Not Idling In Traffic

This was my view as I completed my 100th mile in my quest to walk 100 miles this month. I managed to do it in half the time, and now I'm going to see how many miles I can add to my total during the next couple of weeks. I've gotten Willow interested in walking too, and she has already racked up 50 miles since she started keeping track. I think one of the main reasons I like walking, other than the obvious health benefits, is that I notice more of the little details in the world around me. Of course, walking in suburban neighborhoods, the details often end up being trash and graffiti. Not always though. There is a lot of wildlife and occasionally, interesting free things sitting on curbs. Personally, walking is a reaction against the laziness I see around me. Near the top of the list of things that irritate me are people who spend extra time driving around parking lots waiting for a space to open up right in front of the store, rather than simply parking at the other end of the lot where spaces are plentiful. The same goes for the long line of SUVs idling in front of every school at pick up and drop off time as lazy parents wait for their kids to run into traffic to climb aboard. There are always plenty of parking places within a block or two to the school too. Think of the gas people would save, and think of the positive change in local air quality if people left their vehicles of unusual size at home, or at the very least, parked them and walked a few extra feet. Irritation is a powerful motivator, apparently.

Speaking of irritation, or at least irritation coupled with amusement, while Jeanine and I were walking the other day, we passed a shopping center where a couple of major businesses, a video store and a grocery store (Blockbuster and PW, if you must know), had recently gone out of business. Next to the two empty storefronts was a tanning salon, its garish neon sign advertising that it was open for business. It's interesting to me that a grocery store, which provides something that all people need, would cease to exist while a tanning salon, which provides something you can get for free by STANDING OUTSIDE, would succeed while the grocery store next to it failed.

Go figure.

Currently listening to: Whip "Timesbold"

Walking and Working

I'm nineteen miles away from walking 100 miles this month, and I'm thinking I might as well try for 200, although this type of challenge is somewhat time-consuming. Today, I spent around 45 minutes walking through the warmth of late summer suburbia. Later, Jeanine and I hiked the section of the Los Gatos Creek Trail leading up to Lexington reservoir, followed by dinner in downtown Los Gatos. I still feel like I could walk more today, but I have to head out the door to work now. This will be my second night of the 2011/2012 outdoor school season, and so far the energy is good. This morning I was greeted by the sinking moon and cascading fog. In the distance, the fog erased patches of hilly horizon, making it look like the world was being eaten away by whiteness.

Currently listening to: Fire On Fire "The Orchard"

Summertime, When Writing Tends Not To Happen

Way back in June I wrote that I was going to post at least once a week during the summer. Obviously, that plan fizzled out in a big way. I should have remembered that I feel less inclined to write during the summer months. It's either because of the warm weather or increased outside activity. I'm not a fan of warm weather, and I think it takes its toll on my creative juices, causing them to evaporate into near nothingness. That doesn't mean I don't take advantage of the situation and do the usual summer kinds of things, but there's just something about inclement weather that inspires me to reflect and write.

At the moment, I'm on the cusp of the 2011/2012 outdoor school season, ready to go back to my nighttime schedule overseeing sleeping science camp kids. We just had our set-up week, during which we transformed the site from a summer camp to a science camp, digging things back out of storage, renewing our enthusiasm (and our CPR/first aid certifications) in preparation for the first group of science camp kids, who are due to arrive tomorrow.

Before that, I had two weeks off, during which I barely did anything productive. I finished a couple of novels, slept in late, went on a whole lot of walks with Jeanine, and saw some movies, but paperwork piled up, my apartment got messy, and other projects languished. I guess the walking counts as being productive though. Jeanine and I are in the middle of a challenge in which we are trying to each walk 100 miles during the month of September. I've already walked 61 miles this month, 10 of which I did yesterday when I walked to and from Willow's first soccer game of the season. Willow is back in school too, of course, and is one of the only kids I know who is actually happy about that.

I'm also renewing my attempts to teach myself guitar. I slacked off during the summer because I broke a string and it took me weeks to get around to buying new ones. I've got a long way to go before I'll be able to call myself a guitarist though.

As for the summer, it is well documented in photos, but I never did make time to write about it. I worked 8 out of the 9 weeks of summer camp and saw a lot of familiar faces among the campers and volunteer counselors. Some campers have moved up to become counselors now, and they were welcome additions to the program. Due to an increase in paying campers (we went from 150 to 162 campers a week), I was limited in how many weeks I could bring Willow and her siblings to camp (excepting Alex, who is now a counselor, and a good one at that). Willow, Sophie, and Nathan only got one week each, but in some ways that probably made their camp experience more special (as a decrease in quantity tends to do). The Summer was another relatively cool one, and it even rained once (the day I rode my bike of course). There were no more critter discoveries to match the finding of a Snapping Turtle in the pond, but there were a few really cool finds, the best of which was discovering a large Pacific Giant Salamander in the middle of eating a Banana Slug, something I'd heard they did but had never witnessed before. I found a large Mountain Kingsnake stretched out on the trail too, and a big pile of Northern Pacific Rattlesnakes under a rock up in the chaparral, not to mention various other reptiles. The reservoir was so full of frogs and tadpoles that when we got close to the water, their rush to deeper regions made it look like the water was boiling.

The highlight of the summer for me was the vacation week. Last year, Jeanine and I took Willow and Eva to Disneyland, so this year we went in the opposite direction, heading north to Lava Beds National Monument. We stopped at Six Flags Discovery Kingdom in Vallejo so the girls could get their amusement park fix, and then visited my dad in Citrus Heights, staying in a couple of crappy Motel Sixes for the overnights. Then, it was a straight shot up to Lava Beds where we spent several days exploring the high desert and crawling through lava tube caves. I hadn't been sure how the girls would like doing this, but I needn't have worried because they loved it, worming their way through holes in the ground like gophers. We used bicycle helmets as headgear, except for Willow, who used her softball helmet. There is something really appealing to me about caves. Strangely enough, I feel quite safe underground, almost like I'm calling up an ancestral memory that equates caves with security. The geography of the region is compelling too, with acres and acres of lava creating alien landscapes, and frozen drips of lava creating a chocolatey veneer to the insides of many of the tubes. One cave had a wide opening and seemed to end, but after seeing a couple of other people disappear down a small hole at the back, we followed and discovered a sub-cavern floored with ice. On a couple of occasions, we entered one cave and wormed out way through crawlspaces into another cave. The only developments or modifications done to the majority of these caves were entry ladders or stairways. A few of them had bridges or internal stairways too. One had ancient paintings on the rocks. Only Mushpot Cave, near the visitor center, had any sort of interpretive materials and lights. At night, the stars glittered in their thousands, and the Milky Way swept from horizon to horizon. I finally found a Solpugid in the wild (in the bathroom, strangely enough) and witnessed a Jerusalem Cricket attack and eat a scorpion (it happened while I was trying to photograph the scorpion). We subsisted mainly on road trip food until we finally broke down and drove 40 minutes into town to buy additional supplies. We also surprised a Pronghorn Antelope, which barked at us in disgust. At Petroglyph Point, a cliff covered in ancient petroglyphs made when nearby Tule Lake licked at its base, we discovered the ground carpeted with rodent bones and owl pellets. A woman with a spotting scope showed us a Barn Owl sleeping in a crevice in the face of the cliff, and we found a fledgling raptor dead on the ground as other birds, ravens and raptors, wheeled above us.

On the way back, we visited Shasta Caverns, which were impressive but not quite as fun since free exploration is not allowed. The tour guide was good though, much more entertaining than the guide who led us on the one guided tour we did at Lava Beds (there is a big difference between being led by a college intern and a professional tour guide). We had intended to camp in Calistoga, but when we arrived we discovered that our chosen campground was full, so we ended up staying at a really nice bed & breakfast called Mountain Home Ranch, which had a hippie utopia vibe to it. The cabins reminded me of science camp and the breakfast was fantastic. The girls spent a lot of time feeding the farm animals, including one rude horse who kept violently chasing the other animals away. The girls weren't as impressed with our visit to the Petrified Forest, but Jeanine and I were really into the fossil Redwood trees. We also visited Calistoga's Old Faithful geyser and found some letterboxes in the Pioneer Cemetery before hitting the long road home. My mind is already churning with ideas for next summer, or maybe even before then. I want to explore more caves. As a friend recently posted on Facebook, "someday is now". Inspiring words. The trip was photographically documented, of course.

Hopefully it won't be months before I update this page again. There is Autumn energy in the air though, so I have a feeling I'll be back here typing away sooner rather than later.

The first week of the 2011 Summer Camp season is now history. I managed to rip the crotch out of a pair of pants (while catching an Alligator Lizard) and kill my digital camera (by jumping into the reservoir after a Garter Snake without removing the camera case from my shoulder). I suppose I should be more careful or I'll actually be losing money rather than earning it. I had a nice group of kids for the week, although there were 23 of them, making it a larger than normal group. The groups will be larger all summer though, because we now have 162 kids a week rather than the 150 we've had in previous years. The extra kids means that I can only bring my own kids for one week each though, which is a shame. That said, I'm grateful for all of the free summer camp they've gotten in previous years. Alex gets to go multiple times, but he's old enough to volunteer now, which is exactly what he is doing. He volunteered down at the ropes course last week, and will be helping out with the little kids the week after this coming one.

This summer, I'm going to do my best to keep track of animals I've spotted, partially so I can remember when specific animals appear during the summer, and partially for fun. For instance, this is the time of year when it's easiest to find Kingsnakes. I've found 3 in the last week - one up at Almaden Quicksilver, one (a beautiful Mountain Kingsnake)in the garden at work during summer camp set-up week, and one on the driveway at camp on Thursday evening.

Here's what I saw this week:

Birds: Junco, Stellar's Jay, Raven, Crow, Swallow, Robin, Coot, Killdeer, Black Crowned Night Heron, and Quail, not to mention the countless little brown birds that I can't identify. The Killdeer had three eggs, and its efforts to lead us away from them clued me in to watch for them, which probably saved the eggs from being stepped on. The Black Crowned Night Heron was a bit of a surprise, but all of the others I more or less expect to see every week.

Mammals: Rabbit (in the garden), Mouse (it ran up my arm when I tried to remove it from the recreation equipment bin), Vole, Deer, Bats, Squirrel, Raccoon. No real surprises here - these are the mammals we see almost every week.

Fish: None this week.

Amphibians: Arboreal Salamander, Slender Salamander, Pacific Tree Frog, Bullfrog, Western Toad, and California Newt (larval stage). It's a bit unusual to see Arboreal Salamanders during the summer, but other than that, I saw what I expected to see.

Reptiles: Western Fence Lizard, Southern Alligator Lizard, Western Skink, Santa Cruz Aquatic Garter Snake (7 of them), Northern Pacific Rattlesnake (2 of them), California Kingsnake (large one in the driveway), California Mountain Kingsnake (actually last week in the garden), Red-Eared Slider, and Common Snapping Turtle. One of the Western Skinks was with a clutch of eggs, which was pretty cool. The big surprise was the Snapping Turtle, and I'll relate that story below.

Invertebrates of note: Golden Buprestid Beetle, Jerusalem Cricket, Millipede (3 different kinds), Calisoga Spider, Silvestri's Scorpion, Glow Worms (13 of them!), California Sister Butterfly, Swallowtail Butterfly. I've never seen this many Glow Worms on one hike, so that was the most unusual invertebrate moment of the week. The Golden Buprestid was great to come across too - it landed on a kid, which seems to be the way they usually appear.

As for the Snapping Turtle, I was in the pond at my favorite turtle spot, expecting to find some Red-Eared Sliders. A Slider ducked under water in front of me, so I pushed on towards the shore, noting what looked like a gray boulder jutting out of the water near the reeds that hug the shoreline. As I got closer, I saw that the "boulder" actually had a turtle shell pattern on it, but it was bigger than any Slider I'd ever seen. Being me, I gripped it by the sides and hauled it out of the water. The moment the head and front legs of the turtle cleared the surface of the pond, I knew I was holding a Snapping Turtle. The head snaked around towards me, with the mouth gaping open in turtle outrage. I shifted my hands back a bit and, pinning my pond net between my side and upper arm, pushed the turtle through the water towards the other side of the pond. I'm not sure how I climbed out of the pond with the turtle in my hands, but I managed to do this without losing the turtle or any of my fingers. The kids were all pretty amazed by the find and followed me as I sloshed towards the wheelbarrow we'd brought down to collect duckweed in. I plopped the turtle down on top of the duckweed we'd already collected and made sure the kids knew enough to stand back. Once back up at camp, I asked our receptionist, Jacque, to get me some numbers of animal rescue organizations. I already knew that we didn't have the resources to take care of such a large turtle, and I sure wasn't going to put it back in the pond (a couple of kids had already accusingly said, "I thought you said there was nothing dangerous in there!). Jacque found a number for a local turtle and tortoise club and called them, arranging for a guy to come and pick up the turtle. They somehow had the resources/connections to arrange for the turtle to be flown back to its native habitat, so this particular story has a happy ending. The turtle stayed the night at camp, submerged in a plastic tub partially filled with water and duckweed. It got picked up while I was out hiking the next morning. This is officially the biggest reptile I've ever caught.

Jacque had an exciting animal week too, spotting 3(!) Mountain Lions in her driveway earlier in the week. It was a mom and two cubs. She said the mom was huge, stretching nearly from one side of her driveway to the other. She lives right up the hill too. I still haven't seen a Mountain Lion in the wild.

Apparently, the turtle is going to end up in East Texas. Willow, along with her mom and siblings, is in Texas right now too. Perhaps both planes were in the air at the same time. I think my ex-Father-in-law has passed away, or is about to. This leaves Willow with only her paternal grandpa and her maternal grandma left. Poor girl. I'll know more when she gets back.

Summer camp set-up week is behind me now. Everything is ready to go, so for 9 weeks this summer, I'll be wandering the trails at the front of a group of kids, exploring, discovering, relaxing, and just enjoying being out on the edge that divides suburbia from wilderness.

Speaking of kids, I've been feeling more like a kid since I bought a bike. Sometimes I go for aimless rides, just seeing how the neighborhood streets connect with each other. Today, I went on a slightly more purposeful ride. I wanted to see how long it took to get to the northern part of the Guadalupe River Trail. I ended up riding about 18 miles, making a big loop during which I discovered that it's quicker to take the Los Gatos Creek Trail than it is to take the Guadalupe Creek Trail to the Southern part of the Guadalupe River Trail and the hot, hilly Highway 87 Bike Path. It's nice to get back in touch with all of the paths and trails known only to people who are willing to leave their cars behind. I'm now up to nearly 250 miles traveled by foot and/or bike.

Yesterday, I went to the San Mateo County Fair with Jeanine and her daughter Eva. Eva seemed to have an affinity for the carnival rides that violently spin riders around in circles, including one that had at least a couple of puddles of vomit in front of it already. I watched a kid accidentally step in one of the puddles and then try to clean his shoe by spitting on the ground and trying to wipe his shoe in the spit. If that is indicative of the problem solving skills of the typical youth, then I weep for the future. After Eva got off the ride, I noticed the ride operator cleaning fresh vomit off the metal steps and adjoining handrail. Eva was fine though.

I found the first Mountain King Snake of the season in the garden this week too. Hopefully it won't be the last. Beautiful snakes.

Currently listening to: Natural Snow Buildings "Laurie Bird"

Last night was the first night of the last week of outdoor school before Summer begins. My evening began in the company of a confused bat, who entered the camp office and flew around my head for awhile. I had the idea to use foam boards (used as song boards when we sing camp songs) to guide its flight toward the door, but it easily evaded them and continued its circling. Bats seem to use their sonar to detect and fly around obstacles rather than reversing their course. In other words, bats don't often make u-turns. It eventually landed, hanging awkwardly from a light fixture, and one of my co-workers managed to use a hat to capture it and release it back into the gathering darkness outside.

Bat in the hat. Ha.

Currently listening to: Evan Caminiti "Distant Lights" 7"

It's a rainy Saturday, which is a bit unusual for June. I'm inside listening to music, and have resolved to do nothing productive today.

Jeanine and I have been continuing our long walks through the suburbs and beyond, increasing our reach nearly every time we go out. I've now walked or ridden over 184 miles since we started keeping track sometime back in April. The majority of those miles were walked. Yesterday, we took a 7+ mile walk down the Los Gatos Creek Trail and back, and discovered a perfect Alligator Lizard attempting to sun itself on a sidewalk. Given the weather, it only succeeded in clouding itself. It cocked its head and favored us with a suspicious glare before turning and disappearing into a nearby Agapanthus. It looked like it had recently shed, and it had its original tail, which I'd guess is unusual for a suburban Alligator Lizard. Cats and dogs can be hard on local lizard populations.

We also ran into a woman with a Red-Eared Slider that she'd found on the trail. It had probably come out of the creek or nearby percolation ponds in an attempt to lay its eggs, and she'd caught it thinking it was a pet. Since Sliders are an invasive species, she was at least half right. It was either a released pet or the descendent of one. Not knowing what to do with it, she tried to give it to me. I told her that she might as well just put it back in the creek, since there is already such a well established population of them locally. I don't have it in me to kill invasive species just because of the thoughtlessness of some long ago pet owner. Maybe that makes me a bad conservationist, but sometimes the proper action clashes with my personal inclinations. After all, given my European descent, I'm an invasive species too, and I definitely don't want anybody killing me. Sometimes the barn door just stays open.

I did once keep a Slider for a short amount of time. I'd found it in the Guadalupe River. It's damn time consuming to care for semi aquatic species. I ended up bringing to the children's museum where I worked at the time, and if I remember right, it eventually ended up at a turtle rescue organization.

This coming week is the last week of outdoor school before the lazy madness of Summer begins. It's hard to believe this given the very Winter-like weather we're experiencing at the moment. Due to budgetary concerns, Willow and her siblings only get 1 free week of summer camp this year, which disappoints them greatly. As for me, I'll just be thankful that they've gotten whole summers of free camp for the last several years.

Currently listening to: Marissa Nadler "s/t"

The beginning of the week transported us back in time to midwinter, with temperatures plunging and heavy clouds blanketing the area. The rain revivified the creeks and inspired fruiting bodies to burst forth. Our hike up the trails at Hidden Villa yesterday was much different from the one we took a couple of weeks ago. The orgy of Spring was replaced by the expectant hush of Winter, and for some reason, the expectant opportunism of ticks. While hiking up a trail that leads away from the creek and into the chaparral, Jeanine noticed that she'd acquired a passenger in the form of a deer tick. When we stopped to inspect ourselves, I found that pant legs were crawling with them. I counted as I flicked them off into the scrub, reaching 18 by the end of the hike. That's a new personal record for simultaneous arachnid infestation. Neither of us got bitten. Ticks look kind of cute when they're waiting for a ride. In fact, they almost look like they're trying to hail a cab. See the picture above. Anthropomorphizing a bit more, I can imagine their excitement when they manage to hitch a ride, and their bitter disappointment as they're flicked back into the greenery.

Now, the sun is back out. I'm taking the night off work because Willow's mom is going out of town again. We're joining Jeanine to play with balloons and eat pizza tonight.

This Saturday, Willow has her last softball game of the season, and I've been hired to bring reptiles to a 10th birthday party after the game. Sunday, the reptiles and I are going to a school carnival. Having Jeanine advertise for me is paying off this season.

Currently listening to: V/A "Tomorrow's Conversations - An Album for Charity Curated by Birds Of Passage" This is a download only benefit album for people affected by the New Zealand Earthquake. Get it here.

There are four weeks of camp left before the school year ends. Unlike last year, when I got to lead field classes for the last few weeks of the school year, I find myself sticking to my nocturnal schedule. This is the time of year when it gets light well before the official camp wake-up time, which makes it hard on the kids who wake up with the light but aren't allowed to talk while others still sleep. Last week, I partially solved the problem by loaning out a bunch of books so the early risers could quietly read. It's heartening to note that a number of kids brought their own books. I love it when I see kids reading for fun. These are kids who will never be bored.

Speaking of kids, a couple of weeks ago, while out of a bike ride, we happened to notice three kids riding their bikes home from school. They all had bike helmets... dangling from their handlebars by the straps. It's interesting to see what kids do when their parents aren't looking. That same week, I saw kids playing in traffic - walking across the street in slow motion while cars accelerated toward them. When I stop and think about it though, I never wore a bike helmet when I was a kid, and I'm sure I played in traffic too. I climbed fences, rode my bike down precipitous trails and over spillways, splashed in rain swollen creeks, played with venomous animals, walked into extensive creek tunnels with flaming torches created by wrapping bits of cloth around sticks, and for the most part had the run of the city and the hills beyond. I never even seriously injured myself, unless you count the 13 stitches I got in my knee after wiping out on my bike, and the ripping out those same stitches a few days later when I rode by a trash can and tried to kick it over, only to discover that it was full. My miscalculation of its weight spun me off my bike. Instant karma.

I wonder how many kids these days get away with having the kinds of adventures I had. Probably not many. Parents have become increasingly paranoid, forcing kids to have virtual adventures. Come to think of it though, the internet is probably as dangerous a playground as the citywide one I enjoyed as a kid. Maybe more so.

Currently listening to: Owls "The Night Stays"

Once again, I've been neglecting this blog, instead opting to spend more time writing for my music blog.

We're well into Spring now, although from the gently dancing trees and gray light I can see out my window, you wouldn't know it. I recently purchased a bike, and when I combine the miles I've ridden with the miles I've walked in the last month, I find that I've already logged 93 miles this season. Jeanine has come along for the bulk of those miles. We've found more creek trails nearby, and discovered that they connect to other creek trails that eventually lead into the hills. The hills are carpeted in Spring wildflowers and alive with amorous animals. On a recent hike, we saw mating Checkerspot butterflies, slugs, and a beautiful pair of interlocked Coast Horned Lizards. I haven't seen a Horned Lizard in the wild in nearly a decade now, so this was a happy moment indeed.

The statewide AEOE (California Association for Environmental and Outdoor Education) conference took place last weekend, and I took Willow along. She ended up having a blast, partially thanks to the cool playground at Westminster Woods in Occidental, where the conference took place. When picking which workshops to attend, I chose them with Willow in mind. We met a Great Horned Owl, played in the creek, walked along a bluff overlooking the ocean, watched Harbor Seals, tracked animals, investigated skulls and Dermestid beetles, and looked through microscopes at tiny creek critters. She started the weekend with a cold, but by the end, the fresh mountain air had cured her. Or maybe the oceanside breeze literally blew the snot out of her.

Today marks my second Mother's Day without a mother. I can't begin to relate all of the things my mom did for me over my lifetime, from giving birth to me to instilling in me an intellectual curiosity about the world around me, and... everything else. The last time I saw her alive was early last year, when I stopped by her house to help dispose of her Christmas tree. She wasn't feeling well - a slight cold, I think. Willow was with me, but stayed outside. My mom was worried about passing on her cold to Willow. It was a short visit, and of course I had no idea it would be our last one. You never really know when you'll see somebody for the last time. Remember that. Visit your mom. Happy Mother's Day.

Summer is fast approaching. It's hard to believe that another school year is winding down.

Currently listening to: White Hills "Black Valleys"

Jeanine and I have now started keeping track of miles we've walked. I've walked over 18 miles since Friday morning. Jeanine came along for slightly over 10 of those (the walk to the hills and back), Willow for about 5, and Sophie for 3.

On Saturday, I discovered a neat little park, called Guadalupe Oak Grove, nestled in the middle of suburbia. We were walking through TJ Martin Park, which is a long strip of land which follows an easement through which the overhead power lines run. As we stopped at a playground, I noticed a gate through which a pathway led, and beyond the gate an impressive patch of oak woodland, all shadows and sun-dappled grass. After some playing along the banks of a nearby creek, I convinced the girls to go back and pass through the gate into the woods. Inside, it felt like we had been transported back in time to an era before the west was paved. In addition to oak trees, there were grassy hillsides that completely shut out any hint of the suburbs that surrounded us. The illusion would have been shattered if we'd climbed the hills, but we stayed on the wide pathway which meandered beneath the classically gnarled wooden fingers of the oak trees, admiring the thick grasses and occasional patches of Spring flowers. Paradise can be reached on foot.

Currently listening to: Natural Snow Buildings "The Centauri Agent" (click on the link in you want to download this release for absolutely free from the nice people at Vulpiano Records)

I can now report that it takes nearly an hour and a half to walk to the hills from my front door. Jeanine and I have been walking a lot lately, partially because it's Spring and partially because walking is good for you. I sometimes forget how much more one sees when walking - all of the minute details of Spring would have been invisible and inaudible to us if we'd driven to the hills today. We especially wouldn't have noticed all of the birds and flowers. There was a vast cloud of seagulls conversing loudly high above us, circling as if looking for the sea. Up in the hills, the crows joined the chorus. Hummingbirds were everywhere, and on the way back we jaw a violently blue little bird sitting alongside the football field at a nearby high school. As near as we could figure, it was a Western Bluebird. Neither of us had seen one before. We ended up walking close to 10 miles, taking a different way back to form a loop. In the hills, we saw a kid looking for snakes, who may or may not have been intending to scare us away from his snake hunting grounds by informing us that he'd seen rattlesnakes. Silly kid. When we looked under logs (or actually what looks like the remains of old telephone poles), All we found was a slightly confused vole. All of the logs looked like they'd been repeatedly turned over and not put back. Narrow strips of dead grass or bare dirt told the tale. I wish people would put things back the way they found them. The kid was still poking around under rocks when we left. Hopefully he put them all back after he was done.

Now, the relatively clear sky has mostly given way to a white, cottony blanket of clouds. The birds are still singing.

Currently listening to: Natural Snow Buildings "The Snowbringer Cult"

It sounds like a dream. I was surrounded by a bunch of elderly women who seemed to know only one word in English. "Ball", they said as they looked down at me. Fortunately, given the situation, I know that this was a request, and better yet, a request that I could fulfill with colorful balloons. Today, the day after, my fingers still hurt a bit from making balloon balls at the party Jeanine and I worked yesterday. The birthday boy, being only one year old, probably didn't even realize that all of the fuss was for him. Come to think of it though, all of the fuss was actually for the relatives. The needs of one-year-olds are simple, and big family parties aren't included among them. Apparently though, the needs of octogenarians are a bit more mystifying. They all wanted balloon balls. What they planned to do with these colorful, inflated balls is even more of a mystery.

Earlier, and to the north a bit, I was hired to watch a jump house for a few hours, which gave me more time to reflect on the needs of the very young. I love watching the absolute glee on the faces of toddlers as they bounce up and down. If all adults could figure out how to reattain this simple, guileless joy, the world would be a much better place. To bad we have to mess things up by getting older and less innocent.

Today, we're heading up to a party in Concord, and then on to The Independent in San Francisco for the last Sleepytime Gorilla Museum show ever.

Currently listening to: Sleepytime Gorilla Museum "In Glorious Times"

I can see a dead Redwood tree out my window, and I wonder what toxin it sucked up from the ground or out of the surrounding air. I often look at the sad trees lining the freeways, with dry spindly branches festooned with trash and coated by dust, and wonder how long it will be before they're gone. The other day, while out getting the mail, I noticed a sad little rat sitting by the mailboxes, so sick with poison that it didn't move when I retrieved my junk mail and dumped it in the nearby recycling container. It got me thinking about how many other species we poison, either intentionally or inadvertently. Creatures like rats are drawn to our garbage, and I've always wondered why people get so upset about rats in the dumpsters. It's not like we're using that stuff. Might as well let the rats take what they can. Sure, there is the disease factor, but people are much more likely to catch diseases from rats who hang out by the mailboxes than from the unpoisoned rats tunneling through the dumpsters.

Currently listening to: Eleni Karaindrou "Ulysses' Gaze" soundtrack

The weather has become mild and blue, and birdsong pours through the window. The hillsides are rainbowed with flowers and the ponds resound with the pick up lines of amphibians. I guess Spring is here.

I've gone on several walks in the hills over the last few days, once with Jeanine, once with Willow, and once by myself. Jeanine and I found a letterbox, rescued a rattlesnake (it was small, and stuck in a deep junction box), and were serenaded by toads at a pond that was a meadow the last time we passed it. Willow and I found another letterbox, visited the farm animals, and saw a chipmunk. On both of these hikes there were countless rabbits and quail dining alongside the trails. Poppies dotted the meadows. Jeanine and I saw a small Gopher snake inching across the trail, looking like it was on the trail of something. On my solo hike, I found a much larger Gopher snake under a log, looking like it wasn't on the trail of anything. I do so love finding snakes. All of this walking has infused me with a new sense of well-being, making me think that I didn't get out enough this Winter. Right now everything is beautiful. I want to lie on my back in a meadow and let the world busy itself around me.

Currently listening to: Hannah Marcus "Desert Farmers"

The harsh reality of the world is really making itself apparent this month. As I type, rain is beating down in the darkness outside. A few water droplets have even found a way to navigate downward through my ceiling, to land with unspectacular little splashes here and there on the table and floor. Tomorrow is the equinox, seeming to come too quickly on the heels of the Winter Solstice.

Rain and darkness aren't harsh though, but the destruction of much of Japan's east coast most decidedly is. This being the modern age, I've watched countless online videos of black waves pouring through city streets and debris-choked mountains of water oozing their way across farmland. The videos make me feel twice removed, once by the distance of the camera operator from the scene, and once again by the electronic filter I'm currently sitting in front of. It's no wonder that many commentators have mentioned that it's like watching an epic Hollywood disaster movie. Diving through the filter with heart and mind, I can more properly take a moment to think about how many lives were either lost or otherwise irreversibly changed by the earthquake that triggered this mess. When one adds the damaged nuclear reactors to the equation, things seem even less fair. And now, it seems that the U.S. and Britain have entered the fray over in Libya, adding more war to the tragic global soup already containing earthquake, tsunami, and potential nuclear meltdown, not to mention the countless individual horror stories all swirling around in it.

It only takes a moment to be ripped from your routine forever, to have everything you know pulled out from under you. I'm sure many people are finding internal strength they never knew they possessed, but sometimes all of the strength you can muster still isn't enough. Nor should it have to be. We are social creatures. One of the benefits of living in a society is that we help each other out. It's too bad that many people still don't realize we're a global society.

In a strange coincidence, on the same day that the much reduced tsunami hit the California coast 30 or so miles from where I'm typing, a package from Japan showed up in my mail. It was a record, of course, because packages that show up in my mail nearly always contain music. Music knows no borders. It's an international language. In the spirit of music, it's time to open more doors and extend our hands outward.

Currently listening to: Godspeed You Black Emperor recorded live at The Great American Music Hall, 2/21/11

The first dream I can remember having was of uncontrolled fire. I was lost in a blazing orange landscape. If I were Christian, I might interpret it as a vision of Hell.

I hadn’t thought of this dream in years, but reading Stewart O’Nan’s book, The Circus Fire, reignited the memory. In the pages of The Circus Fire, O’Nan relates the true story of the 1944 Hartford Circus Fire, a sudden conflagration in which 167 people, most of them women and children, lost their lives. Generally, I don’t even like reading fictional accounts of children in jeopardy, especially since becoming a parent. Willow’s face flashes in my mind as I read, and try as I might, I can’t begin to imagine what it would be like to lose a child. Despite that, and despite the heartbreaking nature of the story, the book proved to be a fascinating window into another time. In amongst descriptions of corpses fused together by the heat and eyewitness accounts of the fire itself, there are some enduring mysteries, including the origin of the fire and the identity of a little girl, virtually untouched by fire, who is known only as “Little Miss 1565”. I recommend this book for anybody with an interest in history and a strong stomach, not to mention a certain amount of emotional fortitude.

I probably wouldn’t have read this book at all if it weren’t for my personal connection to the story. On that humid summer day in 1944, my mom was at that circus with her mom. She was only 5 at the time and obviously escaped. She wasn’t burned or trampled like other small children were that day. Now that I’ve read the story though, I wonder if the fire actually did leave another kind of mark on her. One of the things I’ll always remember about my mom is that before leaving the house, she would always double and triple check to make sure the stove was off. Being in a fire often has the effect on survivors. Of course, she would always double check that the door was locked too, so maybe I’m making a connection where none exists.

As for me, I find that I’ve picked up my mom’s habit of checking stoves and locks. This may or may not be due in part to a fire that happened nearly a quarter century before I was born. As for my childhood nightmare of fire, it probably happened when I was about the same age as my mom was when she experienced her own very real version of that dream.

It’s also interesting to note that I owe my very existence, not to mention Willow’s, to my grandmother’s choice of seats that day.

Currently listening to: The United Sons of Toil "When the Revolution Comes, Everything Will Be Beautiful"

I often complain about the fast pace of modern living,and I've always felt that most of our time-saving devices usually just free up time for more work, making them a moot point. So, in the interest of constructive problem solving, here is a short list of ways to slow down the pace of life:

-Don't use the microwave.

-Take the scenic route.

-Walk or bike when possible.

-Don't watch TV.

-Ditch the cellphone.

-Don't do things out of habit - think about what you're doing.

-Don't worry (especially about things beyond your control).

-Start projects that take a lot of time to finish - try not to do things in one sitting).

-If you must use new technology, do so in moderation.

Some of these I need to work on. I spend too much time on the computer, and I often find myself doing things out of sheer habit. I also have a cellphone, but only because I have a child. This is by no means a complete list, but it's a start. This post was inspired by the fact that, as I grow older, time seems to be speeding up. It would be a shame to end up missing my own life because I wasn't really living. Doing things out of habit or sticking to any kind of mindless routine isn't really living - it's going through the motions. I think that's the main reason life sometimes seems to pass by so quickly. It's because it's not being lived at all.

That said, I find it ironic that the only other time when time seems to go by too quickly is when I'm doing something creative like writing or drawing. At least in this case I have something to show for it though. I have a record of my past. I have evidence of time well spent. It would be hard to say such a thing after an evening of surfing the web or watching TV.

Currently listening to Carol Anne McGowan "Songs from the Cellar" Appropriately enough, this is music for stretching time. It was recorded in a 500 year old wine cellar and sounds like it. Think June Tabor or Marissa Nadler. Beautiful.

Suddenly it's March. I must have blinked.

I'm watching clouds flee across the sky as the trees shake their leafy fists at them. Despite the cloud cover, as I emerged from the apartment this morning I had to blink my eyes at the brightness. This is partially due to the fact that I didn't set foot outside yesterday, instead electing to stay inside reading and writing while Willow lost herself in Playmobil land. I feel it necessary to occasionally treat myself to a day of nothing in particular, and Willow feels the same way, especially after her busy Saturday of softball events and Brownie cookie sales. Now, we're recharged.

It has been exactly a month since my last post. In February, I went to Boston with Jeanine so we could attend the Twist & Shout balloon convention. Basically, we played with balloons at a hotel for several days and I honed by skills at twisting them into large bugs. While there, I had a chance to reconnect with my aunt Marilyn and my cousin Peter, whom I hadn't seen since 1982. I also got to meet Peter's wife, and we all had a good time sitting in the hotel pub and talking. Marilyn is my mom's younger sister. It seems strange that almost 30 years have gone by since we'd last seen each other, but that's sometimes how it works in this family.

We didn't spend too much time outside of the hotel, and when we did go out we found many sidewalks covered in mounds of snow. Still, we did take a couple of walks, and during one such venture we were treated to forks of lightning poking the horizon as thunder boomed in the distance. It made me remember visiting my grandma as a child, although then my opinion of thunderstorms was a lot less positive.

Upon our return to California, Jeanine and I took a quick road trip to Sacramento so she could be on a TV program. We used the trip to visit my dad and nearby Sutter's Fort. The side trip to the fort came about because both Jeanine and I had recently completed reading a book on the Donner Party, and Sutter's Fort is where the survivors temporarily ended up. It's interesting to imagine the fort as the only building for miles around, especially now that it has been consumed by a modern city. As we wandered around inside the fort, we found ourselves surrounded by diminutive pioneers who soon proved to be members of a visiting school class. As for my dad, he celebrated our arrival by picking out a vegetarian restaurant for us to go to. He picked well. For some reason, despite the fact that we were in the suburbs of Sacramento (Citrus Heights, to be precise), there were roosters wandering around expectantly, waiting for an unwary diner to drop some rooster food.

Continuing with the historical theme, this past week I helped chaperon Willow's field trip to a nearby history park where we visited reconstructions of a late nineteenth century schoolhouse, home, and barn. The kids got the biggest chuckle out of the outhouse, of course. Willow liked the schoolhouse best, since that's what she could most relate to.

Now, it's Monday again. Suddenly.

Currently listening to: Natural Snow Buildings "Waves of the Random Sea" 2LP

We spent some time splashing along the creek this weekend, as well as digging fingers into the leafy duff of a nearby hillside. Sure, the latter was done in a failed attempt to find a letterbox, but the thing about letterboxing is that even a failure is a success. We found fungi and salamanders instead. We also found blossom-scented air, seemingly imported from some other part of the world, somewhere in the Southern Hemisphere where it isn't Winter.

Afterward, at a park, a pair of guitarists played and sang beautifully in the tree shade, small children squawked and careened about, a lone crow sailed by overhead, and we smeared our faces with gelato.

Right now, a hummingbird, looking like a tiny bird-shaped speck, rests on a branch outside my window. Bright sun pours in and paints the table gold. It makes me wonder if it will snow in July.

I recently finished reading Annie Dillard's "Pilgrim at Tinker Creek", which put me in an observational frame of mind while simultaneously revitalizing my spirit. I want to sit still by the water. I want to breathe abundance. I want to burst forth.

Currently listening to: Murder by Death, "like the Exorcist, but More Breakdancing" Lp

I'm in the middle of re-watching Bela Tarr's more recent films at the moment, and hoping that his most recent, The Turin Horse, sees the light of day (or, more appropriately, the rainy half-light of day) sometime this year. I am struck anew by his bleak landscapes, rain-drenched, mud-spattered, and crumbling into a monochrome background of fog, and the ridiculous, hopeless specimens of humanity moving through them in a kind of social determinist haze, as if the sharp focuses of their younger selves have been muddied and diluted by life and the endless rain and crumbling brickwork that surrounds them. I'm not sure why I find comfort in these films. Perhaps it is because they are edited at a human pace, and all of the characters are full of human weaknesses. There is a freedom in showing weakness - a freedom that comes from breaking down the walls protecting who we are. I've always been drawn to desolate landscapes too,and every location I've ever seen in one of Tarr's films looks like a ghost town, abandoned yet not abandoned. It doesn't hurt that the cinematography is profoundly beautiful too.

The last time I spent any real time with Bela Tarr's films, I entered into a period of personal creativity that lasted at least a year. Maybe it will happen again.

Currently listening to: Murder by Death "Who Will Survive, and What Will Be Left of Them?" double 10", and looking forward to seeing them play in a couple of weeks.

Rain is sweeping back over the Bay Area today. It started yesterday, and I've been enjoying listening to it spatter against the roof.

Despite the energizing weather, I've been spending an aimless weekend, listening to music and reading and feeling like I should be doing something more. I'm not sure why I sometimes feel this way - that relaxing isn't enough. I start to feel guilty when I spend too much time inside. I am, after all, an outdoor educator who spends much of his time trying to get kids outside. I guess I could read outside today, but my book would probably get wet.

Then again, this might just be an ebb in my energy cycle. I'm not manic depressive or anything like that, but I notice that my energy and inspiration levels seem to fluctuate. It is often tied in with the weather, with energetic weather seeming to generate similar energy within me. Maybe the ebb can be explained by the Springlike weather of the last week or two.

Currently listening to: Yob "The Great Cessation"

Spring seems to have found a new home in January. The days and nights have been surprisingly mild for the last couple of weeks, although I notice that there is finally a bit of rain creeping into the forecast. Given the nature of meteorology though, it might never actually materialize. Strange weather always seems to start a war of words between the people who dismiss the whole concept of global warming and the more logical section of the population. The global warming naysayers always point their sharp little fingers at every cooler than usual day and exclaim, "See! The climate is getting cooler!" Of course, the whole concept of geological time is probably completely lost on the majority of them. You don't see a bunch of people hopping up and using this mild California January to argue the other side.

I think, generally speaking, that a lot of religious people only think of things in human terms and human time. Gradual trends in one direction or another, which take place on a whole different time scale, are beneath their radar. Maybe they just need to have faith in something they can't see. Wait...

Speaking of time, it has now been a few days more than a year since my mom died. Wednesday marked the anniversary of that date, and Jeanine and I went and hid a letterbox in her honor, near the library where she spent much of her time and energy sorting books for library sales. As of this writing, it has been found four times. I think my mom would have appreciated the tribute, and probably would have liked getting involved in the hobby of letterboxing too. Check out this page for clues on how to find her letterbox.

After hiding the letterbox, we took a walk around the block near her house, a place where I had spent some very bad moments exactly a year earlier. It has been transformed by the new owners. Landscaping has been cleared (there used to be a monstrous, ivy-choked, rat infested tree off to the left), the garage door and some windows have been replaced, and new outside lights have appeared. It's beginning to look like somebody else's house. For some reason, blogger won't let me insert photos in the middle of the post. They always float to the top, so if you were confused as to why there is a picture of a house up at the top, now you know the story behind it.

Currently listening to: Bear McCreary "Battlestar Galactica: The Plan and Razor" soundtrack. I don't watch TV, but occasionally somebody will lend me DVDs of TV shows. I watched the original Battlestar Galactica as a kid, either at friends' houses or on the little black and white TV at my dad's work (if I remember correctly). That entertained me as a kid. The new version of the series entertains me as an adult, it being much more thought-provoking than the original. Don't let the fact that it is a TV show keep you away from checking it out. The music is excellent as well, with it's mournful middle-eastern tinged orchestral sounds and occasional heavy metal guitars. I love McCreary's version of All Along the Watchtower too.

Today was blue and warm, with birds in the trees and people in the parks. I took the girls to the park and sat with my back against a Redwood, reading a book while they played. It even smelled like Spring.

My dad, who couldn't make it down for the holidays, finally made it down this weekend for a belated visit and gift exchange. Now, there are more books to read and more chocolate to eat. It was a nice visit. Before he got here, Willow was worried that he wasn't going to come, but he made it here, along with my brother. After they left, Willow and I went to a convention with Jeanine and her daughter,Eva, where we caught a magic show and a bit of belly dancing before playing with balloons. The girls got their faces painted, with willow looking like she had a large ladybug smack in the middle of her face, and Eva looking like a rotting corpse. Willow got to stay up until almost midnight too, although she'll be going to bed much earlier tonight. She still has remnants of the face paint around her eyes, making it look like she's either very tired or has started wearing make-up.

Now, we're going to eat creme brulee.

The sky is blue and calm, and has been for several days. It feels good to go outside without a jacket, but the mild weather lacks spark and intensity, leaving me feeling that I need an injection of energy of some sort. The moonrise yesterday evening was beautiful though, with the white bright moon rising beyond some wispy orange clouds and shining through them with such intensity that it was almost as if they weren't there at all. For some reason, the moon looked too bright for the sky, lending an air of unreality to the scene.

When I'm not out gazing at the moon, I've been spending too much time reading lately. Jeanine loaned me a book, by Walter J. Williams, called The Rift, about an earthquake with a magnitude of 8.9 occurring on the New Madrid Fault along the Mississippi River. I wasn't previously aware that there was a fault there. It seems strange that there would be one in the middle of a continental plate. Who said that you can't learn new things from fiction? It's a long book too, with more than 900 pages, lots of characters, and quite a bit of serious damage. I'm nearly 300 pages into it now.

All of this fictional disaster has me thinking about the problem of peak oil, which is something more people should be thinking about. An oil-based economy will one day prove to have been a mere blip on the timeline of civilization. There is no way that it won't.

Currently listening to: Bohren & der Club of Gore "Geisterfaust"

The raccoons have been keeping a low profile around camp this season, although I'm finally starting to see them now and then. Last night, one was temporarily obsessed with climbing onto one of the ping pong tables, and then jumping off so he could climb back up again. He looked quite deranged, doing something that seemed to serve no purpose, something not immediately linked to finding food. Whether he was playing, or had been driven insane by ingesting too much human garbage, I'll never know. I kind of like the idea of animals playing for no discernible purpose, which reminds me of Jeanine's cat Dexter, who has so much fun playing with the laser pointer (chasing the little dot of light) that he will attempt to take it out himself, often at strange hours of the night. Of course, that has a purpose - it's training to become an efficient hunter. I'm currently watching Willow playing with her Playmobil toys, She has made a little corral for her deer family. Regardless of whether we're feline or human, or otherwise, play shapes our minds, so I'm glad that she can lose herself in a world of imagination for hours. Playing isn't just a pastime, it's one of the skills one needs to be truly happy. We're never too old to play, and apparently at least one raccoon knows that too (if my garbage eating hypothesis is incorrect, that is...).

A couple of nights ago it was cold enough to leave morning frost on car windows. Today, it was warm enough to go out without a jacket. Welcome to January in California.

Currently listening to: Umbra Nihil "The Borderland Rituals"

Today was spent inside. Willow lost herself in a Playmobil world of her own creation, with time set aside for reading. I lost myself in a novel called Lucifer's Hammer, written by Larry Niven and Jerry Pournelle and first published when I was 10. It's interesting reading about major disaster striking the planet (in this case, quite literally, in the form of a comet)during the seventies. What was true of survivors then would be doubly true now - the realization that nearly all of the things we take for granted are suddenly in very short supply. The point is brought up several times (by the same character) that we couldn't fix, let alone make, most of the things we use in our everyday lives if they were to break down or vanish. This is something that I often muse about. What always interests me most about stories like this is how the characters react to overwhelming disaster. How does a technological society start anew, or does it? Then again, I have always been interested in sociology, enough so that I majored in it (along with Environmental Studies) in college. In the case of this book, unlike, say, George Stewart's Earth Abides, the survivors are focused on regaining their technology. I could go on about how technology is a mixed blessing, but being surrounded by complicated electricity-sucking devices, it might come across as a bit hypocritical. I'm the first to admit that I often take too much for granted, and this book has me probing that particular back alley in my subconsciousness. Fiction is useful in that way, especially speculative fiction.

Yesterday was different. We actually went out and spent some time in the bone freezing cold (by California standards) at Happy Hollow in San Jose, watching the sleepy Jaguar, restless Fossa, and a trio of uncooperative Capybaras, among others, and chasing after the girls as they excitedly ran here and there. After leaving the park, we walked along the derelict park train tracks under ominous skies. The weather seemed apocalyptic, with a whitish sky that turned slightly orange towards the west. This impression was no doubt bolstered by the fact that many of the redwoods in the park are dead or dying, with removal notices tacked to them.

Currently listening to: Elm "live at WFMU'

The cold fog erased the distance this morning, and a hazy whiteness hung around for most of the day, lending a certain, undefinable strangeness to the air. This is possibility weather. Anything can happen. The less we see, the more options we have waiting out there beyond the limits of our vision.

Now, darkness has joined the cold, erasing more than even the fog can, and I'm warm inside, reading a novel about the end of the world, which continues to be either an unintentional or a subconscious literary theme of late, since I just now caught the thematic connection to the two books I wrote about a couple of posts back. Either way, it's a subject which has always fascinated me, not because I even remotely want it to happen, but from a sociological interest in the human factor involved in such a shattering event.

Now, back to reading.

Currently listening to: Thomas Bel "The Birds are still the Monarchs"

My first short week of work this year is almost over. The first three camp weeks of this month are 4-day programs, which means I only work three night shifts per week. So far this week, each night there has been a pee incident, which means that each night a pair of lonely pants has tumbled through the washer and dryer. It makes me wish all of the incontinent kids would get it over with at once, so I'd have a full load of laundry. The timing of these accidents is beyond my control though, so I can only sigh and accept the soggy clothing as it is handed to me.

Other than that, it has been a nice week, with a good group of kids. The stars have that cold, Winter clarity, and the mornings are painted with frost.

Currently listening to: Ruby Howl "The Wind and the Tree"

Here's a link to the Voluntary Human Extinction Movement (VHEMT, pronounced "vehement")website. It's actually very reasonable and interesting. I don't think there is currently much of a chance that the majority, let alone all, of the people on our planet will ever get behind this, but if our environmental problems continue to spiral out of control, it may someday become a popular movement.

The last two nonfiction books I've read go strangely hand in hand. The first one, Thomas Ligotti's "The Conspiracy Against The Human Race" has as its main premise the idea that consciousness is a curse, and something not to be desired. Ligotti feels that humanity should voluntarily end its existence by no longer breeding. It's a fascinating book, and reads very much like one of his works of supernatural fiction. This was my introduction to pessimist philosophy, and while, for the most part, I don't agree with it, I found the book interesting and very well written (like everything else he has done). For instance, I had no idea there was a pessimist philosophy movement, no doubt, as Ligotti points out, because the pessimists don't get as much press as the optimists.

Strangely enough, the next book I read, Alan Weisman's "The World Without Us" tackles the question of what will happen to the mess we leave behind after we go. Within its pages, there is even brief mention of a group called the Voluntary Human Extinction Movement, whose members advocate the same thing Ligotti does, if for slightly different reasons. It makes me wonder if Ligotti is a member of the movement, or if the horror writer in him would be more at home with the Church of Euthanasia, whose members advocate, among other things, cannibalism (I haven't checked, but Weisman mentions that their website has a guide for butchering human carcasses, plus a recipe for barbeque sauce). If we did indeed stop breeding, or at least slowed it down, life would definitely be better for those among the decreased future population. If we keep breeding with carelessness, eventually our population will be so out of balance with the natural order of things that nature will balance it for us, which as any biologist will you, means disease and famine. Not to mention increased warfare over progressively dwindling resources.

Both books are fascinating, and well worth the time and effort taken to read them.

Currently listening to: Tor Lundvall "Under the Shadows of Trees"

One more day of vacation remains after today, and then I go back to work. I'm hoping that my recent energy doesn't get sucked away again by the necessity of splitting my sleep schedule.

I spent my first money of the year today, ironically enough on a free photo book, which came with my annual renewal of my Flickr account. I picked my favorite photos of last year from my Flickr stream, and there were enough of them to make my book a few pages too long for the "free" offer, so I paid the few extra dollars, plus some money for shipping. I mention this because after nearly a year of not watching my budget, I'm going to be paying more attention to where my money goes.

Speaking of buying things, I've been reading more about the Great Pacific Garbage Patch, and have been reawakened to the evils of plastic, especially plastic of the throw-away variety. I also recently saw a great short film by Ramin Bahrani called "Plastic Bag", brilliantly narrated by Werner Herzog. You can watch it, and other films in the Futurestates series here. I haven't watched the other films yet, but it's on my list of things to do. I've long been converted to the cause of cutting down on excess plastic (and other materials) by consuming less of them, but it's always good to keep learning more about the continued dangers of careless living.

Currently listening to: Bohren & der Club of Gore "Sunset Mission"

Welcome 2011. The holiday residue is partially cleared away, and the sky remains steadfastly gray.

Despite realizing that numbers on a calendar are arbitrary, I find myself enjoying the chance to reflect on a numerically delineated chunk of time while looking forward to the next chunk. It seems to be human nature to compartmentalize things in some fashion or other. Sometimes we use words, and sometimes we use walls. I'm a bigger fan of the former, unless the wall in question is covered in moss and lichen, and beautifully crumbling, or the words in question advocate greed, hate, or any of humanity's other less desirable traits. If this is the case, I'd have to reverse my stance.

May you all have a beautiful new year. May old walls crumble and may your words build connections.

Speaking of words, here's a link to a cool site on word origins. Jeanine and I discovered it last night when we all of a sudden had to know the origin of the word "cobweb". "Cob" was originally "coppe", which was derived from the old English "Attercop", meaning "spider". This was derived from "atter" (poison) and "coppe" (head), Poison-head!

Currently listening to: Rasputina "daytrotter session" This was the last new music to enter my home in 2010, in the form of a free download from Daytrotter.com

Next year should prove eventful.

As for 2010, I find that it's hard to characterize a whole year based on a handful of events that just happened to occur during that time span. It might be better to reflect on the recent past in terms of personal growth or artistic accomplishments, although I think in some ways I'd consider this year a failure on that account.

I'm glad that Jeanine was a part of my year. She helps me reconnect with my playful, spontaneous side. Maybe I do the same for her. Either way you look at it, we have fun playing together.

I can't reflect on this year without mentioning my mom. It has been nearly a year now since she died. Her house has been sold, and her belongings are either with the survivors or in unknown homes. It's still strange and sad that she is gone. It was perhaps a blessing for her that she went quickly. I have at least one small additional tribute planned for her early in the upcoming year.

For now though, December is waning, and it is dark and heavily raining.

Currently listening to: Twinsistermoon "Then Fell the Ashes..."

Right now, I'm in the middle of the eye of the Christmas storm. All of the preparations are done, but the gifts are as yet undistributed. The weather is likewise in the middle of a lull, with an air of anticipation hanging over the valley. Much rain has happened, but more rain is coming.

I was raised with a secular version of Christmas. Personally, I've always been drawn more towards paganism, with the Winter Solstice having more intrinsic meaning than the christian holiday that has supplanted it. The Earth sustains us, but I guess if some people need a complex mythology to help sustain them, then that's okay too. After all, we are all made of stories. Each day adds a new page, or if you live an interesting life, a new chapter. I remember being a child and living through Decembers that seemed to last for the duration of a trilogy. Now it seems December is over and done with in a sentence or two. In the future, the month will no doubt flash by in mere words.

May you all have a wonderful holiday season, regardless of which traditions you follow, and if you must consume, do it with care.

Currently listening to: Thomas Bel "For Lorn"

After having to contend with a bit of cloud cover during the first few minutes of the lunar eclipse, we changed locations and got treated to an unobstructed view of the moon getting eaten by reddish shadow. We watched as the bright disc shrunk to a fingernail crescent and then to nothing, leaving behind a coppery shadow moon. The last time a total lunar eclipse occurred on the Winter Solstice, the year was 1554, a year when a great many more people no doubt viewed the gradual erasure of the moon with alarm. Come to think of it, I'm sure there are plenty of people who still get all bent out of shape about it. I base this supposition about a story I once read about how some people reacted during the 1994 earthquake in L.A. Apparently, at least some people who were awakened in the wee hours of the morning by that particular earthquake got rather scared upon exiting their homes and discovering a bunch of "new" stars in the sky. Of course, most people knew that the power outage caused by the quake made it easier to see the night sky, but a few called 911, asking the no doubt amused operators on the other end of the line if the earthquake had somehow caused the extra stars to suddenly appear. I wonder what these same people must have thought when the moon gradually turned to blood last night? We'll probably never know.

This morning, Jeanine and I got up before daybreak to watch the Solstice sunrise, but didn't hike up to our usual hilltop. We figured that, since it had been steadily raining for the last few days, the hike might leave us look like we'd been wallowing in mud. Instead, we walked out over that weird new suspension footbridge that appeared over Highway 280 sometime over the last year or two. The pigeons were still asleep on their wires, and the clouds cooperated by opening up to the east. There were just enough of them to make the sky interesting, and we stayed there together as the light washed over us, bathing us in an orange glow and finally waking up some of the nearby pigeons.

Then we had doughnuts. Welcome to Winter.

Currently listening to: B'ee "Songs to the Sun"

Outside, the rain is pounding down so hard that earlier it sounded like there was a helicopter hovering over my home. The apartment is bathed in the glow of Christmas tree lights. For the last couple of holiday seasons, due to the fact that there isn't much space where I live, we've gotten a tiny little tree. This year, Willow and I just said to heck with it, and got a 7 foot tree. It touches the ceiling and makes it hard to get through the front door, not to mention making the patio nearly inaccessible.

It was this very inaccessibility that prevented me from going on onto the patio earlier, when I noticed a small, moist bunny squished up against the glass of the sliding door, perched on a pile of wet cardboard. The poor thing looked miserable, and to make matters worse, I didn't have anything on hand that a rabbit might eat. I decided to go grocery shopping, making sure to buy some rabbit munchies while doing so. Of course, when I got home, the rabbit was gone. Later, I told the property manager about it (actually, this isn't the first time I've seen this rabbit, and there is another one about somewhere too) and she had the idea to call another tenant, one who works at a veterinarian's office. The tenant, in due course, showed up at my door with a small pet carrier and a blanket. With a little effort, I managed to squeeze past my tree and out onto the patio, but the rabbit wasn't hiding there anywhere. Fortunately, where he was hiding was out front, over by a neighbor's walkway. We came at the little critter from both sides, and soon I was holding a very fluffy, but very wet, little bunny in my hands. An Angora rabbit, I think. The woman gently put it in the carrier and went home with it, saying that it would be easy to adopt it out. It's a good thing she has connections with the rabbit rescue people.

That's at least one rabbit who won't be dying of exposure this holiday season. I'm not sure if it's an escapee or if it was abandoned by its owners, but either way, there was a lack of responsibility involved. Domestic pets often either die in the wild or cause other animals to do so.

My first day of vacation coincided with the onset of a cold. My throat was sore this morning, but that has now morphed into a runny nose and general malaise. Because of this, I've spent the afternoon drinking tea and reading, which is something I often do anyway. I just do it less guiltily when I'm sick. Illness: the new cure for guilt.

Last night, I felt fine. Jeanine and I went and saw Om in San Francisco. On the way there, I discovered that the miles of brake lights winding through the hills of highway 280 look like a lava flow if you squint your eyes just right. It pays to be easily amused.

Our new tradition of being on top of a certain nearby hill on Solstice morning might be thwarted by rain next week. Perhaps we'll still do the doughnut shop part of the ritual though.

I was shuffling through multicolored drifts of moist Autumn leaves and thinking about dog crap when all of a sudden a large, gray rabbit popped up in front of me. It hurriedly hopped away and attempted to hide under a dumpster. I didn't even try to catch it. I'd tried that yesterday when there were two of them, and they laughed little rabbity laughs at my attempts. Somebody nearby should have done a better job of securing their hutch.

As for my thoughts of dog crap, I often ponder it when I'm walking near my place, mostly because the parking strip is mined with little brown gobs of it, nicely hidden by the aforementioned Autumn leaves. The parking strip is the last pit stop before their owners drag them over to the nearby dog park. I just know that any dog crap in the park itself is quickly scooped up, mostly because other people are watching. People like to appear to be responsible citizens when fellow citizens are nearby. This reminds me of a woman we saw inside Color Me Mine (a paint-it-yourself ceramics place) yesterday. One of her small children dropped an unpainted ornament, breaking it. She mildly scolded them and was heard shushing them when they talked about it later. I gave her the benefit of the doubt, but was almost certain she was going to sneak out without saying anything. Sure enough, she did. It gave me great pleasure to tattle on her. After all, she'll have to come back to get her ceramic pieces after they've been glazed. I'm not sure if the employees will confront her with the broken merchandise, but I fantasize that they will.

Why do I care? I don't want dog crap on my shoes, and as for the woman, I really hate it when parents do this kind of thing in front of their children. Her kids are well on their way towards learning that personal responsibility is for suckers, and that things only matter if other people see you doing them. I don't want to live in a world populated with people like that. If I had been absolutely certain she hadn't said something about the incident before leaving, I would have confronted her on it then and there. Now I'm wishing I had.

Behind most messed up children are equally messed up parents. It's another one of those self perpetuating cycles.

I'm sitting in my office chair at camp, with the heater vent rattling away on the ceiling above me. For some reason, I've been feeling the need to go back and read earlier blog entries, and have even gone so far as to pull out my old paper journal (you know, the stuff people used to write on before we all started being born with laptops grafted to our fingers). The paper journal contains a lot of relatively bad writing - I always figured that since I was the only one who would ever read it, I could be lazy and cut corners where style was concerned. It's also much more private and personal than anything I've written here. As for the early blog posts, I find that I like them more than the recent ones. Maybe rereading them will re-inspire me. I sure hope so, because I've felt quite uninspired lately, perhaps because I feel like I've written it all before, or perhaps because I've become dangerously used to spending too much time consuming what others have created rather than creating on my own.

As for now, I'm sitting in the middle of a camp of sleeping children. As usual, a lot of them arrived at camp on Monday with inadequate supplies. A case in point would be the girls with blankets that one of my coworkers described as "thin as towels". Uh, it's COLD at night here. You'd think that parents would send their kids to camp with what they need. I know that some families can't afford a lot, but I find it hard to believe that a home could be without at least one serviceable blanket. Good thing we have extra supplies, mostly things left behind by other kids and washed by me in the middle of the night. Right now, the dryer is spinning around with some newly washed poo clothes (that would be clothes which recently contained poo) plus a sleeping bag and pillow case which were discovered to be slathered with shampoo (again - what the heck??).

Time to do some reading now (uh, I mean consuming what others have created...), or maybe time to raid the giant box of candy that appeared on the table in the staff room. So many options.

Currently listening to: Current 93 "Faust" (remix by the wily Andrew Liles)

Today is the day after my 43rd birthday, and I'm spending it inside with music and books. The rain promised in the forecast is finally sweeping the region, and I can see tossing trees under gray skies out the window, a sight that fills me with gladness - a kind of aesthetic joy that I've yet to successfully put into words.

Yesterday, I spent the day with Jeanine. We ended up at the California Academy of Sciences in San Francisco, where we spent a number of hours peering in at toads and snakes, as well as taking in a planetarium show and wandering the other exhibits. I always come away for the Academy inspired in some way, usually in ways relating to my continued fascination with the diversity and beauty of life on this planet (although my idea of beauty tends towards creatures like snakes and toads).

The end of the year approaches, and I find myself reflecting on changes I want to make. I hesitate to call them "resolutions", but that's more or less what I mean. I almost feel like I've slid into a second childhood this year, at least as far as my increased concentration on entertaining myself is concerned. At least I haven't run out and purchased a Porsche. My idea of entertainment still revolves around my music obsession.

Currently listening to Chu Ishikawa "Tetsuo" soundtrack.

Jeanine has introduced me to the adventurous pastime known as Letterboxing, which could be described as the low-tech version of geocaching. Follow the link and check it out. There are all sorts of different ways to be creative with this. Both of our daughters are excited about it too, both because of the intrinsic merits of the hobby and because many of the letterboxes are hidden in parks and other fun places. For instance, the next one I plan on finding is hidden near an ice cream place.

Other than this, there really isn't a whole lot new to report. The season is slowly sliding towards Winter, with temperatures dropping and occasional rainstorms bringing much needed water to the area. I had my first tofurkey this Thanksgiving, which is funny when one considers that I've been vegetarian for over 20 years now.

I've been posting more often over at my music blog, mainly because I've been going to a lot of gigs lately. Right now, I'm disappointed that Einsturzende Neubauten, who were scheduled to play in San Francisco on my birthday, have canceled their tour due to problems with obtaining the proper visas on time. I'm still looking for something to do instead. Perhaps we'll go whale watching or something.

All Hallows Eve has come and gone again. Dia de los Muertos is getting smaller and smaller in the rear view mirror as well. This is a holiday of memory, of remembering the dead. This year, of course, I remember my mom. I remember who she was and celebrate how she lives on in our memories and personalities. I think that, in a lot of ways, I am very much like her. How much of this is nature and how much is nurture I'm not sure. Still, I'm reminded of her somehow or other every day. Today, while chaperoning Sophie's field trip to Peralta Adobe in San Jose, I found myself asking the question, if something is not written down and is no longer remembered, is it history? I guess that is sort of like the old philosophical riddle, "if a tree falls in the forest, does it make a sound?". People are still split on that one, but I fall into the camp that clings to the belief that it doesn't, since the definition of sound that I'm familiar with states that it isn't sound if there is no receptor. Food for thought, if nothing else.

Speaking of food, or candy anyway, Hallowe'en was fun this year. Jeanine and I took the kids to one of those ceramic painting places to paint plates. There was no studio fee for customers in costume, so we showed up all decked out and ready to paint. Willow was a witch, Eva was a messed up doll, Jeanine wore a balloon spider hat, and I zombified half my face with Jeanine's paints. Fun. Next, we went across the street to the Retro Dome for a sing-along screening of Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory. Willow got a golden ticket in her goodie bag, which netted her some extra chocolate. Then, of course, we went trick-or-treating. Toward the end, Willow actually started complaining that her bag was too heavy.

After some beautiful cloudy, drizzly Autumn weather over the last week or two, the skies are once again depressingly blue, although there's a chance of rain again over the weekend. Rain is always welcome.

Currently listening to: Marissa Nadler "Ballads of Living and Dying" on vinyl, because vinyl is cooler.

The first real rain of the season hit yesterday, and we spent a lot of time walking in it and waiting for the puddles to get deep enough to jump in. Willow was amazed that the pumpkin patch was still open despite the weather. I went to the park with Sophie and Willow, and after finding an old tennis ball, we played "monkey in the middle" on the rain slick basketball court. This was after we played a game where we pretended that our reflections were upside-down people underneath the cement. That made the girls laugh uncontrollably. Sophie spent a good deal of time stomping on hers, because that's the kind of girl Sophie is.

It's good to have an injection of Autumn energy. More rain is forecast for the coming weekend too. Let's hope it pours.

Currently listening to: Lo'Jo "Fils de Zamal"

During lunch today, as we ate vegetable stir fry with fake beef, Jeanine and I simultaneously wondered aloud if producing more unusual varieties of mock meat would be scandalous. For instance, would there be a furor over mock dog? What about house cat flavored soy product? And for all of the culinary adventurers out there, should vegetarian substitutes for endangered species be made available? Siberian Tiger patties? (I must insert here that I hold a very dim view of people sick enough to actually eat the real thing - that's not really culinary adventure, but more of a species-ist power trip). People have eaten mammoth too, although I'm not sure if any of the scientists involved in that particular tasting are still with us. And sure, food companies would have to hire as taste consultants people who had eaten the real animals in question, but it is possible, isn't it? I'm tired of fake beef, pork, and chicken. I'd like to try some fake muskrat, or perhaps fake penguin. Why do food companies have to be so unimaginative? They could probably just make up weird flavors too, and dispense with consultants altogether, for the simple reason that most people wouldn't know dog meat from wildebeest meat, or condor steaks from polar bear jerky.

That said, we vegetarians already seem to have more options than people who stick to meat. I've been vegetarian for over half my life, and have seen the whole "meat substitute" end of the food spectrum go from one miserable make-it-yourself powdered hamburger substitute to a huge range of vegetarian products, made out of everything from mushrooms to soy to wheat and beyond. There is even one vegan cheese that actually melts like real cheese. If they can make it taste just a little more convincing, I might actually go vegan.

Sometimes I feel that I concentrate more on the icing than the cake. A lot of my energy is directed towards entertaining myself, whether it be with music, film, novels, excursions, or otherwise. Not that there is anything wrong with entertainment, of course, but I often get the feeling that I should be planning more for the future, both for me and for my daughter, or at the very least, be giving these kinds of things more thought than I do. Part of this lack of planning comes from my dislike of dealing with financial institutions, bureaucrats, and paperwork, and truth be told, my dislike of phones.

I've built a comfortable little world here in the present, but I'm not sure it's a self-sustaining one. I do have thoughts of home-ownership, job advancement, and the rest of that kind of thing, but for some reason, it has never been a priority. I feel like I sacrifice the future for the present, and wonder if that's really any worse than sacrificing the present for the future. The present is now, while the future is always uncertain. I think I should strive for some middle ground at least, but at the moment lack the inspiration and impetus to do so. Instead, I'll simply write about it, and remember that it is always a good thing to be prepared for any eventuality.

As for the present, the school year is well underway. We're in the middle of the fifth week of science camp for the season, and there is an unusually small group of kids at camp this week, just 108 kids and four teachers. It's almost like not working. I did get one week in the field a couple of weeks ago, and it was a nice change. It was also the hottest week of the season so far, although we've been having record-breaking warm temperatures this week as well. Perhaps it is the warm weather that has inspired Jerusalem Crickets to interrupt each night time talk I've done so far this week. The kids, for the most part, were excited by their presence, with some even wanting to hold them.

I've not been spending any time and energy looking for a classroom position lately. Job prospects in that area seem rather grim at the moment, and I'm actually having second thoughts about going the classroom route. I'd love to have a classroom, but I want to find one that is right for me, not one chosen out of any sort of desperation. In other words, I'm going to be picky while I can afford to be, keeping in mind that I only have a certain amount of time to clear my preliminary teaching credential, this last being the only real pressure on me at the moment. I think I'll step up my attempts in this direction at the start of the new year.

For the time being, I'm enjoying my daytime freedom with the icing, reading novels and listening to music. This past weekend, Jeanine and I went on a 14 mile hike through Rancho San Antonio, passing Deer Hollow Farm (where we went on our first walk together) and following the trails all the way to Hidden Villa (where I had my first taste of working with kids outdoors). We spent around 6 hours hiking, sharing the trail with quail, rabbits (more than 30 of them, I think), Whiptails, Chipmunks, deer, an unfortunately crippled Wood Rat, and a small Gopher snake. It was sad to see the Wood Rat, covered in flies and with a mangled left hind leg, hopping disconsolately along the side of the trail, as if it were imploring some airborne predator to come take it away. Such is the cycle of life though. We all cycle through the beauty, the bliss, and the suffering, hoping all the while that the beauty and bliss will trump any misery sent our way. I'm sure that the rat has since gone on to provide a blissful meal for some opportunistic predator, an event which would also serve to end its suffering.

As for Jeanine and I, we suffered a bit from blisters, but those will pass. Maybe we need better hiking shoes. Perhaps I should plan to get some.

This is the first day this year to really feel like Autumn. The sky is a mottled gray and there is a chill in the air, which of course has given me a blast of energy.

September vanished in a blink, with the last week of it breaking temperature records across the Bay Area. I spent the week in the field, hiking with kids from 5 different local private Catholic schools. We dripped sweat, but had a great time anyway. I even tried out a new way of teaching about the rock cycle, grouping the kids into trios and having them act out parts of the rock cycle while the rest of the group got to guess which part. I think I'll keep doing that one. This week, I'm back in the hub at night, keeping watch over sleeping public school kids.

We went to the zoo over the weekend; Willow and I, and Jeanine and her daughter. We checked out the new Pancake Tortoises and all of the old favorites like the Flying Foxes and Alligators.

Not sure where I was going with this post. I think I just felt the need to check in here. It's also because of the weather, I think. My posting has been haphazard of late, for no reason other than I haven't been in much of a reflective mood. Maybe it's because I'm happy. Maybe I've just gotten out of the habit of writing every day. My schedule once made that easy, and I never managed to work it back into my schedule once things changed. I've lately been experimenting with writing when I don't actually feel like doing it, and have had a certain amount of success in producing results that, while not groundbreaking, aren't complete crap either.

Hopefully I'll have more to say before October vanishes too.