A year ago today I was moving into my current apartment. Nearly all of my possessions were in boxes, except of course for those things that I just lazily threw on top of the pile.

Today, I'm sitting here with Willow. She's just had her first soccer game of the season. Many of my possessions are in bags out on the patio. No, I'm not moving or anything like that. I've had to quarantine a number of items in order to make sure the head lice that one of the kids brought home from school don't make a comeback.

The day after tomorrow, I start the new school year as night host up at camp. The lumbering, bureaucratic beast that is the California Commission on Teacher Credentialing has finally managed to officially issue me my credential. I guess that means they found the fingerprints that they claimed not to have. For this school year, I plan to use my credential to get some work as a substitute teacher (while still keeping an eye open for something more long-term). Maybe I'll stumble across a permanent position this way.

Either way, I'll be doing something I like doing.

The coin-op laundry machines are working overtime today as I re-wash all the bedding in an attempt to eradicate every last trace of the head lice that one of the kids brought home from school. Homework, yes. Lice, no. I love insects, but I have to say that love doesn't extend to the ones that try to move into the forest of hair at the top of the mountain of me. These particular insects can take a damn hike into nowhere land, and I'm here to issue the maps.

Actually, lice are pretty cute. It's a shame about their eating habits though.

At least the Eucalyptus-based homeopathic anti-louse spray smells nice.

Willow is with me for the next 8 days, which is nice. After Labor Day, it's our in-service week at work. I'm looking forward to it, and in some ways I'm glad I'm still working nights. This won't stop me from continuing to try to land a job in a classroom, but I like my current plan to do some subbing first. I also have to figure out why the California Teaching Credential people don't have my fingerprints. They were sent nearly two years ago, and just now I'm finding out that they've either never received them or have managed to lose them. This bolsters my opinion that bureaucracy is a dirty word. I really don't want to pay to have them redone and re-sent. I'm too busy spending my money on head louse remedies. I like the idea of releasing trained spiders into hair to eat the lice, but I have the feeling that wouldn't go over well with the general public.

Summer is over, its end marked by the exodus of kids out of swimming pools and off of lawns into new classrooms, where they are no doubt fidgeting in the confinement of their chairs.

I'm in the middle of a couple of weeks off. I haven't found a teaching job, so I'll be going back to working nights when outdoor school starts up in mid-September. My plan, for the time-being, is to pick up some work as a substitute teacher while hanging onto my night position. This will give me more classroom experience and expose me to a larger number of teaching styles and classroom plans.

I haven't been writing here much, mostly because summer camp wipes me out, and also because I'm in the middle of a novel reading and movie watching streak. As usual though, with summer once again fading into an idealized memory, I feel the urge to renew my efforts to just get on with things. It's a good feeling, and I feel that I've had a well earned break for the last few months.

The weather turned cold and breezy last night, with clouds pouring in over the hills. This morning, a light rain got everything just wet enough to foil the driving attempts of the unwary.

I love it! My energy seems to increase a hundredfold when the wind picks up, and the rain is a balm to my spirit. It also doesn't hurt that I've been leading a group of kids this week who do nothing but sing and jump around. I'll often discover that the group of 16 (12 boys and 4 girls, all 9 to 11 years old), have divided down the middle, with one subgroup singing a different song from the other. The two favorites appear to be "The Song That Gets On Everybody's Nerves" and "The Song That Never Ends".

To top it all off, the moon is so beautiful tonight that it made me gasp. I first spotted it when I merged onto the freeway coming home. There it was, immensely orange and a day past full, seeming to descend as I barreled towards it down the sinuous, darkened freeway. As my direction changed, it dipped beneath overpasses and cavorted through the treetops.

Stone Breath's "Knotwork" cd provided the perfect soundtrack for the journey.

I kind of feel like I've hit the doldrums. Maybe this is due to the seasonal nature of my job, which makes summer seem like an extended period of slacking off. I feel like I've blinked and while my eyelids were traveling towards each other, June vanished, and while they were traveling away again, July got eaten up. August waits like a torpid beast in a sun-flecked meadow.

We went to the Oakland Zoo yesterday, where I enjoyed watching the sleeping Fruit Bats, and Willow had fun spying on the rollicking Meerkats. Such trips are expensive though, especially when one factors in gas and food, and even more especially when it is followed by a visit to the record store. For once, I bought Willow more than I bought myself, and we're now the proud owner of the dvd version of Totoro. Willow is singing the theme song as I type. Such a magical film. When I watch it, I'm always inspired in way that I can't quite put into words.

Summer camp has been wearing me out. For a job that I don't consider work, I sure come home tired. The sun beats down all day, and if I don't come home covered in duckweed, I come home under a layer of dust and sticky plant seeds from bushwhacking after snakes. At least the Yellowjackets and ticks haven't been as much in evidence this year. It's funny how the Winter months can determine what wildlife is about and about during the Summer. We had a dry Winter this year, and there seem to be fewer animals about right now.

The kids are all being helpful at camp, although I caught Sophie swiping otter pops from the freezer last week. Still, despite minor infractions like this, I'm proud of the way they're all behaving, and happy that I get to spend so much time with my stepkids. In fact, I've been spending much more time with them than their real mom and dad. I had Nathan and Willow along on the night hike I led this week, and later, after I finished up my assigned night duty (herding children down to the lower field and their sleeping bags), I discovered that Willow had decided that my sleeping bag was more comfortable than hers and had fallen asleep in it. I crawled in next to her, and spent a rather cramped night trying not to roll over on her.

So, really, all is well. I just feel like I haven't been inspired to do much lately. It's almost as if I'm going through another phase of the healing process after last year's breakup, one involving lots of reading and music listening, and not a lot of introspection. Oops. I just did some introspection. Maybe the next phase is on the horizon...

Currently listening to Elm "Bxogonoas"

Summer is blazing by and I find myself enjoying the deceptively lazy seeming days of summer camp. I say "deceptively" because, despite all of the fun, the work day leaves me pretty wiped out. I'm always marching off somewhere with a gaggle of kids behind me, whether it's down to the pond, or out into the meadow to look under logs and rocks. Sometimes I'm down at the ropes course or climbing wall, and sometimes we're adding wheelbarrows full of duckweed to the satisfyingly full compost heaps in the garden.

At home, I find that I'm more likely to pick up a novel or slip in a dvd than do anything really useful (that said, I just finished cleaning the bathtub...). I still sort of miss being free during business hours, but I manage to find time to go to places like the bank, library, and post office anyway.

I've been loaned several seasons of the more recent Battlestar Galactica series, and I'm finding that diverting and entertaining, not to mention occasionally thought provoking. I re-watched Satantango for the fourth time, and still find it just as captivating as ever. I'm reading a detective novel. I'm listening to music. I'm enjoying the slight breeze and noticing that there are clouds drifting by overhead. This makes me look forward to the coming rainy season, which might be a good one, since a new El Nino (one of these days I'll figure out how to type a tilde over a letter) is forming. Tomorrow Willow and I are meeting friends for a playdate and renting a boat (paddle boat or small canoe, probably). Everybody is several shades darker from the sun. At night, up in the hills, the raccoons are squabbling and the coyotes are howling. There's a pair of ravens nesting nearby, and the air resounds with their gutteral croaks. I found a three legged frog in the pond, with the fourth leg ending in splinter of bone. Prevailing opinion is that the rest of the fourth leg provided a raccoon with a fresh drumstick for dinner.

As of now, I have no specific plans for any more summer trips, and I'm feeling like I should make some. To much time slips by when plans are not made. I think that looking forward to certain dates actually makes time go by much more slowly, and sometimes that can be a good thing. I'm not always mindful enough of the passing time. Maybe it's just because I'm getting older. The days are the same, but the years seem so much shorter.

Currently listening to: Onna "s/t"

Me as a seaweed monster. This is the earliest photo of me posted over on my Flickr page, and I've reposted it here for L, who wrote about doing the same thing with duckweed. Of course I often emerge from the water covered in duckweed too, which just goes to show that I haven't changed much in the last 30 years.

Always be true to yourself, even if it means leaving a trail of mud and causing chronic washing machine problems. Tomorrow I'll be in the pond at work, scooping out duckweed and smelling of summer. Tonight I'm listening to Iva Bittova and typing madly away. Life sure is multifaceted.

It is wonderful to get back out on the trails with kids. I've been hiking with the older kids (mostly 12 year olds) this week, and they're so full of energy and talent, whether it manifests itself in scaling the most difficult route up the climbing wall blindfolded, creating t-shirts, telling stories, or in any number of other ways.

I've already rescued one Gopher snake from the asphalt - it stretched its three-foot length across the driveway to catch some early sun the other morning - and seen a beetle I'd never seen before (a Banded Alder Borer). I'm taking Willow and the three older kids with me every morning too, and they're all contributing to the week in their own unique ways. The girls mostly get by on their cuteness alone, while the boys have been showing their thoughtful and helpful sides. So far, so good.

I celebrated Solstice/Father's Day by taking Willow over to Vasona Park where, as luck would have it, the great charity duck race was happening. We got to watch 15,000 rubber ducks plunge into the creek and "race" to the finish line. Amazing. Afterwards, I went to a BBQ and, later on, a gig, getting home at around 2am - a fitting way to celebrate the longest day of the year. I like the idea of celebrating the length of the day, and the semi-annual u-turn it represents, by participating in a variety of pleasurable endeavors. The musical portion of the evening will be reported on my other blog when I feel like it.

When it comes to music, film, and books, I find myself compelled by that which I don't understand - obscure references, alien lyrical stance, impenetrable plot, or surreal visuals... I visualize these moments of bewilderment as doors that I have yet to open. It's okay if they remain closed too, because there's magic in the unknown.

Over the years, I've noticed that a more typical reaction, most often voiced by children, to this type of bewilderment is, "this is stupid!" Why is it that many people, when faced with something they don't understand, insist on calling the object of their befuddlement "stupid"? Why are we always looking for something or someone else to blame?

Hmmmm.

The one problem with shifting back to a day schedule is that there's less time to take care of all the little details that accumulate on an hourly basis for those of us who live "modern" lives. I'm talking about mundane things like washing dishes, cleaning house, and going places like the bank and post office. I appreciated having time to stay on top of all those things.

I could do most of the above after getting back from work in the evening, but even though I consider myself a night person, I always end up reading or watching a movie instead. Or catching up on my e-mail. Now that I don't actually have to stay awake at night, perhaps I should stop drinking coffee in the evenings. I'm drinking a cup right now, more out of habit than anything else. Oh, lets not forget the fact that I love the taste of a good cup of coffee. There is always that.

We've been setting up for summer camp all week. Willow and the other three kids have been coming along with me, and for the most part, being quite helpful. They all love being up there at camp. Hopefully they'll still love it after attending 9 straight weeks of camp this summer. We'll see. Camp begins on Monday.

Willow will be spending Wednesday nights with me for the summer (and beyond, I suppose, if I land a daytime gig in the Fall). Thursday nights too, since that's the sleepover night at camp. Sophie has already decreed that she's going to be going home instead of sleeping over. The boys will be sleeping on the field with the rest of us.

I'm still adjusting to this whole daytime thing - I think it messes with my internal clock a bit. Despite the fact that I've been getting more sleep this week, I feel tired (truth be told, the futon bed my apartment came furnished with isn't the most comfortable - I think the bunk I sleep in overnight at camp is better - maybe I should just live at camp). Once camp kicks in, I'll be fine. I can't wait to hit the trails with groups of kids. I haven't really done that since last summer.

Happy almost summer!

I often create "to do" lists on little scraps of paper. I find that I'm much more likely to remember to do things if I write them down. That is about as close as I get to any sort of organization around here. The posting of the following (ever changing, and always incomplete) list was inspired by a similar list that L posted on her site.

Hike every trail in South Bay parks and nature reserves.
Spend more time near the ocean.
Go whale watching with Willow
Cook
Create
Learn to play guitar
Draw
Wander
Meander
Get lost
Visit the desert
Lie on my back and watch the stars spin
Try new restaurants and coffee shops
Aimless roadtripping
Visit friends in faraway places
Learn how to properly plan for the future
Maybe some yoga
Experiment with sounds and record them
Photograph things
Dig in the dirt
Take Willow to new places
Take myself to new places
Watch the moon, listen to the wind
Write (maybe even a novel)
Make things for people
Read
Reread and rewatch favorite books and movies
Sit very still in a tree for an extended period of time
Watch sunsets and sunrises, moonsets and moonrises
Listen to music all the time
Perform for audiences
Explore the possibility of running regularly
Spend lots of time near campfires
Continue to obsess over music - frequent local record stores

Some of these things I do already. Some of them I constantly think of doing. Some I don't do often enough. Now that it's posted here, I'm that much closer to doing the things I haven't done yet.

I recently admitted that sometimes I don't take action because I find the possibilities more enticing than the potential realities. It's a kind of paralysis, really, or perhaps a desire to stay within my comfort bubble. It's also counterproductive, of course. I was thinking about this when I came across a trailer for a film called Mr. Nobody. A couple of lines in the trailer hit home. The first, spoken by a child (if I remember right), was "as long as you don't choose, everything remains possible." This is a distillation of how I feel at times. The last line, spoken by an incredibly aged man (I think) was "I'm afraid I haven't been alive enough."

Time to get cracking on the list. I'm already about 9 miles closer to completing item number one. I'm marking off the trails on a map. Action creates new possibilities. There's magic in that.

We've got clouds and a bit of a breeze here. The weather forecasters continue to call this kind of weather "bad", but those are just the empty words of people who earn their living by guessing.

I'm listening to the new Nurse With Wound triple cd and sipping hot coffee. Life is good.

It's after midnight, and the deer are wandering through camp while the bullfrogs grunt rhythmically from the pond.

Children of the night, what music they make!

As of late, I've not been planning enough activities for the weekends that Willow is with me, so this weekend I kicked myself into gear and we went to the zoo so Willow could see the lions (and everything else, but lions in particular). The lions were very obliging, and the lioness actually got up and walked over to inspect us. Next door, a crackling sound alerted me to the new electric fence encircling the tiger enclosure. I'm sure they put that sucker in pretty quickly after one of the tigers took objection to being teased and did something about it. That was a year and a half ago already. Have we really not been to the zoo since then?

They have a Capybara now. I've been fascinated by these humongous rodents since reading the Bill Peet book, Capyboppy, as a kid. Too bad there wasn't a way to get a picture of it without intervening bars.

Back at home, we had a slumber party with my friend Courtney from Portland and her son. Her son was really cool, and told Willow a series of bedtime stories, including a Coyote story. It was great to see a 14 year old and a 6 year old get along so well. It was great to be able to sit back and catch up with Courtney too - the second time in a week that we've seen each other, since I saw her in Portland last weekend. The time before that was 12 years ago. Lots of catching up to do. In the morning, they hit the road to continue their trip south, and Willow and I went to see a play called Tomato Plant Girl, which featured one of my co-workers. Willow laughed out loud many times. The main message of the play, about how mistreated people often mistreat others, was at least partially lost on her, but there was enough inspired silliness that it didn't matter.

Now, it's almost time to start my work week, and there's only one more week to go after this one. Then we transition over into summer camp.

Currently listening to: Mimir "s/t"

I feel more relaxed this week than I have in awhile. No doubt this is attributable to the road trip to Portland last weekend. Despite the fact that I've lived nearly all my life within a twenty or thirty mile radius of where I'm currently sitting and typing, travel is in my blood. I need to throw a bunch of stuff in a bag and go on walkabout, or drive-about, as the case usually turns out to be. I need to experience the subtle differences offered by other cities and other hills. I need to watch the landscape flashing by as I drain a cup of coffee from a nowhere roadside diner or as I crunch on whatever snacks occupy the space between the seats. It's nice to have like-minded friends along for the ride too. We're only as old and settled as we feel, and I'm increasingly finding that my true friends are a lot younger in spirit and a lot less "settled" or "stuck" than other people our age. It's the attitude and the creativity that keep us young.

I also am reminded that suburbia, and the suburban lifestyle, gives me the chills. I have nothing against the majority of the people who live in suburbia (I'm one of them, after all), but suburbia often feels like a cultural dead zone - sort of like those oceanic dead zones spreading out from river deltas all over the world. Suburbia is spreading out from the cities, but instead of taking any of that vital city culture along for the ride, it just takes the cookie-cutter shopping centers and rows of tract housing - and everybody knows those are poison. Maybe it's because most of the "edgy" people either live in the heart of things or far off the grid.

During my years of marriage, we seldom ever did that kind of thing. Hell, we never even had a honeymoon. Not anybody's fault, really - more due to timing and circumstances and all that. Still, I'm enjoying the freedom to hit the road now and then. I plan to do it more often now, if I can manage it.

I'm trying to find the right balance between responsibility and irresponsibility here. It's all about balance, after all.

Currently listening to: Tor Lundvall "Sleeping and Hiding" lp

I almost forgot to mention Willow's question for me after I got back from Portland: "Did you meet any people that spoke Portlandish?"

I had to tell her no. Outlandish, maybe, but Portlandish, no.

Portland really isn't that far away. When I found out that Amebix were playing there over Memorial Day weekend, I realized that I had three days during which I had no other responsibilities, so I jumped on the opportunity to get out of town for a few days. In the end, only my friend Devon also had the weekend free, so the two of us left early Saturday morning. I picked Devon up at his place in Emeryville and we hit I-5, stopping briefly in Weed for gas and some filling Mexican food, and then again in Grant's Pass to futilely search for a bookstore Devon remembered from a previous trip. In the end, we made in to Portland in slightly over 11 hours.

I had arranged to stay at my friend Howard's place, and stay there we did. It's funny how similar Devon and Howard's apartments are - lots of the same movies and toys and other detritus stacked on overburdened shelves. The two of them had never met, and hit it off pretty much instantly. Devon and I both met Howard's girlfriend, Miranda, for the first time. I like her - she makes multimedia art pieces, and while we were there was involved in disemboweling stuffed animals, turning them inside out, and re-sewing them. Cool. We managed to luck out and eat at some good restaurants too - a place called Paradox, at which a friend of Devon's worked as a cook, another vegetarian restaurant whose name escapes me, and the almighty Voodoo Donuts. A couple of Devon's friends live around the corner from the Paradox as well, so there were lots of new people for me to meet and talk to.

We also went a bit north to visit our mutual friend Courtney, who I hadn't seen in 12 years and Devon hadn't seen in even longer. It was nice to reconnect and wander around in the mild sunshine. I came away from Courtney's with a bit of kombucha floating in a nalgene bottle, which I have since transferred to a large glass container in my apartment. Time will tell if I can inspire it to thrive.

It was great to just hang out and reconnect without having to watch the time (other than to make sure we made it to Amebix in time, that is...). I found myself re-inspired by all of the creativity and life choices evident in the people we spent time with over the weekend. I felt comforted by the fact that many of them (especially Howard and Devon) are also obsessive collectors with apartments full of fascinating piles of books, dvds, cds, and other subcultural detritus.

It was nice wandering into Voodoo Donuts at around 2am and buying strange donuts (there were human-shaped ones pin-cushioned with strategically placed pretzels, donuts covered in sugar cereal, and many other mouth watering treats). It made me realize that in many ways, my life is no longer as free as it once was, but I'm okay with that. It makes moments of nocturnal donut-eating abandon all the more rewarding. We also wandered past the Doug Fir Lounge, where I'd performed as part of irr.app.(ext.) on a previous trip. It was interesting to note that across the street from the Doug Fir is a Mad Science franchise - a company that I still very occasionally work for.

The show itself was great. Howard came along after deciding not to go see Windy & Carl perform (The Melvins were also performing that night - choices, choices). He hadn't previously heard Amebix, but came out with a big smile on his face. For more in-depth report on the show, go here.

I always feel more alive when I'm traveling. I love anticipating whatever might be around the next corner, even if it's just another stretch of freeway. The weekend whipped by of course, and we hit the road on Monday afternoon. I made it back to my place in 10 hours and 15 minutes, without even speeding too excessively.

Thanks to the holiday, I came back home to an abbreviated work week. As I type, there's only one more night to go before my weekend begins. Last night, as I drove to work, I had one of those moments of sudden realization that I was about to run over an animal on the road leading to camp. It was too late to brake, so I took evasive action, steering so that the wheels would pass harmlessly by on either side of the hapless critter. I stopped and hopped out, hoping that I wouldn't find it crushed in my wake. Fortunately my evasive action had worked. The Kingsnake was still stretched out on the road. I picked it up, thinking for a moment that maybe our camp Kingsnake had escaped (I was just down the hill from our nature lab), and drove the rest of the way to camp with the snake in one hand and snake poop dripping between my fingers. It had musked me pretty good. In the light, I confirmed that it wasn't our snake. Later, I put it in the garden, away from the road.

Hopefully it will stick around and snack on the resident mice before they snack on our garden.

I just got back from the park with the girls. They brought along a couple of old Mickey and Minnie Mouse stuffed animals (I wish there was no such thing as "popular culture", but I am just one voice against many on that one, I fear), and spent most of their time on the playground wildly hurling them into the air and over the playground equipment. I approve.

Suddenly, Sophie stopped and exclaimed, "A Robin!" Sure enough, almost invisible in the heart of a nearby tree sat a mother Robin. "It's got a worm in it's mouth," Sophie pointed out. As we watched, the excited beaks of a cluster of baby Robins burst upward out of a perfectly camouflaged nest. The girls were entranced.

The spell was momentarily broken when another kid obliviously wandered too close, scaring the mother into flight. Afterward, taking care not to get too close, I put the girls on my shoulders so they could better see the nest. Nearby, the watchful mother hopped back and forth along the fence. I pointed her out to the girls, making sure that they were aware of the bond there.

I love those little moments.

Partial Huun-Huur-Tu

Partial Huun-Huur-Tu, originally uploaded by Corbie.

Sometimes the day presents me with a perfect moment. Sunset definitely provided that moment for me yesterday.

This photo was taken through the windshield on my drive to work. Now I have a little reminder of a perfect moment.

The sun has conspired with the wind to create a beautiful day. A couple of cds came in the mail earlier, and new music surrounds me as I type. I paid the multiple subject credential application fee yesterday, which was the final step I needed to take towards actually getting the credential.

Summer beckons, and I'm feeling lazy. A friend (or two) and I are taking a short road trip up to Portland in a little over a week. We're going to a gig and visiting friends. I've been feeling the need to hit the road lately, so when relatively inexpensive opportunities to do so appear, I'm taking them.

Onwards!

Currently listening to: Osso Exotico "V"

I've been lazily not posting as much this week. Maybe it's the weather. Maybe it's because of one of my indecipherable internal cycles. I don't really know for sure.

I had a relatively busy weekend, and I'm left with some soreness from dancing and tick bites. There was a time when I measure how much fun I'd had by how sore I was afterward. Maybe this is how my midlife crisis is going to manifest itself - I'll once again use physical discomfort as a litmus test for fun. Doesn't sound like a crisis to me though.

Some brief moments from the weekend:

Coming home from the Sleepytime Gorilla Museum show last night, looking out across the bay and marveling at how the moon had painted the water silver. The stillness of the scene formed a startling counterpoint to the freeway traffic.

This morning, opening the front door to find a Fence Lizard on the walkway. I love it when I see reptiles in the city.

Seeing a variety of friends. Always good.

My friend Devon celebrated his 40th birthday by playing a gig with his band at Gilman St. in Berkeley. I considered getting a babysitter for Willow before heading up to see Devon, but ended up deciding to take her along. After all, she knows Devon and going to the show meant kicking around Berkeley for awhile. It also meant that she got to meet my old friend Wayne (who took the photo above, as well as many others which he nicely shared with me). We made the obligatory record store stop (the evidence of which is on the bench beside me), had pizza (Willow ate a slice bigger than her head), went to the East Bay Vivarium (a reptile store I used to buy pets from, and which Willow was reluctant to leave), and finally wandered out to the Berkeley Marina. Out at the end of the pier, Willow was excited to see a fisherman pull a Stingray and a Sand Shark out of the water. She even asked if I would take her fishing sometime. I thought about it for a moment. Being a vegetarian, I'm reluctant to engage in activities that result in the deaths of animals, but then again, fishing is a lot more direct, and somehow more honest, than buying pre-killed, prepackaged, faceless meat from a grocery store. Maybe taking her fishing and going through the process of killing, gutting, cleaning, cooking, and eating a fish would be educational. Maybe I'd even eat some myself if we went through the process together (the only meat I've eaten in the last 20 years was fresh fish, cooked by a good friend - and that was only once, nearly a decade ago now). Later, I mentioned this to a friend who surfs in Santa Cruz, and he mentioned seeing people fishing there all the time and thinking what a great hobby it was - you got to do something you enjoyed, while at the same time putting food on the table. Food for thought, anyway (pun intended, as usual).

At the club, Willow was excited to get her very own club card (a punk membership card!), and it was cool to watch her signing her name on the back. She was also excited to see Devon and give him a present (I'd burned a cd for him, and Willow drew a cover for it). Willow was much less excited when the first band started. Despite earplugs, she shrank into herself in reaction to the volume.

We went down the street and had donuts instead. I had coffee with mine. Sometimes coffee and donuts just hits the spot.

Afterward, we met up with Greg at our usual coffee shop. Wayne and Greg hadn't seen each other in nearly 15 years, so it was fun to meet up and hang out.

One of these days I'll see Devon's band. They've toured Africa, the Middle East, Australasia, and elsewhere, but I've still not managed to catch them here at home. Oh well. Of course, I kind of figured that Willow would have the reaction she did, and we had fun anyway, so I'll just chalk this up to a partially successful experiment.

It's almost May, and the skies are turning gray. It was sunny this morning when I hopped on the bus with Sophie, all of the other second graders, and a handful of other chaperons. I'm glad it worked out that I was able to go on this field trip, because I never would have heard the end of it if I'd just gone on Nathan's trip and not hers. This one was a bit closer to home too - a mere half hour away. The second graders, mostly instigated by Sophie, sang loud songs for most of that half hour, including some Christmas ones.

We ended up at a place called Filoli Gardens, which is basically an old English-style country mansion nestled in the hills of the San Francisco peninsula. The gardens are impressive, and we were led through them and out into the forest by a volunteer docent (lots of volunteers - there was one docent for every four kids, and one chaperon for every two kids). He knew his stuff, which is nice because I probably wouldn't have been able to keep my mouth shut if he hadn't. I even picked up a little info along the way myself.

Poor Sophie spent an inordinate amount of time sadly staring at the taxidermied fawn in the nature center, no doubt thinking of the injustice of it all. I tried to explain to her that sometimes animals die of natural causes, but she wasn't buying it. She had this idea that the animals were killed specifically so they could be stuffed and mounted in the museum.

For the most part though, the kids loved it, but before too long we were all back on the bus, headed southward.

Now I'm home, taking advantage of the lull in demands on my time. It won't last of course, but I'm a firm believer in taking a step back and just breathing when I have the chance.

Speaking of relaxing, I've been to a couple of gigs this week, and I've reviewed them on my other blog. Check it out.

Currently listening to: Helena Espvall & Masaki Batoh "s/t" cd

The Association for Environmental and Outdoor Education (AEOE) Statewide Spring Conference at Walker Creek Ranch in Petaluma has come and gone. People from all over the state (and even a few from Nevada) were there to participate in the workshops, network, relax, and recharge their batteries with enthusiasm and new ideas. Around 15 staff members from my school went. A bunch of us drove up in the school van, and others took their own vehicles. Several of us, including me, led workshops too, and I even managed to win second place in the photo contest, with a friend and coworker of mine coming in first.

The weekend flew by in a flurry of workshops, speakers, music, dancing, and beautiful surroundings. Grey Foxes were everywhere, and it seemed I saw one every time I walked up the road to our campsite. Overhead, the crisp, blue sky was full of Turkey Vultures, and the rolling, green hills were dotted with deer and interesting rock outcrops. The rock outcrops often supported little groups of people, sometimes with guitars and singing. The workshops were interesting. I went to one on job seeking, one on DIY car repairs, one on sage bundling, and one that taught us some new ways to teach the concept of energy to elementary school kids. This last one incorporated several fun games involving a creative re-imagining of Capture the Flag. The one I taught was about reptiles and how handle them and use them to teach natural science concepts. It went well, I think, with people giving me positive feedback afterwards. I definitely could have used more time though, since I have a lot to say on the subject.

There was music too, with bands playing in the so-called "Boogie Barn" or the dining hall each evening. There was a DJ on Saturday night too, and I found myself dancing until around 2am, hoping that the people climbing into the rafters weren't as inebriated as they looked.

Our staff did a skit for the campfire/talent show portion of the weekend, as did others. Ours was pretty tied in to the theme of the conference (Education Unplugged) while others took some liberties with their interpretations. One of them was almost dada-esque, perhaps taking the word "unplugged" to be synonymous with "unhinged" - it featured a guy in a giant, yellow chicken suit, a nearly nude fire spinner, a tap dancer, a guy with a Kermit the Frog puppet, a host of musicians, and other seemingly random players. I thought it was brilliant!

It was great to be able to be part of such a big assembly of dedicated naturalists and teachers, and wonderful to see old friends and meet new ones. I didn't get much sleep, of course, both because I stayed up way too late and because the sleeping bag I'd taken from the lost and found at work wasn't very warm. I really should buy a new sleeping bag.

It's almost hard to be back home now. I need to hang onto all of that inspiration and forge ahead in some way, but I find myself wishing that I could live on a commune with all of the people who show up to the AEOE conferences, and I'm looking forward to the Fall when my school hosts the Autumn Northern Conference. I'll probably be teaching in a classroom then, but I'll still definitely be involved in the conference.

We're in the middle of a mini-heatwave right now. The last couple of nights have been T-shirt weather, with attendant mosquitoes. Lots of campers have been complaining of bug bites and making matters worse by madly scratching them. As I slept in the camp office, an incessant buzzing invaded my dreams and I awakened to discover a duo of Carpenter Bees bouncing against the partially open window. It wasn't long before they made it into the room and zeroed in on the lone light bulb, bouncing off the makeshift paper lampshade and pinging off the glass bulb itself. Needless to say, they kept me awake for most of the rest of the night.

I can't turn off the light because it serves as a beacon for kids who wake up in the night and need help. Like I mentioned earlier, the help most often needed this week is with bug bites, although bloody noses seem to be a regular occurrence as well. Not to mention scrapes and homesickness.

I'm gearing up for the AEOE conference this weekend, at which I'll be leading a workshop on working with reptiles in outdoor education. It should be interesting. I'm going to focus in on differing philosophies relating to human interaction with wildlife, and it should make for some lively discussions.

I'm all set to apply for my teaching credential too. I just have to renew my CPR/first aid certificate. There's a way to do that online now!

I've also started dating again, sort of. I mentioned awhile back that I'd met a woman named Terilynn. We went on a few dates but she ended up breaking things off. I don't think it was because of anything I did or didn't do - more about things going on in her life. On our last date, she talked about needing freedom. I kind of know what she means, actually. I'm in a place now where I'd like to make a real connection with the right person, but at the same time I'm in no hurry to make it happen.

We're friends on Facebook now, and we interact virtually, bringing things full circle. We initially met online through one of those online dating sites. It wasn't until relatively recently that I would have even considered investigating online dating, but I got to thinking that it might be a good way to meet people I wouldn't ever meet otherwise. It's also a good way to see how people express themselves in writing, and of knowing in advance if you have enough in common with somebody to pursue things to the next level. That said, right now I'm just looking around and enjoying the possibilities. Spring is, after all, a time of possibilities.

Spring is also a good time to hit the trails and breathe in the scent of all the new growth. I love the way the air smells when the first warm weather hits.

Here's another handful of reptile-related anecdotes. It's fun to revisit these stories, and interesting to note that they're all relatively fresh in my memory, despite the fact that the most recent of them probably occurred when I was only 13 or 14. It's also interesting to note that I can remember specific details of events, but sometimes be years off when trying to recall when the events happened.

A case in point would be the conversation I had with Matt earlier today. He's busy transferring field recordings to digital format, and wondered if I remembered what year we had gone to a friend's wedding in Portland - a trip during which field recording were made. I had, and still have, no idea. I remember the trip well enough, but not what year it occurred.

We're not wired to remember arbitrary numbers on a calendar. We're wired for seasons and events.

That's my thinking, anyway.

Here's the reptile stories:

I can still clearly remember the first time I came across a California King Snake.For some reason, in my mind this snake had become the holy grail of local snakes – probably for no other reason than I hadn’t yet seen one in the wild. It was surprisingly easy to catch.I would soon learn why.At that time, we still depended on bicycles for transportation, so the journey to and from the hills involved a lot of pedaling. Of course, the journey back home was much easier, being that it was all downhill. It was while I was coasting down one of the more significant hills, with the King Snake in one of my hands (we still hadn’t figured out the whole snake bag thing) that I looked down and noticed that the snake was now half again as long as it had been when I caught it. I did a double-take, and probably had a comical look of surprise plastered on my face while doing so. It was on that second take that I noticed that the “new growth” was actually the back end of a Garter Snake being regurgitated by my motion-sick captive.

I thought it was the coolest thing ever.

I’m sure the King Snake would have disagreed with this.

That reminds me of another incident that occurred on the way home from a different excursion into the hills. Since this time the captive was a Northern Pacific Rattlesnake, we had gotten inventive and upgraded our transportation methods.

We put the snake in a paper grocery bag.

I was on a skateboard, being pulled by my friend. Of course, I hit a rock, and the bag went flying. I landed on my back and the bag landed on me, with the open end about a foot from my face. It was one of those moments when everything seemed to freeze. The world narrowed down to include nothing but my face and the flickering tongue of the Rattlesnake, a mere 12 inches away. It probably would have nailed me right on the lips if it had been a little warmer, or if I had moved the wrong body part. As it was, I moved the right body part, bringing my hands up and pressing the bag closed. We laughed it off and kept going.

From there, my train of thought takes me to the shores of the Mississippi, up in Minnesota. The river is relatively narrow there, but it was still a big river to me. Of course, I didn’t really care about the size of the river. What held my attention was the size of the snake slipping swiftly through the tall grass along the bank. I dove for it, and felt my hands close around scaly muscle. When I stood up, I had a five foot Bullsnake in my hands. I held it up to inspect it, and it promptly struck me right in the face, hanging onto my lower lip for a moment before letting go. I was spitting blood for about fifteen minutes after that, but I didn’t care. All of my Minnesotan relatives must have thought I was crazy.

It’s also interesting to note that the Bullsnake holds the record for the largest snake native to North America, surpassing the Indigo Snake. I recently read that somebody in Texas caught a ten footer. I guess it’s good that I didn’t catch a ten foot snake. That probably would have hurt more.

Today, I finished the last bit of schoolwork for the term, and now I can go ahead and apply for my credential.

Before that, I need sleep. Spring Break is only a break for kids.

An unseasonable cold has descended over the valley, or at least over the hills, tonight. Everything is peaceful up at camp, and I had one of those evenings where everything fell into place neatly. The kids are well-behaved, the cabin leaders are experienced, and the talk I gave to the assembled kids was somehow just a bit better than usual. Now, most of the little chores are done, and all I hear is the grumbling of the refrigerator, the ticking clocks, and the clacking of keys as I type. I've got to go check the laundry in a few minutes - I'm washing clothes left behind by last week's kids, and another bag full of clothes that appear to be a bit too sophisticated to belong to 5th or 6th graders. Perhaps they're left over from one of the weekend groups who occasionally rent the site.

I'm feeling the need to rein myself in again. I've been spending carelessly (music again), eating like a teenager, and slacking off on exercise. This kind of thing is almost cyclical. I've got to find away to forge continually ahead, rather than swinging back and forth like a pendulum.

It would be nice to be happy with every aspect of my life at the same time. Or maybe that's an impossibility. I don't know. Perhaps it's happiness that takes away the drive to improve. Sometimes I think that being unhappy can be a positive force for change. In fact, I know it is. When I'm happy, I want to stay right where I am. Doesn't everybody?

On Friday, I spent around six hours on a bus, heading to and from Columbia State Historic Park on the western flank of the Sierra Nevada Mountains. This is the annual fourth grade field trip, and Nate asked me along to help chaperon. I jumped at the chance for a couple of reasons. The first, and most important, reason is simply that going on the trip meant that I got to spend the day with Nate. Since I don't live with him any more, and since technically he's my ex-stepkid now (technically - emotionally he'll always be my stepson), I don't get as much time to hang out with him. The second reason is simply that it's hard to turn down any opportunity to go to the mountains.

The park if full of replica buildings, as well as some original buildings from the mid-eighteen hundreds. There is an old schoolhouse next to an old graveyard, as well as a downtown area built in the style of the 1850s. The kids (there were about 70 of them) were divided into groups. There was an auction (Nate was his group's treasurer, and like the other treasurers, he had 60 gold Eagles to spend) during which "gold rush" supplies were bought. The whole object of the experience was to have the students work together to make a journey through the park, trading supplies as they went, to successfully get to the gold fields. At the end of the trek, groups were given points for having certain supplies left (food, equipment, etc.), and docked points for having been suckered into buying faulty maps and questionable items (like gold grease). Chaperons weren't allowed to help, although I have a feeling that many of them did. My fellow chaperon helped on one occasion, getting the group back on track (the navigator misread the map), but I managed to keep my mouth shut (which was hard because I'm used to teaching and talking to groups of students). After reaching the end of the trek, students got to pan for gold using buckets of water and dirt (I had envisioned getting to pan in a real creek somewhere, but sadly this wasn't to be). Still, it was great experience for the kids. Even though he wasn't the captain of our group, Nate is a natural leader. He's got an intensity about him too, and his actions are always very decisive. At the end, while waiting for the last group to arrive, we wandered through the cemetery and out into a nearby meadow. We ended up picking up litter as we wandered, and it's good to see Nate do this without being prompted. I'm so glad he's not one of those kids who argues, "but I didn't drop it - it's not mine!", when asked to pick something up.

The other group finally made it, and then we went into the downtown area. I bought ice cream and coffee (some for right then, and some for later). Nate bought a strange little multi-use tool at the blacksmith's shop. Then, it was back on the bus for the three hour ride home. It passed quickly of course, but then again there is always something to do when one is properly prepared for the journey.

Banana Slugs are kid magnets. The fact that they're bright yellow sort of makes them pop out from their surroundings (unless they're in amongst fallen Bay Laurel leaves) and their glacial pace makes them easy to catch. Nobody ever has to chase a slug. All you have to do is lean down and pick it up.

As a child, I picked up pretty much every Banana Slug I came across. I didn't care that my mom or dad had to spend a half an hour getting the slime off my hands each time I picked one up, and I didn't even stop to think about what effect my enthusiastic handling might have on the slugs.

They were just so cool and yellow.

As an adult, I leave them be, except to occasionally photograph them. I did once lick one, just to see if the mild poison in their slime would indeed numb my lips and tongue like I'd heard it would. It did, and not being able to properly feel my lips and tongue was kind of irritating for a couple of days.

I don't let kids touch them either. Apparently, the oils in human skin are bad for the slugs. Not to mention bacteria and whatnot.

At camp, we sing song about them, and an anatomically incorrect cartoon version of them graces our T-shirts. You'd figure a science camp would remember to make sure that the slugs' eyes were actually at the ends of the eye-stalks where they belong. But no - they're on the body of the slug, with the stalks reduced to some sort of yellow antennae. Go figure.

I finally caved in and got a new camera. It's another point-and-shoot; a Canon Powershot A100 IS. One of these days I'll get an SLR camera, but that's going to have to wait until I can justify the expense. One of the advantages of having a cheaper camera is that I'm not afraid to take it hiking with me. I can still get some pretty decent shots with this kind of camera. I got a pleasant surprise when I got it too. They threw in a free photo printer. Sure, I had to pay up front for it, but I get 100% of the cash back in the form of a rebate. Nice.

As I get older, I continue to be thankful for cameras. Sometimes I forget things that happened last month, or even last week. I think it's because the older we get, the more memories we hold. It's all in there somewhere, but crammed in like like little bits of paper in an overstuffed filing system. It's hard to locate things sometimes.

As children, our filing systems are relatively bare of detritus. Everything in there is important and easily accessible. Strangely enough, those childhood memories tend to rise to the top of the pile in our mental filing systems. I can remember certain moments from childhood more clearly than I can remember yesterday. In fact, some of those childhood moments seem to grow in importance over the years. They continue to resonate in a way that's all out of proportion with their initial impact.

The first Rattlesnake I ever saw was a big one. Like most Northern Pacific rattlesnakes, it had a banded tail, making it superficially resemble a Kingsnake. As a sixth or seventh grader, I had already developed a predator's eye, instinctively honing in on visual cues in my environment. Because of this, and based on its banded pattern, I was halfway to grabbing the huge Rattlesnake before thought kicked in and a little voice in my head said, "hey idiot! It has a rattle!" I backed off, and so did my friends who had also been running towards it. We watched it slowly crawl into the undergrowth until it had disappeared from view.

It was soon afterwards that we caught our first Rattlesnake. It was inside a drainage pipe in the spillway up at Steven's Creek Reservoir. I can't remember how we got it out of the pipe, or how we got it to crawl into the old beer can we'd found, but the end result was a trio of pre-teen boys walking around with a baby Rattlesnake inside a beer can. We took it home, and my friend tried in vain to convince his mom that it was a Gopher snake. She didn't buy it of course, and made him release the snake.

There were other, similar incidents as well. Quite a lot of them, actually. I'll save those stories for another day. Now that I'm writing them down, I'm realizing that the stories tend to bleed together after all of these years, and I can't remember which beginnings and ends fit together. The memories I have are often like mental snapshots. I can remember moments, but the context is sometimes hazy. I guess it's a good thing I'm starting to write them down.

When I was young, my parents enrolled me in various summer day camps and nature camps in the hills above Cupertino. Some were at Linda Vista park, and some were at McClellan Ranch park. For some reason, one of my clearest memories of my time at Linda Vista park was finding an unopened can of beer. I'm not sure where the camp leaders were at the time, but a bunch of us opened the beer and it geysered out. We all leaned forward to drink from this sudden fountain of alcohol, enjoying the warm taste of the illicit beverage. It's kind of ironic that I loved the taste of beer then, but hated it by the time I was old enough to drink it legally.

But it was at McClellan Ranch park the I found my first wild snakes. I think I was by myself when I found them. The park was actually a farm of sorts, with a big garden area and possibly some livestock. It was bordered on one side by a creek. It was near the creek, under a flat piece of rock (or possibly a board) that I found the two Ringneck snakes, coiled together like an ornate, reptilian ring. I don't think I'd ever seen something so beautiful, although I wouldn't have used those words at the time. For me, it was like suddenly discovering treasure in a place where I'd expected only dirt. I don't think I knew what Ringneck snakes were at the time, but that didn't stop me from quickly capturing them. Being a kid, I took them home and set up a cage for them. I didn't care that I was taking them away from their home, and I was only dimly aware of concepts like ecology and wilderness ethics. I was a collector. When I saw something cool, I collected it. This is healthy childhood behavior. It's how children learn. It's how we build our interests.

I can't remember what eventually happened to the snakes, but I have a memory of losing a Ringneck snake in the neighbor's lawn. It just wormed its way into the grass and disappeared.

As an adult, I don't let the kids I'm in charge of take animals out of the wilderness, but I can understand why kids want to catch things. Part of the reason, I think, is that we tend to define who we are by what we surround ourselves with. I spent a lot of time surrounding myself with animals I found under rocks, dinosaur models, horror novels, and other related items. This set me apart from many of my contemporaries and gave me a feeling of individuality, of uniqueness. I'm not sure how much of this external definition of self is induced by modern society - by advertising and the like - and how much is simply human nature. Geez. I'm getting more philosophical than I set out to be here... As a species, we started out as hunter gatherers. Maybe it's in our nature to gather. The only difference is now that companies engage in advertising to convince us to gather their products and not those of their competetors.

Whatever the cause of my desire to gather reptiles, I eventually realized that it wasn't okay to take animals from their homes. I remember running into a reptile photographer at a BAARs meeting (that would be the Bay Area Amphibian and Reptile Society) who put it this way: "You don't have to feed or clean the cages of photos." I think this is what first got me to thinking about what I was doing, and this despite the fact that he hadn't actually addressed the ethics of taking animals from their homes. I arrived at that conclusion by myself. That conclusion being that all species have a right to exist in their own habitats. As an adult, I've dedicated a lot of time to bringing this message to children. Catching reptiles is only a small part of the picture, of course. Development companies have a much greater impact on the lives and well-being of wild animals than a handful of junior collectors ever will. They don't take animals from their habitats, but instead rip the habitat out from under the animals, like a big organic rug, leaving behind city streets and new buildings. I've seen what has happened to most of the reptile hunting places I frequented as a child. Most of them are now under foundations or asphalt. Sure, the parks are still there, but a lot of the inbetween places have vanished.

So now, as an adult, I always have my camera with me. Right now I'm between cameras though. The outdoors is hard on cameras, and I find that I have to buy a new one every couple of years. I haven't yet bought a truly good camera, instead focusing (pun intended, as always) on mid-range point and shoot cameras. This way, I'm not afraid to get down there in the dirt and get the interesting shots of animals doing what they do. I also still catch reptiles, usually so I can get good close-ups. The difference is that I put them down again after I'm done. I also let kids touch, and sometimes hold, the reptiles I catch. I know there are other naturalists out there who don't allow this, but I think I have a good rationale. Kids need to get up close and personal with the wilderness and the wild animals that inhabit it - that's how they make connections. These are the kinds of experiences that inspire people to care about nature. It worked for me, and I know I'm not unique in this respect. Of course, it's always important to constantly model respect, and to talk about how to interact with these animals in a way that is safe for both humans and their temporary captives.

I draw the line at wild mammals. We watch those from a distance. Reptiles and amphibians are good animals to interact with because of their relatively primitive brains (less stress for the animal - in fact, some lizards will crawl right onto a person and bask there) and lower likelihood of having communicable diseases (reptiles can carry salmonella, but you're much more likely to get this from improperly cooked chicken).

It's Spring right now, and I'm looking forward to getting out on the trails with a new camera. The reptiles I capture today and the photos I post online might inspire somebody somewhere to make more of a difference. Who knows?

I killed a rabbit once.

I didn't intend to kill it. Far from it. I just wanted to get a closer look at it.

We were in a field, my friends and I. Two sides of the field were bordered by fences, and two sides by roads. The grass was high and full of secret places. We probably went to the field to look for lizards and toads. I can't remember exactly. I can't even remember how old we were. Maybe 10, or maybe a bit younger.

Suddenly a rabbit appeared there in the waving grass, all wild eyed and alert. We gave chase immediately. I don't know exactly what we were thinking, or if indeed we were thinking at all. Maybe it was more instinct - the instinct of the hunter. Look! Small animal! Small animal run! Me chase it and catch it!

We didn't catch it. It darted back and forth for awhile, looking for an escape route. We closed in and it shot away.

Into the road.

The meaty sound of the impact stopped us in our tracks. We watched as the rabbit was flung back towards us. We hovered over its still, bloodied form as its fluids leaked into the gutter. I still remember the unseeing eyes and the redness of its ruined body. Another perfect creature reduced to meat.

I think encounters like this colored my subsequent interactions with wildlife, and my approach to life in general. I know that nothing is forever. Beauty fades. Tragedy happens. Plans don't always come to fruition. It's part of life. We learn much more about ourselves from these unforeseen moments than we do from the times when things go as planned.

Of course, that doesn't mean we have to like these moments. Like it or not though, they are part of what make us who we are.

The field was killed sometime later. It was ripped away by a different kind of pursuit - the eternal quest for profit. The waving grass gave way to the fixed ugliness of condominiums. Every other living thing in that field perished, and I'm willing to bet none of the deaths meant as much to the perpetrators as that one rabbit's death meant to me.

It is sometimes said that one death is a tragedy, but many are a statistic. Perhaps when the number of deaths is great, it is too overwhelming to deal with in any sort of human way. More likely though, the people responsible didn't view it as a tragedy at all. They viewed it as a necessity.

I finally got to see the end results of all the research and planning that my adoptive students put into their projects today. All six groups presented their Powerpoint projects to the class, while their classmates took notes. Tomorrow, the students will be tested on what they learned from the presentations.

Today though, I was impressed by the skills and teamwork the students exhibited. Some groups figured out how to make their projects visually interesting, one group used music, and many students who had not previously worked well together managed to form a united front today. Now that's progress. Sure, there were still a few random misspellings and other glitches, but for the most part, I was very happy with the results.

I think the students really thrived on the hands-on element of this project. I gave them a lot of leeway with the creation of their presentations, and I think all of the groups figured out some interesting things all on their own. I wish all classroom work could be like this.

Currently listening to the sublime melancholy of Eleni Karaindrou "Dust of Time"

One of my biggest fears in life is appearing foolish when I'm trying to appear otherwise. Because of this, I often act silly on purpose, just so I can have more control over the process. I may have some control-freak tendencies as well, although they're not directed at other people - just at myself. It's one of the reasons I don't drink or take any other mind-altering substances. I also stress out when I'm running late, but not when other people fail to show up on time (unless their failure to show up on time makes me late too).

This is just a convoluted way of saying, "happy April Fool's Day!" Now, get out there and do something foolish!

The first animal I saw today (if you discount the late night deer and bats) was a foolish one. As I was driving back down the hill from camp, I saw a coyote lingering by the side of the road, looking put out that cars were driving by and interrupting whatever it had been doing. Coyote, of course, plays the part of Trickster in many Native American myths. More often than not, Coyote's tricks backfire, revealing him to be somewhat of a fool. It never seems to stop him though. Coyote is consistent, if nothing else.

I watched his image dwindle to nothing in my rear-view mirror, feeling glad that I got to share a fraction of my morning with another creature who knows how to take control of his foolishness. It was a good way to start the day. Especially this day.

Currently listening to: Bernardo Devlin "Agio"

There is such a profound difference between sitting in my apartment and being up at camp. I like my apartment, but I find myself growing depressed if I spend too many consecutive hours there, especially if I'm on the computer. The computer can be a window to the world, but it can also be a hobbling chain around my legs. It sucks me in sometimes, and I find myself spinning in mental circles. I think that after I finish my last school term, I'm going to take a week off from the computer - just as kind of an experiment to see if I go through withdrawals.

On the other hand, when I'm up at camp, I feel I can really breathe. The wheel of the sky spins through the night, and I can watch the moon and stars slowly spin away behind the dark silhouettes of the hills. I can see the pale shadows of deer out on the moonlit field, heads bowed as they chew, but ears alert and twitching. I can feel the cool night air refresh me and lift me. I feel that I'm making a difference in the lives of the kids who visit me in the night, whether they're homesick or have other problems. I love seeing them leave the camp office with smiles. I also love being up alone at night. There's nothing more peaceful than being out under the stars while everybody else is sleeping.

I think I'll go back out there now.

This is the first in a planned series of posts about my childhood nature experiences. I'm presenting a workshop at the upcoming AEOE conference (Association for Environmental and Outdoor Education) that touches on this subject, with a focus on reptiles and amphibians.

Toads were one of my first loves. I can remember scouring the neighborhood for them when I was a child. I don't remember the very first time I found one, but I have a very clear memory of the feeling I got when I discovered a likely hole under a rock or inside a drainage pipe. There was that undefineable toad smell too - kind of a moist, swampy odor, that served as an olfactory clue for me to follow. I would reach my hand into the hole, sometimes feeling my fingertips brushing against the rough skin of the hiding amphibian. They would puff themselves up, of course, making it impossible to pull them out of their hiding places without hurting them. I quickly discovered how to get around that. I would flush them out with water. I got pretty good at this, and soon I was able to find toads everywhere. I would bring them home and keep them for awhile, and it pains me to admit that sometimes they expired in my care. I still had a lot to learn back then. For instance, you can not successfully keep toads inside a toy Winnebago, and you shouldn't ever leave a glass terrarium or plastic bucket full of toads out in the sun. These failures did little to dampen my enthusiasm, although I'm left with some lingering adult guilt over the deaths I inadvertently caused.

Still, there was nothing quite like the feeling of seeing an enormous toad crawling grumpily out of a hole that I'd just spent a half an hour flushing with water. That was a grand accomplishment for me.

Looking back, I find it amazing that there were so many toads living in suburbia. I'm willing to bet that there are nowhere near as many now, and not because of kids like me either. There are fewer fields, and even the parks have become more sterile. A lot of the decorative boulders, so beloved of toads, have been removed. Suburbia is much harder for wildlife to survive in than it was.

Now, I bring my camera along and take pictures. That way nothing gets harmed. Of course, the last time I took my camera out, it was to the beach and now there's sand in the lens mechanism and the camera will no longer focus correctly. Dammit.

I tried something new yesterday, something I'd never really thought about doing and something I've never really had much interest in doing. I did it because I was invited to try it, and because I thought it might be an interesting experience.

I can now say that I've fired a gun. Several of them, actually. I went up to a rifle range and did some target shooting, and later on, shot at bottles and cans. I started out with a 22, which has about all the kick of a pellet gun, and graduated to a couple of higher caliber rifles, the last of which left my shoulder a bit sore. While shooting cans, I dropped back down to the 22 and also used a 9 millimeter handgun.

I'm told a did quite well for a first-timer. I managed a relatively tight cluster of shots on the targets, and I used the 22 to put a hole through a 3 inch ammo box from 120 feet, and moved on to perforate countless larger cans and bottles.

I found that it was a much more zen-like experience than I would have expected. You have to have a steady hand, and a fair amount of focus. It is not something you want to rush, and procedure is law.

That said, a fire was not ignited within me. I enjoyed the experience, but I am not hooked in any way. I'm not too surprised - I've always leaned away from "macho" interests and activities. I don't drink, have never been to any sort of sporting event, prefer small to moderate sized vehicles... well, you get the idea. Hell, I don't even eat meat.

I guess the more "manly" side of my personality has manifested itself in my occasional need to listen to loud heavy metal and my fascination with lethal animals.

Still, I'm grateful for the experience. The invitation enabled me to try something new, and that's almost always a good thing. I might even do it again someday.

In the evening, I ended up in Berkeley doing something more typical - watching a theatre/dance piece called Twobird, a solo show by Michael McCamish of the Sun and Moon Ensemble. The story took us through southern preaching, love, attempted murder, prison, and work at the chicken factory. The music was handled by Nils Frykdahl and Chuck Squier (the both played together in Idiot Flesh many moons ago), and beautiful, silly, and haunting it was! It's hard to pull off silly and haunting together, so hats off to them! Afterwards, we ate fried okra, rice, and cornbread (with chicken for the non-vegetarians).

Now, onwards into Spring!

Spring has wrapped us all in warm green. Birds are flitting around, and reptiles are no doubt crawling from under their rocks. I can look out my window and see the bright green of new leaf growth fuzzing the upper branches of the trees in the park. Natural seasonal changes always energize me.

I'm continuing to think about what resonates with me. Last night, walking around in the dark at work, I felt a sudden surge of belonging. The quiet hills and the darkness resonate within me. I stood there in the dark for a bit, looking out towards the glowing undersides of the clouds above the city (sure, I could see more than one city from where I stood, but it's all really just one city - the "dense donuts of development", as Richard Louv calls the suburbs in his book, "Last Child in the Woods") and realized that I've never really felt a connection with anyplace I've lived. They've all been houses, but not homes. There are no roots grounding me anywhere. I'm floating free. Sure, there are people who ground me, but never architecture. The hills seem a better home than the houses.

I sometimes describe myself as a spiritual person, but that's a relatively meaningless term - meaningless because it has so many different meanings. In my case, I would have to say I subscribe to a vague form of nature spirituality. I coat my experiences in nature with almost mythic overtones at times, seeing portent in the appearance of certain animals at certain times, or finding in wilderness a balm for my soul. I've felt like this for as far back as I can remember. Perhaps another time I'll have to delve into childhood experiences. A more recent case in point though, is the time a friend and I were on a roadtrip, and it seemed as if the crows were following us. Everywhere we went, we seemed to draw the attention of of crows. They would land nearby, or fly slowly across the road in front of us. It struck a chord in me to such an extent that at the apex of the lazy geographical circle we were drawing as we drove (Flint, Michigan, to be precise), I got a tattoo of a crow on my arm to serve as a reminder. Nearly a decade later, when I started working at an outdoor school, I took the name "Crow" as my camp name. There are hundreds, perhaps thousands, of kids across the Bay Area who know me only as Crow. Crows are never far from my mind and heart these days. They seem to have a habit of appearing at just the right times.

There are many other moments and stories that would illustrate my vague point here, but I can't recount, or even remember, them all. Let it suffice to say that stories have power and that the world, both indoors and out, would be a duller place without them.

Currently listening to: Nurse With Wound "Live at Bar Maldoror", and looking forward to seeing them tonight.

It's Monday morning, and I'm excited to get back to work. Right now, "work" means tying together the loose threads of schoolwork - getting down to business after wrapping up my second of two solo weeks in the classroom. The solo weeks proved to be tiring and exhilarating, often at the same time. I like those kids, and due to the different types of personalities in the classroom, it has been an excellent classroom for me to learn in. Now, I'm scaling it back again and focusing on teaching social studies, although I'll be involved in other things as well. This week, I'm going to be spending a lot of time entering things into the grade book. If I'd been smart, I would have been doing that as I went along, but I didn't do that, so the papers have piled up. This will no doubt ensure that the next time I'm teaching full-time, I will be staying after school to take care of the paperwork in a more timely fashion. Ha.

I took Willow over the hill to the Santa Cruz Beach Boardwalk this weekend. We had initially intended to meet up with Terilynn and her son, but her son was sick, so it ended up being just the two of us. We'll all meet up another time. I met Terilynn recently, and we've been spending time together when our schedules line up, finding that we have an impressive amount of things in common. For now, I'll just say that I'm excited and that she's on my mind a lot.

As for Willow, she was excited too - about being at the Boardwalk. We went on the ferris wheel ("wow! You can see everything!) and the Cave Train ("that was awesome!) before going inside for some miniature golf. Afterwards, we walked along the beach, heading for the wharf. On the wharf, Willow was hugely excited about the sea lions, and we spent a long time watching them, even staying put when it started raining on us. We ended up buying an umbrella for the longish walk back to the van (I'd parked near downtown) and hanging out at Bad Ass Coffee so Willow could get some hot chocolate and thaw out after the cold walk back from the wharf. Then we went to the bookstore. Willow wanted to buy a Dora the Explorer book, but I bought her a couple of books featuring Native American stories instead - one about Crow, and one about Coyote. It was a good call, because although she initially resisted, she ended up liking them enough to ask me to reread them to her.

The next day, she was still excited enough about the sea lions that when we went to the birthday party she'd been invited to, she told and retold the sea lion story to each arriving guest.

We'll be visiting those sea lions again.

Now, it's back to work for me.

Currently listing to: Murder by Death "In Bocca Al Lupo"

Some years ago, the girls created a ritual, to be performed while walking to the grocery store. Down by the walkway, behind the building, there is an open pipe, probably some sort of vent, jutting out from the wall. The ritual involves shouting into the opening. When the girls were young, their rants were relatively nonsensical - aargagk bkabka gaaabbaaa! Poopy diaper baby butt!

Here's what they said today:

Sophie: In the nineteen eighties, George Bush was in a bar! He pulled down his pants! He lost his pants!

Willow: Hi, my name is Willow! I'm a little kid! Bye!

I've always imagined some hapless grocery store employee looking around in bewilderment, wondering where the little voices are coming from, and wondering if professional help is needed.

Am I a bad parent for laughing? I did ask Sophie where she got the idea to say such a thing. Her Answer? I made it up!

Why having an editor is a good idea:

At the moment, I'm helping a classroom of 6th grade students create Powerpoint presentations on ancient Africa. They're finishing up the design phase now, creating paper mock-ups of what their finished presentations will look like, including text and picture orientation. The process has awakened them to the importance of teamwork and staying on task, and in some cases, emotions are running high.

I've been checking the mock-ups as the groups finish them, and came across the following sentence fragment on one of the papers: they raped there mommies... It was a test of willpower to soberly suggest to the girl who had written it that she might want to check her spelling. She had no idea what she'd written, having intended to write: they wrapped their mummies...

Yep. Proper spelling is important. That's why we teach it.

I have to admit that, despite not being a morning person, I love the early morning. This morning, I had a few moments between finishing my preparations and the arrival of the first kids, so I stepped outside with my coffee and sat down upon one of the gently curving buttresses juttng out from the circular school building. From my vantage point, I could see the misty foothills magically beckoning. Recent rains have clothed them in green, and the morning veil of moisture added a layer of mystery.

The kids started showing up as I sat there. I asked one of them if he ever spent time in the hills. His reply was, "not really." He then went on to tell me about how his cousin had blown up a tree with an improvised bomb fashioned from several M-80s.

Oh well. Kids are a different kind of magic. Much more unpredictable than the hills and the rains. I guess I wouldn't have it any other way, but I'm always going to enjoy those early morning moments when I can.

This morning, I saw the moon out the crack between the blinds and the edge of the sliding glass door. It inhabited the little slice of sky visible to me, and it was clothed in tattered gray overcast, looking like it wished to be welcomed in for a cup of something warm.

Despite being up much earlier than I would have liked, I smiled.

I'm home after a great day of sand and surf and fine company over the hill.

In fact, this has been a pretty full weekend. Last night, I went to see the latest Central Works play, The Window Age, in which the characters' surface layers are pulled back to reveal their subconscious thoughts. This is fitting because one of the three characters is a thinly-veiled stand-in for Sigmund Freud. Another is Virginia Woolf, here named Valerie Fox. Ha ha.

Friday night, in fine Friday the 13th tradition, we did an improv soundscape/noise show at the 21 Grand. I'll write more about that over at my music blog when I have a moment. Let it suffice to say that I think things went pretty well.

I begin my second solo week of teaching tomorrow morning, and it should be interesting because the regular teacher is still out of town, and I'm not quite sure where things have left off in Language Arts and Math. I'm sure things will turn out okay though. I'm getting there an hour and a half before the kids do. I just hope others get there that early, or I'll be waiting outside.

Right now I'm home, reflecting on questions. I don't often ask questions, either because they don't occur to me, or because I don't want to know the answers. I'm one of those people who usually has to work things out for himself. If somebody explains a process to me, I'll listen, nod, and maybe jot a few things down for later review. If I'm asked if I have any questions, the answer is almost always, "no." Maybe it's because I learn best by reading or doing. I guess that makes me a visual kinesthetic learner or some such. Of course, sometimes I just don't want to know the answer. After all, the answer is always "maybe" until you ask. Sure, some people will tell you that the answer is always "no" until you ask, but they always forget to tell you that it's still sometimes "no" after you ask too. If you don't ask, the possibilities are endless. Asking strips away the mystery.

I'm half joking here. I know that nothing ever gets accomplished if you exist entirely in a world of possibilities. It is necessary to ask questions while moving through life. Asking questions opens doors, and illuminates new paths for us to follow.

It's just that I like imagining possibilities.

Don't be a boiled frog.

Now there's some sound advice.

Once upon a time, there was a sadistic experimenter who discovered that frogs will, of course, leap away if they're dropped into boiling water. On the other hand, frogs will stay put if they're placed in cold water which is then slowly brought to boil.

This is why I have started trying to write daily reflections. I say "trying" because I don't actually manage to do this every day. It's a work in progress, I guess, making this part of my routine. The boiling water is life situations. The frog is us. We sometimes find ourselves stuck in life situations that are bad for us - it may be a bad marriage, a dead-end job, or pretty much any other harmful set of circumstances. If you have arrived at such a situation gradually, in tiny little increments of time over a span of years, it's hard to pinpoint when things went bad. It's easy to tell yourself that everything is okay, because hey - things aren't much different than they were yesterday, or the day before. What you don't realize is that they are markedly different from what they were several years ago. The magic has gone, or the excitement has worn off. You don't jump out of bed in the morning with any enthusiasm. All the while, you keep telling yourself that everything is just the same as ever.

Imagine, however, that all of a sudden you're dropped without warning into a dying marriage or a dead-end job. Ouch! That fucking hurts! Out of the water!

Daily reflections function as a thermometer for the pot of life. If we are honest with ourselves, they will indicate when the temperature is rising to unhealthy levels.

Okay - I have just turned the results of a sadistic experiment into a self-help metaphor. I'm not sure how I feel about that. Still, if nothing else, it's food for thought.

Ouch. There I go with the cliches. And so continues the neverending process of self-review.

The point is: keep things vital and exciting. Find what resonates with you, and stick with it. If life seems to be a chore or an unvarying routine, change something!

There was a child went forth every day,
And the first object he look'd upon, that object he became,
And that object became part of him for the day or a certain part of the day,
Or for many years or stretching cycles of years.

-WALT WHITMAN

The above poem (not included here in its entirety) is quoted at the beginning of Richard Louv's "Last Child in the Woods". I find myself thinking of my own childhood and reflecting on how my early days on this Earth still resonate within me.

I remember the innocent days of elementary school in that rose-colored way we adults do. Everything was simpler and brighter then. I can remember creating worlds in the little microcosm of my backyard. I'd often look up the spiders there, hanging steadfastly in the centers of their masterpieces - their elegantly constructed meal tickets. I can't remember when my fascination with spiders began, although, knowing me, it probably coincided with my discovery that my mom was terrified of them.

I do remember being aware of natural cycles though, although I would have been hard pressed to put a name to this concept. I would stand there in the backyard, anthropomorphizing away, pretending that the spiders dangled there unaware of the impending doom of Winter. I imagined that they were faced with an apocalypse of wind, cold, and rain, and that they faced it with human-like despair as, one by one, they succumbed. Even then I knew that many of the little creatures, those that last only a season or so, never get to see their second Spring. They don't get to see the big picture as we humans understand it. The advent of Winter does indeed come for them with an ominous thud of finality, leaving the webs hanging bare, glistening with moisture and tattered by the breeze.

Of course, I'm not so arrogant as to suppose that I can see the big picture myself. I'm working on it, as we all must, but the picture is bigger than all of us.

To this day I am still fascinated by spiders and by the changing of the seasons. Last night, I even had a conversation about spiders with a teacher up at camp. We talked about the personalities of Jumping spiders. I'm glad I'm not alone in my fascination.

I'm glad that I can share my fascinations with new generations.

The moon is full tonight. I was just in time to see the bottom edge clear the eastern hills as it rose, bloated and orange, into the fading sky. It's funny how profoundly still it appears, especially when contrasted against the hive-like activity of San Jose freeways, with lines of cars, like huge, phosphorescent ants, whizzing mindlessly along under its pale glow.

What's the hurry?

For me, it was the rush to get my latest assignment electronically submitted. This involved a late evening drive to the school to retrieve a video tape, followed by a slightly later drive to purchase burritos.

I couldn't help thinking that we have much to learn from the moon.

Now, at work, I can relax a bit. The kids are in bed, and there is a library book nearby, waiting for me to continue reading it. I once had a friend note that I look absolutely serene when I'm reading. In this case, looks aren't deceiving.

Currently listening to: Mirror "Islands". Yeah, I digitize my vinyl. What of it?

Here's where daylight savings causes trouble - little girls who aren't tired at bedtime. Willow is on yesterday's time still, and is not even a little bit sleepy.

We spent a good chunk of time with her homework earlier. This is partially my fault because I believed her a couple of days ago when she said her weekly homework was done. Imagine my surprise when I pulled it out to discover that she hadn't started it yet.

It's still strange to me that kindergarteners even have homework. Back when I was her age, we just colored with crayons and threw blocks at each other. I also vividly remember chasing classmates around with an earwig, yelling, "earwigs go in your ears!"

Memories...

Now, my ears are covered with headphones (what a wonderful way to keep out the earwigs!), and I'm listening to the new Neko Case - "Middle Cyclone"

Lots of activity today. Willow has carpeted the apartment with her haul from yesterday's party, and she's got The Wiggles playing on the TV (dvd of course - no actual TV allowed!). We're going to do a cleanup and finish up her homework soon though.

I've been working on my own class assignments while she has been playing, something I wouldn't have been able to do if she didn't have all of this diverting new stuff. We've been out today - once to my mom's to visit and pick up a package (Amebix dvd!), and once to school where I student teach so I could talk with my friend/master teacher. Of course, Willow took advantage of the opportunity to actively investigate the playground equipment there.

It's funny though - perhaps the most vivid moment of the day was discovering a lone ladybug on the sidewalk in front of my mom's house. Willow and I knelt down and watched it make its way into the lawn, climb a weed, and eat an aphid. Nearby, a line of ants marched purposefully by. We talked about what it must be to be bug-sized, and watched the little drama of predator and prey unfold for a few moments before the spell was broken and we reentered the human world of grandmas and dvds.

Spring must be around the corner. The clocks have been forced ahead, and all around us, living things are reawakening.

Willow just kicked my butt at Bingo! She got a little Bingo game, complete with one of those little spinning cages, at her birthday party in the park today. She got lots of other stuff too, and she's still in the process of exploring it all.

We had a blast at the park. Willow and I went over early to stake a claim at a couple of picnic tables, and I was struck by how Spring-like the day was, especially considering the grayness and downpour of the past week. It even briefly hailed on me a couple of days ago. Today though, the uncut grass was full of little Spring flowers, and the crows and hummingbirds competed for attention around us. The park was hopping with visitors, and we added to that number considerably as Willow's party guests showed up.

The kids all stuffed themselves with cake, ice cream, and soda before going home to more sugar-induced havoc-wreaking. I was surprised by how much cake disappeared. Less to tempt me.

Time to go hang out with my girl now. Maybe next time I'll win at Bingo.

Willow (after eating a large bowl of noodles): "I didn't know that I could fit that many noodles in my body!"

The rain is still falling. I've just finished some tea and I'm listening to I-tunes on shuffle. I'm not working tonight, so I'll be sure to be rested for another day of teaching sixth graders tomorrow. So far, the week is going really well. I've just got to find the time to finish the assignments that need finishing.

I'm looking forward to the next few days.

Listening to: Manilla Road "Throne of Lies"

March already! I probably could have told that without looking at the calendar. March always seems like the rainiest month of the year, and this one is no exception. We are two for two so far, with the rain pelting the roof as I type. The wind is strong enough to cause high-profile vehicles to veer dangerously on the freeways, and the sky is churning with dark clouds. I love it!

I'm busy this week. I've taken over the 6th grade classroom for the time being, which means my organizational skills are being put to the test. Today went okay, with things more or less falling into place, sometimes with the help of the kids. The kids, having been students in this class since Autumn, know the routines and are always quick to point out steps I've forgotten. Some people might find that obnoxious, but I find it genuinely helpful. We're all there to help each other, and I'm having fun getting to know the kids even better.

I've definitely got to step up the pace when it comes to grading/correcting papers. I'm slow.

There's other stuff going on in the sidelines too. I find myself happily distracted.

And still the rain falls. I wonder if this will be another March like the one a few years ago when it rained every day. As long as it doesn't rain on Willow's upcoming birthday party, I don't care. In fact, I would welcome it.