the way from over here....
xo
Linda

Naked Guy Part I

2011-03-09T20:10:00.003-05:00

he human male A.K.A. Homus Erectus A.K.A Facinationus Withus Peni

We really are two different creatures; the male and the female Different species actually. Zacharia Sitchin says that the gods (females) mated with the beasts (male) and created a new species. What other explanation can there be for the vast differences between the two? A hybrid. That makes sense to me.

I responded to a house-sitting ad for a businessman who travels a lot. He has a lovely home and needs a responsible, trustworthy person to protect his property and live in his space while he is out of town 22 days a month. Rent free, close to the beach, and my kitties can have a home too.

It sounded great so I called right away. On the phone he told me he was a naturist.

"Do you know what that means?" he asked.

"You like to be nude all the time? You're a nudist?" I replied.

"Yes, but we prefer naturist. Are you open to that?" he asked.

"Sure, as long as it is not required of me."

"No, only acceptance." he said.

"Yes, I'm open. Let's see what happens." I said.

We made arrangements to meet later in the day and I thought about the possibility of living with a naked guy. I'm pretty adventuress and open to all sorts of new things so why not? I need a place to live and if this guy is really gone 22 days a month and if he has a great house...maybe I could live with a naked guy. Heck...I'm out a lot and go to bed early...I got my life and who knows? Why judge before meeting him?

Besides now I really wanted to see this guy. What does a Naturist look like? And what's the problem with being a nudist? Does he have fabric covered furniture? Do his kids go around naked (he has them on the weekends) or should I ask, do his kids go around naturally? Naturistic? Au Natural? Nekid?

The word Nudist has a negative social connotations just like the way midget does. What does the word nudist imply?

Freak?
Sex?
Freaky sex?

That's all I got.

Honestly though, I don't believe the word nudist has as much violence associated with it as midget. I've met several little people and have asked about the word midget. One woman told me the word is offensive because of the public humiliation and cruelty associated with being judged based on the appearance only. I can understand that perspective and it is easy for me to eliminate midget from my vocabulary.

Personally, being gigantic compared to the average-sized woman, I find the words little more offensive. When I am called big it is an insult. Yet I have come to accept my size. Words don't hurt me unless if they are delivered with an Italian evil-eyed hex.

Can I live with a naturist?

I decided to take the risk and meet him at his house. I fantasized about all the money I’d save, and living in a multimillion dollar mansion on the ocean in South Florida.

As I drove over there I prayed to God in gratitude for guiding me to this possibility and asked for guidance.

"God," I asked, "what if he is naked when I arrive?"

God said, "Be cool, baby. Don't look down. Be cool, be cool.”

"Good advice God, thanks!" I prayed back. I get such great support from God.

His house is closer to Miami and was hard to find. The gates opened as I drove in and he said he needed a moment to get to the door so I waited at the door and noticed the lovely landscaping, privacy, and location. Private paradise.

He answered the door nude. This was good. I gotta see the goods before I sign-on, know what I mean. What if I found him repulsive? I couldn't live with a naked guy who I thought was disgusting, unclean, or a freak.

How does the average American prepare to meet a Naturist for the first time? Do we teach our children this in school? No. I'm sure there is a "Naturist for Dummies" book out there, but I didn't have that kind of time. What has been my greatest teacher my whole life?

Television.

Television is the ultimate teacher...especially cartoons. TV has taught me so many great things like how to cook, how to wrap presents, how to read (Easy Reader on the Electric Company was quite helpful to me before he learned how to read scripts and move into films like Shawshank Redemption.)...Television has been my favorite teacher.

God spoke again to me, “Remember what TV has taught you...TV has all the answers.”

At that moment, I remembered an episode of Family Guy about a nudist family. Meg, a low self-esteemed teen, started dating the son in a nudist family. Naturally, Peter responded poorly and used the words like nipple and bush throughout the episode in uncomfortable situations and the awkward silences and ball jokes were fast coming. What did I learn? Don't be like Peter Griffin. That's good advice for everyday.

Here's my mental note:

If I ever meet a nudist, keep eye-contact and be sure to behave as if they were dressed. It is just a lifestyle choice. Nothing more. We're born nude, we die nude. Ashes to ashes dust to dust.

And that is exactly what I did.

He greeted me at the door nude and I didn't look down at his package. I was checking out the cathedral ceilings, the piano, the huge kitchen, the adorable puppy and kitty, the huge Florida room, the master bedroom suite (which I could have he said) or the twin-room suite (also I could have that room if I preferred it he said), the 4 car garage and on and on and on.

22 days a month gone.

Can I live with a naturist?

He had kind eyes and was gentle. He seemed nervous as I imagine anyone is meeting people for the first time, let alone nude. I admired his courage. Plus he had a cute little ass. He's kind-of a little guy compared to me but not repulsive and quite frankly I didn't care that he was naked at all.

To be continued...

Naked Guy Part II

2011-03-09T20:08:00.002-05:00

As we toured the home, I could tell he was nervous by his body language. He kept hugging his tummy. I thought to myself that it takes a lot of courage for anyone to meet someone new, let alone naked. The Naked Guy didn't know what to do with his hands.

No pockets.

Poor Naked guy.

To make him feel more comfortable I picked up pictures of his children and asked some questions.

"She's so beautiful. What's her name?" I asked.

"Carmen" he said. "She's ten."

"Such a great age. And the boy?"

"Lucas. He's 8 and a joy." he boasted.

"So do they visit often?" I asked.

"Every weekend but I fly them to wherever I am and we're visit everywhere in the world. They love it!" He said.

What's this? A good father? A nurturing man too? Get out! Someone who wants to connect with his children and is committed to showing the kids the world? How does he do that I wondered.

"What is it exactly that you do?" I asked.

"Venture capitalist." he said shifting his attention away from my eyes and towards the sunset overlooking the lake.

Here we go I thought. Now we're getting to the reality of it all...Venture Capitalist...yeah right buddy. I know what they do! My enthusiasm for the house fades and skepticism sets in.

In South Florida Venture Capitalist is code word for "Drug Dealer". I've been to a lot of singles events and whenever some guy tells me he's a Venture Capitalist and I ask what that means they can't articulate what the job is. This is a red flag for me. Now I'm thinking he's got some boat that disappears to Ecuador or Columbia to get the goods to keep the east coast hopped up on coke. I am surprised that the cocaine community is still in fashion. That seems so 1985 to me...but so it is. In south Florida, and probably everywhere else, people are still doing coke.

I prodded, "So what exactly does a venture capitalist do?"

"I find money for companies that are going public" he said plainly.

Impressive. He knew the actual definition of what a venture capitalist does! Having lived in Seattle for 17 years and living through the dawn of the computer age with so many software companies being started and absorbed by Microsoft, I know that is what venture capitalists do.

Okay...now I really want to live here!

I took a moment to gather my thoughts and take note of what was happening. Here is an incredible home, 2 great animals, kids that might visit but were cute and I work and can deal with kids, Florida room, pool, piano, water delivery service, maid, 4 car garage, I can bring my cats, and on and on and on....

Fuck yeah! I gotta get this gig! My mind races...how can I snag this gig?

"Sell yourself baby!" I hear in my head. Make him want to have you in his home! The only thing this house was missing was the warmth of a woman. It was missing great smells, warm feelings, the feminine energy.

Very coolly I ask if I can play his piano as I started to seat myself. He gestures towards the bench and I sat and played "Ruby My Dear' in the style of Thelonious Monk. What man can resist a woman who can sing and play incredible jazz? I like to think of myself as the brunette version of Diana Krall...she's so lucky to snag Elvis Costello. I've played the piano since the age of 3 and started studying jazz 20 years ago so I can hold my own. I played with great feeling and expression and he smiled during the tune.

He was impressed. His daughter plays piano he says. I see him loosening up. His arms stop hugging his belly and he shifts to arms akimbo. A good sign. That is a confident stance. Good. Good. This is very good. A man should feel comfortable in his own home.

I finish the tune and get up moving into the kitchen. Surveying the Italian marble counter tops and Wolf stove, refrigerator, stack ovens I say, "You know, I'm a graduate of the Culinary Institute of America and quite an accomplished chef. Do you mind if I use the kitchen a lot?"

"Oh, I never use the kitchen. It'd be nice to have someone cooking." he said.

Good work Linda! That degree from the CIA was the best 40 grand I ever spent!

"So, how many people have responded to your ad?" I asked.

"You're the first." He said.

Excellent! I saw my future unfolding. Beautiful home, close to the beach, close to work...it is all going to work.

He asked me, "Do you have a lot of girlfriends down here?"

I say, "Some, sure. I really should have more friends for the 3 years that I've been here but I've put a lot of energy into my work and I'm hoping to make more friends soon."

"So will you have them over?" he asks.

A fair questions I thought.

"Only if you don't mind." I say. I had invited my sister for a visit earlier in the day and wondered how she'd do when Naked Guy was home, but the amenities were so great and she hasn't been laid in a while...maybe she'd like to see a naked man. Who knows?

"I'll have to tell them that you're a naturist before they come over and if they don't feel comfortable, the they might not visit." I added.

He nodded in understanding.

He said, "Well, I need to get ready to leave in the morning and I'll call you when I return from my next trip which should be in about 8 or 9 days."

"Great!" This really was perfect for me. I had time to process the change and get rid of the rest of my stuff. If all goes well, I could be moved in by February 1st. It was all working out perfectly.

He escorts me to the door and we shake hands. I touch the pooches head and tell her that I hope we can be the best of friends. As I exit he opens the gate and I wave goodbye.

Fantastic! I am as high as a kite on the 15 mile drive north back to my home. I think: Close to Miami. Piano. Wolf kitchen equipment! Good manifestation Linda! Thank you god, thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you I think over and over on the ride back.

Wow. How did I get so lucky?

I call Karen (my bestest of friends and an incredible soul-sister )and tell her all about my experience and we celebrate on the phone. Once home as we're jabberjawing away about this and that, I receive a text message from the Naked Guy.

I tell Karen, "Hold on, I gotta read this! Maybe he's offering me the house? Hold on!"

The text says: I find you very attractive did u notice my lball?

I get Karen back and tell her.

Neither of us are very experienced in text messaging. Its not what my friends and I do so there are a lot of shortcuts that I don't understand.

I ask Karen, "What does lball mean?"

She says, "Maybe it's short for eyeballing you? Checking you out?"

"Maybe..." I say. "What should I do?"

She said, "Text him back that your flattered. You're flattered right?"

"Well yeah!" I say.

"Did you find him attractive?" she asks.

"Not really, he was cute but short. He had really kind eyes." I say.

Most men are much shorter than me. I'm 6 feet tall and prefer a man my height or taller. It's just a physical thing, but I have certainly dated many, many men shorter than me and I'm not so shallow to keep something like height or age from dating a guy. It's just that I prefer a taller man. That's all.

We end our call so I could think about what to do. What kind of message should I send back? What to say? What to say....

To be continued...

Naked Guy Part III

2011-03-09T20:07:00.000-05:00

When is text messaging appropriate?

If you are deaf, anytime.

I can understand the usefulness of text messaging especially when you want to tell your sweetie that you love them or you're gonna be a few minutes late, or what time you need to be picked up from the mall (kids to parents), or if you need to send someone a quick note. Texting can be fun.

I've done some texting but not in the way most of America is using this form of communication. I have done my share of chatting online, which is kind of the same thing as texting, but a lot less expensive. To be fast at chatting online or texting, there are lists of shortcuts that have become common knowledge like LOL (laugh out loud), OMG (oh my god), WFT (what the fuck). These codes have moved over to the texting world and I understand these shortcuts. So I did a search on Google and found no shortcut for Iball.

I texted naked guy back:

"I'm flattered. Thank you! I appreciate your courage. What is Iball?"

It takes a lot of courage for someone to tell a stranger that you're attracted to them and I need that kind of attention. The last guy I fell for couldn't even tell me that he had a girlfriend so I didn't want to stop his honest communication. It's important to me no matter what kind of friendship we have be it roommate or housesitter that there be honesty.

Naked Guy texts back immediately:

"One ball."

Ah ha! The text wasn't Iball, it was 1 ball.

Now I want clarity, so I text back:

"You lost a testicle?"

Naked Guy writes"

"Yes. I want you to know everything. Would u like to see? I can email to u if u like. Do you have yahoo?"

So he wants me to know everything before he offers me the housesitting gig. Okay, that's cool with me. I'm down with that. Let's get real I think. Let's share our pain.

I text back:

"Sure, send it." I add my email address.

I'm thinking he wants to send me a story about his loss and before I receive any email I generate a story about Naked Guy and it goes like this: Naked Guy had cancer. His wife left him. He lost his job. He looses a testicle, had some sort of epiphany about life and he becomes a naturist to reconnect with his new body. He throws himself into his work to make lots of money and directs his energy on traveling and developing this awesome relationship with his children.

I like this story. It makes sense to me.

Disease and life-threating illness changes a person's perspective. I too have had my own experiences that have transformed my perspective on life. For example, I was misdiagnosed for years while I had Hashimoto's disease that caused me to gain 150 pounds which I have now lost. When illness changes your body, it is takes time to accept the new form.

For me, I still have difficulty sometimes looking in a mirror and seeing the "new" me 150 pounds lighter. The mind creates a vision of ourself and hangs on to it. We need other people to reflect the beauty we possess in our new bodies. At least, I do.

Perhaps Naked Guy was attracted to me because I didn't even look at his loins. I behaved as if he were dressed and frankly I didn't care that he was naked. I accepted Naked Guy as he was and that's attractive in any relationship be it friendship, relatives or lovers.

Then I drifted into fantasy land. What if I've met my partner? A Venture Capitalist who travels the world and has great relationships with his kids and I make a beautiful home and travel with him and his one ball?

He texts me again while I'm off in my fantasy:

"If I send the video when will you watch it? Tonight? Now?"

Video?

He has a video about his ball?

WTF?

What were the words I first thought of when I heard the word Naturist?

Freak.
Sex.
Freaky sex.

Okay. Thank you god. Yes, again you were right again. This guy is not just a naked freak but a one-balled-freak.

"Dearest God," I pray. "Please direct my beautiful fingers to the right tiny keys on my cell phone to compose the most perfect text message back to Naked Guy. Please God, may it be free from hate and misspellings. Your ever-loving servant, Ashey Nameste."

I sit in quiet contemplation for a long time.

I reflect on our visit earlier in the evening and the questions I didn't ask. I didn't ask him about his lifestyle choice. I didn't ask him how long he'd been a naturist. I didn't ask if his children are nude when they visit. I didn't ask any personal questions at all! And if we were going to live together, didn't I at least owe that to myself?

Naked Guy texts me again:

"If I send to you, will you share with your girlfriends in So. Fla?"

Men. So fascinating. Men like to go fishing. They like to hunt. They like the chase. I am a Leo woman. In the lion kingdom the feline females are the huntresses and the male watches (voyeurs that most males are) and wait until the kill has happened before moving in and feasting on the fruits of the female labors.

I too have a stalking-hunting side all of which I am too aware of and like most women there is a tiny part of myself that wants justice when tricked or sold false dreams under the guises of stability. I've seen this time and time again, especially in Boca Raton. The women there are cruel to the point of destruction for "teaching him a lesson."

That is not my style, but I do think to myself, "I'm on to you freaky little Naked Guy!"

"How many people would you like to see it?" I text back.

Shooting fish in a barrel.

"All your friends in south fla but as many as you like." He texts back.

I text him:

"I'm only online in the morning since I don't have internet at home so I won't see it until morning."

He texts me back so fast:

"Isn't there someway you can go online now?"

Sheish! I wonder how long he can keep the erection he has going and how long I want to play this game.

"Sorry, not until morning, but go ahead and send it and I promise to watch it first thing in the morning at Starbucks."

See, I think this will be good! Watching this one-ball video with my venti coffee at 5:30 AM with all my Starbucks pals! What a treat! I'll be sure to let all of the women of south Florida not only watch it via email but heck, if it's good, I'll even take it on the road!

I receive no text messages from Naked Guy for about an hour. My thoughts drift to Sheryl Crow and Lance Armstrong. He's such a hottie and so accomplished...Tour de France winner how many times? So fit. So into the physical. And the beautiful Sheryl Crow....so talented. Their break-up was so sudden in my eyes. Of course I'm not a personal friend but I did wonder for a long time why did they break up? What happend?

I wondered what kind of video Lance Armstrong made about his testicle.

Naked Guy texts me once more:

"Are you sure you can't go online right now?"

By now I'm tired. It's nearly 11 PM and I get up super early to write at liker 4:30 AM. Enough is enough.

I text back:

"I can understand cancer. I can understand loosing a testicle. I can accept life-threatening illnesses but it takes 2 to play. I am interested in housesitting and friendship. If you are looking for something else, perhaps you should place another kind of ad. If you honestly need help with your home I am still open to that idea."

I know, a lot of words for a text but I really wanted to get it all out. Plus, there is no bigger turn off than a reality check for anyone who is off in fantasy land.

I turn my phone off and go to bed. In the morning I check my email and sadly there is no video from Naked Guy. A part of me is really disappointed. I wanted to see the one-ball video. And if I had it, I'd share it here.

I sent Naked Guy one last email that said I was willing to accept his one ball and that I was still interested in housesitting for him. I listed all the things I could offer for his home that I noticed and that I was not uncomfortable developing a friendship with him. I told him my story about illness and I was honest and open in my email.

I've heard nothing from Naked Guy. He did tell me he was traveling so I thought perhaps he was out of the country and didn't have email.

This morning I did a search for housesitter on www.Craigslist.org and all of his postings came up! In fact, as early as this morning he had reposted the housesitting position!

Should I post the link here? I mean, maybe I'm not the perfect housesitter for him. Perhaps it is a prerequisite to watch the video before becoming his housesitter...I don't know. What I do know is that there are a lot of women in South Florida who are missing out on a potentially awesome video about a naked venture capitalists with one ball.

So ladies, if you get the video, please email it to me at: linda.silberman@yahoo.com

And I am back to where I started. I've considered changing my opinion about the word Nudist but I can't after this encounter. Perhaps if I meet a midget nudist they could convince me.

So much love,
All the way from over here...
Linda

Handsome Man IX

2011-02-23T12:39:00.000-05:00

Handsome Man,

when you feel

all alone,

kneel to the mirror.

Look into

your eyes.

See my

reflection.

Remember

Cro-Magnon Man

2011-02-22T18:23:00.000-05:00

My recent dip into the dating pool has lead me to Cro-Magnon Man. During college, I found anthropology a dull study. but I could not blame my professor for my lousy experience. My expectations were unrealistic. I expected anthropology to include a hot professor, in a great pair of Gap Chinos, looking all sexy in a wool, felt Fedora gallivanting off on wild adventures in far away, exotic lands. You know, the whole Indiana Jones package. I am certain half of the women in my class signed-up for the same reason and were equally disappointed. I ended up dropping anthropology when my professor was called away on a dig, returned two weeks later and never mentioned what happened on his travels. In class, he went straight back to the text book picking up from where we left off. When I raised my hand and asked him what happened on his travels, he said that it did not pertain to our area of study and returned to carbon dating and the importance of accuracy in blah blah blah. I calmly gathered my things, walked out of his class and headed to the registrar's office to drop him like it's hot. No need to waste my time. College was not where my education of Cro-Magnon Man started.

My education about Cro-Magnon Man came from the William Penn Museum in Harrisburg, Pennsylvania. In the mid-1970's, I was fortunate enough to be pulled along on my mother's spiritual quest. This adventure took my sisters and I through many christian based religions. Luckily, early on her quest she stumbled upon Transcendental Meditation (TM) mostly because the Beatles were into it and my mom was a smoking, hot, momma living life on the cutting edge. So no matter what kind of Jesus activities we had going on, we meditated twice daily for twenty minuets, like it or not.

A typical Sunday for my sisters and I included waking up, meditating, rushing to get out of the house to go see Jesus somewhere, then off to a Sunday lunch with relatives or maybe Wendy's then hurrying to the downtown museum where they played free classic movies in an beautifully decorated ornate old stadium seating theater. Mother loves the movies and we were given the choice to either roam the museum or watch the movie, but she was not to be disturbed until after the movie ended. Sometimes I stayed to watch whatever was playing, especially if it was in Technicolor, but typically, I chose to roam the museum.

It was a great place for a curious young girl on a rainy Sunday afternoon. My adventures started on the top floor and I worked my way down. There was a full planetarium up there and I loved watching the latest show. That feeling of being in that big, round room reclined in a springy seat, watching the afternoon sky slowly turn to twilight then dusk with the rising stars and the skies softly becoming midnight blue and the comic book drawings of Orion and Sagittarius projected in the distance, and if I squinted just so, I swear could almost believe how those tiny white lights in the domed ceiling could really be Leo the Lion and Gemini the Twins. The deep voiced audio of the shifting cosmos was almost like the voice of God showing me the path of the Universe. This was my quiet, happy place. My place of imagination and vision of where we really come from and what was it all about? The Universe seemed so vast and mysterious it left great space for considering other possibilities and philosophies.

After the show I would roam the lower three floors of dusty, aging exhibits of our great Pennsylvania history from the beginning of time, including Neanderthal Man and all his friends. I spent more time looking at the stuffed Lynxes than the heavily muscled upper-body of the subspecies to our known modern humans. While I found the fashion appealing (don't get me started on how turned on I get from a man in a skirt! Thank you Utility Kilt for your catalog!), the setting I found uninspired. Some dusty caves and fire pits, a few rocks thrown around here and there. Not as interesting as the planetarium, but it all can't be comic book cut-outs and booming voices.

Those countless hours in the museum taught me a few things about the human man (my favorite topic!) and I am honored to share my knowledge. Cro-Magnon Man is the variety of pre-humans who come from Central Europe and the most highly evolved of the Neanderthal Man from which we all are descendants of unless if you are a devout christian and you do not believe in evolution so it is highly unlikely that you will have stuck around this long to pipe in your hocus pocus creation story.

Anthropologists believe that their port of entry was near Romania. This location interests me now since I tend to date men mostly from a European descent. Many of the female skull remains are riddled with skull fractures implying the Cro-Magnon man was perhaps responsible for these injuries. Cro-Magnon Man was thought to have a temper and have violent rages, thus the image of the woman being dragged off by her hair is a common image in many people's mind. If more stair cases were found within the cave dwellings or even ladders like the Anasazi Indians had in their cliff dwellings, then tripping and falling down the stairs would have been a more obvious conclusion. But the cold hard fact remains that the female Cro-Magnon probably talked too much.

That has not yet been properly documented, but it is cocktail conversation somewhere on some college campus.

Cro-Magnon Man has a temper and he's gotten a bad reputation. The cold hard fact is that Cro-Magnon man is misunderstood. To his credit, he had a large brain which made him feel very smart. Cooked food remains have been found between teeth suggesting the ability to use tools and fire with intended knowledge. Some scientist believe that the remains that are buried with necklaces implies that Cro-Mag held ceremony and may have had knowledge to natural healing. And it is also believed that there was a lot of in breeding.

Poor Cro-Mag is just a victim of his circumstances.

What does all of this have to do with me and dating?

Plenty.

So much love,
All the way from over here...
XOL

Handsome Man VIII

2011-01-13T08:11:00.000-05:00

Handsome Man,

slavemaker ants

prefer to

enslave the

strong.

Yet another

reason to

surrender

to this

divine

weakness.

Spirit's Note.

2010-12-20T07:34:00.000-05:00

Spirit asks,

How many

more than

One

do you

need?

Love,

The Universe

Notes To Mother

2010-12-17T08:33:00.003-05:00

Mom,
I put one load in the washer. Depending on the time you're home, could you:
A) Dry it.
B) Wash other load and dry both? or
C) None of the above.
Love,
Anne

Mother,
The dishes aren't done because:
A) I woke up at 8:40 AM
B) I spent 5 min on the phone with Dave (he was finding out if he could leave the car)
C) I had to call grandma
D) You called
E) I had to have SOME breakfast as my funds are low and I can't afford it at work *hershey park*
F) I had to get dressed and leave by 9:15
G) I had to get Anne up
As you can see, all these things HAD to be done in the the same time I had to do the dishes. I hope you can be open-minded about my plight and understand.
Lisa

Mom,
I am with Anne and Lisa. Mark and I are playing racquetball tonight. Scott and I are going to the prom together. I'll be home sometime.
Love,
Linda

Mom,
I'm at Todd's house or if I'm not there, we are at Jill's house and if not, then all 3 of us are at Marty's house. You should know that I am somewhere with everyone.
Love,
Linda

Handsome Man VII

2010-12-17T07:51:00.000-05:00

Handsome Man,

Do not

fear your

soul

erection.

I can

take it

in and

can

you.

Handsome Man VI

2010-11-22T13:32:00.002-05:00

Handsome Man,

I see you fight

with darkness.

Rise above.

See it

through my eyes.

Feel how

perfectly it

shadows

your

inner

brilliance.

Handsome Man V

2010-10-25T08:17:00.000-04:00

Handsome man,

let down your

turban.

Nibble on my

ripe figs.

Surrender to

this

divine,

perfect,

moment.

Handsome Man IV

2010-10-09T07:48:00.002-04:00

Handsome Man,

Please remove

your head

from your

ass

and place it

Yoni.

Handsome Man III

2010-10-09T07:45:00.000-04:00

Handsome Man,

please remember,

your head

up your ass

you can't

eat your

dinner.

FIGHT

2010-10-09T07:42:00.000-04:00

Geoffrey left her

a note on

the table

that said,

"You have to remind

yourself to LET

other people

take care

of you."

And she said, out loud,

"Fuck you very much."

Jimmy's Dream

2010-10-06T09:22:00.001-04:00

Jimmy dreamt

we were on

a speed boat

going to your

new home,

still in the

five borough area,

and there was a

giant snowy mountain

in the background.

I was scared,

the way we were

working through the

water,

but it was still cool

and fun and

vivid and

you were

very

happy.

Handsome Man II

2010-10-06T09:11:00.000-04:00

Handsome Little Man,

Please dial inward.

There are

no busy signals,

only open lines.

I am

listening,

and

should

You.

Handsome Man I

2010-10-06T08:32:00.005-04:00

Handsome Man,

I am not a loaf

of bread.

I have no

Expiration date.

This Love

is from

the Universe.

I am merely

the Amphora.

Pick me up.

Anoint yourself.

Release all resistance.

Release

all resistance.

Release.

Brioche Odyssey Pt. 4

2010-08-25T15:59:00.000-04:00

Faithful Reader, several days have passed, and my blood sugar levels have returned to normal. Now I can tell you how those beautiful little Sticky Buns came into being.

The final three hours fly by because the pay-off is so big. The dough is ready to be rolled into a long rectangle and brushed with egg wash. A sugar mixture with cinnamon and chopped pecans is sprinkled over that area and lightly pressed into the dough with the rolling pin. Next the dough is rolled into a log, like a spiral in jelly-roll shape. It is wrapped in plastic wrap twice and allowed to rest in the freezer for at least 45 minutes. At this point, the dough can be kept rolled and frozen for at least 30 days in a standard home freezer and up to three months in a sub-zero freezer. This is a great project to make a lot of and keep frozen, ready to go for weekend treats! In fact, I've only baked one roll of this two roll batch. Maybe this weekend I'll bake up the second batch....hmmm. Sounds tasty!

So, when ready to bake the Sticky Buns, remove the log out of the freezer and once it has rested at room temperature for about 15 min, you slice it and press some more pecans into it before putting them into the prepared cake pan. Oh, did I forget to mention that you prep these pans by pushing a whole stick of that high-quality butter into the bottom of a cake pan and then you sprinkle brown sugar and any extra chopped pecans you might have leftover. Also, I add a dash of salt to this base of the bottom of the pan to bring out the sweetness a little bit more. Holy Moly! This is not a low-fat treat!

Can you guess what happens next? The lazy Brioche must rest again. But this time, it isn't just resting. It is proofing and will double in volume. That will take anywhere from 1 1/2 to 3 hours depending on your conditions. Good proofing conditions are a warm, moist environment around 95 degrees. A gas oven with just the pilot light on is a perfect place. Then it is time to bake.

In Julia's Book it says to bake these guys for about 30-40 minutes but I say it can take almost twice the amount of time listed, especially if you like a well-baked bun...not all mushy and doughy, but cooked all the way through. For Pete's Sake! We've come this far for this long, don't blow a fantastic treat by under baking. If they don't look golden enough on top, keep them in the oven another 5-10 min and check again. Remember, that top you are looking at is really the bottom because the presentation side is the side with all those pecans and butter and sugar that were pushed into the pan.

When they are pulled out of the oven, flip the pan over right away onto a cake pedestal to let them cool, like in the photo below.. But be careful! That beautiful, sticky, dripping caramel dripping over the sides of the Sticky Bun is crazy hot and will burn you really bad. These taste best when they have cooled completely. I only know this because I have tasted them, personally, at each stage of cooling. I recommend having a little snack of something nutritious so you won't feel so guilty before you pound down half-a-dozen of these bad boys! Seriously, you must let these cool ate least 20 minutes before even thinking about tasting. The cooler the temperature of the dripping caramel, the better it is going to taste. It will be worth it. Trust me.

The only photos I have left are of an empty cake plate. That little batch lasts about 20 minutes in my household. We all can easily put away 3 or 4 without blinking, or breathing. More is better. Always.

Overall, I'm pleased with this batch of Sticky Buns. In my next batch, I'm going to not roll, fold and rest as many times so I can have larger leaves of pastry to pull apart and fold into my mouth. Taking that into consideration, I would grade this batch a solid A. These are great Sticky Buns and I think the next batch is going to be even better. Maybe even an A+.

So much love,
All the way from over here...
Linda

Food Porn...beware before viewing...

2010-08-21T13:06:00.000-04:00

Brioche Odyssey Pt. 3

2010-08-21T10:51:00.001-04:00

Why Brioche? What is so special about this eggy-buttery flaky dough? Other doughs are similar but lacking in depth of flavor. Puff pastry and Danish dough are made in similar fashion using the roll, fold, turn and rest technique to incorporate butter which creates the leavening agent to rise and make so many thousand flaky layers. Puff and Danish dough are like flaky pie dough on buttery steroids. There is no yeast, milk or egg in the original sponge or starter so it has less flavor and more incredible texture. When first starting Brioche, there is an awakening of the sleeping yeast with a tasty snack of sugar (lactose in the milk), eggs, flour and in a warm safe environment. That first step is what all the difference is in flavor. Yeast changes everything. Brioche has one the ability to transform itself into a tasty roll or loaf and still become an incredible pastry or breakfast treat. It is versitile and undiscovered.

On a spiritual level, this dough reaches into my inner core. It requires patience, discipline, faith and prayer to know that all your efforts will pay off. For me, it is my personal Lord of The Rings trilogy. The goal is identical: Save mankind from the horrors of___(insert demon here.)______. My spiritual mission is to save the world from the torture of eating terrible sticky buns. Of course, my bigger goal is to make a Brioche dessert that is good enough to make Julia Child cry, but I don't think any of us really know this mysterious dough so this is also an opportunity to start thinking about pastry in a new way.

The discipline: Roll, Fold, Turn and Rest. When it is time to add the butter after the cold rest, we need to prep the butter by beating it from a cold state to a cool, play-dough type texture. That butter needs to become a similar texture as the baby-ass soft dough coming out of the fridge. Also, as we pull the dough in and out of the refrigerator, we want to work quickly so we don't start any proofing, so make sure your kitchen is a little on the cool side. If it is 90 degrees outside and humid as hell, don't try to roll, fold, turn and expect to have spectacular results. If you have a chilled marble, that is an ideal working surface. It will buy you some time.

Most recipes are ready to use the dough at any point this moment forward. In fact, some Brioche recipe are ready to go without the addition of the extra half-pound of butter rolled, folded and rested in...so that means, if you are an eager beaver, go ahead and Brioche yourself out! That cuts this whole time process by maybe 10 hours (you will still need to chill, roll, proof before baking...so you're not gaining a ton of time.)

Before I drift too far from the Lord of The Rings reference or rather, the elephant in the room...I'd like to mention that I did in free, long-hand writing, draft out a three page epic of my battle with the Butter Ogres. Yes. I am a LOTR geek. What I found most surprising as I freely wrote about the Butter Ogres and their wicked ways in Brioche Land, was how quickly my imagine added Dwarves, Elves and demonic monsters. 600 words in and I took a step back, my hand cramping from dark descriptive references, I saw who I really am. Through the patient waiting for this dough to move through its process, I have been able to go a little bit further into my dark side and embrace my inner Geek. Thank you Brioche. NOTE: If you would like to have me post this private battle butter, then email me at patsycat@gmail.com or post a comment here and maybe I will do it.

Each roll, fold, turn and rest adds about 50 layers of flakiness so this is why this step is so important. It adds to the buttery quality of the dough and each layer is a little morsel of heaven. You can roll, fold, turn and roll, fold turn then rest for at least 30 minutes before starting where you left off to roll, fold and turn, roll, fold, turn and rest for 30 min.

After a good rest for me and the dough (at least 4 hours from the last roll, fold and rest) it is time to turn this canvas into something. It is time to make this hunk of dough into a master piece. Sweet Sticky Buns, here I come!

So much love,
All the way from over here...
Linda

Brioche Odyssey Pt. 2

2010-08-19T18:17:00.000-04:00

If years of telephone calls with my mother have taught me anything, it is that morning television has all the answers to life's issues. My mother is a little A.D.D. and she has remote fever. As soon as there is a break for commercial she is flipping back to the Today Show from Good Morning America, but don't mention that CBS show because she does not like it. If you have a spare 45 minutes, I am sure she would be happy to tell you all about it.

Thank you Robin Roberts, Meridith Vieira, and Ann Curry for all your "How To:" tips that my mother has recorded for just such an occasion. Mother keeps a note pad by the television and take frantic notes for future telephone calls. Part of our weekly updates are the highlights or bullet points from the list appearing on the TV screen. She doesn't always get all the information down on paper or sometimes she forgets to write down the topic so she only has a list of items, so for me, it is more of a test of patients and hope for a glimmer of understanding from the cryptic clues of why she thought I might be interested in black trench coat, back A-line skirt, white button-down top ,etc...what the hell is this about? Oh yes! The "Ten closet must-haves for summer!" Ta Da! God bless you mother. I do appreciate those lists!

Like a good daughter, I am doing all those things you are supposed to do when you suddenly find yourself unemployed and with limited resources. I've set my career goals high in the sense of personal freedom and personal integrity and the task of work I've chosen is fun and passion filled. I've taken positive steps towards my goal and it is working out so far. I have an interview for the Wine Intern position at an awesome wine shop to bump up my knowledge. I've applied for Unemployment and am awaiting a ruling. I've updated my resume and am frequently and regularly checking job options, bulletin boards and alumni job sites. I've contacted friends in the industry and let them know of my situation and that I am looking for employment.

And I've made Brioche dough. I am not sure on which show they say to make Brioche...okay. Maybe no one tells you once you find yourself suddenly unemployed, it is time to make desserts good enough to make Julia Child cry. That is my culinary goal. I want to bring giant, wet crocodile tears to Julia Childs old, sad powder-blue eyes. Unfortunately, Julia Child is dead. Who could ever fill her shoes as to making a master brought to tears over a magnificent dessert? For now, it is going to have to be me. I must channel the spirit of Julia through this dough. I must be moved to tears. I must satisfy my inner-Julia and I must make the most awesome Brioche ever!

Let's go! Please feel free to grab your "Baking With Julia" cookbooks for this segment of our program.

I am using the Brioche recipe in the Baking with Julia" cookbook published way back in the day of 1996 by Dorie Greenspan, who just happens to be one of America's best baking/cookbook author in my opinion. And I would like to clarify that I am in no way trying to rip off any lame Hollywood movie or book like Julia and Julia. If you know me at all, you know that I have been a passionate baker since my first poison Popsicle which I made at age 8. I received a lot of answers about my path in life at the age of 8 years old and baking has always been one of my most favorite forms of expression. Another thing about me is that I don't collect cookbooks or baking books. I am really stingy when it comes to buying cook books because I have been so screwed in my day by books that don't deliver on their glossy photo promises. Many years ago at the Culinary Institute of America, (CIA) I picked up some gems of secretes from the Chef-Instructors and one of my favorite is to NEVER buy a cookbook without first testing a few recipes yourself at home in your setting. In the old days, I would copy a recipe out of a cookbook at the Library and try it at home. Later, Barnes and Nobel became a great resource before the internet made it possible to find many many recipes. . Testing a cookbook before purchasing it has saved me a lot of heartache and money. I highly recommend it.

I've made this basic Brioche dough on pages 42 and 43 now that the dough has rested for 18 hours or more (my notes, not theirs!) it is time to move forward. I am torn about what to do next with this dough and I haven't started a back-up batch yet. It is good to see what stresses me out because I start to worry that I won't have enough dough to do what I want to do! But I have time, so I must start another batch today!

My first Brioche desire is: Pecan Cinnamon Sticky Buns. Holy mother of god.....when I first made this recipe I devoured four of these puppies in one breath. Note: Food Porn photo of these amazing Sticky Buns is in the "Baking With Julia" (BWJ) page 172 and 173. The sweetness of these caramelized pecans made me fall-down and wet my pants, no lie...they were that good. These Sticky Buns inspired me to start the Brunch Club in Brooklyn. The Brunch Club is a weekly gathering of people who are interested in food who want to try these dishes I'm making and talk about food with other foodies. There is a donation that goes towards ingredients and efforts. It's a great way of connecting with others who have the same interests and it is a great way to taste my buns!

Back to the Brioche.

Another thing I do with my cookbooks is I write all over the pages when I am making stuff. Some authors like their desserts much sweeter than my tastes and I usually change quantities after the first try. I take that follow-the-direction approach on the first time making a dish and then alter as see fit. It takes a little courage to write in the pages but the notes are a life-saver. On page 190 of BWJ, the rested Brioche is the canvas for these flaky wonders. I'm feeling adventures today and I'm going to divide this dough and make half the way the instructions say and the other half with a twist. What is CRAZY about this recipe in the baking world is that it is taking a buttery Brioche dough and adding MORE BUTTER! Folding it in in layers like a puff pastry or Danish dough. Who ever thought of this technique was a frikking genius. So let's take a moment to pay homage to the mighty dough gods.

Instead of folding a traditional organic, unsalted butter into the folds of the Brioche dough, I am taking the butter and making a slightly sweet compound with cinnamon and sugar and then folding that into the dough to add slightly sweetened, cinnamon layers in addition to the caramelized pecans to be added later. See, crazy does as crazy sees...and when I sees someone fold butter into Brioche dough, well, it moves me to a new culinary place.

So that is the next step. I am adjusting the recipe and adding the slightly sweeteened cinnamon butter to the dough, folding it like a business letter, rotating the dough one quarter a turn, rolling it carefully out careful to not over-roll on the folded layers, folding it again like a business letter and wraping it in plastic. Now the dough must rest for at least 30 min before doing anything else to it. This is Brioche's secret. You work it a little, you let the dough rest and recover. This is why making a double batch is such a good idea so you can make other items while one batch of dough is resting. Another batch can be doing something else. But not everyone is unemployed like me. It only seems like everyone is unemployed! This is the time when we work the dough a little, let the dough rest a lot.

After the afternoon nap, it is time to fill the dough which means rolling it out again and rolling in more sugar, butter, cinnamon and chopped pecans. I like to roll the dough pretty thin and try to make mini size Sticky Buns so I can eat more of them and think that I'm consuming less. Once they are filled and rolled into a tube, the dough must rest for another 45 minutes. This is why Brioche rolls in most bakeries are $2.75 each! Look at this, we are on day 2, at least 28 hours into operation by now and this dough must rest and it is preferred if the dough is frozen for at least 45 minutes. Then AFTER the dough is frozen and more butter is put into the pans and layered with whole pecans, this dough now must RISE FOR TWO HOURS!!! Do you see how much time these frikking buns take? I mean, maybe I am crazy to make this dough...but the pay off is so sweet. Okay. Moving forward. Honestly, I can only say thank you Unemployment for granting me the ridicules amount of time that it takes to make this flaky, buttery sensation. Thank you, thank you thank you!

So that is where we are. The dough is filled, rolled, rested, rolled again and filled again, rested again and in the freezer waiting for yet another day so they may be cut, proofed and baked so I can finally taste this dough to see if 36 hours of my time has been well spent.

To do: File my Unemployment claim today. Complete stage two of the Brioche (and start a second batch to be ready tomorrow too!) Oh lord, thank goodness I am unemployed so I have enough time to finally do Divine Work! Pray for me people, that my unemployment is awarded to me as I continue to look for a job and make Brioche.

When in doubt, roll, fold, and rest. Roll, fold, and rest. Roll, fold, rest.

So much love,
All the way from over here...
Linda

If it is Wednesday, it must be Brioche

2010-08-18T14:58:00.000-04:00

The doctor said I never looked better. My skin was glowing, I was tanned, rested, blood pressure was slightly below normal (which is where I like it) and I'd lost five pounds in two weeks. I knew a couple of weeks away from work would rejuvenate my soul the new problem I faced was how could I ever go back to that corporate job? In two weeks so many events happened in perfect divine order that there was no way for me to return.

Dr K told me for me to maintain a healthy state of mind, I needed to start taking anti-depressants and anti-anxiety medication in addition to adding psycho therapy to my weekly activities to keep me well and perform at my current job in Corporate America. After much contemplation I decided to take the leap and opt to NOT take the blue pills to keep me "sane" to stay in a mediocre job accepting mediocre pay for the idea that having health insurance is the most important goal in my life. It was an easy decision if I treated it like any other big decision in my life. I took a deep breath and opened my mouth waiting for my heart to speak and it said Hell No! I will Not accept this lifestyle as my own! Where is Linda? Where did she go? Is she ready to jump off this hamster wheel and see what life has to offer her?

Hell Yes!

When Dr. K heard my decision she said that she could not then write me a note releasing me back into the workforce so I must walk my truth now. Here's the part I love the most: My doctor agreed that you must be crazy to take the medication. Crazy is a harsh term still in this day and age, conjuring images of people living in drab prisons over medicated playing checkers or watching daytime television. Today's crazy is roaming the streets buying fruit and talking into their headsets....sometimes without a phone attached.

Yes, I am more of today's kinda crazy to jump into the unknown of how I will support myself. Will it be through following my dreams? Writing, cooking, baking, walking, loving life? I have some big picture ideas for myself and know that no matter what the vision, the first step is the first step.

So here is today's first step. I'd love to be waiting tables at an awesome restaurant with fantastic food, a fun staff in a great area of the city making tons of cash so I can do lots of other stuff. I have a lot going for me to get me into that dream restaurant job so to strengthen my wine knowledge, I've applied to be an intern at a fantastic Brooklyn wine shop! My interview is early next week and I will be working once a week helping out in the store (playing wine shop!) and learning about a ton of wines, vineyards, grapes, storage, bargains and finds! While I study for my interview and review my CIA Alumni job site and Craigslist for a juicy job for me, I have started a batch of Brioche.

I have a lot of time on my hands now and Brioche dough takes a good 30 hours to make. You can rush it to do it in 18 for sure, but the dough is so much better if it takes its good sweet time on that second and third rise. Brioche is the only dough that made me want to have a baby only so I could pick it up and smell it's baby-soft ass and think about the buttery soft Brioche dough just after it's second rise. Oh...how sweet and soft...it is worth every hour of devotion.

Today has been the first 18 hour process of the dough. I am following using my baking bible, the "Baking with Julia" cookbook...and I am recording the Baking with Julia program on my local PBS twice a week to stay inspired! The dessert made from this basic Brioche dough made Julia Child cry. I want to taste what was so damned good that it made Julia Child actually get chocked up and have tears pool into her eyes as she had no words to describe the perfection in her Zablignoe cream topped slightly stewed stone fruit in a magical white sauce (no kidding!) all sitting on a perfectly baked Brioche tart with Creame Fraische custard.

Yes! I will make it!

The yeast has proofed and there was confirmation of a dough forming although it was a little scary for me today. This yeast was SLEEPY!!! It did not want to proof at first, but on a cool, humid morning that is to be expected. I gave it some extra time and slowed the process down a little bit more.

That is the divine secrete of Brioche dough. I think it is a lot like a good man. If it ain't doing what it is supposed to be doing, just give it a little bit more time. If it doesn't come around, get rid of it and start over. But if you are a little patient, and give it some extra time to do whatever it has gotta do, it usually pays off right away.

The second rule of thumb with Brioche is you gotta beat the hell out of that dough. This is when those three hundred dollar mixers come in handy. They have industrial engines for exactly this reason. My only complaint is that you can only make 1-2 times the recipe at a time and then you must let your mixer rest for a good 4 hours or until completely at room temperature. Brioche is a very communicative dough speaking to you through the loud whirl of the mixer. Maybe it is Stockholm Syndrome that makes you immune to the noise...but in the white noise there is a language that emerges through the whine of the motor, an almost slapping whipping whining voice as the birth of a great dough requires a little rough loving.

After the smooth slapping dough is perfected then you add about a half a pound of softened excellent quality butter. The more fancy-pants, the better. Do not skimp on milk-fat content or cost because butter is the star in this operation and the secret ingredient! When the butter is added at this stage of dough development, it is gonna make it look like a White Hot Mess! No Lie! You are going to think you have made the biggest culinary fawk-up of your life and you are already nearly 2 hours into the operation and you haven't even started the second rise yet! Yikes!

Hold tight, Nelly! Do not fear. Refer yourself to above where I mention to beat the hell out of this dough and it will work for you. Treat it like your man. Give it a little space and some faith that it can RISE up to the occasion and all will work out. And if you need to sprinkle a little extra tablespoon of flour on that sucker, then sprinkle away my friend. Sprinkle away.

Because it will return to you and you will put it gently in its buttered bowl and let it rise for a couple of hours. And during that time it is back to job searching and showering getting ready for the day. By lunchtime, the kitchen is clean and the dough has competed its first major rise (or really the 2nd rise) where it is baby bottom smooth and makes me crave more Brioche dough.

After being so rough with our beloved Brioche, he now requires a gentle hand in deflating the poof from the rise, and gentle but firm reshaping and a little kiss on its cheek (through the plastic wrap, of course...no conjugal visits yet!) and into the refrigerator he goes to rest for a full18 hours. I think this part is critical because the first slow, cold rise (which is what is happening to that dough right now in the fridge) is where so much flavor is developed during this process.

Tomorrow I will be making two different treats out of the mixture and starting a second batch so I always have Brioche available. I am so in love with touching this dough!

So much love,
All the way from over here...
Linda

Linda in Cupcake Land Prelude

2010-08-16T09:37:00.000-04:00

Once upon a time, in a place far, far away there lived a peaceful tribe of people on the beautiful island of Manahatta. One day, the chief awoke from a disturbing dream. Buffalo woman came to him performing the sacred spiral dance and he felt the herd run far far away clearing a gigantic path for any who wish to follow. When the dust settled, there were many dead. Those who remain stood in shock. As the sun rose, the Eagle called out to the Red Man, calling him towards the sunrise. To remember that the beginning will come. The destruction will end. The abundance will begin. And as the dream ended, the chief found a feather by his head as a physical reminder to stay connected to Eagle.

Then a few years passed......

Dear Jet Blue....

2010-08-02T02:28:00.000-04:00

Dear JetBlue,

I had a family emergency and had already booked my flight to Seattle for Aug 4th but needed to change my flight at the last minute to a week before the original booking date. I realized that there would be fees and charges and I was not upset when I was charged my added fee because I had to leave, but what I was not prepared for was paying for the extra leg room 3 times.

Lynda Nunez was the ticket agent who was so very helpful when I noticed I was charged a THIRD TIME for extra legroom for my seat (3A) and she did not know so she called customer service for me while I was waiting to check my bags...and let me say right now.... Lynda Nunez (a perfect stranger to me) is a great employee and I'd hire her in a second!

After 10 min on the phone with customer service, she assured me that $120 would be taken off my bill and credited to my debit card since I had been charged the first time $60 for the extra legroom on seat 3A then, when I changed my flight, I paid again for the exact same spot of 3A and $60 for the extra legroom and when I checked in for my flight at the kiosk, I was charged another $60 for my seat on 3A at JFK to check-in. NOTE: I was not allowed to proceed before I was charge A THIRD TIME $60 for the luxury gift of sitting in seat 3A.

How many times is appropriate? I am six feet tall, a woman, and I am accustomed to being paid less tan a man at my job for equal work, but seriously... $180 for 6 inches? For a seat???

I have LOVED Jet Blue! I've loved the coffee, the comfy seats, the awesome flight attendants, the smooth take-offs and landings but this is too much.

Poor Lynda Nunez assured me my $120 would be refunded and back on my debit card before the family emergency was over and as I gaze at my updated bank statement, my belief in Lynda's truth diminished.

But please know, she did a great job and I did not become dissatisfied until now as I see her guarantee was false...to no fault of her own.

Do I sound angry? Sure. I am angry. I'm pissed off that I have to pay 3 times for 6 inches of room.

Will I fly Jetblue again? That is hard to answer.

I just discovered that Alaska Airlines has a direct flight from Newark to Seattle! How exciting! And it costs me the exact same price to get from my home to JFK as it does to Newark, NJ.

Will I check their airfares first and book with them next time?

You tell me.......

Jet Blue, how should I continue our relationship? For the past few years, I've thought we had a good thing going on, but now I see what you can do to me and I don't know if that is what I need in my life.

So, JetBlue. You tell me. What do YOU think I should do? I tell you, Lynda Nunez wants me to fly with you again....but maybe you don't value her service and dedication the same way you don't value me and my loyalty. Maybe I should ask Lynda Nunez if she would prefer being a manager at one of my cafes? She really did her best to make me feel satisfied and when I

I don't know....why should I fly with JetBlue again? Do you have $120 good reasons why I should ?

Thank you,
Linda Silberman
patsycat@yahoo.

Science Twin

2009-10-23T17:28:00.002-04:00

Science Twin is headed to Germany tonight, then off to Finland. There must be some exciting news in the science world that he will discover. Business Twin will be on his own for the week living large in the $3500 a month studio apartment they share in the building above my cupcake shop. The tall, dark and handsome duo moved in a couple of months ago and quickly became staff favorites after we figured out there were two of them and not one manically changing his clothes from street grunge to business attire.

Their adorable nature made it easy for us all to become super-best friends. Last month, while the girls and I were out celebrating the store's success at a champagne brunch, The Twins were at the exact same restaurant as we were in Lower East Side! What a surprise! And they accused us of stalking them! We laughed and accused them of the same thing. They told us their names again for the five hundredth time, but we just called them by their coffee drinks or how they're dressed. So that makes them Science Twin and Business Twin. Business is 1 minute older than Science and he plays the responsible, serious type well. Science Twin is happier by nature.

Business Twin has a bitchy, Upper West Side girlfriend. We saw her at brunch and she scowled at us, jealous of the beautiful girls fawning over her lover. It's okay sweetheart, none of us really want him anyway.

We create nicknames for all the regulars. It helps to not know their names but find out details about their lives slowly and then form random opinions and fantasies. We attract a lot of attractive men, down here on Wall Street. In our tiny cupcake shop the pulsating female energy pours onto the steel, cold high-rises.

More to come......

So much love,
All the way over here....
Linda

The Creative Process

2009-10-12T07:50:00.002-04:00

I love watching interviews and profiles on artists and their process towards creating. It helps me to identify myself as an artist which is something I have struggled with in my adult life. Profiles on artists, musicians, chefs, are all good and my favorite is watching the process of architects, especially Frank Gehry and Frank Lloyd Wright. I don't think that you have to be named Frank to follow your creation in unconventional ways, but I guess it doesn't hurt.

Sydney Pollack made a documentary film for PBS's American Master's Series about his good friend, Frank Gehry and in the film asked him about his creative process. Where did he start when he had a new project? How did he start? Frank said he cleaned his desk, made unnecessary appointments, got a cup of coffee, made some calls, and avoided his desk. He said he suffered from anxiety and worry that he would not be able to top his last work or be able to do it again at all. When in reality, all his work gets better and better, he has that old fear that he won't be able to create again. Even with all his success, he is still afraid that he will not be able to do it again.

Frank also gets inspiration from other artists, paintings and crumpled pieces of paper. Inspiration can come in any form, the secret is remaining open to listen to the crumpled paper, which is obvious when looking at his work. But maybe it is obvious because he speaks the paper's language. Frank has taught himself to quiet his own mind so he is able to listen to the crumpled paper speak to him. He sees and hears his inspiration.

Is my mind open enough and quiet enough to hear the inspiration offered to me?

This weekend I was inspired by some tiny Clementines which I candied with ginger root.

Inspiration is everywhere. The real question is, am I ready to hear it? Is it time to receive?

So much love,
All the way from over here....
Linda

Excuses, excuses

2009-10-06T09:14:00.002-04:00

I don't have a good opening first line to start writing something about, so I'll just start here. Even if it isn't grammatically correct. I promised that I'd write again so here it is.

It was surprising to me to realize that so many of my friends read my blog. It also has helped me face my performance anxiety. That's a good excuse, huh? Hang with me, I got a million of 'em!

I made a promise to my previous housemate that I would not write about him or his children during my duration of living there. Once I was out, my world and writing were my own again. He was going through a messy divorce having been with his wife for 18 years and they had two children together. When I moved in, he said he had 50% custody of the kids, that they'd be there every other weekend, and every Monday night to Wednesday mornings.

It sounded like it could work out and the room I was renting was priced all inclusive for heat, electric, wifi, paper goods, etc... I intended to save a lot of money so we all make sacrifices for our choices.

Several weeks after I moved in was when I discovered that the two kids were a bit off. It was after Simon, a 12 year old boy, sat outside my bedroom door barking like a dog for 45 minutes while the father was downstairs visiting the neighbors. He channeled many animals and liked to sound them out.

Turns out he is developmentally disabled and heavily medicated.

Sarah, a 10 year old girl, took to kicking our shared wall for hours on end. She is Autistic.

Long story short; if I wanted to be in a sexless marriage with two kids I couldn't stand, I'd have gotten married. I reached my breaking point and the universe provided me with a better opportunity.

So...here we are. Me unsure about what to write about and you reading my latest excuse for not writing.

It's like playing the piano or riding a bike...I need to get back into practice.

So much love,
All the way from over here....
Lindae

I heard that!

2009-10-05T09:35:00.003-04:00

Most people don't do things that I do, like hitting the four corners of the continental US in about a week unless they are on some kind of press junket for a new movie or a book tour. My trip was more of a soul retrieval of the most extraordinary kind.

I received many hugs and much love during my journey and there was one loud complaint I heard in Seattle, Long Beach, Ft. Lauderdale, North Carolina and in New York.

No blog updates! What gives?

Here's the story: There were no blog updates because I wasn't writing.

Okay. I hear you. Time to write again.

I am often afraid that I have nothing to say, but that is an old story that has been playing in my head so I've smashed that record and am starting anew.

Thanks for your love, support and kick in the pants.

I have nothing but love for you....
All the way from over here,
Linda

Eternity

2009-09-12T09:26:00.003-04:00

If

each moment

expires

in a second,

how can

anything

last

f
o
r
e
v
e
r

except love?

Dropping like Flies

2009-05-13T11:29:00.004-04:00

Smoking Jew was fired today. He is a good customer always arriving right before 10 AM after the hour and half long train ride from Connecticut. Sometimes his wife (who was fired about 6 months ago) comes with him just to visit friends in the city. She doesn't smoke but tolerates his nicotine addiction. They both were in software sales on Wall Street and love the coffee at the cupcake shop. I have to agree, it's pretty good coffee.

He was pretty pissed off as I poured his last cup. Smoking Jew said he got a lead on a contract job from Deutch Bank , the one next to Trump Tower on Wall Street, but with his wife out for so long and now this, he doesn't know how long he will be able to make it. He has been cutting back on his spending for months...except for his daily cup or two of coffee ($2/per cup).

I gave him a Brownie cupcake, his favorite and told him there would always be a cupcake available for him here at the shop. He gave me a fake enthusiastic toothy grin with his spreading, nicotine stained yellow teeth showing. Too bad he didn't take advantage of his dental plan while he had the chance. I wanted to tell him to stop by his dentist for a cleaning before his next interview, but Smoking Jew knows what he is doing. He's been down this road before. Jobs come and go.

As he put cream and sugar in his drink I told him that we were expanding and hiring aggressively and with his sales background, I am sure he'd be a natural at selling cupcakes. He glared at me under his over-grown black eyebrows shooting me a vibe that said, "You are NOT helping!"

Hey, I never thought I'd be running a cupcakes either, brother.

Smoking Jew went outside with his coffee to smoke his last cigarette in front of my store, careful to not to exhale the toxic gray smoke near the open front door.

Poor guy.

Smoke away sweet little Jew...smoke away.

So much love,
All the way from over here...
Linda

The Green Tortoise Part XVI

2009-04-05T09:07:00.004-04:00

Note to Readers: The last installment of The Green Tortoise was published on September 9th, 2008. When we were last together, the bus has been diagnosed as having a broken level so it tilts at a sharp angle causing people to fall out of bunks and loose items rolling downhill to the driver's side of the bus. We visit Old Faithful at Yellowstone and were denied our campsite due to the Rainbow Gathering in Wyoming which has caused several disturbances and arrests...fucking hippies! So we are headed back to the Grand Tetons National Park to spend another night which is neaerly 5 hours headed West as we try to make our way across the country in 14 days.

Wednesday, July 2nd, 2008:

I am cranky on the ride back to the Grand Tetons. We won't get there until after dark and will still have to set-up camp, build the kitchen, find water, start fires etc...so dinner won't be until 8:30 or so and I'm hungry and pissed off that we are not spending more time in Yellowstone. There is much discussion on the bus about the lack of alcohol and the party kids start pestering Driver Dave to stop off at a liquor store somewhere, but we are on National Park land and there are no ABC Drive Thru liquor stores here and many do not drink beer (which is what they do sell at the camp store.) An agreement is met and we will drive further south to Jackson Hole to stop at a liquor store inside a resort so the party can get started.

It will be another cold night tonight and sleeping outside will be required by many since half the berths are uninhabitabal. At the resort I find a coffee shop and order a club sandwich and fries to go and wolf it down with a Coke. You burn a lot more calories while at high altitude and it not only makes you sleepy, it makes you hungry too. When we make it back to camp the sun was setting and it was nearly 7:30. I rally some energy and stuff my dirty laundry and towel in a bundle and hike a mile and a half to the camp showers and laundry. Hot water feels good and my skin is warm as I slip on thermal underware fresh from the dryer.

Camp is set and dinner cleaned up by the time I returned and I found there was space on the lower side of the bus available for sleeping so I bundled up for another of temperatures in the low 30's F. (1 to 2 Celsius) and my mind races with complaints fading in and out as I fall into a deep sleep.

The camp woke-up drunk. Despite the bear warning signs everywhere, empty whisky bottles litter the fire pit. I am one of the first to wake and start hot water for coffee. The plan today is to get out of camp as early as possible so we can drive all the way through Yellowstone and Wyoming so we can get to Chico Montana hot springs. That means, all excursions in Yellowstone have been canceled and we have to boogie to get to Montana by the 4th of July so we can get the parts to fix the bus and the air conditioner.

This is what "Flexible Itinerary" means in Green Tortoise speak.

Driver Dave puts a positive spin on our itinary change saying that in all the years that he's been driver on the Green Tortoise, he's never been to a Rodeo before and there's one happening in Brodus MT, our next stop. Yippee.

The early risers finish breakfast wake the partiers who decline food choosing only coffee or tea. They reak and there is no time for the long trek to the showers. We have a tight schedule today and our goal is to hit the hot springs tonight. We pack a lunch after breakfast, tear down camp and hit the road.

Driver Dave hits the bunk to sleep a few hours so the drunk ones head to the back of the bus to sleep it off as we drive the exact same drive we did the day before. It is still spectacular despite the Weird Al Yankovich CD playing. The Germans think it is hysterical. And I thought only the French had terrible taste in humor!

Six hours later we approach the Mamoth Hot Springs area and Driver Dave emerges to instruct Casie to drop us off to get a hike in and to meet down another canyon. I pay attention to the pick-up point as they drive us to the drop-off a couple miles up a mountain. I decide on the ride up that I am not going to hike down. Instead I will ride back to the pick-up spot and spend some much needed time at the little shops and resort. Hopefully they have internet and cell phone reception. I think there is a town close by so I am pryaing for human contact with loved ones.

There is a god and I am able to find cell phone reception and a charger all at the same time so I call Karen to check-in. Time I steal for myself feels like gold. There is great ice cream here and all is well for the entire time I am alone sitting in the sun. I fill out postcards in different charactors, my favorite being a confederate soldier wandering in the cold foothills of Virginia that read,

"My Dearest Beloved, Another cold night in the hills but my heart is warm thinking of you. Days of walking are soon to pay off. General Lee says it won't be much longer before we take Pennsylvania and are back home with pig in our bellies. That would be good too since I have grown weary from the hot mush. A cold, lonly wind crosses our camp and I miss thee."

I look up from my writing as the "Adventure Bus" passes and I notice their bus isn't leaning hard to the left as it slowly maneuvers the sharp turns through Mamote Village. My two hours of solitude are nearly over and I am back on the bus for another 4 hours to Chico Hot Springs.

It costs $3.50 to go into the hot springs at the Chico Hot Springs Resort and Hotel and I wish I were checking-in. The hot springs are piped into a large swiming pool which is body temperature. There is a smaller very hot mineral pool that I try but can only stay in for a minute or two, it is so hot. Not all the passengers enjoy the hot pool. Others decide to eat at the resaurants or have drinks in the bar. I swim, take a shower and check my email and look for train tickets from Chicago to NYC. I try to make a reservation but cannot because I don't know when we will be in Chicago. At this rate, we may be several days late...and who knows if the parts have arrived or if there is a mechanic willing to work on Independence Day to install parts and fix the air conditioning.

We board the bus again and drive in the dark to Brodus Montana arriving late, we unpack and set-up camp in the dark.

So much love,
All the way from over here...
Linda

Trouble at the Fishing Hole

2009-03-26T17:16:00.000-04:00

YouTube - Lucky's Funeral

Sometimes it takes a tragedy to inspire creation.

I have returned from my time away fishing to the sad news that Lucky the fish has died. He was a close relative to several of the fish in the fish pond here on the Linda Land blog. Since the fish were unable to attend the funeral, I have posted it here for their viewing convenience to pay their last respects to a beloved family member.

Linda Land would like to send condolences and warm thoughts to all those who grieve today, not only for the fishes but to all those who are missing loved ones.

So much love,
All the way from over here...
Linda

Facebooked

2009-02-10T08:06:00.002-05:00

I have joined facebook and it is an interesting life experience. There are so many people that I've lost touch with in Seattle and within a few minutes I am back in touch with them. I like that a lot. Also, the instant reconnection with those from my high school has been a joyful surprise.

Leaving Harrisburg PA was a good thing for me. I left a year after high school and did not return until I was nearly 40. That was also a really good thing for me! Harrisburg holds a lot of painful memories but over the years I've healed and seeing old friends from school has been great. If you told me in while I was in school that one of the biggest jocks in my class would grow up to be a clown...a white-faced, rainbow-wigged clown, I would have said IMPOSSIBLE!

But life is full of servings of impossible pie.

Facebook can be a bit addictive...checking to see who is checking you out and what they are writing. It is fun! Like being at a virtual party! But like any party, there are always those people who you might not want to see or those who don't want to see you! There is a quiet humilation about Facebook that happens when you ask someone to be your friend and they ignore you. Just like a party! Good times!

What has been good about has been feeling connected. I have many soul-sisters on this planet and we are all reconnected again....well, most of us.

As I reconnect with the world, I am transported back to emotions I've felt in the past and now is a good time to heal those old wounds and to reexamine past predijuices. In high school I had so many hang-ups and insecurities...some which last until very recently! So it is good to look at them and move on!

On another note, I've added a good friend of mine's blog on here. He's just been diagnosed with leukemia and is in treatment and has a good prognosis. If you have a second to stop by his blog and give him some good vibes.

So much love,
All the way from over here...
Linda

Ice Cube

2009-02-04T10:55:00.002-05:00

I've been house sitting on Park Slope, which is like the yuppie neighborhood of Brooklyn. My girlfriend has dashed off to the Caribbean with her devistatingly handsome boyfriend for a week of romping in warm tropical blue waters. I have the pleasure of sleeping with her three lovely kitties. Warm kittens are a treat.

Since moving to New York, I've been renting a room in a duplex with several other people. It's been a good experience for me to live strangers but there is a tiny kitchen and I don't feel comfortable cooking there, so house sitting fills that void.

What I notice that I've missed making the most is ice. I love ice. I love to make ice in different shapes or to buy party ice making every cold beverage a celebration. So even though it is freezing outside, I've been lamenting the joys of making ice.

Where I live, we have a tiny refrigerator especially for 5 people. I get a shelf and a little corner of the freezer for my food and generally it's enough to keep my full and fresh.

But now I want my own place again. One with a big freezer for my massive ice collection.

Dreams can happen...I belive...I belive in ice.

So much love,
All the way from over here...
Linda

New York Observations

2009-01-27T08:05:00.002-05:00

New York is the only city in the world where people put their coffee in bags. New Yorkers are not led by the hand with their hot coffees, they hide the hot beverages in plain brown paper bags until they are at their destination where they can give their full attention to their coffee or tea.

When a native New Yorker is ordering 2 or more cups of coffee and you offer them a carrying tray, they look at you like you are crazy and request a bag. To me, a bag is a poor choice for hot beverages. Coffee leaks out of the top of the cup and gets the bag wet and it tears and rips, but to the experienced New Yorker, it doesn't happen.

One of my favorite Katherine Hepburn and Spencer Tracy movies is "Desk Set". Kate is the head of a TV Network Research Department and Spencer is an efficiency specialist who plans on replacing the department with a super computer. IBM plays a big role in the movie too and it shows the start of the computer revolution. As Kate and Spencer get to know each other, they have a rooftop lunch meeting of bologna sandwiches and black coffee. They pull the coffee out of brown paper bags.

That is SO New York!

If you haven't watched this film from 1957, I really recommend it. I love to see how working women of these days were referred to as "girls". They have a holiday party at work and each gal has their own bottle of Champagne not to mention the Scotch bottles everywhere! It is good fun!

As a winter storm approaches, I cling to my hot coffee the old fashioned way, in my hand. The heat helps to keep me warm.

Pray for snow!

So much love,
All the way from over here...

Linda

Oh golly...

2009-01-26T11:22:00.002-05:00

It has been cold and without snow in New York. I feel ripped off! What is the point of having cold weather if not to prepare for snow? Snow makes cold better!

I love the snow.

Dear Mighty Jesus,

Hey there! How you doing? Have you recovered from your rocking birthday party? I heard Dick Clark was a LAUGHING RIOT at your birthday jam. That impersonation of Carol Channing will live on FOREVER!

But seriously J, the cold weather here in New York is fine and I'm nearly recovered from that ice skating incident last month...so how about giving a girl a break and bring on some serious SNOW! I want to walk through Central Park in the snow!

Okay, I won't beg. Thanks for all your hard work and all that jazz.
Your pal,
Linda

Let's see if that works.
So much love,
All the way from over here...
Linda

Puppet Company Seeks Magician

2009-01-24T18:26:00.002-05:00

Now there is a job ad that catches your eye. It is good to know that in this failing economy that there are still good jobs available for the experienced magician. Actually, there were 6 ads for magicians today on Craigslist.org. But they were not all posted today.

I wonder how many unemployed magicians there are in New York City. And with each magician there is also an assistant so whatever the number is it must be doubled. I'm not adding New Jersey because then the number would be astronomical. For some reason I think there are a lot of magicians in Jersey...probably cheaper to get doves and rabbits there plus there are some great scarf outlet stores off the turnpike too.

That's all I'm wondering about today...surfing the internet looking for fun in all the fun places.

So much love,
All the way from over here,
Linda

Been Too Long

2009-01-21T11:37:00.001-05:00

Oh, the drama of Cupcake Land...

My assistant manager went missing for 5 days. Her big sister is my boss. The little sister went on a drinking binge and was hit by a car at 3 in the morning. She had no identification and her sister found her in the hospital after calling the local jails in search for her. The big sister is in denial that the little sister has any problems. The little sister is in denial that she is an alcoholic.

And me?

I'm here trying to sell the stinking cupcakes.

Can I get a witness?

So much love,

All the way from over here...

Linda

Christmas Day

2008-12-25T08:13:00.004-05:00

Another Christmas has come and I am up to my usual celebratory ways: sleeping in late, eating yummy food, watching movies and visiting with loved ones. That is the way I celebrate, oh and there will be champagne later...which is a great tradition too.

Last night, I took myself to the Plaza Hotel after watching thousands of frantic shoppers running up and down 5th Ave looking for the right gift to buy family and friends. So many people run at this frantic-fast pace and I feel like a boulder in the river that they rush past while my life and pace is slow. I used to be one of those people running here and there and I think I was seeking perfection. What I discovered is that it doesn't exist. There is no need to live at that pace. That is not the way of this world. At least, it helps no one to live at that pace...especially me.

In the cupcake shop yesterday, people were sometimes jolly, but most were irate that we sold out of product. Pity really. I had one woman screaming at me on the phone, using the "F" word because she didn't place a special order and I did not have her Red Velvet cupcakes. That is the spirit of Christmas? I tried to offer her other suggestions, even a Red Velvet cake, but this information seemed to fuel her hostility. It is the getting trapped in the one vision and not allowing what is presented to choose and shift directions. I mean, she told me she was going to a party and wanted the cupcakes but a cake (which cost less than the dozen of cupcakes she wanted) looked more holidayish and could be enjoyed by more people and yet it did not fit into her vision, so she became upset. That seems foolish to me. Instead of choosing the cake, she hung up on me. Another customer over-heard my end of the discussion and he bought the cake with a smile. People, really....let's pull it together!

Working in retail is only for the very strong or those with very bad karma. I haven't decided which one applies to me. Sometimes I think I must have been very, very bad in a past lifetime because I keep putting myself into this retail world. Or maybe I am strong. Who knows.

The Christians are not the only ones who are full of bad behavior. I had a Jewish woman call and yell at me because of the price of our Chanukah donuts and delivery cost. Three times she called to let me know how upset she was; she wanted to fight. Luckily I learned a lot of excellent listening skills at the Boca Raton Whole Foods Market and I was able to defuse the situation. I said, "Mrs. Cohen, if you keep calling me just to fight, I am more than happy to accommodate you. However, if you would like me to move forward and place your special order before the bakery closes I suggest you let me get back to my business. Let me remind you, you are under no obligation to purchase our products and if you are dissatisfied, I suggest you find another doughnut retailer for your Chanukah needs." This put her in her place and settled her right down.

There are seven nights and days of doughnuts for the Chanukah customers. Oh goodie.

I earned my twenty dollar dirty martini at the Plaza Hotel last night. And it tasted damned good too. After my drink, the sun had set and Christmas lights were in full glory. Shops closed and the exhausted retail staff finished up as they readied themselves to go on their merry way.

I strolled down 5th Avenue, now less crowded, looking at all the windows and I must say, the windows at Bergdorf Goodman were the most spectacular. The theme was the seasons but all decorated in winter white and all that sparkled and glittered. It is breathtakingly beautiful and if you have a chance to check it out, do it. You won't regret it.

Enjoy your holiday today and let's try to remember to be kinder to one another. This is the very least we can do.

Ho ho ho and all that jazz
And so much love,
All the way from over here...
Linda

Laid-up

2008-12-16T11:27:00.003-05:00

I'm so lucky. No broken bones. Must be all the yogurt I eat or green vegetables. No matter what the cause, I feel like there are some powerful forces looking out for me.

The gray rainy New York skies remind me of Seattle as I convalesce with movies and tasty snacks. But with so much time on my hands and mediocre movies from the library, I am led to thoughts of my life, particularly the question of what am I doing? I have this quality about myself to push and push life uphill and for what? What is the reason why? I say I want to write, yet I don't write. I say I want to get out of the cupcake world and yet I stay.

My words and thoughts do not match my actions.

Grey skies are melancholy and I wonder if I will ever get my act together...but who has their act together? Everyone has something they are dealing with. And I do not feel like I am exceptional with my load. I guess I would like some kind of break. Like a blessing from above, to come into my life....some sort of good fortune dropped into my lap.

And what if I have that right now? What if this little, boring, uninteresting cupcake job is a stroke of good fortune? I mean, I can eat all the overly sweet cupcakes I want. Isn't that a good thing? No. Life is short and you should eat dessert first, but dessert should be something tasty that you love and I do not love these cupcakes.

Each deep breath I take reminds me of my good luck that my ribs are merely seriously bruised and not broken. Perhaps this is god's good grace. This is the gift and the pain a reminder of luck and all that I do have. And how I wished I had health insurance and paid time off to cover my medical bills and recovery time. But that's not how America works. What a sad state we live in here in the USA.

And yet there is much to be grateful this year, and not that it is just coming to an end. There were a lot of scares this past year, too much time spent in hospitals, many prayers answered and a lot of personal risks taken.

Who knows what the next year will bring. This last one has been exciting and unpredictable. Let's hope there is grace, kindness, love and abundant sunshine in our next forecast.

So much love,
All the way from over here....
Linda

Ice Skating Under The Full Moon

2008-12-14T13:14:00.002-05:00

Last night it happened. The moon was at its fullest and positioned the closest it would be to earth for the next year. It was a perfect cold winter's night, a mere 28 degrees Fahrenheit (that's -2.22222 Celsius for my Italian scientist readers) and it was the night I would break in my new ice skates at Bryant Park.

I bundled myself up in many, many layers to protect from the blowing wind. Undershirt, thermal turtle neck sweater, a cotton turtle neck sweater over the thermal, a layer of fleece on my upper body and below I layered two pairs of long johns (one cotton, the other polyester) heavy denim jeans, one pair of wool socks and thick cotton socks over them followed by the usual scarf, hat, gloves, and leather jacket. I decided against my long winter coat because I wanted freedom of movement on the ice and I have yet to purchase a winter waist coat.

My skates arrived in the mail the day before and I was like a kid at Christmas unwrapping the package to reveal the brand new, never worn leather ice skates that were from some old ice rink. They fit perfectly. I felt conflicted about my decision to spray paint them silver. The skates were nude with a black stripe down the back and since they were vintage, they were super cool looking. They even had the size in white on the heel of the boot, but that went away with a few strokes of my black sharpie.

Keep them nude, I decided as I packed my bag and headed to the G Train to take me to the 7 and Bryant Park. The sun set as I arrived at the winter wonderland. Christmas lights, holiday music, specialty shops and hot cocoa fill the block and a half park behind the NYC Public Library. It is a magical experience.

The line to enter the ice rink snakes around specialty kiosks and word spreads down the line that we should be inside in less than two hours! I had forgotten that there might be a wait but had nothing else planned and the time passed quickly. Ahead of me was a family of four from Pittsburgh who make the pilgrimage every year to go holiday shopping in the city. As we were in line, they called all their friends back home and retold the days events of shopping at Macy's, the over-priced lunch they had and now waiting for two hours to go ice skating at Bryant Park.

I tuned them out and visualized the skating lessons I'd watched on YouTube earlier in the day. It had been over ten years since I was on the ice and I thought a few pointers would be a good idea. Like a professional basketball player shooting hoops in his mind, I visualized myself easily skating around the rink, taking quick-quick steps, keeping my feet togethere, doing the cross-over steps around the bend and working towards the center to practice backwards skating.

Time flew by and by six PM I entered the rink. The place was packed with mostly teenagers and preteens unsupervised by parents. I'd forgotten that might be the case since the ice rink was free of charge...the only one in the city that was free. Never mind the kids, my first task was to get my skates sharpened since they were dull and had never been used before. Check. Done. Next, get a locker to stash stuff. Done. Time to hit the ice.

By six fifteen I was on the ice, wobbling as I remembered how to stand. I stayed close to the edge until an inner voice said to me, "Linda, you know how to skate, so go skate already!" And I did so. No sooner had I made it around the rink once did an announcement come on instructing all the skaters to leave the ice for cleaning.

We all skate off the ice and I marveled as the Zamboni performed its circular dance twice aroundd the ice. Piles of ice shavings melted away making a smooth surface which instantly refroze from the dark, cold night.

Fifteen minutes later and I'm one of the first back on the ice. As the others piled on, I enjoyed the fresh ice to practice skating backwards and was in heaven. The children filled the ice rink and more and more people piled on the ice making it a sea of black coats and hats. Most of the skaters were inexperienced and grabbed on to anyone one near them to prevent them from falling which caused both people to go down.

One young woman did just that as she skated in the wrong direction head onto to me. I caught her and we embraced like old lovers. She apologized and I told her we were lucky! She agreed and skated on her way.

More and more people entered the ice and it became harder to skate because I was too worried about the other skaters and what they were doing. I skated a few more times around and decided that maybe I should take a break for a couple of hours and come back once the kids cleared out. I over heard several groups of kids that said they had to leave at seven. Plus the mood hadn't risen yet. I wanted to skate under the moon!

My last time around the rink I thought to myself how great it was that I was skating and hadn't fallen. Good for me! Just then, a kid wizzed by pushing me and I fell face down, flat on my face. The wind was knocked out of me and I heard a clear snap as I landed on the ice. People gathered around me asking if I was okay but I didn't realize they were talking to me. I was in another place...a place of red pain that filled my body.

The skating guards cleared the crowd and helped me up speaking to me like a child saying, "Your alright. You're a big girl. It will be okay." I asked for help getting up and they escourted me off the ice. Maybe I just had the wind knocked out of me. If I sat down for a bit I was sure I'd feel better.

Each breath in was a sharp pain and I quickly realized that I'd either broken a rib or at the very least bruised had bruised my ribs. Slowly I pulled myself together to gather my things and start the trek home to examine my injuries.

It was six fifty PM. I got in nearly a half-hour of skating! Clutching my side, struggling to hold my skates, the security guard told me there was no reentry once I left the rink due to the huge crowd, but if I skated during the weekdays I could return after exiting. I clutched my side all the way home and watched the moon rise above my house as I got home. It was a beautiful moon, full and bright on the clear, cold night.

I'm hoping my cracked rib will be healed before the last day of skating on Januarye 25th, 2009. WebMD says it takes about six weeks for a cracked rib to heal and if I keep a low profile, rest, take my deep breaths and follow the doctor's orders, I should be back on the ice before the last skating session.

So much love,
All the way from over here...
Linda

Gigerbread House

2008-12-14T13:13:00.000-05:00

I wrote and posted this piece a year ago on the Patsycat Cafe, my old blog, which I took down. But someone found it and commented that it should be read by others. So since I am laid up again from my ice skating injury, I decided to post it again.

So much love,
All the way from over here....
Linda

GINGERBREAD HOUSE

I'm still out sick from work. I took in my Kitchen Aid mixer into work because they are making gingerbread houses today for our big event tomorrow and I haven’t been able to buy one yet for the store.

What’s the event?

Build and decorate your own gingerbread house with all natural and organic edible candies and treats.

Very cool…bring the kids, spend an afternoon and have some hot coco or mulled cider, snack on the candies while you are decorating…good old-fashioned clean fun for the whole family and all for one low, low price!

Life works in such funny ways…you see, this awesome event failed to make it onto the calendar and I talked about it in the store meeting and so team members have been talking it up and I’m out sick for a week so the team is going to have to pull together to put this event together.

So I took my mixer in so they could make the gingerbread. I created the house templates and gave some direction and then quickly realized that I really feel much better when I’m at home. I mean, I feel so much better than yesterday but I’m not ready to be working again.

But one thing I did notice is that I have been really lonely. I didn’t think so because I’ve been on the phone a lot, but I’m missing human contact…face to face conversations. And being with other people is so critical for me or else it leads to loneliness which leads to depression which is not a place I’m going…but I did notice what was missing. This is progress. I can be rather self-unaware at times.

I mean I’ve been in my house sick since last Sunday. Today is Friday. Thank god I’ve been taking baths because without other people around, I can start to smell pretty bad. And in my past it would have happened as “missing time”….

Here’s the good news: Yes, I’ve been sick but this is the first time I’ve let people know how sick I am and I have accepted help from my neighbors like plates of food and visits. This time I haven’t awakened not known what day it is because it’s been a couple days that I’d been sleeping in and out of illness. When you’re home sick alone it can do a number on your mind…especially if you are prone to think about the future in any way….you know….find the spinster lady in her house with the cats….but they find her because of the smell?

I know, crazy…and my point is that I didn’t go there! This is good news! I am recognizing how dependent I am on other people….this has been a big issue for me because I am so goddamned independent! I can hear all my past boyfriends shouting out with glee, “FINALLY! SHE GETS IT!!” I think I’ve been a bad girlfriend.

Please accept my apology gentlemen. I am sorry. I know I’ll do better this time. I promises.

You know, there’s a lot I don’t understand about men but my teachers come in all forms. For example, Nick at work has really taught me a lot about men. I’ve told him so too. He told me really early in our working relationship that he needs to be needed. I didn’t understand because I hated that the team members needed me for so much stupid shit! I thought being needed is good, yeah, sure, but to what point? How much “being needed” is good for a person?

That being my perspective, I didn’t quite understand his need to be needed but I put the information away somewhere in my brain and some time later I noticed that our relationship changed. When we first started working together, we were close but I noticed us drifting apart. I found some of the things he did irritating and I didn’t understand his behavior at work….and then I got really involved in a new project which excited my soul and I drifted further and further away from my regular duties and into my new life.

I started missing Nick and when we were connected and I remembered his need so I started to look for ways he could help me. I asked first for a little favor and his spirit light right up. It was then that I saw how he responded when he was needed. It is as if being of service to another is the greatest gift he could give someone.

I started asking for more and more help and we became closer than we had ever been. Our friendship grew to such a level of trust that I knew that if I needed something, away from work….like if my car broke down, I could call him. That’s such a great feeling! Not only did we become great friends and coworkers, I got a hell of a lot more shit done because he wanted to do it and the sense of security has been very freeing. Bingo. Surprise. Stability can be freeing. That’s the real lesson I am learning today.

So what am I doing today during my final convalescing time besides reflecting on men (naturally…they are so intriguing…) and snacking, napping, resting, listening to music…and…wishing I could go for a swim?

I am making a gingerbread house.

But I’m not decorating it with candy.

I’ve got another idea….

I got a lot of drugs I’m not on any more…you know…pharmaceuticals… good shit too, baby. I can’t sell them on the street and it seems like a waste to flush them down the toilet and they have so many pretty colors and shapes...

I got a hot glue gun but I'm gonna use royal icing in case of emergency. You can't take a pill with the hot glue, but just in case I decide I need to go back on Lexapro, I can still take it.

I got a lot of time on my hands.

This is gonna be one hell of a holiday season! Feeling stressed out? Stop by my place and help yourself to my gingerbread house. The little yellow ones are Valium! Pudgy white ones are Xanax (or vitamin "Z" as I like to call it.)Help yourself! Anyone out there who has some high blood pressure, please help yourself. Feeling really anxious? Have a Clonzapam! I got 'em all, baby!

I love entertaining.

Brrrrr.....snow's a coming!

2008-12-03T19:36:00.002-05:00

It is winter in New York. Christmas lights are up and the temperatures are a dropping! We're supposed to have snow on Sunday. Let's hope that we do! I love snow! And what I love just about as much as snow is ice skating!

NYC is known for skating in Central Park or at Rockefeller Center, but there are lots of other places to skate too that cost next to nothing ($4 for all day) to free (Bryant Park!) So my latest mission is to buy my own skates and hit the ice.

Now, I'm no Tanya Harding, but I used to be able to hold my own, back in the day skating around the pond in our old neighborhood. I loved winter when all the ponds froze. The neighborhood kids would discuss if we thought the ice was solid enough to skate on and then somebody would have to test the ice for thickness. To test ice, you need a brave, skinny kid and from there you add more kids and weight.

Everyone was silent when the reluctant tester took their first steps onto the ice, listening to hear if there is a slow creaking of the ice or a fast, hard cracking sound. The ice tester stops to listen if the ice is giving a little to the weight or if it is breaking. If it's breaking and your fast, you can make it back to shore without falling in, but if you slip? You are screwed! But when you're 14 years old, you take those kinds of risks.

And if it had been snowing, then we'd have to shovel all the snow off the pond before skating and you gotta do a good job too to not leave any holes or dents in the ice or else you'll fall or trip over them with your skates. And watch out for tree branches that have froze into the ice too, they can mess you up! There's no Zamboni here!

Skating under the moonlight was one of my most favorite memories as a kid. The silence of the night, crispness of the air and warming up rewards of building a fire and making hot cocoa is what I remember most fondly about winter in Pennsylvania. I am so excited for my first winter in New York. I'm probably the only person in the city who feels that way, too!

I've ordered my long johns, and I've got a big warm coat, but I think I'll need to find something less blanket-like to be on the ice, but if I layer up good under the jeans, I might be fine in my latest leather biker jacket (with the symbol of the Illuminati painted on the back!)

So if I'm not writing, look for me on the ice. If all goes well, I may be skating by Sunday! Look out Tanya!

So much love,
All the way from over here....
Linda

Release Forms

2008-11-30T09:36:00.002-05:00

I just received release forms for my poem "Beloved" which will be published in a poetry anthology early next year. I'd forgotten about my contribution and thought the project was either lost or it was forgotten; something to not get off the ground. So I will begin 2009 with publication.

Yippe!

It is a rainy Sunday morning in Brooklyn and I have the house all to myself for the first time since I moved in. I've had the pleasure of sitting on the couch (which I don't usually get to do) and free-range of the kitchen.

I think I'll spend the day looking for a new place to live. These sorts of things shouldn't be something that one is allowed to do every so often, but rather every day. I especially miss cooking.

Off to Craigslist!

So much love,
All the way from over here....
Linda

New Hope

2008-11-25T19:10:00.003-05:00

Much of my life in New York has been centered around waking up early to get ready to serve the cupcakes. I am hoping to change the focus back to writing soon. I've moved to a less busy shop, at my request, so I can have more time for writing, walking, talking on the phone and general socializing. I believe this is happening which makes me feel much brighter.

So it is my promise that I will work on updating and writing more frequently. I apologize for my sporadic posts, but it has been a rocky transition for me in this cupcake world and if I can just get a sense of balance going, all will be well.

In the meantime, I will continue to take notes and fantasize about my new rock opera, Cupcake Hell and continue to compose the Butter Cream Blues in my head until I find a piano and a great bass player. I'm feeling the music in me wanting to come out!

But I will write more and soon too.

Thanks for your patience and understanding.

So much love,
All the way from over here....
Linda

Not time yet

2008-11-16T07:52:00.004-05:00

As I adjust to the crazy world of cupcakes and this lifestyle of very early wake-up calls and Madison Ave...my writing has been sparse. What I am writing is not upbeat but rather pensive and ponderous.

The time I find for writing is in the very early morning while waiting for the subway train. I eavesdrop on the Metro Transit Authority (MTA) workers and am intrigued by their lives down in the hole. That's what they call it, "Another day in the hole." Overnight construction crews finish up at 5 AM. I take the 5:01 train, so my ride is scattered with workers, tired from a long night of walking the rails repairing damaged lines, staying on their guard to not touch the live 3rd rail which will send 13,000 volts of electricity though the body for instant death.

It is another world at this hour of the morning and I feel privileged to witness it. The dichotomy of the ride to work from my poor, mostly African-American neighborhood to the heart of Madison avenue is startling. When I arrive at work the phone rings off the hook from frantic executive assistants panicked to get their emergency same-day delivery of cupcakes to Versce, Jimmy Choo, JP Morgan, Deutsche Bank, Cartier, Tiffany's and every NBC executive at 30 Rockefeller Plaza. The executive assistants think nothing about the same-day-delivery charge of $18 before the cost of the cupcakes. What matters is getting them their cupcakes before the time of the presentation or big meeting.

The sense of urgency is unreal and it is all just like the cupcakes...unhealthy.

I've asked to be transferred to another location and that will start in a week.

They're putting me at the Wall Street store. I'm sure there's no tension downtown in the financial district.

So much love,
All the way from over here...
Linda

Cupcake Conversations

2008-10-14T17:20:00.003-04:00

I've been spending my time opening up a new cupcake store in Union Square, New York City and have been pretty focused on that and not writing. Next week I am opening up the flagship store on Madison Ave and 53rd street, right across from Cartier. Fancy Pants location for sure! A girlfriend asked me asking where the hell I'd been lately all I could say was, "Up to my elbows in cupcakes!" Literally.

In the failing economy, people take comfort in food and alcohol so business is booming. The flow of business is much like a stream that ebbs and flows busy for a little bit and then slow for a bit which makes for easy preparation for the next busy time. During this quiet time there is plenty to do such as restocking cupcakes, brewing coffee, or taking a break to taste the latest cupcake specials. It is during these times that the inevitable calorie discussion begin.

"How many calories you think this one's got?" 20 year old Mike from the Bronx asks in his thick accent. Gold chains layered around his neck dangling above the Red Velvet treat and his frayed skull-n-crossbones baseball cap is studded with rhinestones. I pray the subway dirt doesn't fall into the cupcakes

"Oh, that one's an easy 1250." Kate replies. She's a button-downed, clean-cut preppy-type girl in her late teens and training to open the new Stanford, CT. store next week.

"1250 NOTHING!" Mike says. "Girl, you off! That baby's gotta be 2K!" Mike is confident of his cupcake calorie guess and is passionate about winning any discussion.

Why are these kids discussing a calorie count of a cupcake?

On July 1st in New York City, a new law went into effect requiring all foods service establishments with 15 outlets or more that serve standardized portions (i.e.: McDonald's, Starbucks, Wendy's etc...) must provide the consumer with the caloric content of each item, in the same sized typeset as the menu items for the consumer so they can make an educated choice and perhaps a healthier selection. This law was passed on the coat-tails of the zero trans-fats allowed law which people are still upset about. God bless the people who can't live without Crisco for a day!

The company I am working for is small (8 stores today) and rapidly expanding in New York City, Connecticut, New Jersey, and soon Atlanta, Chicago, Dallas, Seattle and pretty much anywhere there is a hungry cupcake consumer. With continued expansion in NYC, the caloric count will be mandatory because the law is based on total number of outlets not just the outlets in the city. So they will be required to post on each sign the name of the cupcake and the caloric count.

These cupcakes are the size of a big man's fist! One bite into it and my teeth start to hurt from the intense sugar-shock! And it is fascinating to watch people shove them into their pie-hole without a second thought and then quickly order a second or third.

So the stand-around conversations are kind of like the "What time do you think it is?" game. That is a game where no one is allowed a watch or clock and you try to guess the exact time (using Price is Right rules of course...whoever guess is closest to the actual time without going over wins!) But in the "Guess the Time" game you have a chance of verifying answer. The time game strategy is all about mind-fucking your opponent by trying to out-psyche their guess. I am brilliant at this part of the game and Karen can attest to that. There have been many times when she's been right on the money but my questioning of her final answer and planting seeds of doubt are masterful. No one can deny that I love a good game and am quite competitive. Let's just call that a Leo thing.

The caloric count game is pure speculation. My original guesses began at 1500 calories a cupcake. I settled on this number after looking at the calorie counts of muffins for sale at Starbucks which are much smaller than the products we sell and average 400-600 calories each. Yikes! A breakfast treat with NO protein or any sustainable energy for 600 calories? NO THANK YOU! Before moving to New York, I regularly spoiled myself with a slice of Starbuck's lemon pound cake as a treat until I discovered that it too was close to 700 calories...and not all that satisfying. It was easy to release this habit.

NOTE: I do like this law because they have to list the calories on all the beverages that Starbucks sells too, which I think is a very good idea.

So now I am moving my cupcake guess closer to 2000 calories. The frosting is packed with sugar, butter and cream cheese not to mention the cake ingredients. Oh golly! I can hardly wait until the numbers are released.

But until that day, I say go ahead...have your cupcake and eat it too. The bliss in ignorance is Utopian. All will be revealed soon enough.

So much love,
All the way from the diabetes clinic,
Linda

Things I love

2008-10-08T10:14:00.003-04:00

I love sunny days in Autumn witnessing the emerald leaves transform to ruby reds and shimmering gold. I love the first deep breath once stepping into the chilly outdoors before embarking on a long walk across the Brooklyn Bridge. And the awe inspiring views of bustling city-life happening all around, feeling connected to strangers, doing their best to live another busy day on planet earth.

So much love,
All the way from....

over here
Linda

Cupcake Confidential

2008-09-28T09:35:00.006-04:00

It was not the early morning hour that she minded the most. She always awoke a few moments before the 4:30 alarm and quickly shut the clock off so not to disturb the light sleepers in the other bedroom. Pre-dawn was one of her most favorite times of the day. It was the hour that god listened to insomniacs prayers and if listening carefully, when answers given. There was a special silence that to the unaccustomed could cause terror. But this was what she loved. The quiet. Peace and quiet.

No, it was not the early hour she minded. She made peace with the hour before accepting the position at the cupcake shop. That was part of the job; part of the cupcake world she entered. Another world was awake at that hour getting ready for the day ahead. Construction workers, breakfast cooks, baristas, hospital nurses sleepily dressed themselves quietly leaving their homes to catch the first train of the day. Many worked two jobs, one early 6 AM to 2 PM the other 3 PM to 11 PM then rode the two trains home for a quick shower, rest before rising early to start all over again.

There was an unspoken, quiet understanding between the people on the early train. Her white face stood out at this hour. The working people were caramel colored. White faces didn't appear on the train for a few more hours, at least not until six-thirty.

It wasn't the hour....it was the rats.

So much love,
All the way from over here...
Linda

Dear President Bush

2008-09-21T12:51:00.004-04:00

Dear President Bush,

Hi! How are you doing? Are you totally psyched that your term is almost over? I know when I was I college I couldn’t wait until the end of term, especially right before graduation. I can only imagine how ready you must be for this gig to be over! Heck, you’ve been doing it for almost eight years! Yikes! You could be a doctor by now!

Wow, I don’t how you keep up with all this crap they keep dropping on you when you’d rather be planning your farewell cruise or golf vacation or even the most excellent presidential library ever that your gonna build…wait a second, that’s Laura’s gig, right? The libraries?

Anyway, if I were you, I’d be totally bummed out that you gotta do this whole bail out thing. Its gotta be hard asking congress for money…harder than that time you had to call your dad after you smashed up your car and had all that blow on you and you were really f*cked up! Whoa dude that was not a fun night! So I bet this is like ten times harder than that, am I right?

There’s nothing more humiliating than having to ask your family, or congress, for money. Boy I sure know that one, which is why I’m writing you. You may not know it (‘cuz we’ve been a little out of touch lately and I’m totally sorry I haven’t written) but the last twelve months of my life have been quite a rollercoaster ride. Oh, I don’t want to go into all the messy details but just like AIG, I need to be bailed out too.

It’s obvious that you feel the pain that the average American is facing these days. My friends and I sure looked forward to that $600 stimulus check you mailed out a couple months ago and I practically sat by the mailbox waiting for it to arrive. When it never came, I called the IRS to see what was the hold-up. Turns out that I wasn’t getting a check. I guess all those mistakes I’d made on my taxes over the years have kept me out of the stimulus pool and I’m going to be paying off this debt for like the next ten years or more!

This is where you can help me out. See, I need a bail0out of my own George. Won’t you help me out? Unlike AIG, I am paying off my debts off and working my tail off getting my life in working order again. If you bailed me out the same percentage that you cut AIG, like fifteen percent, that is a mere $15,000 and I’d be debt free! With you helping me out I would be less focused on making money and more able to assist my fellow Americans. See? It’s a win-win situation!

Fifteen grand doesn’t require approval from congress either.

You see, I am the future of America. I already have no money and a lot of skills and a slight drizzling of talent plus I am a fast learner and have boy I won’t repeat those credit card mistakes I’ve made in the past! No more charging for this gal! I know how to manage my money now and all I’m looking for is a little seed money to help me get out of this last glitch.
George, you don’t have to understand the reason why I’m asking for money or what I’m going to do with it…it’s just like the whole Wall Street situation. You don’t really need to know what is going on there either. It isn’t important. If it were, you would have done things differently from the start. Where we sit, right now, so close to the end of your term, what do you have to loose by helping me out? Why not pad the request with a few extra thousand dollars? For me? Please All I’m saying is now is the perfect time…I’d tell people you helped me and you’d be remembered as the beloved, kind president that you are!

You know, I’m a woman Mr. President, and if you help a woman out, maybe I’ll be inspired to vote for a woman Vice President? See where I’m going? Anything could happen once I am at that voting station. Heck, I voted for Geraldine Ferraro and she was running with WALTER MONDALE! What a geek he was! He wasn’t even a POW!

I know, I know, you don’t care about this stuff. You’ve got Senioritis. You’re itching to get out of office! So let’s not talk about my vote because we all know it doesn’t really matter anyway.

So I totally appreciate you taking the time to consider my request…it’d be so super cool if you could help a gal out. And this would be great for your image, but I won’t dwell. Just keep an open mind.

Mom says hi. She’s got another boil on her ass and she wanted me to come home and lance it for her but luckily I got called into work. Yikes! She says she’d love to see you come around for a visit sometime.

Other than that, everything else is cool with me. Stay your awesome self and enjoy your last few months in DC. Maybe I’ll be able to meet you in Cabo in the spring like we talked about at that last party. Oh, and be sure to have the White House Chef whip you up some chocolate pudding. I hear it is really tasty…better than a snack-pack! Remember that night? You were so HILARIOUS!!!

Okay, gotta go now. Hope to hear from you soon. Say hey to Laura and the Twins for me.

Love,
Linda S. Silberman

PS: If you wouldn’t mind throwing in an extra thirty grand for my sister’s student loans, that would be so sweet! Thanks!

Direction

2008-09-18T18:46:00.003-04:00

Cupcake land isn't a piece of cake. On so many levels I've felt like I've taken a huge step backwards both financially and certainly professionally and for what purpose? What is the goal? Is it to serve tasty treats baked in paper wrappers? And at what cost? Does it matter at all if we move forward or backwards in life and who decides which is a forward movement?

A man came into the cupcake shop and asked me how I could work in such a place and not gain a lot of weight. I told him that I didn't know and he needed to check back in with me in a couple of months since I was new and have lost nearly 170 pounds. We'll have to wait and see.

I then said to him in a very joking manor, "It's like putting an alcoholic in a liquor store. It will certainly be exciting to watch!"

He said, "Well, I could never work in a liquor store!" and he grabbed his jumbo hostess cupcake stashed neatly in the crisp white bag and stormed out of the store.

Angry alcoholics are everywhere.

I'd forgotten how many alcoholics substitute candy and cakes for their bottle of bourbon or box of wine and that many of the cupcake clientele were also a bunch of drunks. Whoops.

Honestly, I think a good business plan for this rapidly expanding cupcake shop would be to select locations near upity AA meetings. Starbucks has the coffee program down but their pastry selections are really hit-and-miss.

I am also sure that my quick wit and many, many inappropriate comments will offend people for the rest of my days. My vision is to offend locally at first then expand to offend globally...preferably in writing!

But the real question is, what am I doing with my life? And if I am going to look at that question then I suggest you ask yourself too, what are you doing with your life? Does it matter at all what kind of work I do? Does direction matter? Do I need to move up or down or this way or that way?

Quite frankly, I can serve alcoholics anywhere...in a cupcake shop or behind a bar. If I did it behind a bar, I'd make a hellofalot more money...that's for damned sure!

My point to moving to New York was to write and create an interesting lifestyle and I like how "working for cupcakes" sounds but the reality of being on your feet for 8 1/2 hrs everyday after an hour-long commute from three trains and having to get up at 4:30 AM for said shift....well, it ain't glamorous and the worst part is that I have access to hundreds of cupcakes and I have no friends to bring them to in New York! That's what really sucks.

No. I'm not happy with this choice. But something will change. Either I will find another job (and I'm looking) or I'll get fired for pissing one too many alcoholics off. While I wait for something else to happen...maybe I'll stop pushing myself to know and simply enjoy the cupcake ride while it lasts.

So much love,
All the way from over here...
Linda

AIG: Cupcakes and Idiots

2008-09-16T18:50:00.001-04:00

The dirty blond woman in her late thirties dressed in a Donna Karan navy suit was not having a good day when she approached the counter and placed her order. The two dozen pink and white cupcakes would not ease her anxiety. I carefully hand selected and packaged her cupcake order. When handing her the credit card receipt, I sincerely said, "Have a lovely day."

"That's unlikely!" she huffed.

"Oh?" I asked genuinely interested.

"Yes." she said curtly. "I work for AIG as an attorney. I'm sure I'll be fired as the company goes bankrupt today. Don't you watch the news?"

"Oh no. I find it far too depressing. It's pretty bad today, huh?" I asked, referring to the wall street crash of yesterday. It was in all the morning headlines.

"Yeah it's bad!" she practically yells at me. My laissez-faire attitude fuels her anxiety.

"Well, you could always run a cupcake shop." I say cheerfully with a smile. "We're hiring and expanding."

"Ugh. No!" she sneers with disgust. "I am used to making real money!" She hastily grabs the cupcakes and storms out of the shop.

The money I make isn't real to her because it lacks a couple of zeros.

I am sure when she looses her Upper West Side apartment and her creditors come calling for the overdue balance on her American Express Card for all those sixty dollar cupcakes shes been impulsively buying to drown her sorrows, she may want to take a moment to reflect on an alternative lifestyle. Being an uppity cunt-bitch is great and all, but those who sneers down at lowly cupcake workers can't buy you points into heaven. Not that I believe in heaven, mind you, but I do believe that we create our own heaven and hell reality. And chasing the all mighty dollar for a corrupt insurance group who snags billions in profits and then screws the lawyers who made it all happen...well, it seems kind of like karma at work. Maybe there is a god.

And maybe she likes little pink cupcakes.

So much love,
All the way from over here...
Linda

How the Universe Works

2008-09-12T10:41:00.003-04:00

I've been listening to a lot of Esther and Jerry Hicks for some inspiration about the meaning of life and how this universe we live in works, because at times I seriously wonder what the hell it is all about and why I am here. Is it to serve humanity? Is it to serve the self? Is it to serve cupcakes?

What is the point of all of this anyway?

Esther Hicks channels a universal spirit or force they call Abraham. Abraham is the force that revealed the Law of attraction which is what "The Secret" is based off of. The Secret dropped Esther and Jerry for some legal reason...I love it when the new-agers fight over money...and the Hicks are still doing their own thing, which I have respect for. God bless them for getting out of the formula of "The Secret" which has a pretty good message overall, focus on what you want and that is what you'll attract. What I don't like about The Secret is that it focuses so much on material stuff. Visualize yourself driving the sports car and soon enough it will happen. If this were true than all the people visualizing bowls of rice in Ethiopia would be full of rice. I am sure starving people all over the world are thinking, feeling the desire of having food and still there is none available.

I'm obviously conflicted over this new-age theory. This topic came up this weekend with a friend of mine and we discussed, at length, how our thoughts attract certain elements in life. He is a scientist and I respect his logical approach to new-age mumbo-jumbo. He said how we can visualize a goal, a point in the future, and there are an infinite number of possibilities on how to reach that point, the question is which path will you choose?

Always the cynic and ever the skeptic, I decided to conduct an experiment on myself. At acupuncture yesterday, once I was comfortablly reclining in the chair and the needles were placed in my arms, legs and face, I relaxed taking deep breaths to center myself. Once I reached that place, I then practiced the techniques Esther and Jerry discuss; feeling the sensations down to the bones.

I felt it in my cells, my muscles, every fiber of my body the sensation of having a partner/boyfriend/man-thing...whatever you want to call it. A man. A big, tall strapping young man. I envisioned the feeling of having a boyfriend, us laying together in bed, laughing, my head on his chest post-coital, joyful, relaxed, loving.

it felt real in the chair. It was a lovely feeling. I didn't have a specific on how he looked or age, just that we were mutually attracted to each other and that we fit really well together. That's important to me, being six feet tall and all...I don't fit well with a man who's five foot four. At least I haven't in the past.

While I was in this feeling stage I said a little prayer to the universe:

Oh Powerful Universe, Infinite Light hear my prayer,
May this energy that flows through me, from the center of the universe through waves of energy through the top of my head down to the soles of my feet connecting me to this planet earth and returning back to source support me in this lifetime. May I find my mate who is out there looking for me and may we be joyfully together in loving energy that is for the highest good of all the people everywhere. Thank you god, spirit, ancient ones for your assistance. I am ever so grateful.
Ashey. Namaste.

In no time, my hour long acupuncture session was over. I had sat in that joyful, tingling, feeling sensation for an hour but it felt only like a few minutes. Smiling as I left my session, I felt great relief and let go of the prayer and visualization to allow the universe to go on its way.

I took the three subway trains to my new cupcake job on the Upper West Side and when I emerged onto seventy-third street, I had forgotten about my prayer. I attributed my feeling good from the acupuncture and didn't give my expiment another thought.

As I crossed Broadway walking towards Amsterdam Ave, a handsome, tall, very good looking young man was walking next to me. We had the same stride as we walked across the street and as happens sometimes in New York, we walked together in the same direction.

He turned and looked at me and said,"Damn! You're tall!"

I smiled and said, "Why, yes I am. So are you."

"Oh, I love a tall woman." he says...his dark brown eyes twinkling as he looked down at me.

"You know, I haven't had a girlfriend in over a year." he says.

"How is that possible?" I ask him. I really did find that hard to believe but it felt like he was telling the truth.

"I dunno...they all too little." and he gestures a height about mid-way to his chest. "I like a woman I can look in the eye." He stared and smiled hard at me.

Blushing I said, "A year is too long for a man like you to be without a girlfriend."

"You telling me?" he said.

The light changed on Amsterdam Ave and we crossed another street together, but I had to turn north to get to work.

As I turn to exit I say to him, "Hang in there...your girl is out there waiting for you too. I gotta go this way." I smile and cross seventy-third street to get to the cupcake shop.

He looked surprised and he may have thought I was trying to get away from him but I really did have to get to work. He kept walking east towards central park and I smiled for the rest of the day.

Yeah. The universe works fast.

Was he hitting on me? Probably. Why didn't I engage him more and give him my number or whatever? He was probably about twenty-six years old and was dressed in his grocery store apron. There is nothing wrong with me going out with a bagger or cashier or produce clerk from a grocery store, but in my recent history, it hasn't been a good match.

What I also find very interesting is that the men that have been attracted to me lately, or those who step-up and let me know are all between twenty-two and twenty-eight years old. Do I dive in and go for the young man? My friend who is also a physicist told me that I need to reach higher in my choices for men, but what if all that are attracted to me are hot, young grocery clerks? There don't seem to be any PhD. candidates looking for a cupcake queen! At least not yet. Do I go carnal for now? Does the morning conversation have to be intellectual? Can't it just be about the Yankees...damned Yankees... I still hate them you know. And why is it socially acceptable for an older woman to go out with younger men and why is it creepy if an older guy goes out with a younger woman? Such a double standard!

My point is that the universe is listening to my requests and paying attention, so I'd best wise-up and pay attention to what messages I am sending out there and seriously start receiving. And maybe I just give up my moral values for the grocery clerk. I know where he works and I think he gets off today around 2 PM. Maybe I need to go buy a couple of bananas before work!

So much love,
All the way from over here...
Linda

The Green Tortoise Part XV

2008-09-09T10:38:00.002-04:00

After hours on the side of the road, the diagnosis is complete. The bus has lost its leveling valve, the part that keeps the bus balanced and on its hydraulic system. We're assured that it isn't a safety issue, but until it is fixed we will be traveling on a tilted bus.

The passenger side of the bus is so much higher than the driver's side that if you place a can on the table on the passenger side of the bus, it will slide to the end of the table. Sleeping in the top bunks is not possible and if you are a senior citizen who likes to sleep in a lazy boy recliner, head propped up, you'll love sleeping on the big bed head pointing towards the passenger windows.

Because of this break-down, we have another change in our schedule. We'll be headed to Broadus Montana, population 430 for the fourth of July. Our bus parts will be express shipped to the tiny town and somehow, there will be a mechanic who will be able to install the parts to get us back on track.

And we hope they'll be able to check out the air conditioning system because that doesn't seem to be working anymore either.

It is day four of this fourteen day trip. Ten more days to go until we reach New York City. How will I make it? How will I endure these people, the damaged vehicle, and now no air conditioning?

Maybe I'll get off and catch a Greyhound bus...or if I can make it to Chicago I could grab a train to New York. Chicago seems far, far away from the Grand Tetons. And it is.

For now all I can do is load the gear back onto the bus as we head to our campsite for the night and make dinner.

Tonight we are having chili which is vegetarian. It is the first night we build a huge campfire and the entire group of us join together after dinner for toasting marshmallows and telling of ghost stories. The fire was much needed too. We were camping in high elevation and the nighttime temperatures drop down to 37 degrees fahrenheit (or 2.7 celius!)

In the morning we quickly make breakfast and pack-up our campsite for our next day's adventure in Yellowstone National Park...the part I'd been savoring since booking the trip. It is a three hour drive through the Grand Tetons to Yellowstone and we cross the Snake river several times as we climb to 8200 feet elevation on our leaning bus.

Yellowstone is scarred from a massive fire in 1988 that consumed 1.2 million acres of land or about 36% of the total area of the gigantic park. The fire was due to drought and was quite controversial since many people wanted it to burn out, rather than fight the fire. But it reached such magnitude that it was nearly impossible to extinguish. 25,000 fire fighters tried their best and it was lucky that only two perrished during the massive inferno.

Driving through the winding roads was like visiting a natural holocast. Charred tree bodies lay in the same direction as if an atomic bomb had been released instantly killing them. Twenty years later and the haunting remains move me to tears witnessing the sacrifice the trees made to allow new growth emerge in this massive eco-system.

Life exists after death. Many plants native to the area can only release their seedlings through fire. It is a natural act in the wilderness. I am reminded that through my most difficult moment; trial by fire, that I always emerge better, stronger, more alive than before.

Silence fills the bus for a long time as we quietly give thanks and honor the trees lost to allow the new growth in this magnificent land. The tree corpses lie in lush green foliage as if their dead bodies are fueling the new growth below.

We turned a sharp corner and enter into the land that was unharmed by this devastating fire. How does god decide that this tree is to die and this one to flourish? The contrasts is alarming.

The road twist and turns on our ride toward Old Faithful. Driver Dave drops us off a few miles from the actual site and tells us to walk their. The bus will meet us in the parking lot and we have only an hour and a half to complete the three mile hike at 8500 feet elevation to watch the gigantic geyser blow at 2:10 PM.

I hit the trail hard and fast. My determination to get there was not motivated by Old Faithful. There was a huge tourist area and I craved a good cup of coffee and prayed there would be cell phone reception of some kind and perhaps an outlet to charge my phone. And the honest truth is that I wanted an ice cream cone.

Judith, the sixty-four year old nurse from Australia, insisted on walking with me chattering the entire way. She is a good eight inches smaller than me and I have long legs and take long strides in my aggressive walks. Judith needed two steps for everyone of my one. I told her that I was not going to slow down and that she needed not to keep my pace but she insisted saying that she might be able to loose an extra stone (about 13 pounds) or two.

I droned out her rambling stories about her travels to Uganda, Tunisia, Mongolia, New Zealand. Why does silence make people so uncomfortable? Why do people need to always be chattering on about this and that?

"I can't imagine this will be any better than any of the geysers of New Zealand." She said. "Those are spectacular!"

We are less than half a mile to Old Faithful and I tell Judy that I must dash ahead for the restrooms. She understands as we part ways. I continue my pace to Old Faithful and pray for cell phone reception. Maybe my sister can find me a bus to get on in Montana. We'll be there in two days...maybe that is where I should get off.

Sadly, I have no reception at the lodge and did not bring my heavy laptop with me for the three mile hike.

I take this as a sign from God to continue on the trip and in good consciousness, I hated to waste all the money I'd spent on this trip to just abandoned it here in Yellowstone National Park.

Abandoning the idea, I find a spot on the benches that surround Old Faithful and await for him to blow. Hundreds of tourists join me for this event, everyone watching their watches to time the event. Steam builds and a small plop of water spits out sputtering puffs as Old Faitful teases the crowd like a stripper slowly pealing off a long red satin glove.

"Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one!" a group of school children chant nearby. Nothing happens. Groans from the audience followed by laughter from the waiting crowd. Through the chuckles, Old Faithful blows.

It looks exactly like the pictures I've seen on postcards and in encyclopedias. The air is warm from the hot steam as a pure white stream of water shoots a hundred fifty feet into the brilliant blue heavens above. Ooohs and Aaahs are murmured by the tourists for the minute long display.

Everyone is a critic, even where natural phenomenons are concerned.

"That wasn't very high" said a woman with a Texas accent.

"We came all this way to see that?" a bored teenager moaned to her father.

"I've seen solar storms more impressive than that!" a man said. How I wished I could find him to ask him which solar storms he's witnessed. Did he see them first hand? I'd have to agree, that would be something to see!

Our group finds our bus in the giant parking lot of Old Faithful and we receive more bad news. The Rainbow Gathering has gathered in Wyoming and somehow, our camping reservation has mysteriously disappeared. We are going to drive back to the Grand Tetons, a four and half hour drive from where we are now, to spend the night.

Great.

I Hate Wyoming! Fucking Hippies.

To be continued...

So much love,
All the way from here....
Linda

Cupcake Queen

2008-09-08T16:07:00.003-04:00

I've returned to mainstream society and left the life of leisure. I now managing a cupcake shop, well, actually I am training to manage the shop but it is not much like working compared to the projects that I've done in the past.

While my new trainers were kind and gracious I felt as if I were letting them down because I understood so clearly what needed to be done and there was not much to teach me except how to work their register.

Quite frankly, I am very over-qualified for this position...I see that now, but the company is growing rapidly and this may be a good career move in the long-run. For now, I will stick with it and allow my mind to wander.

Perhaps some of the sugary pink frosting will inspire poetic prose to flow through my reluctant fingers....

Perhaps...perhaps...perhaps

so much love,
All the way from over here...
Linda

I know what I said...

2008-09-02T16:05:00.008-04:00

I said that writer's block did not exist. I guess I was wrong. Its not that I can't write, its just that what has been coming out is such crap and I don't want you to suffer...so I have to ride this wave.

Living in New York feels like I have come home. The streets are somehow familiar, as if I awoke from a dream and entered my life. Still the day to day routines haven't worked themselves out yet, but I am getting the hang of it all.

My world is so small in such a large city.

One of the first things I did when I got to New York was to join a writer's group...good thing I did that too or else I'd not be motivated to keep writing and all I really want to do is write. The writer's round is an open forum so you never know who is going to show up and share their work. This can be a great thing...and it is very risky too. Open forums invite all sorts of characters. Last week a homeless interracial lesbian couple came, complete with wheelchair and dolls. One was half-deaf, and I only knew because she asked me to read to her good ear, and she was also developmentally disabled somehow. She was present but she seemed to have an ear to another world where great mysterious things happened. Her specialty was writing romance science-fiction. I believe this is a new genre she is creating.

Her partner, a mere child of 18, was a poet. She proudly declared that she had many different personalities, several who are poets. I was honored to hear three of her other personalities poems. This was the first time I heard several different writing motifs from one person...but of course there was only one physical being reading. Several had written the works.

The couple talked about getting married and moving off the streets...have a place of their own to house the writings crammed in over-stuffed spiral notebook; their scribbled pages looked like wild cats begging to be set free from their paper cages.

How do you tell a crippled, deaf developmentally disabled lesbian that your not sure who her audience is for her sci-fi-romance novel?

The hardest part was that her pages were tighter and more concise than anything I'd written in the last three weeks which immediately brought me back to my ego. How sad that I feel so weak in my own talent that I compare myself to this woman who has struggled for so long and all she wanted to do was share her work?

Who was I to tell her that there was no audience for her work? What did I know? Perhaps there is a literary agent out there looking for that simple piece of lesbian-astronaut space love.

I do not know.

Perhaps I judge too quickly.

Oh Mighty Jesus,

Hey! How's it going? I can see you and your pop have been mighty busy with the republician campaign and all I can say is Good Work! Wow! I did not see that one a coming....pregnant teens forced to marry just in time for the election! Way to help the democratic party! Thanks for keeping your ears open for us liberals.

So, I got a little issue lately that I'm hoping to turn-over to you. Seems like I've been hastily judging myself and others lately out of feelings of insecurity and quite frankly, I don't like it. So baby Jesus...if you've got room for another item on your to do list, please add my name to help me let go of my fear of failure or whatever you want to call it...low self-esteem and move on with life!

But seriously Jesus....the multiple personality poetry was hilarious and I only wish I could have transcribed it or had a copy for reproduction...all in your name of course. Thanks for all the great tunes, the tasty snacks and refreshing water. It is so good for my skin and you know how I love to grove while I write. Peace. Ashey. Namaste.

Yes, turning it all over to god...that is the way to get out of this overly-critical space.

So much love,
All the way from over here...
Linda

Trader Joe's

2008-08-28T12:18:00.006-04:00

Everyday grocery store shopping in Manhattan is like being in a suburban strip-mall just before Thanksgiving. No matter what time of day you choose to visit the local Trader Joe's, it is always packed with hungry consumers looking for outstanding products at outrageously low prices.

I've been a Trader Joe's faithful customer since they first arrived in Seattle about ten years ago. They call themselves a "Unique Grocery Store" and being a grocery store aficionado, I would have to agree. Where they lack in wow factor merchandising, they make up for in great prices on cheese, meats, wine, chocolate and just about every other good thing there is to eat. But those low prices justify the extra tossing of items into the cart and it takes a disciplined shopper to leave the store without spending a hundred bucks or more.

Once I've found a great store, I am a loyal, faithful shopper. When I lived in Elko, Nevada, I willingly drove five hours in one direction for a the closest TJ shopping experience. While living in North Carolina, I'd plan weekend excursions to Washington D.C. for grocery shopping and when I most recently lived in Florida, I was thrilled that TJ's finally made it south to Atlanta! On those trips I came prepared with cooler and ice packs to insure the quality of the products during my 9 hour drive home.

Now that I am living in New York, I had to go visit Trader Joe's first and only store in Manhattan. It is in Union Square, the place where artists, writers, musicians and the homeless hangout watching everybody do their own thing. It is a colorful place filled with sounds and smells. An organic market sets up in the square twice a week and business people stream out of the office buildings surrounding the two city block square. Whole Foods has a store in the same area across from the square and the park is packed with hungry people munching out of recycled cardboard boxes from noon until dusk.

As you enter the Trader Joe's one of the first things you might notice at the end of the first isle is a sign hanging from the ceiling with a big yellow arrow pointing down that reads, "12 items or less here." This is where the line starts for the registers. The line snakes through the isles and there are employees holding signs that read "end of the line".

It is a bit discouraging. My first few tries I abandoned my red basket running out of the store overwhelmed and intimidated by the weight of my basket and the length of the line. It took three visits before I mastered the art of shopping while standing in line. The trick is for you to enter the store, walk the produce isle, get what you need there and then hop in line! From there, as the check-out line snakes around the store, you jaunt off and pick up this and or that and return the items to your basket and the line. New Yorkers are pretty darned friendly and will typically hold your place for you as you do for them while dashing down the dairy isle in search of the quart of half-and-half or ever popular Greek yogurt. God forbid where we would all be in this day and age without Greek yogurt!

You know, you can make Greek yogurt for about a quarter of the cost with regular yogurt overnight. It is so simple. Just get a strainer and line it with cheese cloth or a paper towel or even coffee filters, then dump a quart of yogurt on top of it and place the strainer over a bowl to catch the dripping liquid. Let it sit overnight in the refrigerator, covered and by morning...voila! You have Greek yogurt! I keep the container it was purchased in and then put the yogurt back in it so I have an idea of the expiration date, and then away we go! I've purchased lemon yogurt and strained it for a delicious topping for desserts or fresh fruit. It is fantastic!

All Greek yogurt is strained yogurt, but people are lazy. In my case, I am living somewhere with a tiny kitchen and I get one little shelf in the refrigerator so I don't have the room to make Greek yogurt, but I think I'm going to start doing this again because Trader Joe's has the best yogurt in quarts for $1.99 that is worth waiting in line for 30 minutes. The good news is that Trader Joe's is opening a store in Brooklyn in the next couple of weeks and I am sure it will be a hit.

The best technique I've witnessed at Trader Joe's is going shopping with a friend. One of you stands in line with an empty cart, right when you enter, and the other goes off shopping returning to the cart when their arms are full. That's my current fantasy; go shopping with a cute guy...and a strong one who can carry the bags on the two train rides home from the store.

Urban life. How I love it.

So much love,
All the way from over here...
Linda

The Green Tortoise Part XIV

2008-08-25T13:37:00.000-04:00

My hair is finally clean. My skin refreshed. Being clean never felt so good. I turn my head quickly and get whiffs of grapefruit and rosewood leaving a lingering trail from my dark brown locks. Ah, such luxury in the wilderness. How refreshing.

Across the parking lot, the wounded vehicle stands alone in the distance. She is broken. A giant red tool box sits open at her tail, parts spread out ready to be handed to the tour bus driver and now, mechanic , Driver Dave. His white legs stick out from the back of the bus as Rory, a blond haired blue-eyed nineteen year old British guy squats down handing tools as requested. Cassie is pacing. She walks thirty-six feet south to the end of the bus then stops, pivots on her right foot and walks the same distance back as she talks on her cell phone.

Driver Dave has been a professional driver with the Green Tortoise for more than ten years. Next month he turns forty and has decided this will be his last season on the road. Come the fall, he will be working out of the main office for the company trouble-shooting phone calls from drivers like Cassie. This is the last summer where he will be underneath a 26,000 pound vehicle in the parking lot of the Grand Teton's National Park.

The giant silver and green bus is really leaning to one side now. The passenger side is much higher than the driver's side. Driver Dave has propped a spare tire underneath the bus near where he is working to prevent it from crushing him.

I shake my head laughing to myself as I return to the bus. God, this bus is just like the Malibu Stacey Funtime Camper; unreliable.

As one of the first passengers to return to the bus, I am assigned the task to keep everyone off the bus as they return from the showers. Cassie put the phone down for a second and tell us to start pulling luggage out of the cargo bay.

"This is not a good sign." I say to Val and she nods in agreement as we extract over-sized backpacks and duffel bags tossing them like professional airport baggage handlers to the side of the road.

A cluster of cumulonimbus clouds gathers in the west. I recognize them from white water rafting. It is the same storm we left behind in Idaho and it seems to be following us. The clouds are thick and heavy with chilling rain drops. As I lift and throw seventy-five pound bags, I ask God, out loud, why I decided to take this trip. This is a question I ask myself many times during the remaining ten days.

"There are worse places to be broken down, Linda." Donna says as she organizes the bags we toss out of the bay. She is a happy person by nature and the children mirror her cheery disposition. Although it is not enough to lift the mood to those of us who dread the thought of being broken down on the side of the road.

Most of the passengers have finished with their showers and are returning to the bus asking for information.

"Hey, what's happening?" Joe asks in his thick New York accent.

"The bus is broken, but I'm sure it isn't serious." Donna says confidently. "These buses have great mechanics in San Francisco and are well looked after." She explains to the children working to keep the spreading anxiety of the adults away from the children. She's been on six Green Tortoise trips so sshe has the experience to back-up her comments.

As Driver Dave emerges from below the bus, another tour bus, The Adventure Bus, pulls into the parking lot and slows down to a crawl as they drive by, staring at us like a side-show attraction. Driver Dave and Cassie sneer at the drivers of the Adventure Bus.

"Those guys think they're so cool." Cassie says. "Well, they're not."

Adventure Bus was started in 1997 by a group of former Green Tortoise bus drivers. Their tour bus interior is identical in design to the Green Tortoise but they are different. Unlike the Green Tortoise which pushes to have full capacity trips, the Adventure Bus limit on the number of passengers allowed on the bus, which is much lower than the Green Tortoise. The Adventure bus averages fifteen to twenty passengers per trip where as the Green Tortoise pushes for thirty-six passengers and has been known to regularly over-book trips. Carol shared a horror story about one trip she was on that had forty-four passengers!

Oh sweet Jesus! I felt crammed on this tour and our group was only twenty-seven. Forty-four people all on this one little bus? I asked where they all slept and Carol said t hey doubled up on the bunks above and were much tighter in the big bed.

Yikes!

To be continued...
So much love,
All the way from....you know where...
Linda

Poem

2008-08-22T20:17:00.006-04:00

Beloved,

take no photo

steal no glance

simply gaze

into my eyes

and witness

the beauty

of

your

Soul

Kitty Kloset...

2008-08-21T09:04:00.002-04:00

New York is filled with activities but meeting people here, like anywhere, is hard. New Yorkers are friendly and I've had many chats with strangers in the park, on the train, in cafes, but I haven't made any friends yet. Granted, I haven't been here long but I would like to meet some people who have shared interests.

I was chatting with a girlfriend about this and she suggested I do some volunteering and get involved with something. She said, "Find something that isn't repulsive to you and do it for a couple hours a week."

Good advice...so I took it.

I went to my resources for everything in New York; Craigslist. A lot of people hate Craigslist but it has been a good place for me....heck, I've been on job interviews, dates, found my writing group, found my apartment and even a new juicer (although I hate to add another to my scattered collection) all through Craigslist. Why not find my volunteering there too?

There are so many organizations where people need help and I considered several of them at The Lincoln Center, The Red Cross, Literacy Program, all sounded good but a bit daunting to me. Then I saw an ad for cat volunteers at a no-kill kitty shelter. This was sounding like something I could do, so I replied.

The non-profit organization is called Anjellicle Cats and is based out of Hell's Kitchen (which is right near the theater district.) Since this is a no-kill shelter, volunteers will go to kill shelters and rescue cats and kittens that are about to be put to death...often choosing the sick ones who aren't out in front of people and don't get adopted. Most of the sick kitties just have colds and that's how they come to us...yes, I am one of them now.

The kennel that I am volunteering at is in the back of a small pet shop on 49th street between 8th and 9th street. It takes me about 45 minutes to get there by subway...but that's how long it takes me to get just about everywhere because I'm living off a main line. The train I live near doesn't go into the city so it is always two trains just to get out of Brooklyn. I've gotten to know how the subways work pretty well for such a short period of time in New York.

This kitty shelter is more like a closet. New York is an expensive place to live and that is true for kitties as well as humans so I shouldn't have been surprised when I saw that the "shelter" was small. Not just small, but really, really tiny. It is about as big as an average bathroom. There are five cage where kitties who don't get along with others or who are sick are kept. Also the kittens are put in cages so they don't get stuck behind many of the small spaces in the tiny room.

Small is one thing, but is ridiculous. There are about fifteen to twenty cats living in this space. Those who aren't in cages are on the floor, on top of litter boxes, on top of storage bins, above the cages, underneath the cages...everywhere you look there is another cat. There are cats everywhere all craving attention and food, water, clean litter because no matter how often you change them, the kitties crave more.

When the door opens ten cats rush the door, some escaping into the pet shop which is the forbidden zone. There is a fat, healthy, happy pet shop cat and he has rule over the space which seems gigantic compared to where the kitties live. The shop owners are very stern about keeping the cats in the closet so the first task at hand is herding the cats back into the closet. Keep in mind these are not fat, suburban cats. These are New York City sleek city cats...skinny, long and limber. They are fast. But they listen too and I've found talking to them really helps them calm down and settle so I can give them what they want; clean water, fresh food and litter.

Next to the little room there is a tiny bathroom and my first shift alone, I let the cats run into the bathroom and sit on the cool tile floor while I swept out the cages and scooped dirty litter. I think they remember that, although I got busted big time by the pet shop boys. I was happy to take the heat for the kitties.

This week I kept the kitties in the closet and was dumping water dishes with small bits of kibble into the toilet before washing and refilling. As I did this, a rat swam up through the toilet pipes and out of the toilet to eat the food I was dumping. I screamed dropping the metal dishes and ran into the pet store to tell the guys and get help. When the three of us returned to the bathroom the rat was gone, hopefully back the way he came and the guys started flushing the toilets and opened the back of the tank to see if it was living there, but he was gone.

This experience showed me my ultimate NYC fear... a rat coming up through the toilet. I am lucky where I am able to manifest my fears almost immediately so to get them out of the way... at least that is how I am choosing to look at this situation. I have to look at it that way or else I'll make myself sick with worry and fear and I've got not time for that.

The pet shop guys kept asking me if I was sure I saw a rat. Oh yeah. I was sure. I've seen rats in the subways since I've moved here and I definitely know the difference between a rat and a mouse. This was no mouse. The experience left me shake and questioning if I'd picked the right volunteering opportunity for me. I mean, I didn't get any good loving time with the pussycats because there is too much to be done and the room is so tiny that I have a hard time breathing what with all the fur and fluff and dander everywhere. I was questioning if this was the right gig for me after the first time I went...the second time I had a rat encounter and I wondered again if I was doing the right thing.

A bit part of me feels like I am working off a karmic debt to Sing and Little Man, both of my cats who have run away. Naturally, I feel responsible for their actions. They were my responsibility and I was their owner. I made an agreement to care for these animals and I didn't do a very good job of it. It seems fair that I take care of these unwanted cats, scoop their poop, clean up their fur balls, wash out their water dishes, sweep the stray litter....

But is this what God has in store for me? Am I to be the kitties keepers? Perhaps I had a karmic agreement with Sing and Little Man and part of this arrangement was that they were to leave me. I don't know. What I do know is that if you are ever in need of using a bathroom and you are in Hell's Kitchen on 49th street between 8th and 9th, don't ask to use the toilet at Spoiled Brats Pet Shop. They would probably let you use it but you'll have to share the camode with some big city rats.

I wonder if volunteers are still needed at Lincoln Center?

So much love,
All the way from over here...
Linda

The Green Tortoise Part XIII

2008-08-20T16:12:00.005-04:00

Sitting in the egg shaped crimson compartment, the Tilt-a-Whirl went round and round and round until the world spinning by was a blur of colors perfectly smeared on a sky-blue background. Green leafy trees, white iron benches, yellow Chinese lanterns, summer clad tourists all blending together in perfect harmony. The old clammering diesel engine sputters black puffs into the sky and I am dizzy spinning round and round and round. Children's screams float through the air like brightly colored balloons. Flimsy metal bars sit loosely on their laps, bringing some sense of security. My skin feels sickly sweet from the cotton candy, waffle cones, funnel cakes saturating the air and I am transported in time and space, not thinking, just spinning, spinning, spinning until I am dizzy.

In the distance I hear words faintly saying, "Shit! Shit! Shit!"

The spinning continues round and round. "Shit! God Damned! Shit!" I hear louder. My eyes flutter open and I am in a foggy state, that place between dream time and human reality not knowing where I am. It is the wee hours of the morning. Stars brightly fill the big Montana skies as trucks whiz by our bus make up for lost time during daylight hours. We're stopped, parked on the side of the road.

"Urgh!" Cassie, overnight driver and professional babysitter, growled.

"SHIT!" she says in frustrated irritation. Hearing this brings me fully back to consciousness and I realize I am still on the Green Tortoise, sleeping snuggly between strangers. I lie still for a moment sad that the dream is over. The bus idles as another eighteen wheeler races passed us. Cassie checks her mirrors, takes a deep breath and turns the bus around again, spinning us back around to where we were just moments ago. She drives for a few quick miles, stops the bus again and switches on a light this time to read the handwritten directions again. Turns are highlighted in pink, roads are in yellow.

"I fuckin' did that!" she says with exasperation. "That’s it. I'm calling him."

"No! Don't wake him up!" the partiers say sitting together on the big bed behind the driver’s seat. Only a few were still awake at this hour, the others passed out in drunken slumber from strong cocktails served in blue plastic cups.

"No, screw you guys. I'm calling him." Cassie defiantly says.

I lean forward straining my ears to hear over the idling engine as Cassie tells the partiers to shut up as she picked up the walkie-talkie to ring Driver Dave who was sound asleep in the driver’s chambers in the back of the bus. No answer. She rang again.

Her tone changes from angry and frustrated to friendly and apologetic as Driver Dave finally wakes from his deep sleep. I readjust myself and Cassie lowers her voice so I cannot hear her at all.

“It’s okay. What’s up?” Dave says.

“Uh huh. Where were you?” He waits for an answer.

“Okay. Then what did you do?” He listens for a long time.

“Ummm, really? Weird. So then what?” He was as patient as she spoke for a while.

“Okay, okay. That’s okay. Then what did you do?” he probes.

“Alright. Did you add anything?” he asks. Add anything? What the hell? I thought we were just lost. What were they talking about? I leaned closer to the driver bunk to eavesdrop with more clarity. Maybe I didn’t hear him right.

“Did you add oil?” he asks. “Did it change anything?” he silently listens to the reply.

“Okay, but then you pulled immediately over, right?” he asks. “Why not!”

“I’m coming up.” He says and nearly as fast as he said the words, the curtain fly open from the sleeping cupboard and he swings his legs out hopping down gingerly stepping over sleeping passengers as he makes his way to the front of the bus where they hold conference in soft voices. Cassie turns the engine off and the big door swings open and they leave the bus.

A few minutes pass before they return inside the bus. Dave says, “It should be okay until morning.” and he steps over the slumbering passengers as he returns to his warm bed. Cassie fires up the engine confident of where we are headed and the miles fly back as we return to the road, full speed ahead. I fall fast asleep longing for carnival dreams on popcorn highways as the miles roll on under our big wheels.

In the morning, I wake up in the Grand Teton’s National park parking lot. Rumors are flying between the passengers when I returned from the out-house. Conversations clusters form around the prep tables as we make breakfast. What's going on? Were we lost last night? Yeah? I heard that we were but that the bus broke down, didn’t you hear that? Was the transmission out? Did you see anything leaking? What did you hear? When will the parities get up so we can get more details?

Esther groggily emerges from the bus rubbing her eyes. I asked her how she slept. It was the first night she chose to sleep in one of the top bunks which are suspended over the big beds.

“Terrible.” She said. “Is the water boiled yet? Is there tea?” she asks me. i know where everything is in the parking lot kitchen.

“Yeah it’s ready.” I say pointing to the hot water pitcher and open boxes of tea. “Why did you sleep so badly?” I ask as she dropped the tea bag in the orange plastic mug and poured the hot water for her brew.

“I kept falling out of the bunk. Like the bus was tilted.” she said. As she spoke I looked over at the bus and sure enough it was tilting hard to one side at a steep incline. Poor Esther kept rolling towards the floor of the bus and she had to hold on to the side to keep her from falling onto the sleeping passengers below.

Cassie typically sleeps in after we hit our parking lot destination but this morning she was up with us. She was going to go hiking through the Grand Tetons in a couple of hours and decided to sleep later since we were camping out tonight.

“What happened last night Cassie? Did you get lost?” Ryan laughs as he asks her. He is a buff Australian buck and he has a serious crush on Cassie. She pretends not to notice. All the young men have crushes on her.

“Yeah, but just for a little while.” Cassie said laughing at her mistakes from the night before. She is a junior driver with three years experience under her belt. This is her first time driving the Northern Crossing route and Dave is showing her all the tricks of the trip. Cassie is a pretty brown haired woman in her late twenties who graduated from college with an English degree and decided to become a teacher. She taught high school for a couple of years in the San Francisco Bay area. During her third year of teaching, she took the Green Tortoise down to Baja California and it changed her life forever. She fell in love with the bus, the lifestyle and culture. Then and there she decided what she wanted to do. She quit her teaching job and called the bus company owner convincing him to give her a job as a driver. He did. He hires a lot of people based on passion and not on driving skills. Those can be learned. He sent her to truck driving school to get her Class C license and she started accruing hours on the open road as an assistant driver. Cassie’s a tough girl from Montana, unafraid of the open road or the professional drivers who inhabit them. When she’s not on the open road she is a babysitter.

I think when she is on the road she is babysitting too.

Part of the attraction to taking a Green Tortoise trip is that they don’t drive just on the major highways. They plan trips taking the scenic route, even during the nighttime. Cassie missed a couple critical turns during the night. Anyone could have missed them since they weren't clearly marked. We only circled for an hour or so before getting the back on track. She won't make that mistake again.

Driver Dave gathers us around as we finish eating to tell us the day’s itinerary. After we clean-up we are headed to Jenny Lake for several hours of hiking. We can take a boat ride across the lake if we want or walk around the lake; it’s about four miles around. Turns out it's seven miles, but who's counting?

“What’s wrong with the bus?” someone asks.

“As soon as we know, we’ll let you know but for now we are going to Jenny Lake and then we’ll be headed to our campsite in the Grand Teton’s and on the way we’ll be making our first shower stop.” Dave says with a smile.

“Will there be hot water?” I ask still craving hot waters from the icy Salmon River the day before.

“Yes and you can get a clean towel for an extra dollar. The showers cost three or four dollars and the towels are extra.” He says. “But first we’re going to hike around Jenny Lake, okay?”

We cheer as we rush to clean-up the breakfast mess. Many of us are more excited about the shower than the hike and there is an enthusiastic chattering as we hurry cleaning up the breakfast tables and pack it all away.

Jenny Lake is beautiful. The mountains are full of late spring snow, the air is crisp and wild flowers are in bloom. Hundreds of tourists flock the lake and wander on the paths scaling mountain cliffs as white water crashes down from melting glaciers above. It is a beautiful place despite the crowds, all eager to have photos taken on big rocks and in front of natural waterfalls. I feel suffocated as there is chatter everywhere and I cannot hear the trees and rocks speak as I hike. I decide to take the boat ride across the lake hoping there will be less people there and am disappointed.

Having had the luxury of owning a VW Bus and the freedom to travel when I wanted, I avoided places with big crowds. My way of communing with nature is through silence and meditation. I absorb my surroundings grateful for the privilege of being allowed to witness the intimacy of the wilderness. But there is no silence in these woods. The trees creak as the wind causes them to sway. Birds chat back and forth with feathered friends about berries and beetle snacks. Squirrels cry out warnings to others to keep away from their secret stash. Blooming plants assault the senses causing emotional reactions from wild bergamot and clary sage. In the wild I am humbled to witness the raw beauty of nature and I am offended by the tourists who ignore the rangers’ requests to stay on paths, preserve the land.

I finish my hike and find a quiet place to eat lunch only to be disturbed by a fighting family from New Jersey. They fight like most families do, loudly. The teenagers want freedom from their middle-aged parents, the pre-teens want to run and play, the parents want everyone to get along and they express it all through yelling not listening to each other. How sad that they are oblivious to the beauty that surrounds them at that moment. Road trips are not for everyone.

I abandon my desire for peace, pack-up and head back to the information area where I people watch and have my first cup of good coffee in several days. Our group reassembles and we head out to our campsite, an hour drive away where hot showers await our arrival. I'm ready for this moment having prepared my day pack with all the essential supplies: exfoliating gloves, deep conditioning shampoo and conditioner, my favorite Aveda body lotion, Jojoba oil for my hair and skin, anti-frizz serum and styling gel, clean clothes complete with fresh socks. I splurge and pay for the fresh towel which is thick and absorbent. It is mid-afternoon and there is only a short wait for one of the ten stalls to open.

Oh Glorious God! Thank you for this most excellent of showers and may my skin be refreshed from the deep cleaning. Scrub all the dirt from my pores and keep the showers coming, Lord. Please forgive me for ever taking hot water and soap for granted and may I grow from this stench that now I release down the drain. Amen.

I pray unaware that my next shower wouldn’t be for another six days.

To be continued…

I've always said...

2008-08-19T00:15:00.002-04:00

I've always said I don't believe in writer's block, but that's what I've had lately. It hasn't been an actual block, it has been a road-block...where I write something and then an inner critic says that it is crap and before I can stop the fingers, the post has been deleted leaving me feeling empty and defeated. I know it is just a passing fancy and after what I saw tonight, I'll be sure to be able to write again soon.

Here's a teaser....I went to the new writing group that's been meeting on Monday night's at Think Coffee in the East Village. It is a hip spot and although there are only four of us who have met to share our writing, I have a feeling that this is a good place for me to be sharing work and getting support from other writers. Tonight there was a drop-in guest from London, Dave, who shared part of a screen-play he'd written for Radio-4 in London. Pretty cool stuff. After our two hour meeting he suggested we go to the poetry cafe a half a block away to see what the open mike was like, so we go.

How sad it is when stand-up comics take over for poets. Each person gets six minutes, which we all know in comedy...is a lifetime. Or as in this case, an eternity.

As my gift to humanity, I have decided to not share with you the ten acts I sat through...or as I will hence forward call it...the longest hour in my life. I won't tell you about the 400 pound hairy man fondly called Angry Bob. I won't torture you with the tales from the 6'8" Rastafarian's tale about his run-in with the cops for getting high in Central Park. I won't torment you with the gruesome details about the gap-dressed investment bankers talking about banging their 22 year old girl friends.

Ten acts I sat through before giving up and dashing into a cab to return me to my Brooklyn home. But something good did happen this evening. I realized that if these bozo's are able to get up on a stage and humiliate themselves for six minutes, then I certainly can keep on writing, no matter how loud my inner critic is yelling.

So my blog may not be genius writing, but I am back. I promise to work through these pesky insecurities. Let's blame it on the Lunar eclipse...too much darkness in the creative zones.

Thank you for keeping an eye on my blog and being patient with me. I do appreciate it.

So much love,
All the way from over here...
Linda

Artist Collective

2008-08-14T10:11:00.003-04:00

The Craigslist ad said, "Female artist forming female artist collective in the East Village. The vision is to support each other in a large space to create and host events to promote our art. All types of artists encouraged to reply. Target move in date September 1st."

I moved to New York last week and found a place to live in a couple of days thanks to Craigslist. It’s been a good resource for me. I thought I'd try and see if I could find someplace where there are more artists. I get inspired when others are working on their craft, so this ad really caught my eye. I love the idea of living in the East Village but it is really expensive. What better way to do it?

I replied and an email dialogue started between several women. We agreed to meet at Whole Foods in the Bowery to see how we all would get along and start the process of finding our space. I was excited to meeting new artists and creating community. In my minds eye I envisioned a table surrounded with women with different colored hair, vintage tee shirts, paint stained jeans, dirty finger nails and wild head scarves. I pictured an eclectic group of women committed to living the creative life. Just like me.

When I arrived, I expected to find the table quickly. I looked for a group with colorful unnatural hair color. I saw nothing like that but I did see a group of five young women. They were leaning in discussing something over a piece of paper so I approached them and asked, "Is this the group for the artist collective?"

"Yes!" Karen replied. She coordinated the effort and it was her vision.

"Great!" I said. "I'm Linda" and I seated myself at the large table.

I must say I was a little thrown by how young they were. The oldest was probably twenty-six. I realize that I've been a little hyper-sensitive about my age since my last birthday but that is passing. I am the kind of person who looks back on her life and is proud that I've taken risks and done things that most people wouldn't even consider...but as I sat down I immediately began to feel like a sorority house mother.

The women introduced themselves and I repeated their names, Bonnie, Vicki, Connie, Kelly, and Karen. They were in discussion about house rules and so rather than interrupt them, I asked them to just fill me in a little later and I'd listen and ask questions as we continued. They agreed and went back to the discussion.

"What about cleanliness?" Bonnie asked. Good point, I thought to myself. The last thing I wanted to do was move into a place with ten other people who didn't clean-up after themselves.

"Yeah, we should be clean" said Connie.

"Yeah!" said Kelly.

"Well, since there will be so many of us, if we each kicked in ten bucks a week in our utilities I am sure we could afford a housekeeper who would keep the common areas, bathrooms and kitchen clean. Then we just take care of our own rooms." I say.

They all look at me blankly.

Karen gave me a cold hard stare and then said, "Well, I guess we could do it that way." I thought to myself, oh no. This is not going to be a good situation. Somehow I’d stepped on her toes and didn't know how I'd done so. Maybe she hated housekeepers. Maybe she had issues with another person coming into the space. Maybe I should have kept my mouth shut a bit longer to see what the vibe was like among the women before sharing.

It was then that I pulled my enthusiasm back at the idea of living in an artist collective and really looked at the women who were gathered around the table. Physically they all looked like they came out of the same J. Crew catalog. Straight, long black hair, fashion forward outfits be they baby-doll tops, shear layers over designer dress shorts, impeccable make-up, a stylish hat here, a thin belt there. I began to feel underdressed for the occasion in my black shorts and turquoise coffee stained tee shirt.

Karen changed topics and said, "What about overnight guests?" And all the ladies started nodding their heads cooing, oh yes! Overnight guests!

Bonnie says, "Well if we pay the thousand dollars or more and have our own rooms, it shouldn't be an issue."

"Yeah, if I'm paying that I should be allowed my guests" says Connie.

A thousand dollars? I couldn't afford that, so that meant I'd be sharing a room with one of these girls. Looking at their dress, listening to how they spoke I started doubting that there was a painter or sculptor in the whole bunch. I waited as I listened to them yammer on about how often they go out and what kind of guys they like to bring home and how easy it was dating in New York. Sitting in the energy of what it might be like to live with these girls, my stomach didn't feel so good.

Finally I asked the group, "So, what kind of artists is everyone?"

"I'm an actress and part-time model." said Karen.

"Actress" said Bonnie.

"Actress" said Kelly.

"Actress" said Connie.

"I'm a part-time actress too, but mostly I'm a Balloon Artist." said Vicki sheepishly.

Finally! An artist!

I nodded and smiled at Vicki. There was hope for this artist collective after all!

"I'm a writer and musician," I said. Ooh's and aah's came from the women. How exotic.

I asked Karen if any other painters or musicians or writers replied to her ad and she said she didn't know.

Bonnie noticed Connie's shoes and started asking what size she wore and where she got the shoes and would she be willing to share them sometime and that she had a lot of shoes that'd she'd be willing to share and then Karen and Vickie started talking about wearing dresses and how much they each liked their outfits and was she a size zero too? No? A size two? Yeah, sometimes that fit her too and wasn't it terrible when she was bloated and couldn't fit into her favorite skirt?

I sat in the chattering noise laughing to myself that art comes in all forms and it was unlikely that these women would be having avant-garde performance pieces in the space ala Yoko Ono. I asked my gut what I should do next. It yelled: GET OUT!

And that's what I did.

I stood up and said that I wasn't a good fit for their artist collective. I thanked the women for their time and wished them the best of luck with their aspirations and walked away. That bullet didn’t even graze me.

So much love,
All the way from over here...
Linda

The Green Tortoise Part XII

2008-08-12T09:47:00.002-04:00

Tuesday July 1st, 2008
Grand Tetons
Jackson Hole, MT

Back in my corporate days, I used to ask unusual questions when interviewing potential new hires. At first I started out with the tame 1980's new-age typed query, like "If you were a tree, what kind of tree would you be?" While I was working for Whole Foods, I changed that question to relate to the different department I was interviewing for, so if you wanted to work in the Specialty department I would ask, "If you were a piece of cheese, what kind of cheese would you be and why?" Or the meat department, "If you were a cut of meat, what kind of meat would you be and why?" The answers showed creativity and product knowledge.

I became bored of those questions so I started asking more abstract like "If you could be an action hero, who would you be and why?" Those who wanted to be Superman burned out too fast. those who wanted to be Spiderman were good at finding solutions. Don't hire Batman because he lives in some crazy fantasy world where he has an unlimited budget to spend and can't will order everything he sees in the Office Depot catalog!

I used to do a lot of interviewing and I became bored with that question too until one day. A stroke of genius happened while conducting interviews and this became my favorite question to date, "If you had to eliminate on of the fifty states, which one would it be and why?"

I found it surprising at how many people hate Rhode Island. California, I expected but not little Rhode Island! It was also interesting to watch how many people didn't know half of the fifty states and watching them make a decision was part of the interview...were they able to make a decisive decision and feel firm by it? Did they waver between two states? Could they even make a choice having so many to choose from? And why did they settle on their choice?

If someone asked me right now, today, what state I would I choose it would be an easy decision.

WYOMING

I fucking hate Wyoming! I wish it would just be split into parts and absorbed by all the states surrounding it...or better yet, let's give it away to Canada! Or how about we lease the space to another country in need of some beautiful land unlike its natural habitat where the locals could get away....maybe Belize or Cambodia for example. Didn't we do a number on the Cambodian people in the 1970's? Don't we owe the country something? Wouldn't it be a great idea if we gave the land away?

Or what if we gave the land to Saudi Arabia and in return we could have unlimited oil for all vehicles that ran on green fuels for a dollar a gallon?

I mean, we're a creative country. Can't we just get rid of Wyoming and do something else with the space? We could sell it off for advertising space to Starbucks or Coca Cola and Budweiser to get rid of the mounting debt that we've accrued in the last eight years! I don't want to discuss politics but I mean, really? Don't we have a lot of debt right now? Can't we do something about it? I really believe we can get rid of this god forsaken state and do something better with it.

Why?

Why Wyoming?

It all began many years ago while traveling around the country in the Malibu Stacey Funtime Camper with my incredible cat, Sing. He wasn't happy living in the bus but got used to it after many days. He perched himself on the top of the counter that covered the stove, directly behind the driver's seat and he'd sit with his paw on my shoulder watching were we were going as I drove through the mountains, high deserts, low plains.

One night I was fatigued and decided to stop and sleep in a truck stop. It was a warm July night outside of Cheyenne. I had the windows unrolled less than half-way to let the breeze in since I decided not to pop the top causing attention to myself. Somehow Sing crawled out of the camper and dashed away into the night. I was devastated. He never returned. Did he hear something that caught his attention? Did he smell something tasty? What called him away from the cozy spot next to my head on my pillow?

Only one thing could do that...the sultry call of the devil state, Wyoming.

Oh sure, Wyoming has its good points like being the first state to grant women the right to vote back in 1870....a good thirty years before anyone else. I don't want to talk about all the good its done. I'm still too angry at it for all its done to me.

I knew too, when I boarded the Green Tortoise that I would have to go through Wyoming and I thought to myself maybe it was time that I changed my attitude about this gigantic state. Maybe it was time I grew up, practiced some forgiveness and moved on with my life.

And maybe it was too soon.

To be continued...

So much love,
All the way from over here...
Linda

Birthday

2008-08-07T13:28:00.002-04:00

Today is my birthday.

It has been quite the year so far...at least leading up to today. I had no idea on my birthday last year that my life would change so dramatically, so quickly from where it was...I thought I had everything that I wanted or needed last year this time, albeit there were a lot of issues happening.

The good news is that the drama is gone. My new life in New York is unfolding before my eyes. I am working at creating stability and a daily routine...but what I have found most important is that I cannot think ahead into the future...I mean, I can make plans for meeting a group of women tonight who want to start an artist collective and sharing loft/living space in Greenwich Village. That I can do. But think ahead about what I am actually doing here, why I am here, what am I going to do with all this time and who the hell am I anymore and my head starts to explode.

Byron Katie says something about that. She says (and I am paraphrasing) that she likes to witness the stories her mind tells her about herself and then not believe them. That includes the big ego part and in my case, the little ego that doesn't believe she can do anything.

It is funny to me at how both egos have so much power over us. I've seen both cases and neither one is good. I've witnessed the over-inflated ego that is so self-centered and self-involved that it believes no one around him can do as good a job. I've lived the tiny ego that believes she is worthless and cannot contribute, has no skills and is generally unworthy. Both are equally deadly.

The Little Me, as Echart Tolle calls it, and the stories it tells itself are quite compelling and rather believable. The Little Me is in hungry for any sort of ego-fuel be it over consumption or under-nourishment. My lesson is to keep it properly fed and in check, not allowing either parts to take control over my thought process or abilities.

I have felt unable to write for a variety of excuses but the reality is that I've felt the Little Me feeling meek in this big city. But I have felt that same feeling everywhere I've lived from Delray Beach Florida to Elko Nevada...Seattle, New York...it is all the same. No matter where I go, there I am.

My personal birthday wish for myself today (and feel free to use this yourself) is to stay present. Pay attention to when my mind captures its thoughts and drifts into low self-esteem land and bring it right back to this moment.

For this is all we have. Right here. Right now. Everything else has already happened or will happen later.

Thank you for sharing my birthday with me.

Now I am off to find a cupcake.

So much love,
All the way from over here....
Linda

The Green Tortoise Part XI

2008-08-04T10:16:00.007-04:00

There is a lot of energy and excitement in the boats. I am one of the few people who's never rafted before so I pay strict attention during our emergency training as we sit in the still waters on the shore.

"This here," Justin, our guide says, "is the Chicken Line." He pulls on the long red rope that runs down the length of the center of the boat. "If you feel like you're gonna fall in the water, hang on to this line and fall into the boat, not out of it." He looks at us seriously. "You don't know what kind of rocks there will be when we're crossing class four rapids and the last thing you wanna do is bash your head on some rock."

Bash our heads in? Oh no. I look for the Chicken Line and become best friends with the life-saving twine.

"Remember, if your gonna fall, fall into the boat." He looks at us for eye confirmation. I think to myself...fall towards the boat, fall towards the boat, fall in the boat.

"If you do fall in, depending on where you are, you may end up drifting down river aways until we can catch-up with you." His voice is stern. My breath quickens thinking about this possibility. "Don't panic. I will get you. I haven't lost anyone yet!" He gives a big Idaho smile. "Of course, this is only my third time leading a group." He laughs as he says this and I look horrified to my raft companions.

"Just kidding, just kidding...don't worry. I been using that line for the last six years and before that I was riding with my Dad over there since I was this big." He measures an imaginary height at his knee with his left hand. At that moment, his father looks up at him and they wave to each other, laughing and shaking their heads. Part of the initiation process for white water rafting is checking to make sure your heart works. Mine was pumping just fine.

"Seriously though, if you do fall in, here's what you do when we fish you out. Keep your arms straight at your sides and one of us will grab you from the bottom sides of your life-vest. Stay straight, okay?" We nod.

"Everybody ready?" He asks.

"Yeah! Let's Go!" We say.

"Okay!" Justin says just as excited as if it's his first trip too.

"Now to splash another boat, you gotta hold your paddle down at an angle and keep it straight pushing the paddle out with the back of the ore." He gives us a demonstration splashing his father with the back of his paddle. His father retaliates fast and saturates his son with water. The boat his dad is in has the partiers and they are ready for a splash fight. My boat is not interested. We want to see the sites and hit the rapids and as if we were of one mind, we start to paddle together in unison. Our boat has only six people compared to the others that have eight and we are fast since we are lighter. We outrun the splashing waters and head down river.

"Wow!" Justin says. "You guys are fast!"

"That's right." Carol says. "Let's show those punk kids we've got speed!" We all and cheer.

"Ya know, the Green Tortoise has been a good customer for us, so we made the trip about ten miles longer than usual this time. The rapids are really awesome this year." Justin says. "In fact, we haven't had class four rapids around here in a long time, so it's gonna be an exciting ride!"

The waters were calm and the current of the river was strong, pulling us down-stream. The two other boats had splash fights between them and we paddled enjoying the scenery. I spied a bald eagle's nest with its two golden eagle babies.

It is a beautiful sunny, warm day and the icy river feels refreshing. I drag my hands in the water as we coast. Zeke, a 26 year old socially awkward, unemployed college graduate, puts his feet in the waters. We drift past a the Boy Scouts of America camp and our companions in the other boats jump out and go for a swim. They drift downstream for a mile or two before we start to hit our first series of rapids.

Quickly, the other boats gather up their passengers and prepare for the first set of class three rapids. "Paddle hard!" Justin yells at us as we approach the white waters and we do as we're told. Waters splash up over the front of the boat as we hit a dip in the river and water crashes inside the boat. I stop paddling and hold onto the chicken line with both hands praying I don't fall in the crashing waters. Water is everywhere, splashing all around us and in an instant our boat is half-full of Salmon river water. The waters calm down and I ask our guide, "Should we be worried that our boat is filling up with water?"

"Nah, it's a self-bailing boat!" Justin smiles and says, "Look!" And as fast as he had spoke, our boat was nearly empty of all the water that rushed in.

"Cool!" I say. "That was fun!"

"That was nothing! Wait until after we pass the gold mine!" Justin says always smiling. He loves it job and it shows. We paddle down the river and pass through another series of rapids and I never let go of the chicken line. Sometimes I hold on with two hands although after three or four series, I begin to feel confident and enjoy the turbulent waters.

About an hour into our ride and I spot our Green Tortoise bus. I ask our guide if we are nearly finished, disappointed thinking the ride was nearly over.

"Oh no. That's the gold mine." Justin says. "We're gonna stop and take a tour!" The other boats are near us and hear our guide tell us where we're going and Joe calls out like the old prospector, "GOLD!?!" as he had been for the past day or so and we all start laughing. Our guides shake their heads not getting the inside joke.

We get out of the boats and take a short walk to the mine entrance. Our guides are also our tour guides through the gold mining process. The mine had been closed since the 1960's but there was talk about it reopening what with gold trading at nearly a thousand dollars an ounce nowadays. There were make-shift displays on blasting techniques with old photos of when the mine first began operating in the early 1900's. Photos on the walls showed black-faced miners with candle headlamps, filthy clothes. The men looked old and haggered.

We are guided to a large troff set-up with river rock, sand, stones and are given a demonstration on how to pan for gold. Every time one of the men says 'gold' Joe gives his reply. Each time it is funny.

The guides pass around plates of homemade chunky brownies and bottled water and we enjoy our snack in the hot sun. Some of us step into the mine entrance where it is cold to cool off. Our companions who didn't sign-up for the rafting trip ask us how it is going so far and we tell them about the fun we've been having. Esther, who really wanted to come but couldn't afford it, looked devastated upon hearing this news. I saddle up next to her and whisper into her ear, "It's not so great." She smiles instantly and says, "Thanks Linda."

Time is up and we load back into our boats for the second half of the trip. Many of us give our cameras to the non-rafting members of the Green Tortoise and they promise to take pictures of us crossing over the class four falls up ahead. We watch the bus load and race ahead on the narrow Idaho canyon road.

Almost immediately returning to the boat we are upon the class three and four rapids which will remain persistent until the end of the ride which will not be for another three hours.

Justin encourages one of us to take the front of the boat, straddle it like riding a mechanical bull, and keep one hand in the air, one foot in the water. This is the most exciting way to ride the rapids. Zeke is the only one who takes the suggestion and passes his ore to the back of the boat as he straddles the nose.

We approach the class four rapids and it is an intense, exhilarating feeling. I hold on to the chicken line with both hands, abandoning my ore which hits my boat mate in the head as the waters crash over the boat. I start falling and hear Justing yelling at me, "Fall in! Fall in!" and holding onto the line, I fall towards the inside of the boat being hit hard in the head with a wall of water. Zeke is laughing and holding on with one hand like a crazed cowboy laughing his ass off.

All my fears are gone, having survived this last round of rapids. "This is fun!" I yell to Carol and she nods in agreement.

Ahead in the canyon, storm clouds form. The air changes rapidly. Temperatures drop. One moment cold air is gusting across our bodies, the next hot air comes as relief. That can't be good, I think to myself. The mixture of hot and cold air can only mean one thing. Hail.

"Do you think we'll hit that storm ahead?" Carol asks Justin. "Well, let's hope not." Our attention changes back to the river as we approach another series of rapids. "Paddle Hard!" we hear and obey. During this round of rapids I feel rain drops hit my already soaked body. The thunderstorm comes in fast and the rain pounds hard into the boat.

Justin guides us out of the rapids and turns the boat so the rain isn't hitting us hard in the face. It is raining sideways, the winds are icy and immediately I am freezing cold. I have on only my bathing suit and tank top and thin shorts. I stick my hand back in the water and it feels warm compared with the outside temperature. As we drift down a smooth patch of river, some of the other boaters jump into the waters, this time to get warm.

The storm kicks in harder with thunder and lightening. I watch a flash of lightening and count to myself, one Mississippi, two Mississippi, three Mississippi, four Missi... before hearing the thunder. The storm is about three and a half miles away. We're headed right for it.

"What do you do in thunderstorms?" I ask Justin.

"Ride it out...what else can you do?" Justin says shrugging his shoulders.

"How far away are we from the end?" Carol asks.

"Oh...it's a ways." Justin says.

I'll say. It was not just a ways, it was far, far a ways.

The fun stops as we're instructed to paddle hard through the next few series of rapids. In the icy rain, huge hail balls start pelting our skin. Zeke is still holding on with one hand. I am freezing, clinging to the chicken line and praying it would all end soon.

About an hour later, in a calm patch of water, I look at my boat companions all wet, cold, hungry. They are miserable. So am I. My fingertips are blue. I am cold, tired and cranky.

Carol says, "Wouldn't a nice hot cup of tea and a bath be nice right about now?"

"Oh Carol." I say with an attitude of disgust, "We're on the Green Tortoise! This is our bath! The first one in days!" Our first scheduled shower is still a few days away. I look down and notice pink flesh underneath my blue fingernails, the first time in three days! All the dirt is gone! I try to take a positive approach to watery situation. My feet are clean. I try to enjoy the feeling.

"I know what I'd like." Katherine, a silent, pretty woman from France speaks for the first time since we boarded the bus. "A hot chocolate." Murmurs of "yes" and "oh yeah!" are uttered in agreement.

"How much further?" Carol asks Justin again.

"Oh, it's still a ways." Justin says still smiling but with a guilty look, like he feels bad for us.

I look back at our sister boats and in one of them, all the passengers were waving their hands and wiggling their fingers in a "jazz hands" style. The did this for a while and then started laughing afterwards. A little while later, their boat begins to pass us and I yell to them, "What are you guys doing with your hands?"

Donna yells back, "Kundalini Yoga to stay warm!"

"What do we do?" I yell back.

"Shake your hands and fingers for sixty seconds!" She says enthusiastically. I drop my ore and raise my hands in the air and start shaking my hands and fingers. My boat companions join me and together we start counting to sixty out loud. Donna's boat joins us and it is hard not to laugh at the site of all of us, soaking wet, drifting through this beautiful mountain canyon, in this monstrous thunderstorm with our fingers waving hello to all of nature, everywhere. The third boat doesn't join us but laughs at us as it paddles past us.

I can almost feel my fingertips as we nearly finish counting. Then another series of rapids fast approaches and Justin yells at us to paddle hard. We do as we're told and then begin shaking our fingers again to warm ourselves.

Zeke looks over his shoulder at me and asks if I want to take the boat by the nose. What the hell, I think to myself. I can't get any colder and it is unlikely I'll have another chance to do so, so we switch positions. He takes my ore and I drop a foot into the water. It is warm.

Justin steers the boat backwards as we switch positions and then asks, "Ready?" I look back at him and nod, taking hold of the chicken line with both hands. I opt to not ride the nose like a bull, but straddle the boat.

"Paddle Hard!" Justin yells.

I tighten my grip, lift my left leg that is drifting in the waters as we bounce around the class four waters. "Whoo Hoo!" I yell laughing. "Lift your leg!" I hear from Zeke who was keeping an eye on me riding the nose of the boat. Then we hit an unexpected black pocket and nearly capsize. Water completely fills our boat. Justin looks rattled but keeps smiling as he steers us out of the dangerous rocky waters. He turns the boat around and has us paddle back towards the rapids we just went through. Behind us are the other two boats and Justin stands and gives hand signals to the other guides. They nod and steer their boats around the black rocks that we just rode through.

Ahead, in the distance, I spot the Green Tortoise parked under some trees.

"BUS!" I yell. And everyone in all three boats start cheering.

We all paddle hard through the last series of rapids and race towards our home on wheels. In my mind I began to inventory the contents of my day pack and realized that I did not pack any dry shorts or pants. I would have to sit in wet clothes until the next big-bag stop that was a few hours away.

We make it though the last round of rapids unimpressed, like old pros and all jump into the waters to warm up before getting into the bus in the pounding rain. We grab our bags and dry off best we can before we pass the hat to gather cash for tips for our guides.

Everyone looked exhausted, cold, and hungry when we got back on the bus.

"See Esther...it was good you missed this ride. Next time you come to the states, it will be better."

She smiled and gave me a hug.

To be continued...

So much love,
All the way from over here....
Linda

The Green Tortoise Part X

2008-07-31T12:59:00.001-04:00

After such a bad night's sleep and the fear of being left behind in Idaho, I decided to abandon the idea of rest all together and start setting up breakfast production around 6:30 AM with Driver Dave.

This becomes one of my regular jobs during the next eleven days. To set-up breakfast, first we pull out all the equipment from the cargo bays in the buses belly. For each meal we extract four six-foot folding tables, twenty over-sized stackable crates the contents which include coffee cups, plates, bowls, coffee brewing equipment, coffee, tea and hot chocolate ingredients, disposable sandwich bags and foil, assorted cereals, condiments, dried pasta, granola bars, olive oil and vinegar, miscellaneous dried ingredients like flour and corn meal, dried spices with salt and pepper mills. Also there are two huge tool boxes that hold chef knives and utensils plus the silverware we all use.

Once we unload the bins out of the bay, then comes setting up the huge pot we use to boil water for coffee and tea plus setting up the propane stove with five gallon propane tank. The is no weekend camp stove. It is cast-iron and very heavy designed to hold only one over-sized stock pot at a time. The first actual cooking task after bringing everything out and setting up the stove is boiling water. Everyone craves their coffee or tea first off in the morning. Occasionally we make other meals that require us to use industrial sized camp stoves with dual burners. We set two of those up back-to-back with another giant tank of propane.

We have a hand-washing station that uses a three compartment sink concept: soapy water, rinse water and bleach water to sterilize. Before anyone helps, they have to wash their hands. Also, we set-up a dish washing area with the same set-up but using bus tubs and there are four drying racks. Dishes and utensils must air-dry after being dipped into the bleach-water to kill bacteria.

Wavy Dave, the tax consultant, appoints himself as chief coffee maker in the morning. The only problem with this is that he is not a coffee drinker thus makes terrible coffee. We're drinking cowboy coffee which consists of boiled water poured on top of coffee grounds in a stainless steel pitcher with spout. We strain the coffee into plastic cups and put the leftover grounds back in the pot. When I kindly suggest to Wavy Dave that he use more of grounds in his cowboy coffee, he says, "That's not what Driver Dave instructed me to do."

Good times.

Except for a couple of days, each breakfast has cut fruit salad, granola and yogurt. On the other few days we had French Toast which wasn't so much fun for me since I can't eat bread without feeling sick, but people seemed to enjoy it. Carol, who also can't eat bread, made us cheese omelets instead for breakfast. That was nice. Another day, Cassie and crew made a Mexican scramble which was inedible. It was watery, wet eggs with soggy vegetables.

To set-up and tear-down breakfast takes a couple of hours. Once the food prep is done then we pack a lunch for the afternoon which are sandwich fixings, then we clean and put everything away. Not a fast process.

It is Sunday morning and we are headed to the Craters of the Moon. It is before 9 AM and already a hot 95 Fahrenheit degrees outside (that's 35 Celsius). Driver Dave drops us off and says the hike is only a mile around and there are caves to explore. He is wrong. It is a few miles but I do the hike quickly and return back to the bus and fall immediately asleep. I don't wake up for several hours which is blissful rest.

When I awake we are headed down Idaho canyon roads that weave around the Salmon River. It is a beautiful area, lush and green and all of our spirits are lifted. We arrive at our campsite which is off of the river so we can go for a swim, or at least a dip and it is the first night of camping. We pull our out big bags and tents and start setting up camp. Most of us will be sleeping outside. Those who didn't bring tents lay blue tarps on the soft grass and take cushions from the bus to sleep under the stars in their sleeping bags. It sounds romantic but I've slept under the stars plenty of times and don't like to wake up wet, covered in dew. But I can see the attraction. The party group set-up their tarps just like they are in the front of the bus except they don't sleep head-to-toe outside. They're side by side. Each tarp holds about four people.

I bought a new tent for this trip and it was a bargain. It is huge compared to my companions who have single or double tents. Mine can easily sleep four to six people. I take cushions from the bus to sleep on and bring all my gear inside. It is so nice to have all my stuff around me within the confines of my own space. There is a strong sense of self within my little tent. I savor the privacy, skip dinner and fall asleep for thirteen long, glorious hours.

The first night of camping was a success. A huge thunderstorm passed through our canyon after dinner and we were lucky, no tents were harmed. I slept through the whole storm and listened to the stories of the double rainbows that appeared following the storm. After breakfast we tear down camp and have a two hour wait before we head out white water rafting. Everyone is in good spirits and a group of us sits around a picnic table telling stories and laughing.

Joe is funny this morning. Every time someone says the word "gold" he stands up, crouches over like an old man and slaps his knee like he's a prospector from the 1800's and says really loud, "GOLD!?" The laughter feeds his soul and it becomes an inside joke for the next week, especially when strangers are around. We say the word in anticipation of Joe's response. Later in the trip Joe buys a black Stetson cowboy hat, black leather holster and a very real looking metal gun, so he looks more the part. He takes to sitting in full cowboy gear on the bus, hiding the gun when we roll into small towns. Joe takes no shame in playing dressing up and will do just about anything for a laugh on this trip.

A while later and we are back on the bus winding through the canyons to the drop-off point for the white water rafting. I was ambivalently about going rafting thinking about other things I could do with the sixty bucks, but decided I had never done it before and didn't know when I'd be back to the west coast again...and the snow pack was still melting so the trip was bound to be exciting. At the last minute I decide to go abandoning caution to the wind and face my fear of the white waters.

We are met by our Idaho guides, rugged, athletic, strong, handsome men who know this river inside and out. There are three boats. Two boats are full with eight people and mine has six. There is only one person who is not with the Green Tortoise group. His name is Todd. He is a teacher from Baltimore out west camping with some friends. His companions bailed out at the last moment once they found out that we would be on class four rapids.

Rating rapids is the same as rating tornadoes or hurricanes. It is a one through five scale, five being the most dangerous and one the easiest. The snow pack was still melting under the hot Idaho sun and the river looks intimidating. Our guides have increased the ride by ten miles. They are a small, family-owned business that dropped homemade cookies to our campsite after we arrived last night as a welcome present.

This should be an exciting ride.

To be continued...

So much love,
All the way from over here...
Linda

Brooklyn Baby

2008-07-30T11:14:00.004-04:00

I found a furnished room to live in Brooklyn yesterday. It's in a "transitional" neighborhood which means it doesn't have any Starbuck's and it's mostly Afro-American. J-Z, the rapper, is from this neighborhood. The residents are very watchful and church going folks. It borders the Hasidic Jewish neighborhood and there are Kosher butchers and pastry shops close by.

My new roommates seem nice and are very welcoming. It will be the first time that I live with children, a 9 year old girl and 11 year old boy also live there half-time, so we'll see how that goes. The good news is that if I don't like it I can move out....it's month to month.

Now what?

Write, I guess...find a community...maybe a good slice of pizza.

I move in on Friday.

Wow. I've moved to New York!

So much love,
All the way from over here....
Linda

New York Bound

2008-07-27T12:16:00.004-04:00

I am riding a bus with internet access complete with air conditioning and electrical outlets on the four hour ride from Boston to New York. Listening to Hildegard Von Bingen I am amazed at where I am today, at this moment.

I reflect mostly on Anne and her recent survival from open-heart surgery performed under emergency situations. How fleeting and fragile this life is. How tempting it is to become consumed with the mindless chatter, the monkey mind that invades trying to convince me that it is real when all that matters is this moment. Life is funny. It seems like only a moment ago I was a child and suddenly I am a woman. I am grateful for this life, this gift and pray that the right thing is in motion for me, that my intentions are pure and for the highest good of all the people, everywhere. For each action has a ripple effect and the more consciousness I bring to my every day, my every movement, my every thought it somehow will impact the world around me.

May my transitions continue to be smooth and blessed. May my fear of the unknown be replaced with trust that I will feel my answers in my body and receive confirmation from my surroundings.

Thank you Grandmother, Grandfather, Great Mystery, Creation, Spirit. I am present and in gratitude for this moment. May our planet heal from the pain that the humans have created by over using her beautiful resources. May she forgive us for our ignorance. May the winged creatures, the two legged and four legged beings, insects, flowers, rocks and trees forgive the foolish who invade her land and hold compassion as we visit this most beautiful vacation planet.
Amen. Ashey. Namaste.

Wish me luck.
So much love,
All the way from over here....
Linda

The Green Tortoise Part IX

2008-07-27T09:32:00.005-04:00

The Green Tortoise information page clearly states that they have a "Flexible" itinerary. We were on our second night and our itinerary was changed again from what I had booked. Two weeks earlier, when I booked my spot on the bus, we were scheduled to go white water rafting following our stop in the Ruby Mountains. We still were going, but it has been postponed a day. There was a late night announcement that we were still headed to the Salmon River but first we were going to "Craters of the Moon" which is a national monument and volcanic preserve. It is filled with black, razor sharp lava and caves.

The reputation of the Green Tortoise is that of a hippy bus and very laid back. I took this to mean that the passengers would be included in any itinerary changes and perhaps make suggestions or asked if they would like to visit new places. I know this was an assumption on my part and I had no reason to support this belief but somehow I believed that we would be included in the decision making process. So when I find out we are headed to "Craters of the Moon" I am disappointed. I've been there before too and it is no place I'd like to visit twice. Not to mention its name conjures images of a bad ride at Disney Land.

Being a passenger means that we receive information from our driver on a need to know basis. We don't need to know all the details, but I like knowing what is going on. I am accustomed to being a driver which means that I hold all the information...not receive it. Part of my personal transformation includes letting go of this obsessive behavior to know everything in every situation. That is an old habit I learned from being with people who were out of control of their behavior. It is a behavior I learned as a child to compensate for turbulent times. Letting go of my need to know means I am letting go of my need to control my situation. My lesson now is to learn how to trust. Trust that the right thing is in motion. Trust that I am a favorite child of God and that I am safe. This is a big lesson for me and I welcome it.

When you are a passenger on a bus all that you can control is your own behavior. You cannot control thirty other people, all you can do is notice your own response and grow as needed. The Green Tortoise provided me with ample opportunity to witness my own responses to others and I did my best to respond with dignity and respect towards all of the other passengers, even when their behavior infringed on my personal space.

During the second night's sleep, as we drove full speed ahead towards The Craters of The Moon and then Salmon River, Idaho, I was awakened several times by another passenger, Randi, who did not like where she was originally sleeping that night and squeezed in next to me during a bathroom stop.

Randi is addicted to drama and attention. She is a loud, self-absorbed woman from New Jersey. She is one of the few passengers who is always using her cell phone, iPod and lap-top. She talks loudly on the phone so we all can overhear her self-important conversations, she cries loudly while listening to her iPod and she complains loudly when there is no WiFi at any of our bathroom stops. She interrupts private conversations that she has been eavesdropping on to correct facts. She includes herself in hiking groups uninvited and she is always late. She holds the bus up several times from us leaving on time. Randi has many health issues she is very happy to share with anyone who will listen and especially to those who wish not to listen. It is not surprising to me to find out that she kicks in her sleep like she is at battle with her demons during the daytime and fighting for her life as she sleeps.

I find this out in fifteen minute intervals at one, two, three, and four AM. She kicks me repeatedly with force, hard kicks in the side, back and legs oblivious to her own physical actions. Each time I sit up to see why she is kicking me and she is sprawled out, snoring and drooling taking up two sleeping spaces, eyes moving in REM dreaming patterns. Even in her sleep she is demanding attention. The sleeping bus is full, all bunks taken, the party-drinking bunch are passed out from too much sunshine, hiking and Wild Turkey. There is no place to move, so I try to make my six-foot frame (or 1.8288 meters) tiny and move closer to my other sleeping companion.

When I look at Randi, I see a black cloud surrounding her as if her aura is not able to break free from her need to be liked and accepted, even in her sleep. Under normal conditions, I would channel compassion and say a prayer for her to find happiness and self-love in her life, but these are not normal conditions. I am cranky like a child, angry and tired. I crave my rest but can see it will not be happening for me this night. Accepting this situation I remain awake changing my energies to meditation in hope of gathering rest for my weary soul.

We pull into a lush rest area with rest stop with picnic tables underneath big trees. It is pre-dawn, one of my favorite times of day, when the star filled skies gently turn from midnight to indigo to soft light blue as sensual pinks and tender tangerine prepare my eyes for the magnificent sun to arise for another day warming my skin and nourish our ever evolving planet.

Our driver crawls into her bunk to grab a few hours sleep. I am exhausted from no sleep and in dreary exhaustion slip off the bus to use the bathroom. I take my sleeping bag and go outside under the stars, alone to watch the sunrise. I nod off and am awaken to the bus engine starting and backing out of the rest stop. I realized I did not put anything on the driver's seat to let them know I'd moved off the bus and I forgot to grab my emergency bag with cell phone and wallet. Panicked, I sprint at a mad dash towards the bus dragging my sleeping bag through the dew filled lawn.

Driver Dave stops and opens the door and says, "Don't worry. I'm just turning the bus around. We're gonna make breakfast here before heading out."

I can only imagine how terror stricken I must have looked at that moment dashing through the rest area and take a moment to thank god that I would not be left behind although I was starting to wonder if I might not be happier if I'd just get off the bus and head to New York on a Greyhound bus.

To be continued...

So much love,
All the way from over here...
Linda

Update

2008-07-25T10:23:00.003-04:00

I am in Cambridge, MA...I've been here a week housesitting and on Sunday I am headed into New York City to find a place to live. I will continue to write about the my Green Tortoise experience but I am feeling quite anxious not knowing where I am going to live, or how it will all work out. It is hard to write about the recent past while I am in such transition, although I seem to be doing it. I am taking a huge leap of faith by moving to NY and everyday I wonder if I am making the right decision or if I should retreat and head back to Seattle with my tail between my legs.

My birthday is August 7th and will be here in no time at all. I realize that it is not an important date but for me it signifies the beginning of a new year, so relocating is happening at the exact right time.

I am scared and nervous but trust the right thing is in motion. I am hoping to find a room to rent in Williamsburg for about $600/month...which is possible, just not too common. I get back into the city, I have a place to stay for a few days while I sort this all out. It will all work. I just don't know how.

If you have a moment, keep me in your kind thoughts as I move forward with another day as a human being on planet earth.

Now I will go find a cup of chowder. I am in Boston after all.

So much love,
All the way from over here....
Linda

The Green Tortoise Part Vlll

2008-07-24T12:40:00.000-04:00

As the bus pulls out of the parking lot and onto I-80 East, I slip into the forbidden bathroom and change into my bathing suit.

Joe tries to get a party started in the front of the bus but Driver Dave stops him with another rule.

"People, there is another rule!" Conversations stop quickly so we can hear the latest rule. I start to wonder if he makes these rules up along the way just as he sees fit.

"RULE NUMBER 10: YOU MUST ASK THE DRIVER IF IT IS OKAY TO DRINK! Sometimes it is cool to have a drink on the bus, other times it isn't and the Driver always has to know when you're drinking." He focuses his attention to those sitting near the front of the bus and gives a hard gaze. They listen intently.

"In some places it will be okay for you to have a drink, and other places it's not cool. Just ask, okay?" he says nodding his head looking for head bobbing as a response.

Joe pipes in, "Can we have a drink now?"

"No." Dave says. "We are going on a hike and then into hot springs and it is a bad idea to mix alcohol and hot springs. But once we are back on the bus you can have a drink."

He turns his attention to the rest of us and says, "You know, you don't have to drink to have a good time."

This statement wins my heart. Maybe my immediate fears are all wrong! Maybe this won't be a party bus. Maybe, just maybe, this will be a great trip.

Maybe.

Joe grumbles in disappointment and puts the bottle of vodka he produced away for later.

I feel bad for Driver Dave having to be the "bad guy" in this situation but appreciate him and what he does. He and Cassie work their asses off grocery shopping, driving and keeping the bus safe with all these people on it. It seems like a thankless job. And it reminds me so much of the kind of work I used to do...babysitting a bunch of people who would push the rules as far as they could...showing up for work drunk, being late, stealing. It was a thankless job and I imagined myself as a bus driver for the Green Tortoise, treating "Sol" (the name of our bus) as my own.

Immediately I banished the thought from my head as I gazed into the sleeping cupboard. No thank you! When I had the Malibu Stacey Funtime Camper at least I was able to have a large bed and she was oh, so comfortable to sleep in. God bless Malibu Stacey.

"Are we there yet?" Joe asks in his thickest New York accent. Joe is not only a republican spin master, he is an ammature stand-up comedian.

"No." Driver Dave says as drive by the second exit to Elko. "It'll take about an hour or so to get where we're going."

People return to their small clusters and wonder what will be for dinner since many are very hungry from a full day hiking. It is getting late in the day. Some people stopped by the deli to pick-up fried chicken as a snack, others munch on Pringle's potato chips and Elfin' chocolate cream cookies. I have a pint of raspberries, an avocado and a couple of hard boiled eggs.

The bus pulls off the freeway and drives through the desolate town of Wells, Nevada. It was a destination for the Western Shoshone Indians during the 1840's and 50's and then became a stop for pioneers moving west for gold. When they crossed the salt beds after crossing the mountains, Wells became a destination to replenish gear and supplies before the long haul through the Nevada desert and Sierra Mountains.

Many of the old buildings have been restored but the town still looks abandoned; depressed. Now there are a couple of truck stops that are open but not too many other businesses look thriving as our bus drives down main street.

We cross over railroad tracks and onto a smaller road, then another turn and onto a dirt road. The bus finds our location and turns around before we rise to exit, gathering our things. Driver Dave instructs us to bring a towel and our flashlights since it will be dark when we are hiking back to the bus.

Like school children, we do as we are told grabbing things and stuffing them into our day packs. As we exit the bus we are each handed something that will be a part of our dinner to carry into the hot springs. I am handed a big box of assorted crackers and take all the cardboard off.

"People, we are on private land and we leave no trace that we were here. That means what we carry in, we bring out. Everything. Got it?" Driver Dave instructs.

"Is there a bathroom?" a voice asks.

"Only the bushes." Driver Dave replies. "We will be stopping much later tonight at a truck stop to "Miracle" the bus so you may want to hold number 2...or take a shovel with you, it's in the bay. Should I get it out?"

"No." the voice replies.

"The hot springs are about a mile that way," he points east. "You are gonna have to cross a stream and I don't know how high it will be but pay attention because when you're walking back, it will be dark out so try and figure out how to cross in the most shallow spot."

"Start walking." He says.

We head down the dirt road in the middle of nowhere, Nevada.

I am a walker. I walk just about everyday at least three miles a day. Before this trip, I was walking up to eight miles in a day so I know how far a mile is and when we'd been walking for about thirty minutes, and still no sign of the stream, I started to get concerned. It was clear that we were on the right road, since there were no other options before us. Wild sage brush and black flies were everywhere. As we the road made a slight turn to the left, we saw about a hundred heads of cattle all mooing "hello".

An amours bull chased after several cows in hot pursuit. Young calves were being escorted away from the road and the intruders by their protective mothers. Several people in our group started mooing hello back to the animals and the field filled with sound.

"Watch your step." I say to my companions as cow pies were everywhere. Cows appeared on our left stopping from crossing the road to let us by first. I waved.

We had walked two miles and still no sign of the stream.

"Did we miss it?" Someone asked.

"I don't think so." Someone else replied.

The group was getting tired. Many had already hiked five miles today and we were not at our destination yet. Everyone was hungry. We all were starting to smell.

A half a mile later and we see the stream. Headed towards us is a family carrying a cooler. I stop and ask them if we are close to the hot springs.

"Yup." The father replies. "It's about another mile or so that-a-way." And he points in the direction we'd been walking in.

The stream is icy cold glacier water mixed with cow manure and many in the group stop waiting for someone else to cross first. The young boys start crossing and take a step into the icy waters. "Come on in! It feels good!" they cry to the people standing at the edge.

I move forward, see how far the water comes up on their waist and choose a different spot. Icy waters hit me mid-thigh and I quickly trot across the stream assisting others come across. Judy from Australia is an active woman. Once crossing the waters she says to me that she is worried about crossing the stream in the dark. Several others say the same. I offer to lead them back immediately following dinner once we hit the hot springs.

A half a mile later and we arrive at the hot springs. Cassie spreads out a large blanket and she and Driver Dave start gathering all the ingredients we carried. It is a smörgåsbord of appetizers such as hummus, carrots, Brie, horseradish cheddar cheese, crackers, lunch meat, rolls, grapes, brownies, cookies. We swarm the food wet from a quick plunge into the hot springs.

"Let's not think about how dirty we all are in this warm bath water." I say as we sit snuggly in the small hot springs. The springs feed into the stream that we crossed earlier. The Europeans are excited that there is a cold water plunge after being in the hot water.

When we are eating a customized pick-up truck pulls up to our spot and four drunk local early twenty guys emerge. They open the coolers in the back of the monster truck and start drinking beers. I say hello.

"You all walk here?" they ask.

"Yeah." I say. "That was our bus back there a ways."

"Damn! That's a long walk!" one of the guys says to me. "Want a beer?"

More than anything, I thought to myself...but Driver Dave said no drinking at the hot springs and I was just about ready to head back with Judy.

"Better not." I say. "Don't want to get in trouble..." and I look over my shoulder towards Dave and they nod knowingly. I was glad there were kids with us. They were playing with Driver Dave and they guys seemed to understand that we weren't drinkers. Maybe they thought we were Christians or even Mormons. There are a lot of Mormons in Eastern Nevada.

"You about ready?" Judy asks me holding a small plate of food.

"Yup." I say. I tell the guys we're headed back before sunset and excuse myself. They head for the hot springs and start playing "Dunk the Little Guy". I did not want to hang-out with the locals and was glad Judy was eager to get back to the bus.

I tell Cassie that Judy an I are headed back and ask if there is something for us to carry. She hands me extra mustard that we didn't use and hand sanitizer. Judy gets uneaten crackers and some rolls. We stow the items and start to head out. Several other travelers grab items from the buffet and follow us.

"One mile? One mile? Bloody Hell!" Judy says angerly. Like many of the other travelers, she did not know that she would be walking eleven miles today. She was tired, cranky and wanted a good hot shower. We all fantasized about hot showers that day and everyday until we got one in the Grand Tetons.

I am a fast walker and once we crossed the stream, I asked Judy if she minded if I walked faster, at my normal pace. She said she didn't mind and she'd meet me on the bus so I moved ahead alone.

It was the best walk on the trip. The cows mooed hello and I watched the sunset across the high desert enjoying the purple wild flowers, green pastures, yellow hay fields. I savor the peace and quiet on the bus, still warm from the setting sun. The temperature drops dramatically outside and I feel bad for the people walking back to the bus cold and in the dark. I am so glad that we returned early.

I change my clothes, pull out my sleeping bag, make an emergency bag to take with me in case I have to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night that has my wallet with ID, cell phone, shorts and a bra and my daily thyroid medication. I pray quietly to myself as I prepare for another nights sleep on the bus.

Oh Dear God...
Please hold my bladder tight as we travel tonight. May the other people be warm and safe as we drive through the night. I am serious God. Keep us safe. We need the protection. Thanks for the snacks and for Judy wanting to come back early. I really loved the walk...thanks for all the beauty. Amen. Ashey. Namaste.

I sleep through everyone returning to the bus tired and hungry again from the walk back and am awakened at the truck stop when it is time to "Miracle" the bus. They let me keep my sleeping bag where it was and as soon as I can, I crawl back to sleep not knowing where we are headed next.

To be continued....

So much love,
All the way from over here....
Linda

The Green Tortoise Part Vll

2008-07-22T12:01:00.000-04:00

Our time in the Ruby Mountains ends and we gather back at the bus, as instructed, ten minutes before departure time, with muddy feet and sunburned limbs. Once aboard, Driver Dave gives further instructions for the rest of the day.

"Okay. We're going to make our first 'Store Stop' which we will do most days. These are short stops so don't waste a lot of time. All your stuff needs to be moved from the front bench," he points to the side behind the driver's seat and continues. "That is where the ice chest is and we will need to repack it with ice so move your stuff." There were bags, books, games, cards, abandoned lunches, water bottles, and dirty socks sitting on the bench seat.

Cassie whispers loudly to Driver Dave, "Oh yeah, don't forget to tell them about that rule we talked about."

He nods back at her and finishes his thoughts on the store stop. "Remember, there is no need for you to stockpile anything. We are feeding you three times a day. We will stop at a store almost everyday so no need to bring a bunch of food back on the bus, okay?" He looks in our eyes for confirmation. We nod in understanding.

"After we board the bus from the store, we are headed to Wells, Nevada to some hot springs. It is about a mile hike in and we will pack-in dinner, spend time soaking in the hot springs and walk back in the dark. You will need your flashlights because it is a dark hike coming back and we may have to cross some streams so wear shoes you can get wet." I look around at the eager faces excited about the hot springs and I shake my head.

I lived in Elko Nevada for about 11 months back in the late 1990's. I first was called there by an old boyfriend of my sister's, Steve. Lisa met him first when she moved to Seattle in the 1980's and he worked as a traffic information gatherer for her when she was a news anchor on a radio station. Steve was very funny and she introduced us when I first arrived in Seattle in 1986. He felt like the long lost Silberman brother I knew existed somewhere and when he met Anne in 1987 after she moved west, he fell in love.

Sadly, Anne didn't have the same romantic feelings for him as he had for her but they remained friends. He found love through a personal ad and met his wife Carol. She was a nurse and found a job in Elko Nevada which was pretty close to her parent's in Idaho so they packed up their city lives and moved to the mountains. Once there, Steve wanted to open a business and there was no espresso in Elko at that time, so he hired me to help him start the business.

I named the shop Cowboy Joe. People were skeptical at first but receptive to the espresso wave hitting the nation and Steve was able to play boss which was good for him since he was the laziest person I'd ever met. He told me, many years later, that he used to make up traffic for my sister when she was on the air...but he was that kind of guy. The kind of guy who naturally charmed anyone into doing anything for him while making you laugh all the while.

Plus he was one of Elko's only Jews. He liked that.

Cowboy Joe did so well that he hired me to come back to open a second location. Then he wanted to open a small restaurant and he hired me to come back to help assist with that project and the word of mouth spread that there was a fancy, restaurant consultant from Seattle in town and I was hired to do a special project for the local chamber of commerce and then another restaurant remodel and grand reopening. I was pulled into Elko lifestyle and became a small part of the community.

There wasn't much to do in Elko. The county, which is the largest in the state of Nevada, has 35,000 people, most of whom life away from others on ranches or work in the gold mines that surround the Ruby Mountains. The Red Lion Casino, the biggest hotel in town, had their own chartered flights from small cities across the west to Elko Nevada. All you had to do was make a reservation in Spokane, WA and show $40 in cash to the flight attendants and you were on a free flight to Elko. While in flight there were lessons on black jack and poker to make you hungry for the tables although most people came for the "loose slots".

People were flown in because it took about five hours in any direction to get anywhere. Five hours to the east is Salt Lake City, Utah. Five hours to the west is Reno, Nevada. Five hours to the north is Boise, Idaho. Five hours to the south puts you in the heart of Nuclear Test sites from the 1950's but if you push on three hours more, you'll end up in Las Vegas.

So when Driver Dave said we were headed to Wells, Nevada and not the Idaho hot springs that was on the itinerary, I was skeptical. I'd hiked just about everywhere in these hills and Wells Nevada was practically a ghost town.

"These hot springs are on private land and you must be on your best behavior." Driver Dave warned. "No drinking allowed." The party-bunch, led by Joe, moaned in unison to this news.

"The rule!" Cassie reminded Dave.

"Oh yeah, RULE NUMBER 9! NO PERFUME OR BUG SPRAY OR ANYTHING SMELLY ALLOWED ON THE BUS! If you must use these things, apply them off the bus, okay? Many people are chemically sensitive and have negative reactions to your chemical smells. That means if your sunscreen has a strong scent to it, put it on off the bus. Same with bug spray, hair spray, deodorant, whatever... Got it?" He looks sternly at us.

We nod yes.

"Good." He says. Cassie smiles and nods.

Cassie starts the bus, the door shuts and Dave yells, "Buddy Check!" We all look around for our new buddies and call out each other names like giddy school children and the bus heads down the mountain for our store stop. I am quiet following my prayer and time on the mountain and take in the landscape one last time, not knowing if I will ever return to these mountains again.

We pass through Lamoille Canyon where Kayla's father had taken me on Thanksgiving to teach me how to shoot guns. He was impressed by my skills and I didn't have the heart to tell him that I had learned to shoot a few years earlier when studying with a Native American Shaman in New Mexico. I let him think that his expert teaching brought me to that level.

The road gradually becomes larger and wider to handle the traffic of the small city that Elko has become. We ride past the restaurants I created and Cowboy Joe. I smile to myself looking out the window as we pass by. The bus drives us to Smith's, a large grocery store near the I-80 on ramp. We park and Driver Dave yells, "TWENTY MINUTES AND THE BUS LEAVES!" We know he's serious about staying on time so we scramble off the bus, some grabbing day packs with personal care kits and head for the store bathrooms. This will become a regular event for us over the coming weeks...rushing through grocery stores looking for bathrooms and emergency items that were needed like band-aids, bandages, tweezers, potato chips, cookies, coca cola, beer, wine, vodka, cigarettes...and for me, almond butter, rice cakes, fresh fruit, nuts and gallons of water.

As I crossed the parking lot I was torn between going across the parking lot to the new Starbuck's or heading into the store. I was glad to see that Starbuck's had made it's way to Elko and decided that it was too late in the day for a cup of coffee and not enough time to get out my laptop to write, so I decided to do a quick refresher in the grocery store public bathrooms and pick-up some snacks.

This mad-dash through the grocery store was the first time I felt like I was on some kind of weird reality TV show. There was a line, of course, for the lady's room and the clock was ticking. Which was more important? A clean face? Brushing your teeth with running water? Washing off your feet? Charging your cell phone for twenty minutes? Going to the bathroom? Changing into your swim suit for the hot springs? Or was it finding fresh water to drink? A new People's magazine to pass the time while the bus rode into the night?

I decide to wait my turn and use the flush toilet, brush my teeth and wash my face before quickly shopping for a snack and some protein bars to have with me. I have the advantage to having shopped this grocery store many times and know it's lay out.

"I wonder what the hot springs will be like?" A voice comes from the bathroom stall.

"I don't know." I say. "I've visited hot springs in these parts before and they're not too fancy. I don't know how one can hold all of us. We may have to go in turns."

"Yeah, it's the same way in Oregon at some of our hot springs there," Val says.

Donna takes the time to wash out Mackenzie's wounds and bandage them up again this time using real first-aid tape and gauze and bandages. Mackenzie looks relieved as the bleeding finally stops.

"Road rash is the worst, and so painful." I say to Mackenzie.

"It's not too bad." She replies. What a trooper!

I finish up, buy a few items and head back to the bus where people are helping load in the hundred pounds of ice into the cooler. Party Master Joe returns with bottles of Wild Turkey and the under-aged kids have twelve-packs of coke to mix it. I see a bottle of Southern Comfort which is a sweet whiskey that is blended with fruit flavors, spices and sugar. It is popular with kids because it has a 100% proof alcohol (which means it's 50% proof) and it is like candy. But it doesn't taste the same way going down as it does coming up!

Kids.

There are a handful of kids on the bus between 18 and 28. Normally I wouldn't put the 28 year olds in the "kid" category, but when they behave like 18 year olds....I do. We have two kids from England who are on a GAP year. It is acceptable in Europe, for kids graduating from school to take a year off to travel the world and then start their studies in college. It makes for a more mature, well-rounded kid who is ready to focus their energies on schooling. Well, that's the theory at least. And I can see it to be true in Rory and Esther. Both are in a GAP year and more mature than the young 18 year old American's on the trip. They have already partied and are responsible for keeping the group more in line than the American or Australian kids.

I'm not a prude, but I hadn't thought about this factor when booking my trip. Since it was a rule that the back of the bus is quiet, I end up sleeping there most evenings during our drives at night with ear plugs in to not be disturbed by the party crowd. On day 11, during an over night drive, Driver Cassie has to tell the group to put the bottles away and get to bed at 3 AM.

It is a party bus.

To be continued...

So much love,
All the way from over here...

Linda

The Green Tortoise Part Vl

2008-07-20T10:04:00.004-04:00

Travelers break into groups venturing off onto dangerously thin, snow-covered trails. These mountains hold a sad memory for me and I break free from my hiking group to find a warm, private spot on the rocky mountain for prayer and mediation.

Icy streams flow randomly down the mountains. Natural waterfalls form as pure glacier waters crash over boulders. Wild flowers vibrantly bloom excited that summer has arrived. Fresh prints in the soft mud show where hungry mountain goats, mule deer, marmots, coyotes, mountain lions, pronghorn antelope and big horned sheep snack on new growth single-leaf pinyon, Utah juniper, wild flowers. The air smells clean from the wild white sage native to the area. Black flies are persistent and abundant in these mountains. I find myself rhythmically slapping myself on the face, the back, an arm, a leg.

I take a moment and say a Native American prayer to the land.

Grandmother, Grandfather, Great Mystery, Spirit, Creation, I invite you to my prayer. To the four directions, to the east of new beginnings, the south of passion and creation, the west for peaceful endings, the north of strong foundation, and to the three unseen directions; above where Spirit lives, below on this sacred planet and within my being please join me in my prayer.

Oh Great Mysterious, I am a humble child of earth in gratitude of witnessing this beauty. May the mountain be kind to the foolish humans who mindlessly trample the beautiful flowers. Thank you for the black flies to remind me of staying here and now, in this moment of prayer, may my old cells provide nourishment for they are a part of these hills.

Oh Spirit, forgive my companions as they race up your sacred mountain disturbing the beauty you have provided. Please keep the coyotes and big horned sheep hidden so they do not foolishly approach. They are blind to the beauty that we are surrounded in and do not know the power of this sacred land. Forgive them.

Grandmother, thank you for this time and this place and this moment to share the beauty of this land. It is vast and I too have forgotten the power of this planet. Thank you for the reminder. May my actions be honest, truthful and for the highest good of all peoples, everywhere. Amen. Ashey. Namaste.

In silence I breathe in deeply and feel the land through my feet vibrating alive with the power of new growth, life, vitality. I am honored.

It is near the anniversary of the death of a beautiful little girl who went for a hike in these mountains with her father, lost her footing and fell hundreds of feet to her death. Her name was Kayla and her father was an experienced hiker who had taken his eight year old out into this wilderness many, many times.

It was a warm day and the three mile hike to Liberty Lake is slow going as loose rocks cause insecure footing for just about anybody. Anyone can slide on this trail and her father didn't see her slipping until it was too late. Today she'd be nearly seventeen years old, driving her father's old blue Chevy truck, chasing off boys for she was a natural beauty. I thank her spirit for being with me in the mountains. I feel her presence there on that boulder under the scorching sun and cry for the lost youth. How could the father have known that on that lovely Saturday afternoon he would be leading his beautiful daughter to her death? It is a question that stays with him for years. Today he still looks for answers alone, in bottomless bottles of bourbon.

The Ruby Mountains are not a big tourist attraction like Yosemite or Yellowstone. The people of Elko County like it that way too. They are outdoors men who appreciate the tourists stopping off of I-80 to spend a few hours in their casinos and fill their tanks, visit their shops and maybe have a bite to eat before heading right on out of town. They need the money the tourists provide. Cowboys come to Elko every month or so to freshen provisions, visit a brothel and eat platefuls of Basque food family-style at one of the three Basque restaurants. Over a hundred years ago, the Basque people left Spain at war with France in search of peace. Sheep herding and rumors of gold led them to this area and they have been here ever since.

I sat in silence in the warm sunshine placing my feet into cold mountain streams to cool off every so often. Each time I do so, I give another silent prayer of thanks for the cold water, the warm sun, the beautiful day. After a few hours I head down the mountain and out of the sun into a beautiful shady spot near a big, icy, growing stream that feeds the Humboldt River. I am thankful that eleven year old in our group fell earlier in the morning so the family would not hike these rugged paths. Just as I finish a silent prayer of gratitude, Donna (the girls' mother), her mother Val, and the two girls join me in my peaceful spot. I started painting the landscape in my watercolor journal I invite them to join me. As the children run to the stream to explore, I notice that Mackenzie has bled through her bandages. I over-heard that one of our fellow passengers Judy, an Australian woman in her mid-sixties, is a nurse and perhaps she can help with Mackenzie's injuries.

Donna leaves Val with the children to see if Judy is back from hiking and returns with the big red first-aid toolbox, packed with condoms, and Judy who has her own travel first-aid kit. Judy is an upbeat explorer who's life passion is to travel. She now works part-time and travels four to six months a year. After our Green Tortoise excursion she is headed deep into Central America for a sixty day rustic tour of Guatemala, El Salvador, Honduras, Nicaragua, Costa Rica.

"Naturally, I've been there before," she says candidly as we chat later on the bus. "I've been on every continent and visited nearly every country three times already. Now that I'm older I'm revisiting the places I really love, but there isn't that much time to do everything I want to do!" Judy books her travels three years in advance and working on her holiday for the year 2011.

Mackenzie is strong while Judy picks loose rocks out of her open wounds and makes a temporary bandage to stop the bleeding. "I think we had a store-stop coming up," Donna says. "And there I'll pick-up new bandages and make a donation to this worthless first-aid kit!"

"Well, it is an emergency when you don't have a condom." Val says. We nod in agreement. When Judy is finished with her project, Donna hands Mackenzie the candy bag she brought (which would circulate the bus many, many times) and tells her she can have as much as she wants...Melia too. The children select carefully and play with each other quietly as we sit in the beautiful spot by the stream.

To be continued...

So much love,
All the way from over here...
Linda

The Green Tortoise Part V

2008-07-17T17:05:00.002-04:00

Only half of us make breakfast and clean-up. I figure the other half, the non-morning people, will help during dinner. Most people are willing and happy to assist during mealtime. But it is still day one. It takes just as long as it did to set-up the kitchen and cook as it does to clean-up, tear down and put everything neatly away in the cargo bays. People who didn't help cook breakfast help wash dishes but then they all disappeared and only a handful of us were around to stow the equipment. This was a pattern that would not change during the trip and caused great friction between nations.

Driver Dave gives us lessons on how to open the bay doors because it is expected that we all handle our own luggage and gear. Getting into your things will become the primary focus for most of us travelers. We look forward to the "big bag" parties where we take inventory for all we've packed for the fourteen day excursion cross-country.

Packing wasn't easy for this trip either. The chilly days in Seattle and San Francisco followed by hot afternoons in the high Nevada desert and then cold mornings in Wyoming...how do you bring all you need for such a journey and stay within the packing guidelines of one backpack, a day pack, sleeping bag and tent (tents are optional.) Layers. Lots and lots of layers. This, I must admit, does nothing for the figure. Oh sure, if you're a tiny little thing you can wear several layers and still look like Madonna but most of us aren't that lucky. By day 3 and with no shower stop in sight, I abandon caring about my looks and focus simply on comfort and minimizing smells.

Here's what I packed in my big bag: three thin cotton tee shirts, three tank tops (really 5 but two were so tiny that they didn't take up any space at all), two pair of shorts (and one tennis skirt just in case I had some sort of shorts failure), one pair of jeans, one pair of linen pants (for NYC and Chicago), one linen jacket (city wear), one pretty white linen shirt (city style) four pair of panties (actually six pairs but who’s really counting? They're small.), two bras, one turtle neck, one heavy cotton long sleeved shirt, one thermal underwear top, one thermal underwear bottom, sleeping shorts, one sweater, one black skirt (you never know when you need to look nice in a skirt), one blue leopard sheer top (just in case you need to have something for the skirt), one pair of sneakers (MBT...you must check them out...crazy awesome shoes), two pairs of socks, one pair of fleece socks, one pair of Teva's (worn on most of the trip), one fancy pair of sandals (for city and black skirt outfits) and one bathing suit with matching sarong and cover-up.

Okay, okay...I know it looks like a lot, but really I needed all of it! Not to mention that I had my motorcycle jacket for those extra chilly nights....and I used it too! I used bungee chords to attach my leather jacket to the front of my Eagle Creek backpack because I also brought along my laptop, a portable CD player, Bose headphones, extra CD's, one camping lantern, a travel watercolor set with brushes and a painting journal, my daily journal and a back-up since it is nearly full, a tarot deck, a deck of playing cards, two small towels, a wash cloth, my personal beauty set which includes hair serum, gel and spray, moisturizer, exfoliating gloves, Jojoba oil (ladies it has saved my life...I don't go anywhere without it!) tea tree oil, my crystal rock deodorant, body wash, shampoo, conditioner, moisturizer, tweezers, ear plugs, and my make-up kit. All the usual things you would take on a road trip.

Carol,an early 40's woman who flew in from Thailand the evening before leaving on the bus, had one very small bag with her which contained: two shirts, one pair of shorts, one pair of pants, one bathing suit, two panties, one bra, one jacket, one tiny personal care kit (which had enough products in it to use on a toy poodle...once!) sneakers and Tevas. Needless to say, I hated Carol. Not really. She had this Martha Stewart quality about her with packing and being in small spaces. I envied how she streamlined her life and belongings for such a trip. She was such an awesome packer and so tidy. I found out that this was her seventh trip on the Green Tortoise. She is planning on spending a week or so in NYC after we arrived there and then she is taking the Green Tortoise back again to San Francisco which will take another two weeks!

Carol loves riding the bus. I asked her why she kept returning and she says she doesn't feel safe traveling across America alone as a blond British woman who now lives in Thailand. I assure her that it is safe and I'd done it several times alone and with people and the only problems I’d ever encountered was bears but she wouldn’t hear of it. She likes her adventure trips. Carol is a world traveler, as many other passengers, and that experience makes for excellent packing skills. She can't wait to get to NYC to have a real martini and do some serious clothing shopping.

I ignore Driver Dave as he reminds us again to get our swimsuits out of our big bags for lake swimming in the Ruby Mountains. It is June 28th. We are at 9,000 ft elevation. That means icy waters and there will probably still be snow on the ground. Since I haven't really connected with any of the other passengers, I fill my day pack with what I need in these familiar, old mountains.

We board the bus again and drive fifteen minutes more deeper into the canyon for our hike. There are two trails to choose from, one that goes to the lake which is about three miles in so that means it's a six mile hike round trip, and the horse trail up the mountain which is also about three miles in to no particular destination. The bus arrives and there is still snow on the ground blocking parts of the trail. To get around it you either have to hike over the snow or go around in the mud. Many travelers took this option with great enthusiasm, slipping and sliding then falling into the snow banks. Showers were still days away.

To be continued...

So much love,
All the way from over here...
Linda